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wickedwitchofthegalaxy · 8 days ago

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☞︎𝑅𝓊𝓁𝑒𝓈

𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: 𝑮𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒍𝒕𝑿𝑭𝒆𝒎!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: NSFW, Angst, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Enemies to Lovers, Gore, Size Difference, Trust Issues, Power Imbalance

𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 6K

𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: The woods are no place for a dancer, but when you’re forced to flee a life that isn’t your own, the only option is to follow the whispers of a bard and the promise of a Witcher’s protection.

𝒩𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈: I’m so excited to share this with yall, as it might be one of my last fanfics for a while because I want to shift towards OC’s and fleshing out a few ideas for potential books. Anywho, hope you guys like it. Banners by @cafekitsune !

𝐸𝓃𝒿𝑜𝓎 🖤

There’s something about the silence in the woods that’s wrong—like it’s holding its breath, waiting for you to slip. The woods are thick with mist, the air damp and heavy, clinging to your skin like a warning.

You should have stayed at the inn; you should’ve kept your head down. But you didn’t. Not this time. And now you’re in a place you don’t belong, looking for a man who’s more myth than man.

Geralt of Rivia, the Witcher.

You don’t know what you’re expecting to find when you locate him. In the stories, he stands out in every room; he shouldn’t be hard to find—which were your exact thoughts when you left the inn and headed into the forest that Jaskier said the Witcher would be riding in from. It was only a 20-minute walk, and you had been waiting on this supposed White Wolf since the break of dawn. Every step forward is a gamble and the moment you step into a clearing, you realize you’ve lost the bet.

The clearing is not empty. It’s filled with the noise of metal on bone, of vicious growls and heavy breathing. You freeze. A figure cloaked in battle-worn leather is in full swing against… what is that thing?

He’s fighting—fighting something—someone. It’s not the first time you’ve walked into danger without meaning to, but this time, it’s different. This isn’t the same as a drunken noble’s leering hands or a back-alley brawl. No, this is life or death.

You should leave. You know you should. But you don’t.

You step forward, not thinking, not planning.

“Geralt!” You call out, way too loudly.

He doesn’t even flinch in your direction.

The sword in his hand moves with terrifying ease, slicing through the air. It’s the creature— that thing, some twisted shape of beast and man—that’s the focus of his ire. You’re invisible to him.

The creature—too quick, too feral—lashes out. Its clawed hand strikes, barely missing Geralt but connecting with a nearby tree, shredding the side of it.

The world seems to stop as Geralt’s focus shifts. His eyes snap to you, and a single syllable leaves his lips.

“Run.”

You don’t.

Instead, you take a step forward, propelled by some stupid instinct to survive—or maybe it’s something else. Maybe it’s the gnawing knowledge that waiting any longer will leave you trapped in a life that isn’t yours. And right now, even this forest, this creature, this man, feels safer than the suffocating pull of the noose tightening back home.

“Geralt, I—”

The words choke in your throat as the creature turns its attention to you. It’s fast, rabid, and it’s snapping at anything in its reach. Geralt curses under his breath, his shoulders tensing as his blow connects to the leg of the creature. The monster’s blood splatters across his face, and he doesn’t flinch. He never flinches. But when he steps toward you—when his movements are a blur of motion—you feel the urgency, the danger.

There’s a flash of light, the sickening crack of bone, and the creature drops. Silence.

The thing lies crumpled at Geralt’s feet, its twisted form unnervingly still. The quiet that follows is asphyxiating, pressing in on your ears as though the forest itself has collapsed inward. Your fists tremble, but you keep them closed at your hips, forcing yourself to hold steady. The fear claws at the edges of your resolve, but you push it down, shove it deep where it can’t stop you. You’ve survived worse—or at least you tell yourself that you have.

Geralt straightens, his blade dripping with something too dark to be blood. His gaze is on the corpse, but you know—you can feel—that he’s aware of every breath you take. He wipes the blood from his blade with a cloth you don’t remember him pulling out, his movements methodical and swift. The weight of his attention shifts to you slowly, like a hunter debating whether the effort of pursuit is worth it.

“What,” he begins, his voice low, “are you doing here?”

It’s not a question. It’s an accusation, one that cuts deeper than you thought it would. His eyes—yellow, and cold as winter’s wrath—meet yours, and it’s as if the forest stops breathing again.

You can’t find your voice immediately. The scene, what’s left of the creature, the way the Witcher’s chest heaves, the still-damp blood streaked across his face, pins you in place. Your words stumble out before you’ve fully caught them.

“I—Jaskier—he said—”

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s lips press into a thin, humorless line. He steps closer, his boots crunching against the blood-soaked earth. He towers over you now, his expression carved from stone.

“Do you have a death wish?”

He doesn’t look away, doesn’t give you room to breathe, the question hanging there like a snare waiting to snap shut. His lips tighten, and for a moment, he looks as though he might simply turn and leave you standing there. But he doesn’t. Instead, his hand lingers near his sword, his jaw clenched tight.

“You shouldn’t be here, much less yelling my name in the middle of the forest. Jaskier told me to meet a woman by the name of—“

He takes a deep breath and exhales dramatically, making his distaste for his next words. “The Court Swan, at the inn. I’m assuming that’s you?” His words are laced with disbelief, as if Jaskier has played one of his infamous jokes on him about your nickname.

You hesitate before nodding. “Yes. That’s me.” You take a step forward, ignoring the shake in your knees. It’s a dance, you tell yourself. Every movement calculated, every breath measured.

Geralt studies you with a scrutiny that feels more invasive than any gaze should, like he’s peeling back every layer of pretense with those sharp, wolfish eyes. You’ve felt the prestige of a royal audience before, the way their eyes skim over your form with detached judgment, but this is something else. This is dangerous. He’s dangerous.

“You’re a dancer.” It’s not a question, but you hear the skepticism in his tone. He casts a wary glance around the forest as he continues. “Why is a dancer running errands for a poet?”

“I’m not—” Bile rises into your throat, and you swallow hard. You shift your weight, your boots sinking into the damp mud as your hands clench at your sides.

“I’m not running errands. I’m here because… because I saved his life.”

Geralt’s expression doesn’t change, but something flickers behind his eyes, and a dry smirk etches across his lips. “And that turned into my problem how?” His voice remains flat, cutting.

