#Witcher fanfic

[intrepidacious]

bring your hunger

summary: There is a Witcher in your house.

pairing: geralt of rivia x succubus!reader

word count: 2k

warnings: smut (18+ only!!), light dubcon due to demon magic, penetrative sex (p in v), some biting and choking 😌 please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: somehow it's been over a year since i posted a full fic but one ao3 writer's curse later here we are. whole new fandom. i've also never written smut until this show rewired my brain so bon appétit (please be kind). my biggest love to @aphrogeneias and @brandycranby who both let me complain about this story for about three months, i adore you!!

masterlist | read on ao3

There is a Witcher in your house.

You smell him long before you lay your eyes on him, the stench of his magic permeating the forest, harsh and acrid. Somewhere in the woods nearby, something is burning.

For a moment, you hesitate, considering your options. A lesser creature would’ve turned on the spot and run, would’ve stolen a horse in the nearby town and gotten as far away as possible, and maybe you should be doing the same. Forsake your home and this region and try to forget them to save your neck.

But your instincts are never wrong, and right now they are drawing you closer, one cautious step in front of the other, until your door creaks open.

He’s sitting in your chair, turned to the side to have a clear view of the entrance. He is propped up against the dining table, his matted white hair sticking to his forehead. The air is heavy with the smell of blood and sweat. Whatever happened across him managed to get him good; he seems to have bandaged himself up, somehow, but the gashes in his chest look painful.

He stares at you, frown deepening on his face, but he stays very still. There is a dangerous look in his amber eyes, full of fire and fury, and for some reason, that doesn’t scare you. Not at all.

Gods, you’re hungry.

There’s a steady pulse of power coming from him, muted but incessant, like his body’s not ready to drop the fight quite yet. He doesn’t, however, reach for the weapons he’s carelessly dropped on your good carpet.

So instead of fleeing, you draw the door shut behind you and you tilt your head.

It’s stronger now, the smell of your own powers. You don’t think it holds as much sway over Witchers as it would do over mere mortals, but it’s still enough for him to white-knuckle the edge of the table.

"I know what you are," he grits.

The low timbre of his voice makes you grin.

"That makes us even, then." You get closer to him, gingerly stepping over his swords. "Are you going to do something about it?"

His nostrils flare a little, but apart from that his face stays unreadable. Only his eyes betray him, still trained on your lips. He can’t help himself.

"I don’t kill your kind," he says.

"How generous of you." You come to a halt between his legs, reaching out to tilt his chin towards you.

He lets you, and there’s the slightest hint of amusement hidden at the corner of his mouth. From up close, the fire in his eyes burns even brighter.

"Let me show my appreciation," you say lowly.

His scent changes ever so slightly with the first small spike of his arousal. It sends a thrill of anticipation through you.

Your fingers trail down his throat, along his broad shoulders, down the taut muscles of his back, leaning into him even more. His hands fall to your hips, almost involuntarily. Slowly, unhurriedly, you let your nose brush against his and he inhales with a shudder.

This is always your favourite part. The final moments before they give into their desire, your meal prepared and served up on a silver platter, ready to indulge in.

"Don’t," he says, barely a warning.

"Don’t what?" You can feel his breath against your smile.

"Don’t tease."

"No?" He’s got remarkable restraint, this Witcher; but you can hear his racing heart. "Alright then."

And between one moment and the next, you let your clothes disappear.

It’s a simple trick, one that everyone of your kind can do as easily as blinking, but it’s never failed you. His eyes turn even darker as he realizes what you’ve done, as you move back a little to let him take you in. You lick your lips as another waft of his arousal reaches your nose.

Delicious.

"Is that better?" you whisper, tipping your head to the side.

He doesn’t reply. He pulls you towards him sharply, and then his mouth crashes against yours, hard and sudden. One of his hands grabs your ass, hauling you into his lap while the other one cradles the nape of your neck.

It’s a brutal kiss, divinely ferocious. Your naked core brushes over the noticeable bulge in his pants and he groans. You move your hips back and forth, just enough friction to make his fingers curl, nails biting into your skin.

This, you think, this is just what you’ve been craving. This sense of presence, of awareness. Your heartbeats growing faster. Pulling, tasting, wanting. More.

You only break the kiss to undo his belt, and he chases after your lips, hazy, starving.

You can relate.

He is already rock hard when you pull him out of his pants, ready and leaking. He pushes into your touch, raw need taking over.

You let out an appreciative hum, positioning yourself in his lap, careful not to put too much pressure on his chest. You want him to feel good, after all, no: you need him to.

You haven’t been sated in so long.