The weight of his gaze, his questions, presses down on you, and suddenly you’re spilling the truth before you can stop yourself.

“The royals I dance for—danced for—found out. They didn’t like that I helped him.” You pause, swallowing hard. Geralt’s gaze doesn’t waver. If anything, it sharpens. You can feel the sting of it, like a blade poised just above your skin.

“So they decided to punish me for it.”

He wipes his blade again, the motion deliberate, and sheathes it with a muted click. The admission hangs in the clearing, and for a moment, Geralt says nothing; neither of you moves, the world around you held at bay.

“I saved his life,” you repeat, your voice stronger now, gaining resolve. “Jaskier has these friends; they—” You pause, searching your pockets for the letter Jaskier sent with you to give Geralt. Finding the small envelope, you hold it up to him. “They’re victims of… one of the royals… habits.”

Geralt shifts slightly, his shoulders still tense, his eyes narrowing. “And what do you expect from me, exactly?” He grabs the envelope, it growing smaller the instant it leaves your hands and enters his. The forest presses in around you, the trees whispering secrets in the breeze, as if the woods themselves are listening and waiting for you to shatter under all this pressure while he opens the letter and reads it.

“Help,” you say, almost pleading. “I don’t know where to go or what to do. Jaskier said you might—that you know things I don’t.”

Geralt exhales sharply through his nose, the sound closer to a growl than a sigh. “Of course he did,” he mutters, dragging a hand through his damp, blood-matted hair. “And what exactly does he think I’m supposed to do? Take you in? Fight off your enemies? Play bodyguard for a dancer who thought it was a good idea to get involved in politics?”

“I didn’t ‘get involved,’” you bite back, heat rising in your cheeks. “I—” The words catch in your throat, shame and anger tangling together. “I didn’t have a choice. What do you know about me? What did Jaskier tell you?”

His eyes narrow further, the yellow of his irises growing colder, more assessing as he studies you. His staring is almost rude; you would have called him on it in any other situation. But you guess this is a situation where you too would be cautious of the strange girl coming to you for help. Especially in the middle of the woods. “Jaskier wasn’t being entirely honest when he mentioned my ‘help’,” he says finally, his voice low and deliberate. “Damien—Damien…?”

“Damien Clyde.” You clarify quickly, before the monster’s name can burn your tongue.

“Clyde,” Geralt repeats, testing the name as his eyes unfocus slightly. He shifts again, his gaze returning to the shadows of the trees around you. “I know Damien Clyde well—well enough to know that he’s ruthless.”

Geralt’s gaze returns to you, sharp and penetrating. “He’s got a lot of enemies,” he continues, his voice lower, almost a whisper. “But he also has a lot of loyal followers—people who will do anything to protect him. Even if that means hunting down a pretty little dancer.”

“Which is why I need your help,” you say, your voice steady despite the tremor in your hands. “I’m not asking for much. Just a place to hide, a way to keep ahead of his hunters—”

“You’re asking for a miracle,” Geralt cuts in, his voice sharper now, a low exclamation that seems more a reaction than an accusation. “And that’s not something I can provide.”

You feel the strike of his words like they were physical, your heart sinking. “I don’t know what else to do,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “I need something—someone—who knows the way Damien thinks, knows how he operates.”

Geralt looks at you then, really looks, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find some hidden truth there. “And what makes you think I can help with that?” he ventures, his voice softer now, almost gentle. “What do you think I know about Damien Clyde that you don’t?”

You hesitate for a moment, considering his question. “You’ve faced monsters like him before,” you finally say, your voice firm, though the anxiety still ripples through you. “You know what makes them tick. Damien is a monster in his own right, just… different. I think you’ve seen enough to understand,” you insist, your voice holding onto that firmness despite the doubt that claws at you. “More than most.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, letting the silence stretch out between you while he contemplates your words. When he does reply, it’s with a shake of his head and a heavy sigh.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he admits, his voice low and laced with frustration as he crumbles the letter in his hand. “But I can’t leave you to fend for yourself either.”

“Then what can you do?” You countered, desperation edging into your tone. You take a quick step, closing in on his personal space. His whole body tenses, and if you thought he was scary before, getting closer only tripled his effect. Regardless of his enhanced presence, you keep his gaze, your head tilting up as you add, “If it’s not a miracle, what’s left?”

Geralt takes a deep breath, his jaw flexing as he peers down at you. “I can give you a head start,” he states, his arms crossing while he rolls his shoulders. “I know some places, some people… ways to get you out of sight for a while, to keep you safe. But Damien’s going to keep coming after you.”

You shake your head, your eyebrows furrowing before you speak up, your voice rising slightly. “No, I’m not leaving your side. You know how to evade him; you know everything I need to know in order for me to live. I’m not going anywhere without you.”

Geralt’s eyes slim, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. He hesitates for a moment, as if weighing his options, before letting out a slow breath. “Dammit,” he mutters under his breath, as if cursing the situation more than you.

“You’re asking for more than I can give,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “But for now… I guess it’s enough.”

“Then let’s go,” you cut in, determination in your voice as you turn and start walking deeper into the woods. Geralt doesn’t move immediately, watching you with a mix of frustration and something darker—resignation, perhaps. Finally, he sighs and shouts, “Where do you think you’re going?”

You stop, confused, and turn back to him. “What? I thought—”

“Wrong way,” Geralt interrupts, his tone sharper than you expected. He glares at you, and his eyes flick around the woods as if he’s checking for threats.

“Rule one: always follow me.”

You blink at him, taken aback by the sudden correction. “I didn’t—”

“You didn’t think,” he cuts in, his voice tinged with frustration. “Keep close and do as I say. No more running off, no more going your own way. No more thinking, just listen.”

You swallow, nodding quickly as you step back to where he stands, his judging eyes never leaving you. “Got it,” you say, trying to keep your voice from wavering. “Lead on.”

Geralt grunts, but there’s a hint of reluctant approval in his eyes as he turns and starts walking again, this time in the right direction.

“Let’s move,” he mutters, not looking back to see if you’re following. “And keep your head down.”