"Witcher," you chuckle breathlessly as his arms tighten around you, caging you against his body. "Aren’t you supposed to kill wicked, evil things like me?"

He growls, sinking his teeth into your shoulder. You gasp as he drags his tongue over the bite marks immediately; like he’s savouring your taste, too.

When he looks up at you again, his eyes are like molten embers.

Your hand tangles in his hair and you yank his head back to kiss him again, swallowing the sound he makes when you sink down on him, and it’s a pity, really, because you could get your fill from that alone. It’s delectably salty and bitter.

Finally, he’s fully inside you, and he tilts his hips to allow you a better angle as you start moving.

"So good for me," you murmur.

He slaps your hand away when you try to slip it between your bodies, and then his own fingers find your clit, gently teasing at first, but quickly applying more pressure. You gasp, your walls clenching around his cock.

He lets out a breathless huff. "There, huh?"

"That’s it. Just like that."

It’s too much. Your breaths quicken as the air around you starts to hum and crackle with building energy. It’s making your head swim, each precise stroke to your clit bringing you closer to that edge you’re chasing.

His mouth still trails along your neck, nipping there. Your skin already feels sticky with sweat and magic as you’re hurled ever closer to the peak of your arousal.

Just as the tension in your core gets tight enough to snap, he stills completely. His cock is fully sheathed inside you, but he doesn’t move, his arms around you hard and unyielding, not even allowing a single roll of your hips. Something between a whine and a growl escapes your lips as your canines come down hard enough to draw blood.

The Witcher smiles at you hazily. "Do you want to come, little demon?"

You want to bite him. You want to suck out his energy until he’s nothing more than a sad, empty husk.

Your snarl only brings out a dark glint in his eyes, and his hand moves to your neck, forcing you to hold his gaze. His grip tethers you in your denied pleasure.

"Ask nicely," he says lowly, brushing his lips against yours.

Wicked, evil man.

Underneath your skin, your powers are brimming with unease, not yet refilled, not yet repleted; he knows this. You know he knows, and yet you’re unwilling to give in. "Or what?"

His grin widens just a fracture as his chin juts out in unmatched arrogance. You could burn it off his face. You could dig your claws into the gashes in his chest and widen them even more, feast on his blood instead.

"I know you need it," he says. His cock twitches inside you. "Beg."

A shiver goes down your spine, hot and cold at the same time.

You don’t beg. Ever. You don’t yield control, not even for your meal, especially not to someone like him. But then he expertly applies pressure to your throat and your eyes roll back in your head, all thoughts lost to the thick haze of your desire.

"Please," you whimper, clenching around him again. "Please fuck me."

He groans, hips stuttering into yours involuntarily before he moves in earnest, keeping his hand on your throat. It’s almost agonisingly slow at first, one roll of his hips almost letting him slip out of your cunt completely before he pushes back in with one single, firm stroke.

Your startled cry of pleasure gets stifled by his mouth, coaxing, biting, until your claws dig into the thick muscles on his shoulders. The arm around your back guides your movement, pressing you even closer to his body than before as he picks up the pace of his thrusts, each one hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over.

You’re so close. You can already taste the precipice, black stars dancing along the edge of your vision.

Another moan rips out of you when you come apart for air, mouths open. "That’s it," he pants, watching you through half-lidded eyes, "Come for me."

His voice cracks with rapture, and it’s that more than the feeling of his own climax that sends you over the edge.

This part of your nature never gets old: As the orgasm rushes through you, the pent-up energy surrounding you snaps like lightning, funnelling into your body like an invisible current until you shudder blissfully with your appetite sustained. Your magic crackles around you, dancing on your burning skin like sparks of fire.

You hum appreciatively, your eyes still closed as you take a moment to collect yourself. This day has taken a pleasantly surprising turn, after all. It’s been too long since you’ve felt so thoroughly sated.

However, when you try to move out of his lap, the Witcher’s grip on you tightens decisively.

"Is that it?"

Your eyes fly open.

He is breathing heavily, but despite his loss of blood and the energy you’ve pulled from him, there’s not a trace of exhaustion to be found. He still has that same dangerous twinkle in his gaze. Fire and fury. Something lurches in your stomach.

"I thought your kind’s supposed to be insatiable," he says, leaning in to nuzzle at your collarbone. His medallion bumps against your breasts with a sharp vibration as his fingers trail down your side, a slow, torturously delicate touch. "You can give me one more."

It’s not a question. Still, the hands parting your legs even further are almost as gentle as they are relentless. A light press to your overstimulated clit has you keen, spasming around his cock, and he chuckles lowly.

"Eyes on me."