One Month Later…

The forest and a small, tucked-away hut have become a sanctuary for the two of you, away from prying eyes and the ever-watchful hunters sent by Damien. The rules that Geralt laid down—the ones you initially dismissed with an eye roll or two—are now second nature. Rule one: always follow him. Rule two: don’t ask questions unless he allows it. Rule three: never assume you’re safe. They’re becoming etched into your memory as much as the steps you now take in combat.

You haven’t felt this alive in years. Every day is a test, a dance of a sort. Although you did miss just dancing. It’s grueling—Geralt’s training regime—but it’s given you purpose.

Today, the clearing outside the tiny hut is quiet, the only sound being the rustle of leaves in the breeze. Geralt is off to the side, sharpening his sword with deliberate strokes. You approach him, your own blade feeling unfamiliar in your hands. It’s a strange sensation, not just the weight of the sword but the unfamiliarity with its use.

“Come on,” Geralt says without looking up, his voice rough from disuse. “You’re better than this. Focus.”

You take a deep breath, gripping the hilt tightly. He watches you from beneath his tousled white hair, his eyes sharp as always. It feels as if he can see right through you, to the fear and doubt lurking beneath your surface.

“Show me,” he instructs, his eyes never leaving yours and his tone even. “What you’ve learned.”

You move forward slowly, cautious. The blade feels like a stranger’s hand in yours, and you thrust forward with a hesitant jab. It’s clumsy and weak, nothing like the smooth, deadly movements you’ve seen him perform. Geralt barely reacts, just steps back and shakes his head.

“Again,” he orders, his voice low. “But faster this time. You’re thinking too much.”

You nod, trying to ignore the way his gaze follows your every move. There’s an intensity to his focus that makes you want to prove yourself, to show him that you’re not just a dancer who stumbled into his world by accident. You gather your courage and lunge again, more confidently this time.

Geralt blocks the strike effortlessly, his own blade moving in a blur as he counters with a series of rapid jabs. You dodge, your heart pounding in your chest as you scramble to keep up. Each strike feels like it could be the last, and the sweat on your skin isn’t just from exertion—it’s fear.

“You need to relax,” he says, lowering his sword and stepping closer. “Focus on your breathing. You’re too tense.”

You try to listen, but the pressure of the situation—of Damien, of everything you’ve left behind—makes it hard. “It’s not that easy,” you admit, your voice shaky with toil as you lower your own blade. “I don’t even know what I’m doing here. Why did you agree to this?”

Geralt’s cheek twitches slightly as he looks at you, his eyes keeping yours for a moment too long. “You’re not the only one who needs to survive,” he says, his voice low. “I took on your burdens the moment you screamed my name in those woods. Your end will be mine; that’s assured.”

You swallow hard, feeling something tighten in your chest. “So this is just about survival?”

He hesitates, then steps closer, his fingers brushing lightly against the blade in your hand. “Maybe,” he admits quietly. “But it’s more than that. You’re not just some dancer to me anymore, are you?”

“What does that mean?” you ask, your voice on the edge of silence.

Geralt hesitates again, then steps back, his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Later,” he says, his tone clipped. “Let’s just finish for today.”

Disappointment floods through you, and you don’t bother to hide it. Your hand gripping the hilt of your blade harder. “Fine,” you mutter, squaring up to him. “Later.”

Geralt watches you for a long moment before raising his blade, stretching it out between you two, his hand steady and practiced.

“Rule one,” he says, his gaze locked in on your eyes, “always follow me.”

You fight with a ferocity you didn’t know you had, pushing yourself to keep up with his quick movements. Every thrust and parry brings you closer to frustration. Your arms ache, the weapon in your hands feeling heavier with each swing. It’s a cruel reminder of your mortality—how little separates you from failure.

Geralt’s moves are sharp as he counteracts each of yours with ease. “Focus,” he snaps after one particularly errant swing. Another parry, another twist of his wrist, and your strike falters… Again.

“You’re letting your emotions get in the way.”

Of course I am, you bastard. I’m not a machine.

“I don’t have time for this!” You bark, your anger bubbling over. Your vision blurs; whether from sweat or tears, you can’t tell. “I don’t have time for you and your rules, Geralt! I need to find a way out!”

His face darkens, the pale skin stretched tight over a grimace as he steps back, and you hate the way your stomach twists at the sight.

Why does his silence feel like a punishment? Like I failed some mysterious test?

“Then leave,” he says, his voice calm and flat, dangerous in its restraint. “Go somewhere else. I’m not stopping you.”

You freeze; your sword dips, the blade scraping the dirt. “You know I can’t,” you mutter, teeth clenched against the truth as you abandon your blade. Your eyes are barely able to lift from the ground to meet his as you continue, ”he’ll find me. And if I go alone—“

“Then you’ll end up dead,” he growls, finishing for you, his eyes hardening. “And Damien will still win.”

I know that. I know that, but do you think I want to hear it? Do you think I haven’t imagined my own corpse lying in his shadow?

The thoughts press down on you, but your voice cuts through them, bloody and breaking. “Then help me!” you yell, your voice cracking. “Don’t just stand there, judging me and shit! Fight for me!”

An unmistakable glow overtakes his eyes, fire behind the gold. His tone lowers, softer now but somehow more threatening. “Is that what you want?” He’s in front of you in seconds, his long legs carrying him quickly and placing him inches away from you. “You want me to fight for you?” He whispers, his head leaning down.

You take a shuddering breath, your heart pounding as you look up at him, his expression more vulnerable than you’ve ever seen it.

He’s testing me. Always testing.

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice breaking as the admission drags itself out of your chest. “Yes, I do.”

Geralt’s gaze softens ever so slightly, though his jaw remains tight. He reaches out and takes your chin gently between his fingers, tilting your face up to meet his. “Then you need to fight for yourself too,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip. “I can’t do it alone.”

Haven’t I been doing that?

You swallow hard, your heart pounding as you meet his eyes. “I’m trying,” you plea, your words shaking as they exit your mouth. “I just… I don’t know how.”

“Let me show you,” he states, his voice low and steady. “But you have to listen, and you have to trust me.”

Do I even know how to trust anymore? When was the last time someone asked me to? When was the last time I didn’t regret it?

Tears well up in your eyes as you nod, feeling smaller than you ever have.

How did I let it come to this? When did I become so helpless?

Your voice shakes as it leaves you, and your hand comes up to clutch your stomach. “I want to.”