You hadn’t even noticed they’d fallen shut again. You’re leaning heavily into him now, another wave of pleasure starting to build as the smell of his magic envelopes you.

He growls, moving both of you around so you’re spread open on your dining table, him leaning over you with a look that wants to devour you whole. Like you’re the one being served up for him to make a meal out of. Impossibly, he’s growing hard again as his deft hands coax you closer to your next release.

"Just one more."

It’s such an obvious lie, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You’re brimming with energy, dizzyingly replenished and yet still ravenous. The air is humming with it, the promise of more.

"Don’t lie to me, Witcher," you still gasp.

His smile is positively sinful. "You said it yourself. I’m just so generous."

You’re so full. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his aura flickering with lust, rich and decadent and beautiful.

"In other words," he continues, his lips brushing your ear right as you reach your peak again. "We are just getting started."

this fic was brought to you by horny hyperfixations. reblogs and comments are what keep your local writers sustained!! if you want to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics to get notified whenever i post 💛

[swan--writes]

geralt and jaskier get whacked with a spell which makes geralt...not so much a djinn as an indentured servant to jaskier with little to no willpower

jaskier spends the whole fic being so fucking careful not to give geralt any outright orders, geralt spends the whole fic being Very Confused as to why jaskier isn't (ab)using his power

it was probably meant to make geralt a slave to the mage but y'know...fanfiction-typical shenanigans

[winters-mistress]

Cuddle pile

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And tonight, she will sleep sweetly indeed.

[ahyperactivehero]

just had someone comment on my siren!Jaskier fic that I haven't updated in like a year, and now I'm like maybe I should finish that lol crazy how sometimes all it takes is a single comment to give you back your inspiration for something lol

[tigerlyla-of-metinna]

Chapter 10: Old Friend New Life

Summary:

Geralt was given an address by Emhyr to seek the answers why he must accept the contract. There, Geralt meets an old friend and the witcher got more than he bargained for.   Spoiler: This chapter follows one of the three endings of Blood and Wine, making it the canon ending for this fic.

The address led Geralt to an antique-esque establishment that has seen better days and looked out of place among its more up-to-date, prestigious neighbors. It looks like it belonged in a different district. Or a different century. Several centuries. Without the empires’ intervention in preserving heritage structures, the council of merchants- and the capitals planning committee would have demolished the place and erected a building to match the current times.

Geralt glanced up at the shop’s sign above the gray awning, and grinned.

Vinne Exotisch

The etching below it: a goblet surrounded by grapes and an assortment of painted herbs and tubers that are generally identified as deadly poisons. There was an odd sign that did not belong, carved in the center of the goblet.

Geralt recognized it immediately. To the ignorant, it is just any other daring danger symbol. Geralt has seen them carved inside the walls of the human pens in Tesham Mutna.

The symbol of the Gharasham Tribe.

The door opened from the inside and a well-dressed young man exited, holding a wine bottle wrapped in dark brown paper that looked finer than the establishment it belonged to. Geralt grabbed the door before it closes, entered and flipped the “OPEN” sign to “CLOSE”.

A familiar cultured voice greeted him from behind the counter.

“Pick your poison, witcher, I believe I may have a bottle or two that you’ve not tried yet but I guarantee, it is far more satisfying that the usual concoctions you imbibed before a hunt, and much more intoxicating than all the wines in Toussaint.”

Geralt smiled, unbuckling his swords to rest on the counter surface.

“Well, well, you finally decided to market your mandrake brews to the public. I expected you’d be a barber-surgeon or a medic, not a vintner.”

Regis stepped out from behind the counter to shake Geralts’ proffered hand. The witcher, instead, pulled the vampire into a bear hug. After, Geralt held Regis at arms length and gave his old friend a look over, and chuckled.

“Heh, mister fancy pants! Traded your threadbare coat for some expensive threads-” he sniffed “- and smelling of soap instead of the inside of an apothecary.”

Regis gave him a full toothed grin, showing off those frighteningly sharp teeth. “Why not! In this city, cleanliness is next to godliness is the unwritten strict policy that every citizen of the empire takes into heart.”

Like the majority of the nilfgaardians, Emiel Regis wore black. His doublet is embroidered with gold threads in the pattern of elven vines partly covered by a fine short black cloak chained across and below his left armpit. He posed like a matador for Geralt.

“You like it? The outfit gives off an air of trust: which is very vital for a merchant selling exotics. Separates the snake oil salesmen from the experts.”

An eccentric expert more like, Geralt though humorously. “I never cared for doublets so I don’t know much about fashion. Try asking Yennefer. But you do look like you belong with the nobility. I can’t say the same about your shop.”