His bright amber eyes search yours, as if looking for some kind of answer to this mess. “Good,” he finally replies, his tone soft and deep. “Then show me.”

He closes the distance between you, his hands cradling your face as his mouth captures yours in a kiss that’s both angry and gentle.

Angry and gentle. How is that even possible? How is he pulling me closer while it feels like he’s punishing me?

“Show me you can fight,” he murmurs against your lips, his hands tracing the curve of your neck, gliding down to your shoulders, urging you closer. “Show me you’re not afraid.”

Afraid?

You kiss him back, your movements clumsy, desperate, as if to prove something—to him or to yourself, you’re not sure. Your hands find the buttons of his shirt, your fingers trembling as they work to undo them. “I’m not,” you mumble, the words quaking. “I can handle this.”

A low sound escapes him, somewhere between a growl and a hum, as he shrugs his shirt off the rest of the way.“That’s what I wanted to hear.” He breathes, his voice rough.

His hands move slowly as he peels your shirt from your body, pulling it over your head and tossing it aside. The cool air kisses your skin, but it’s his mouth you feel most. You let out a soft gasp as his mouth reconnects with yours, then moves, trailing along your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin as his hands roam down your back. His calloused fingers mix with the cool breeze, leaving goosebumps to emerge along your body.

He lowers his kisses down to your collarbone, hands slipping under your waistband to touch your skin. You gasp as his teeth graze the sensitive curve. His hands are everywhere—on your waist, your back, your face—his lips never leaving your flesh, which causes your words to fly out with little thought. “Show me how to fight; I’ll listen this time.”

Is this what surrender feels like?

“I’ll show you, but first,” he promises as he leans down, hooking his hands under your thighs and lifting you. You cling to him as your heart hammers in your chest. “you have to let go.” He murmurs against your lips, the words less a challenge and more a demand.

Let go? Of all the things Damien has done? Of all those poor women? Or is he meaning let go of my old life, the one I worked so hard to achieve? Maybe he means all of it, and if he does, how am I supposed to just… let that go?

Your hands find his face, cupping his cheeks as you search his expression. His wet lips, his golden gaze—they’re too much, too honest. You press your forehead to his, closing your eyes tightly. “I don’t know how. I—I can’t.” You admit, your voice a fractured whisper.

“Yes, you can,” he says, the conviction in his voice stronger than your doubts. His eyes remain on yours as he carries you toward the hut, taking large steps while keeping a tight hold on you. “You’re stronger than you think.”

He doesn’t bother with closing the door as he maneuvers you inside, the hut’s worn frame groaning under the sudden shift in weight. You barely register the dim interior, your focus consumed entirely by him—his grip, his heat, the way he sets you down on the makeshift straw bed with a care that feels at odds with his rough edges.

His hands find your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks in a way that sends warmth spiraling through you. His lips crash into yours, this kiss deeper, hungrier.

“Just trust me,” he mutters against your mouth again, his breath warm as it mingles with yours. His hands are already at your waistband, his fingers deftly unfastening the fabric. “Trust me.”

How does he make it feel like he’s taking something from me and giving it back at the same time?

The words linger in the air, heavy and unfamiliar, before spilling from your lips. “I trust you.” You whisper as the faint rasp of fabric fills the space, his hands pushing your pants past your ankles.

You let out a soft whimper as his fingers graze your skin. His hands, steady and searching, make their way down your body, his touch a mixture of need and tenderness. His mouth finds your neck again, lingering at the tender spot beneath your ear.

“What’s my third rule?” He questions, his voice a low growl while his lips brush against the shell of your ear.

The words come to you like a reflex.

“Never assume you’re safe.” You reply, your voice barely a breath as his fingers brush against the sensitive skin between your legs. “Good girl,” he praises, the depth in his tone making the two single words vibrate through you.

I’m not safe. Not from Damien. Not from myself. Not from him.

“Don’t assume anything right now.” He commands, his hands starting a slow, deliberate tease against your clit.

“This is about trust,” he murmurs, his voice softening as his fingers find their way inside you, the sensation tame yet overwhelming. “Show me you trust me.”

You can’t hold back the moan that escapes you, your hands tangling in his hair. His thumb finds your clit, brushing it before circling the swollen nub with an infuriatingly slow pace.

“I trust you,” you gasp, clutching at him, desperate to pull him closer. “Please, Geralt.”

Please what? Please stop? Please keep going? Please make me forget everything but this?

His lips return to your neck, trailing a line of heat down to your collarbone, where he pauses, his breath fanning. "You keep saying it," he mumbles against you as two fingers curl inside you, his thumb stopping its circles as he shifts his focus to finding that sweet spot inside of you. "but trust is more than words." His teeth graze your shoulder, each edge marking your flesh with a maddeningly gentle scratch.

A choked gasp leaves you as his fingers find it, and he presses again, firm and deliberate, sending a jolt through you that makes your body arch into him. His lips curve into a smirk against your shoulder, his breath warm as he shifts his angle; his fingers press and release in rapid succession, as though he’s flicking a switch that ignites something molten inside you.

"Trust is letting go."

Letting go. The words land heavily, like a challenge. Your thoughts spin out of control, colliding with the steady rhythm of his touch. His fingers move deeper, his pace increasing ever so slightly, causing the most beautiful, juicy noises to leave your soaking heat.

It’s too much. It’s not enough. It’s everything.

Your control splinters under the sensation, the rest of the world dissolving into nothing but the relentless pace of his touch and the way your body reacts to him. His thumb resumes its place over your clit, pressing firmly, circling, teasing, in perfect counterpoint to the rapid release and maddening pressure of his fingers inside you. It’s as if he’s playing you like an instrument, coaxing sounds from your lips that you didn’t know you could make.

“Like that?” he murmurs, his voice low and knowing. The meticulous motion of his fingers quickens, not frantic but punishing, each thrust landing with perfect accuracy to help prove his point.

Your answer comes as a broken moan, your hands gripping his shoulders, nails biting into his toned muscles. “Come on beautiful,” he growls, his voice slicing through the haze, grounding you and yet setting you further adrift. “Don’t hold back.”

It’s not a request. It’s a command; an answer.

You can’t even think of resisting—not when his lips find the edge of your jaw, his teeth grazing the delicate curve with just enough pressure to make you shiver. “That’s it,” he growls, his voice a low mix of admiration and darkness. “That’s my good little dancer.”