Regis waved a hand in dismissal. “Ah yes, this building is outdated, but it adds to the appeal of my exotic brews. Did you notice the sign outside?”

“Pretty hard to miss, since you advertise the tribe you belonged to. That is a dangerous symbol to wave about around these parts, even if, as you say, that nilfgaardians are so modern in their sensibilities that they think your kind are just boogeymen to scare the children to behave.”

“No humans have seen our vampire symbols, apart from yourself. And there are Toussaintous who mistook the visible ones as signs of the old gods of this world, even pray to them.”

[just-some-random-blogger]

Dry Humor

The Blonde Boys Club

Daemon Targaryen x Sorceress!Reader, Geralt of Rivia & Sister!Reader

Summary: I would say you pretty much convinced Daemon not to hold Geralt to his actions against him, considering how heavily he was flirting with you as you shared ale.

Word Count: 1k+

Warnings: AGAIN THE ONLY INCEST IN THIS IS THE CANON TARGARYEN INCEST IN HOTD I WILL DECK YOU IF U SHIP THE SIBS, fem!reader, witcher!twins, reader is kinda a witcher, I describe reader's hair and eye color, crack fic, typos, etc.

A/N: These gifs man 😩😩😩😩 they just make the scenario in my head so real. This has a part 1, though i dont think you need to read it to understand but it would make more sense though if you did. also idk if i will continue this, but yeah HAHHHA Also not everyone said they wanted to, but im tagging everyone that commented on the first part just cuz Tagging: @khaleesihavilliard @thenovelcarnival @miiikkeey @aomi-nabi @aralezinspace @pinksirensong @cleverzonkwombatsludge @ayamenimthiriel @deniixlovezelda

Daemon released a sigh as he leaned his arms on the table. His glistening, alcohol laced lips were curved and his tilted his head at me

"A very convincing stance," the prince says after hearing my explanation of my twin's cold tendencies, and how, as much as we were a team, Geralt tended to overlook this and act on his own accord.

"Though," Daemon adds raising a finger, "not convincing enough."

I lean back on my chair. The silver haired man, directly in front of me, skids his, so that he was on the other side of the square table, adjacent to me. Now that he was to my right, he gives me a dramatic frown, "I don't think Caraxes will ever recover from your witcher's viscous attack."

I feel my lips pull into a small smile. He is pleased by my reaction and breaks into a soft chuckle before continuing, "you're going to have to atone for your brother's treasonous actions."

I lean towards him, mirroring the way his elbows were propped on the table. His smirk grows when he finds that I am unabashedly moving so close to him that he smells the ale on my breath.

"What if I told you I don't care if you throw my brother in prison?"

Daemon tilts his head, closing the space between us that our noses brush, "and what if I kill him?"

I chuckle, "you could try," I lean back, "but you would regret it, Prince Daemon."

He tilts his head and narrows his eyes.

I decide not to note on the matter further. If he wanted to know what I meant, he can inquire himself.

"I'm curious," he starts, grabbing his cup, "you mentioned magic is what makes your features so."

I hum, crossing my arms.

"How are you so sure it is not magic of Old Valyria that courses through you?"

I snort, rolling my eyes, crossing my arms, "why are you obsessed with the notion that we share the same heritage?"

"Well, it would explain how my ride obeyed you," he says, hand extending towards me, "and it would make it easier for me to wife you up."

I grab his wrist before he reaches my hair.

He grins at the force, "quite a grip you have."

"You do understand, boy, that you have only met me?" I raise my brows at him, "you've no idea the life I've lead before your parents were even born."

When I release him, his face contorts. It seems he was only now remembering the long life of my kind. Daemon pulls his hand back, only to reach out again and push the white streak of my hair behind my ear. I let him, rolling my eyes as he does so, "then consider me eager to learn, wife."

"Do not call me that," I narrow my eyes at him.

He chuckles, correcting himself by saying my name.

In that moment, I decide to pick the tiny bit of twig that has been sticking out of his long hair the whole time. I show him the object before flicking it away. He appreciates the sentiment it seems. He should not thought of it at all; the thing had been annoying me the moment I spotted it.

"You said your hair burns white because of your brother's," Daemon shifts in his seat to face me, one arm on the backrest, the other on the table.

I nod, "there is a magic between us. I used think it was simply because we were twins, and we had a special bond, which was why the chaos in our beings were so tightly connected. But I've come to realize, throughout the decades, it may be perhaps our mother tied us together, so that no matter what, we would survive through each other."

"You said you did not know your parents," Daemon knits his brows as he tilts his head.

"I never said that," I blurt, uncrossing my hands.

I reach out for my ale, but find that it is all but full. I turn to Daemon, "excuse me while I get us both a refill."

I grab both our cups and head for the keeper. I feel Daemon watch me as I walk away.

It is there by the bar, I walk up beside Geralt, watching him down his own drink. He appears disgruntled. It makes my nostrils flare in amusment.

"Idle flirting amidst pathetic conversation," he notes, eyes on his cup, "I'd say I'm disappointed in the Targaryen, but I don't think that's anymore possible, since he's got about as much prowess as the dirt underneath my boot."

I chuckle as I turn to the bartender, beckoning her by raising my two cups, "a fitting analogy, don't you think?" I turn to my slumped brother, "you cannot seem to get the crust off your soles."

"My blades usually help," he grunts, golden eyes staring at me.

I huff, slapping my hand on his shoulder, "take heart. Our conversation will not last any longer."

He rolls his eyes, grabbing his cup, "does he know that?"

I offer coin to the bartender, telling her I'm paying for Geralt's drink as well. She smiles back at me, then nibbles at her lips at the sight of my brother, who was too caught up with his drink to even notice. I turn away from her when her lips part at the sight of Geralt's throat, dripping with ale, Adam's apple bobbing as he finishes the last of his ale.

I shudder, grabbing my drinks, "maybe you should have tried not to listen to our conversation."

He grumbles wiping his lips, "trust me, I did not want to hear that flying lizard talk about wifing you-" he cuts himself off with a retch-like burp.

I eye the bartender, still ogling my brother, "take care of him."

She turns to me stunned, as if not realizing I was still here.

"Took you long enough," Daemon blurts, leaning on his chair, "did your brother give you a hard time over me?"

I set the cups before him and sit back in my place spot, "if you are so curious of my brother's words, mayhap you have been conversing with the wrong twin."

"Gods," he starts, grabbing the refilled cup, "I would rather die than converse with that dull creature."

I break into a giggle, just as I hear Geralt chuckle darkly from his place. I sigh, rubbing the cup in my hand, "I'm sure my brother would love to arrange that."

Daemon keeps his eyes fixed on me as he drinks. When he props the cup down, I do not hear, or rather, I do not listen to his next words, as I feel a viseral tingle. I straighten up from my chair, looking out the window behind Daemon, looking across the tavern, before ultimately my gaze lands on my brother who was already looking back at me.

The prince watches me, turning to where I my sights were, then back to me, "is something a matter?"

"Someone is looking for you," I mutter, turning back to him. I narrow my eyes at him as I lean in, "are you on the run, prince?"

Daemon is stoic, but I feel his nerves.

All at once, Geralt is upon us, hand on his hilt, annoyance on his face, "times up," he grabs my arm, "I knew this was a bad idea."

Daemon eyes him as Geralt continues, "if you have any further grievances, your grace, I suggest you sort out the ones with your search party first."

Daemon watches as I stand.

I turn to Geralt, who gives me a dark look. I look back at Daemon, who seemed to have stiffened upon hearing my brother's words. I give him a nod, "I trust everything is sorted between us, my prince. May the gods bless you with good fortune in your endeavors."

Geralt releases me as we turn from Daemon. However, we both still when he calls out, "I'll hire you."

I raise a brow as I turn back to him. Geralt's face sours as Daemon stands, "needn't I only toss a coin to a Witcher?"

"Not interested," Geralt hisses.

Just then, a man bursts into the tavern, muddy, bloody, and distraught, "IS THERE A WITCHER HERE?"

I raise my hand up as Geralt turns. He takes in his bewildered expression before calling out, "here."

[jeanblack2056]

So. I haven't posted here in a while

But I'm writing a new Geraskier fic! It has a badass omega Jaskier who's seen some shite already, Warlord Geralt who ends up marrying him to prevent war, and a loooot of horny.

This is a little fanart I just drew during a lecture, featuring one of my favorite scenes so far.

[writersarea]

A Winter's Surprise

Chapter 2

Summary: Geralt takes a bad wound right before he is supposed to go up the mountain for the winter. Jaskier decides to go to Kaer Morhen in the worst way possible, uninvited with an injured Witcher.

Rating Teen Audiences and Up

Tags:         Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Lambert (The Witcher), Eskel (The Witcher), Vesemir (The Witcher), Winter at Kaer Morhen (The Witcher), Injured Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Kaer Morhen (The Witcher), Jaskier | Dandelion Goes To Kaer Morhen, Uninvited Guest, Found Family, Protectiveness, Kaer Morhen's Fanon Hot Springs (The Witcher), no beta we die like renfri, Slow Burn, But with Friendship

Excerpt:

“Jaskier. A pleasure. I don’t suppose there’s any chance we could all have some tea or something while we have this conversation, could we? I hope you’ll excuse me, but it’s almost a blizzard outside, and I don’t quite have the durability that you two do,” the bard managed to offer with a bright smile, though it felt a little ragged after three days of dragging Geralt up a fucking mountain.