His hand never falters, fingers thrumming inside you with care, his thumb rubbing your clit with a focus that borders on cruel. You’re unraveling—thread by thread, piece by piece—until you’re nothing but raw nerve endings responding to him.

This is surrender; you’re sure of it now.

“Geralt—” His name is a plea, a prayer you didn’t know you had in you.

“Let it happen, baby,” he murmurs, his golden eyes locking on yours while his free hand grasps the inside of your thigh, spreading it open further. The calluses on his palm feel rough against the tender skin, a downright opposition to the soft, devastating rhythm of his other hand. “Don’t fight it.”

You don’t even know what it is anymore. The trust he keeps demanding? The fear you’ve been holding onto like a lifeline? Or this—a brutal, undeniable pleasure that’s tearing you into eight million different pieces?

Your hips buck against his hand, chasing every stroke, every press, every flick of his fingers as if they’re the only thing keeping you alive. And maybe they are.

He leans in, his lips brushing over yours—not a kiss, not exactly. Just a breath, a glimpse of contact that steals the air from your lungs. “You’re close,” he says, his voice so deep it almost sends you over. “I can feel it.”

You shake your head, a wordless denial, though you don’t know who it’s meant for.

“You are,” he insists, his fingers quickening, pushing deeper, as if to prove it. In seconds he’s replaced his thumb with his free hand, that thumb taking over and having a better angle to rub your swollen clit with more ferocity as his other fingers continue their assault against your sweet spot. Your body betrays you, the denial caught in your throat unraveling as your thighs quiver against his hands.

Your eyes shoot open, locking with his as his voice rings out, “And you’ll take it,” he says, his voice a low snarl. His eyes bore into yours, molten gold burning through the fog of pleasure clouding your mind. “You’ll take it because I’m giving it to you.”

“Geralt,” you manage to yelp, the name cracking on your lips as your nails dig into him.

“Don’t fight me,” he growls again, but there’s something different now—a hint of frustration, a flash of unapologetic desire. His pace quickens and he adds a third finger, thrusting harder, each motion a declaration of his lesson.

Your head tips back, your lips parting as you let out a sound that’s somewhere between a moan and a sob, the pleasure climbing higher, threatening to crest.

“Yes, yes, baby,” he purrs, his voice softening but no less commanding. He leans in, his lips retaking their place by your ear. “Don’t you dare hold back now.”

You don’t. You can’t. It feels like he’s everywhere, filling every part of you, dragging you down until there’s nothing left but the electric pulse of your own climax.

“There she is,” he grunts, a harsh whisper against the shell of your ear. “Don’t stop now. I want all of it.”

The tension inside you coils tighter, until it pulls taut, stretching to the breaking point, then fractures—an eruption that floods your veins with unbridled energy and a rush of power. Cries tear from your throat, and your body convulses around him as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you, leaving you shaking, gasping, unraveling completely in his hands.

He doesn’t slow. Doesn’t stop. And the sounds spilling from your lips are unrestrained, a language you don’t recognize but can’t suppress.

He watches you like he’s orchestrated the entire thing, some maestro of chaos and submission. “There,” he rasps, his voice dragging across your skin like gravel. “That’s what I wanted.” His lips trail and hover at the edge of your jaw, close enough that you feel every syllable. “No masks. No more dancing. Just you. ”

Your hands tremble against his shoulders, searching for some way to anchor yourself as the tremors pulse through you. He shifts, his movements slowing, fingers easing their pace but never truly stopping.

He’s still there, still consuming, like a river that flows faintly beneath a hidden surface.

“Look at me,” he breathes, and there’s no question in his tone. It makes your eyes flutter up to his, barely able to keep them focused on his face.

“Did you feel it?” he asks, his voice lowered, yet holding the same harsh charge. His fingers remain inside you, his other hand stills on your sensitive clit while his fingers inside rub small circular motions against your bulging g-spot. “That breaking point? That moment when you let it all go?”

You can only nod, your throat too raw for words.

“Good,” he says, his lips ghosting over the corner of your mouth—not quite a kiss, but enough to make your heart skip. “Remember it. Because that’s trust.”

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wren-of-the-woods · 2 years ago

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Curse Fic Recs

I absolutely love Witcher fics where a character gets cursed so I thought I'd share some of my favorites! All of them are Geraskier except for a few Lambden ones at the end.

If anyone has other fics to reccommend, please feel free to give them a shoutout – I’d love to read them!

Cursed Jaskier

A Friend in the Wild by @samstree (Rated T, 1k)

In which Geralt acquires a tiny mouse friend who wouldn't stop following him.

If There's Any Sleep At Night by @smolalienbee (Rated T, 22k)

A mare, also known as a mara or a zmora - a malicious entity, a bringer of nightmares and a demon of the night. An easy enough contract to fulfill, if only frustrating, or at least that’s what Geralt believes when he first sets out to hunt down one such mare. What he doesn’t expect is to be wrapped up in a tale of a wronged soul, of love and of joy.

My Name is Hidden On Your Tongue by @anarchycox (Rated T, 10k)

Jaskier is cursed. Well his whole family line is. Every male born child cannot be named. They can be given a name, but it will never be a true one and people will always have an allergic reaction to saying this false name. Only a soulmate speaking your true name aloud will break the curse. The family though has never cared, they've only cared about the family fortune and marrying well. But Jaskier cares. He is determined to travel the world, find his soulmate and learn what his name is. And the best way to travel the world seems to be with a rather taciturn witcher named Geralt of Rivia. If he started to hope that Geralt would be the one to say his true name, well that was one thing that Jaskier would not say aloud.

The Cursed Jewels of Lettenhove by GoldenDaydreams (Rated T, 8k)

Geralt has no intention of getting involved with breaking a curse and naturally ends up very involved.

Silver and Copper by @heronfem (Rated M, 56k)

Jaskier is kept from becoming a bard. Geralt finds him anyway.

Priceless by @handwrittenhello (Rated M, 38k)

Jaskier was cursed as a child; when spilled, his blood turns to rubies and his tears turn to diamonds. When his secret is discovered, Geralt must save him from those who would take advantage of it. Together they work to break the curse, but the cost might end up being too steep.