Eskel had stepped around him, a hand resting on Lambert’s shoulder. The one who had snapped at him so easily. “I think we can afford a cup of tea and food for you. Given how you brought Geralt up here. We will be asking him to confirm anything you tell us though before you’re given any free roaming privileges of the Keep though,” the other remarked, voice less sharp than Lambert’s. Though clearly distrustful, he seemed to have the voice of reason between the two of them.

“Delightful! Then lead the way, I am starving, and there’s a good chance I’m going to crash now that I’m sure Geralt’s in good hands once I’m done eating, so please take that as a warning that I am utterly exhausted,” the bard offered, motioning for one of them to show him where he was going to find something to eat.

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[brazenedminstrel]

Chapters: 14/? Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, The Witcher (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Tissaia de Vries/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Characters: Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Tissaia de Vries, Philippa Eilhart, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion, Coral | Lytta Neyd, Fringilla Vigo, Vilgefortz of Roggeveen, Vanielle of Brugge, Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach, Klara Larissa de Winter, Sheala de Tancarville Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Witcher!Yennefer, Witcher!Coral, Canon-Typical Violence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Violence, Established Relationship Series: Part 2 of Still Waters Run Deep (the witcher!Yennefer series)

Chapter excerpt:

“Where the fuck did she go?”

On her feet too soon, still half stumbling, still leaning on a concerned Tissaia, Yennefer tried to scan the Great Hall. As the ringing slowly cleared from her ears, no longer plagued by visions of misfortune and Voleth Meir’s hellish cackling, her senses returned to normal.

The tree’s medallions still swayed from the force of the blast, dozens of them quietly ringing like unnerving, hollow bells. Neither Ciri nor a trace of the demon that had possessed her in sight, only long wisps of opaque, tacky white mist that drifted from the medallion tree towards the assembled witchers.

Yennefer was barely fast enough to rush forward and grab Geralt by the arm when he wanted to run off into the castle.

“Not yet, we don’t know what she’s capable of,” she warned him.

“She’s my child, Yen.”

“Your child, who is currently possessed by an ancient demon that I’ve tangled with more than you. There’s good reasons why the witchers of the Order shut her into that hut!”

(Now with art by @jxsmindoodles​!)

[ultralightpoe]

Blood Runs Cold- Geralt of Rivia

Authors Note: Part 8 of the Halloween event! Because Henry is the best witcher and we all know it.

Warnings: blood sucking?

Word Count: 1079

Requests: OPEN

~2024 Halloween Event Masterlist

[Thank you for the gif @bookstofilms ]

Enjoy!

There was once a time where you could feel the sun on your skin, and there was once a time where you could sit in a windowsill without a care in the world. Isn’t it ironic that you don’t get the perfect window to do such things until you’ve been cursed to never touch the sun again. 

You sit in the corner of the room, covered in dust and drapes over most the furniture since this was his least favorite room, cowered as you watch the sun come up through the badly boarded window. He hated this room because the window that sat in it was too big to cover properly, no matter how hard everyone tried. But what they never knew, since they spent daylight hours in their coffins, was that if you sat in the corner you could just barely miss the sunlight. 

This is what you did nearly every night, watch the sunlight stream through, and it was what you had been doing the night you heard the bangs. 

The first you figured was something within the castle falling, the second made you sit up, and the third was followed with a large crash that let you know there was someone breaking in. 

It didn’t take long to find the intruder, super speed and all. 

You watched the cloaked figure break into the castle, using the hilt of his sword to break some of the wood before he crawled through. You stalk from an upper balcony, being careful not to be hit by the sunlight he let stream through. You move so silently that you miss the times where you could hear your own steps, miss the times where you had to try and disguise them to sneak sweets from your mother. 

He is none the wiser that you are there, strapping his sword and beginning his search through. His steps are heavy yet fluid, and you find it oddly amazing to watch. It isn’t until he begins taking the stares up that his hood falls and you fight off a hiss at his white hair. 

That draws his attention and he pulls the sword back out as he searches for where it came from, finding you easily. His eyebrows shoot up the slightest notch before he returns to a set look with little to no emotion. 

“It’s been a minute since we had a witcher here.” You hum out, jumping onto the railing and walking along it easily. The thin skirt your husband made you wear draped over the side and you had to move the hair away from your shoulder. “I wonder why one is here now.”

“I didn’t know you beasts stayed up once the sun came up.” He hums back, and you watch him cast a small look to the windows, as if debating how he can open one for the sun. 

“What my master doesn’t know can’t hurt me.” You hum, kicking one foot out to move a candelabra away. “Are you here to kill us?”

“Should I be?” 

“So you are here looking for something? Might I be of assistance? I’d love to know what brought in a witcher.” It’s been so long in this dreadful castle that you forgot what talking to the outside world was like, and it’s been so long since you had seen a witcher that it was a thrill watching him. 

“I need an amulet.”

“A little more specific, witcher.” 

“Amulet of Atrate.” He answers and you hiss back. 

“My master wears it.”

“And..”

“Unless you want to wake him up on this night then you’ll have to wait.”

“For?” 

“Let’s say I could bring it to you?” You start, and if your heart still beat then you were sure it would be going too fast right now. “Let’s say I sneak out and bring it to you in the wooded area, and you could….. Save….me.” 

You try to hide the fangs, try to seem less of a threat as you offer this.

“Save you from?”

“This. This hell.” 

He swings the sword, and a bit of sun glints off of it and hits you, you hiss and draw back as your exposed leg gets burned. Before he can reach you to attack you disappear throughout the castle, the place going dreadfully silent as you debate what to do. 

You could wake your master, but you tried to avoid your husband whenever you could and if the witcher dared tell him what you just asked he would have you killed. He had three other wives to turn to. He would spare no remorse. 

A flash of black and gray before you are pulled down and pressed into the witchers chest with a sword at your throat. “You’re a lot easier to catch than most vampyrs.”

“I will call my master.”  

“You won’t. You hate him. You want out.” He seethes, “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Right. So he didn’t attack you in the dead of the night, he didn’t ruin your life.”

“The amulet is his. Go get it.”

“No. You get it.” He huffs, finally letting you go. “Meet me in the woods, as soon as you can.” 

And as if he were a vampire himself the witcher disappears without a trace. 

- 

You were terrified. For the first time in half a century your feet were on the cold earth as you trailed along the edge of the woods, waiting to hear any sound of the witcher you had met earlier. 

For a moment you debated if it was just a hallucination before you heard a branch break and you followed that until you found him crouched over a fire. “Witcher.” 

If you had scared him you would never know how well he hides it. But he stands smoothly and you feel a small sense of pride at the fact that he hadn’t grabbed the sword. 

“The amulet please.”

“Swear it, swear you’ll help me escape.”

He watches you for a moment and you wonder if he’s calculating how to kill you and for the first time you feel a sense of fear.

“I swear it.” This time his voice is deeper than it had ever been since you met him that day and you pull the amulet out for him. 

When he grabs it from your hand his thumb traces the top of it before pulling back. “I think I would have saved you even if we hadn’t struck a deal.”

-

[Thank you for the gif @lapanterarosa ]

[sweetmotherofcoffee]

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

[myers-meadow]

Happy birthday from your friend GD

Happy birthday @gauntermetaverse!!! No idea when your actual birthday is, but here it is <3

I tried playing with your fascination for Gaunter in the Cyberpunk universe (despite not having played Cyberpunk 2077 myself), and wanted to mix the world of Witcher back into it. I really hope you enjoy, this was rather experimental for me. HAPPY BIRTHDAY <3

Characters: reader, Gaunter, you can make it romantic if you want! <3

Warnings: none

Word count: 1104

Summary: Your mysterious friend GD wishes you a happy birthday, and shows you an interesting world - perhaps you can even make a wish.

Screenshot by me, divider by @saradika-graphics

Driving out of the city on your motorcycle, you drive and drive, keep going after the city is far away in your rearview mirror. The surrounding land is sparse with buildings and vegetation, but your relish in the peace that comes over you as you drive down the empty roads. Once you're far away, the sun is setting, and you stop by a tree. As you dismount, and sit down in the grass, your mind quiets. It's nice being away from the rush of the city, from the lights and the loud billboards, the tech, the holograms, the people. You lean yourself against the trunk of the tree and breath deep. Fresh air... Part of you wonders how the air would smell if it were further from the pollution of the city, but it's a vain hope. You'll be back in your apartment by tomorrow, as you always do.

A notification comes in on your phone, and after a moment of hesitation, you open it. It reads: 'tomorrow is your birthday. How about I take you someplace special?', signed with a simple GD. You've interacted with him before - you call it a him, because that's how he appears as, but as with many things, you can't be sure. He seemed ordinary enough, affable, clever, easy to get along with.