Set My Wings on Fire by bilboakenshield27 (Not Rated, 4k)

Jaskier gets turned into a bird and has to warn Geralt about an ambush.

Sleep of the Dead by @dancedelion (Rated T, 20k)

Jaskier thinks he hit rock bottom when Geralt flushed twenty years of friendship down the drain, but then he finds himself suddenly translucent and rudely walked through by a traveller. Apparently he's dead - that's certainly a new low. He needs to find out what happened, and who better to help him than the man who's made more than clear he wants nothing to do with him.

The Sandpiper by @welcomemysentence (Rated T, 2k)

When Jaskier gets cursed into an actual sandpiper, the little coast bird, the only way to save him is with true love's kiss.

What's Engraved Upon My Heart (In Letters Deeply Worn) by @made-of-constellations-blog (Rated T, 6k)

Jaskier gets cursed to be a lark with a strange failsafe to turn him back. Geralt misses this, and realizes too late that he's not ready to lose his bard.

to be held by @wanderlust-t (Rated T, 1k)

The knife dropped on the ground. And Geralt’s thoughts reached to a halt for a moment. He had no rope. Not anything to keep Jaskier still. To hold him back. Oh. That was going to be a really long night.

Catskier by @al-in-my-head (Rated T, 17k)

Due to an unfortunate encounter with a mage while him and Geralt are apart, Jaskier is transformed into a cat. It just so happens that Geralt likes talking to animals.

Cursed Geralt

A Marvelous Night for a Moondance by @flowercrown-bard (Rated T, 1k)

There was a warning every child living near Oakwood Valley knew. "Don't go out at night, or you'll disturb the Moonlit Dancer." No one truly knew who the Moonlit Dancer was, but everyone agreed on two things: The Dancer must be dangerous. And he must be oh so lonely.

animal instinct by leodesic (Rated M, 13k)

Despite Jaskier's hard work, there are still plenty of people who hate witchers. They think they're monstrous, inhuman, only held back from violence by a thin veneer of control. One mage has a plan to spread his views by capturing a witcher and bewitching them to remove their control. When the Butcher of Blaviken walks into his hideout, he's convinced he's found the perfect candidate - and a convenient way to get rid of the pesky bard that's been singing his praises. Jaskier is forced to agree witchers are not human, but that doesn't mean they're dangerous. In fact, he's astounded by how many of Geralt's uncontrolled impulses involve touching.

Connecting dots by @dapandapod (Rated G, 3k)

Geralt is hit with a lying curse, and it takes Jaskier an embarrassing amount of time to figure it out. Now, it Jaskier only would stick to the safe questions....

Don't Go Stealing My Heart by @thesilverqueenlady (Rated T, 17k)

When Jaskier is stiffed by a lord on payment, he decides to help himself to proper compensation. Alongside the correct amount of gold and silver, he also steals a beautiful silver wolf's head medallion. It's safe to say that he is not expecting the medallion to be haunted by the spirit of a very grumpy, very handsome, very cursed Witcher.

Cuddles, Curses, and Confusion by me :D (Rated T, 3k)

Geralt becomes oddly affectionate after being cursed by a mage. Jaskier would just like his life to be less complicated, please.

Spectre's Soul also by me :D (Rated T, 31k)

When Jaskier tried to go on a date with a man named Rience, he did not expect to nearly be killed. He certainly did not expect to discover a beautiful valley while running away from him. He very definitely did not expect to find out that the valley was haunted — by an absurdly beautiful man. Or: In which Geralt is cursed to be a ghost and Jaskier is the first person in decades to talk to him.

Cursed Aiden

Headache at First Sight by YorkAndDelta (Rated T, 12k)

A story of how Lambert ends up looking after a cursed cat, helping a Witcher from a rival school retrieve his gear from angry mages, and maybe finds love along the way.

Cursed Lambert

the mortifying ordeal of being known as a cat by @skaldingrayne Rated M, 10k

Lambert is cursed to be a cat. Fortunately, he finds Jaskier.

You can find my other reclists here!

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt #jaskier #wren recs #wren talks #lambden #the witcher fic rec #reclist #twn #i actually made this list a few months ago and then completely forgot it in my google drive until today lol #but i found it today so here you go!#:D

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redskull199987 · 1 year ago

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Of Thoughts and Actions

Jaskier x fem!reader word count:0.9k Warnings:spoilers for season 3, apart from that just fluff Summary: You didn't see your friend Jaskier for a long time, since he split up from your group after the events at Kaer Morhen. So, when Geralt suggested that you ask the bard for help, you were more than happy to see your singing friend again… Masterlist

You watched the scene in front of you unfold with a smile on your face. Jaskier´s sweet voice was slowly lulling Ciri to sleep, after you had spent the evening playing cards against each other. Jaskier, of course, had lost all of his money to the young girl. Finally seeing her smiling again, having fun again, after all she's been through lately, made you feel like it was still worth fighting for. For Ciri, and her future. “What are you thinking about?”

Your head shot up, as Jaskier suddenly stood in front of you, his slender frame towering above you. “Just thinking about our journey so far”, You mumbled, as you slowly stood up, starting to gather the plates at cups from the small table you had been playing cards at, until a few minutes ago. “Anything in particular?”, Jaskier smiled, as he helped you clean up, picking up a plate. “Oh, maybe the one time, Geralt and I saved your ass?”, you chuckled, playfully hitting his arm. Jaskier mockingly opened his mouth, acting like he was utterly shocked by your words.

“Fine then”, he mumbled, stepping closer to me,”Remember when I taught you how to dance, that one particular evening where you had too much ale?”

You felt your cheeks redden, as you remembered how much of a fool you had made yourself. even Geralt had laughed at your sloppy dance moves, and Geralt never laughed, ever.

Jaskier had seemed to notice your discomfort and slowly stepped closer. He looked down at you for a second, before carefully grabbing your hands. “You know, I always thought you were the most beautiful Dancer, I had ever seen in my life.”, he smiled, causing you to blush even more. Since when were you so easily flushed? You were a great fighter, that had been through many battles along with your companions. But now you were a blushing mess in front of the smiling bard. When you didn't say anything in return, Jaskier just continued to recount the story:”Not because you were the best at dancing or the most experienced, but because you enjoyed yourself. You were having fun to no end, just being yourself. That's what I´ve always loved about you, Y/N.” You were speechless at this point. You always knew that what you felt for Jaskier was different than what you felt for Yennefer or Geralt. It was more than friendship. But you never believed that he was feeling the same way, in fact you still didn't believe it.