Considering what your day could otherwise have in store for you, meaning, not much special, you text back: 'what do you have in mind?'

From behind the tree, he approaches, flickering slightly. A hologram of him, of your mysterious GD.

"That's what I like to hear. How about we start with a riddle?" He clasps his hands behind his back, moving fully in your view at a leisurely pace. "Scratch that, we need a change of scenery first, don't you think?"

At once, the experience of falling into your body, like awakening from a deep sleep washes over you. It's unpleasant. When you look around, you're somewhere new, surrounded by greenery. Flowers, bushes, berries growing on heavy branches, the air is crisply clear, and smells sweet of nectar. The sun is high in the sky, shining bright, warming your face. The man, Gaunter, still stands in front of you, but he's not flickering anymore. It's dream-like, how you don't want to question what is happening. It feels unreal, but at the same time, good enough that you don't want to know the specifics. he could've hacked into your memory cache, or something of that sort. You'd figure that all out, once you're back.

"As for the riddle, here goes: A crystal mirror shows it's depths, carve through my surface, let me ripple, find me where many a maiden in joy has wept, and don't get cold feet." He smiled gently, steepling his fingers. "And please, do enjoy these beautiful gardens. There are none other like it in this world." With that, he walked off. When you went after him, he was nowhere to be seen. 

Meticulously, you consider the riddle. Water. It makes you think of water. Not knowing where to find any, you wander around the gardens. Indeed, they are beautiful. Bright, full of many different kinds of plants, some you've never even seen before. The atmosphere is relaxed, and you delight in how different it is from your usual reality. The people are similarly pleasant, with enough free time to spend just by frolocking around beautiful gardens. If it were up to you, you'd love to stay. This is special, and better than any luxury resort - even if only for the clean air and soft breeze carrying the scents of flowers. The sun lowers itself down the heavens, and as you climb a small hill to get a better view, you spot it. A small lake. Shored are small wooden rowboats.

"That must be it, 'carve through my surface, let me ripple'," you mumble to yourself. You'll find him by the rowboats.

Making your way to the lake shore took a while, and dusk has settled. On your way, you met a bard, who tucked a flower into your hair and called you beautiful. The lake shimmers like none other you've ever seen, the brightest of blue's, reflecting the clouds and the setting sun with such vivid colours, it makes you feel blinded. Like before, you lived in a mucky place, with unsaturated colours, your senses dulled by smog. But not today, you muse, as you remove the rope from one of the rowboats. It's a small thing, but well-maintained. Two oars lay on the bottom of the boat. You throw the rope in, and cautiously, you follow. The boat rocks until you balance yourself. Now that you're there, you don't really know where to go, so you push yourself off, and clumsily row yourself onto the lake. Today had been such fun, you muse, as you go over how weird it's been that your strange friend took you here, only to send you right off with a riddle. Yet it was fun. One of the more... special birthdays, certainly. Unpredictable too, you smile.

"Having fun?" comes his voice, and you look up to see him, not even two metres away, on a boat like yours, cross legged on the bench. The two of you drift closer and you turn around to face him.

"I am. Why did you bring me here?"

"To show you, and to gift you this experience. Let's call it a gift out of gratitude for all the thought you put into me."

You shrug, not entirely understanding. "Why here?"

"This land is called Toussaint. Isn't it beautiful? It's a delight for the senses. Here," he hands you a bottle of wine, it's labelled 'white wolf' - peculiar name for a wine. "Let's toast to your good health, and another year around the sun."

A shiver creeps over you as the sun truly starts to set. The shore of the lake lights up with beautiful lanterns. As you hesitate, Gaunter takes over, plops off the cork, and reaches down in his boat for two glasses. He hands you a full one, the scent of wine is strong, a full bodied grape, with hints of blackcurrant.

"Thanks," you say, smelling it. "Everything is so vibrant here."

"Indeed it is. Happy Birthday. Cheers." He clinks his glass against yours, and without breaking eye contact, you drink. "With this toast, comes a proposal. Or should we enjoy the ambience a little longer? Look, they're setting off the wishing lanterns." 

You look up to see people gathering on the shore, letting lanterns float upwards in the sky. A perfect night to make a wish.

[swan--writes]

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

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

[winters-mistress]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Too hot. Still far too hot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looks at her, earnest.

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

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

[freudensteins-monster]

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

[witcherwheeloftheyear]

Witcher Events List

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

Updated: March 21 2024

Now with a spreadsheet

Vernon Roche Spring of Shipping

March 22 to April 22 2024

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May 1st-7th 2024

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