Against all your better judgement, you slowly pulled your hands away from Jaskier and excused yourself, saying that you needed some fresh air. And within seconds, you had left the small hut, stepping out into the night.

Taking in a deep breath, you looked up admiring the stars that glistened in the sky. Upon seeing your breath come out in small huffs, you realised how cold it was. You slowly started walking around a bit to conjure some warmth, but it had no effort. After two laps around the hutt, you were still shivering. You debated going back inside for a second, but you didn't quite know if you were ready to talk to Jaskier again.

The decision was made for you, as you felt how Jaskier´s coat was being wrapped around you. The purple material easily engulfed your form, preventing you from shivering. You turned your head to see said bard standing behind you, one of his hands was resting on the small of your back, as he wrapped the coat further around your form. “Thank you.”, you mumbled, looking back down. “You seemed cold”, he smiled, now stepping in front of you. His hands came up to adjust the collar around you. You felt his touch linger, as his bright eyes shifted towards your face. “Y/N”, he suddenly said. His hand rose to gently caress your cheek. Slowly leaning into his touch, you listened to his shallow breathing to calm yourself down.

“Jaskier.”, you finally said, looking up at him. He only sighed, seemingly not really knowing what to say:”I-I havent been honest with you,Y/N” “About what?”, you uttered quietly. He didn't say anything for a second, just staring at you as if you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

“I really want to kiss you.”, he suddenly blurted out. You only smiled at him:”then do it.”

It only took Jaskier mere seconds to press his lips to yours. You felt his hands pulling you closer by the waist, as he deepened the kiss, his lips softly working against yours. Only as you parted, you actually realised what had just happened. Yours eyes widened, as you looked at his dreamy face. “I've wanted to do that for ages”, he admitted. A smile crossed your lips at his words:”I´m glad that you finally did.” “Oh I could kiss you again a thousand times, my love”, he chuckled, slightly squeezing your waist. “I wouldn't have a problem with that”, you whispered, before connecting your lips with his once more. Bonus: Ciri´s eyes slowly fluttered open, as the soft sunlight hit her face. Upon sitting up in her bed, she started to look around the room in search for her two friends. She expected them to be in their separate beds, still sleeping but Ciri couldn't help but to smile at what she saw in front of her. Right there, just a few metres away from her, you and Jaskier were huddled up together in the tiny bed. She could barely see your smaller form, as Jaskier was laying on top of you, his head resting on your chest. “I knew it”, she mumbled to herself, before slowly getting up to get ready for the day.

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theplaid-wearingmoose · 2 years ago

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El Tango De Geralt ~Geralt x Reader angst~

Another song fic for Geralt? Yes of course. "But Mimi nobody asked for this" you say. Doesn't matter, it's giving me brain rot until I produce it. Yes I am into musicals and that's how i keep coming up with these. You're welcome. If you know Moulin Rouge, I would imagine those settings and characters for this one.

That damn woman. Every time she shows up, she ruins everything.That absolute hag. You hated that damn witch. Yennefer of Vengerberg. You didn't see her often but when she did happen to be in the same town as you, it was like you no longer existed to Geralt. You didn't know what hold she had over him but it really pissed you off. Geralt was finally back in town to see you but when she showed up, it was like you were invisible.

You knew something was up when Jaskier came to see you, looking for his witcher companion. You were finishing up the rehearsals on a sensual piece for your cabaret group. You were one of the lead performers at the large burlesque establishment and were well known throughout the country.

You hadn't seen Geralt all morning. You figured he'd wanted to rest after riding all afternoon the day before and then spending that night with you, showing you just how much he had missed you. Setting off in search for him, Jaskier not far behind, you paused when you noticed a familiar black horse tied up at the stables across the road. "Jaskier...that's not her horse, is it?" Jaskier followed your gaze and sighed heavily. "Unfortunately yes..she arrived this morning I believe. That's why I've been trying to find Geralt. I want to make sure he doesn't do anything stupid." Jaskier admitted.

Your heart dropped to your stomach and you took off running towards your quarters, praying Geralt was still there. Dread filled you when you found your room empty. You took off again, Jaskier calling out for you when he couldn't keep up. You ignored him and headed back in the direction of your cabaret. Suddenly a familiar smell reached your nose. Lilac and gooseberries...her fucking perfume. You followed the smell until you came to the local baths. You prayed even harder as you searched the building for Geralt. Surely, if he was in here, she would be also.

You rounded a corner and came to a full stop. Your eyes widened in horror as you took in the sight in front of you. Geralt was in one of the large pools...but so was she. Her naked chest was pressed to his, her face inches from his. He made no moves to push her away as her hands ran down his chest. Her lips brushed against his, causing you to let out a choked cry of anger. "Geralt?!" You exclaimed, fury filling you. Geralt seemed to snap out of his trace at the sound of your voice. Surprise made its way onto his face and he moved Yennefer away from him. "Y/N-" he started. But you refused to let him finish. You whirled around just as Jaskier caught up to you. "Ah, finally caught you. Did you find-oh..." He stopped as he took in your anger-filled face and Geralt naked with Yennefer in the background. You pushed past Jaskier, tears stinging your eyes as you ran back to your cabaret.

You made your way inside and immediately were comforted by your dancers. They knew as soon as they saw you what was wrong. "It's okay, honey. He doesn't deserve your tears." One of them, Isa, called over to the men who guarded the doors. "Don't let no Witcher in until Y/N says it's okay." She rubbed your shoulders as you cried. Another one of your girls spoke up. "Listen sweetie, you deserve better. You show that bastard what he's missing and then drop him. He wants some other skank, she can have him. You don't need this."

Wiping your eyes, you realized they were right. Besides, you had a performance tonight and couldn't let this ruin the show. You took a few minutes to calm down and relax and then had everyone prepare for the performance.

As you and the girls were getting ready you heard commotion at the front. As you went out to see what was wrong, Frenchie, one of your male leads, stopped you. "It's him sweetie, he's causin' trouble cause they won't let him in to see you. I don't think you should go out there alone." You smiled softly at him and patted his arm. "Thank you, Frenchie. I'll be alright. I can handle him." You gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek and continued out. You saw one of your guards wiping his bloody lip, three more struggling to hold Geralt. "It's alright, boys. You can let him go." You said, staring coldly at him. He ripped his arms free from their grip and made his way over to you. "Y/N, please let me explain." You held up your hand to stop him. "You have nothing to say to me, Geralt. Clearly you've made your choice. Now, I have a performance to get ready for. I'm sure you and your witch have other things to do." You snapped. Your heart ached to be this cruel to him but you wanted to get over him. You turned back to your guards. "If the Witcher would like to see the performance tonight, he is allowed to enter." "Yes ma'am." They answered.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Looking out of the curtains you saw Geralt in the audience. You sighed, knowing this performance was as good as a goodbye to him. You wanted him to know how much he hurt you and this was going to do just that. The soft guitar played as the dancers moved to their places. As the violins chimed in and the tango began, you made your way onto the stage. Frenchie was singing his part in his signature growl. You met Geralt's golden eyes briefly before taking a breath and beginning your part.

Her eyes upon your face

Her hand upon your hand

Her lips caress your skin

It's more than I can stand

The dancers moved and swayed around you. The audience was staring at you intently, deeply invested in the story you were telling.

Why does my heart cry?

Feelings I can't fight

Geralt watched you, realization and guilt forming on his face as it dawned on him that this performance was about him. You stared hard into his eyes as you sang out your words.

You're free to leave me, but just don't deceive me

And please, believe me when I say I love you

The dancers whirled around you as the music sped up. You held Geralt's gaze the entire time. The fire from the lamps lighting the stage danced in your eyes. You felt the heat from your anger rise in you. Tears fell down your face, your teeth clenched tight. Your hands balled into fists as you belted out.

Why does my heart cry?

Feelings I can't fight

You're free to leave me, but just don't deceive me

And please, believe me when I say I love you

Your choir sang out their anguished cries of your chorus, cementing the anger and hurt of both you and your character. Geralt's eyes never left your face as the music intensified and the chorus cried out the ending of the song.

The audience stood as they erupted into applause. The only one who didn't move was Geralt. You glared coldly at him, tears falling steadily now, before whirling around and disappearing from the stage. You knew he would try to follow you, but you just couldn't....

You never wanted to see him or that damn witch again.

youtube

#geralt of rivia #geralt x reader smut #geralt x yennefer #geralt x reader #the witcher #geralt x reader angst #henry cavill #henry cavill x reader

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thelostgirl21 · 11 months ago

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Me, when I finally started coming to terms with the fact that Liam Hemsworth was going to be playing Geralt of Rivia in the next seasons of "The Witcher":

Well, at least we already know he can bury his fish and the Honest Trailer Guy would totally suck his dick, so...

...maybe it'll be okay?

Look, more seriously though, as long as he's a dork that can manage to pull off looking both threatening and like a giant puppy at the same time got good chemistry with the rest of the cast, especially Joey Batey's Jaskier, I'll miss Cavill (as I've absolutely adored him as Geralt, and find the way he moves in a fight with the grace, fluidity and agility of a dancer absolutely mesmerizing!), but will still probably manage to adapt to the change, and continue to enjoy the series regardless.

Besides, looking at some of Liam's most recent roles / pictures, I really have no problem imagining him as Geralt even without the white wig.

And he's also like, a really tall guy (6'3")!

So, I'm really starting to be more and more curious to see what he'll be able to bring to his portrayal of the character...

#Liam Hemsworth #Geralt of Rivia #The Witcher #Geraskier #Jaskier #My Posts #My Thoughts

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maasmuse · 9 months ago

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Jaskier gets to be a Fae boy

A starter for you @stellanimarum

In the grand ballroom of Orynth’s castle the air shimmered with laughter and the chime of crystal glasses, the ambiance was as enchanting as the moonlight dancing through the stained glass windows intertwined with the gentle glow of magic from the flickering candlelight.

Among the throng of nobles and dignitaries, a figure stood out—a bard with tousled brown locks and cornflower blue eyes. His name was Jaskier, known throughout the realm for his silver tongue and melodies that could woo even the most unyielding hearts. He moved through the crowd with the grace of a dancer, his lute slung casually over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the room for his next source of entertainment.

And then he saw her—a figure of regal elegance amidst the throng of revelers. Queen Manon, her hair as white as the winter's frost, her eyes sharp and calculating as they surveyed the room. She stood apart from the crowd, her presence commanding attention without the need for words.

Jaskier's lips curled into a smirk as he made his way towards her, his steps light and confident. He bowed low, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he met her gaze. "Your Majesty," he said, his voice smooth as silk and twice as tempting. "You grace this ballroom with your presence, and yet the stars themselves pale in comparison to your radiance."

Queen Manon regarded him with a cool gaze, her expression unreadable. "Save your flattery, bard," she replied, her voice tinged with a hint of annoyance. "I have little patience for empty words."

That... was not what Jaskier was expecting.

#muse: manon

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jessilynallendilla · 2 months ago

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THE WITCHER FIC REC

TITLE/LINK RATING COMPLETED WORD COUNT SERIES

had to break it up because tumblr was being a bitch

FAE/CREATURE/NON HUMAN JASKIER

let me know if the links aren't working feel free to recommend any

GERASKIER GERALTXJASKIER

Refuge In Lettenhove EX 65,566

Geralt and Ciri are on the run from Nilfgaard. After a narrow escape from certain death, they seek refuge in a Lettenhove court. Geralt is shocked to find that the viscount, (and secret leader in the resistance) is none other than the man he scorned on the mountain. But Jaskier is acting as though he’s never met him before in his life. Is this is the chance Geralt needs to set things right?

As Fast As Love Can Go T 9,628

There are Faeries in the Wood. That's what everyone said, at least, not that there was any solid proof. Jaskier had tried, more than once, to find some. Just a hint somewhere, of a real story, of real magic. But all anyone seemed to have was stories. Jaskier was determined to find proof. He wasn't expecting to find a witcher in the process. Jaskier goes into a magical forest and comes out with a witcher.

The Knight's Favour T 15,640

Geralt happens upon a jousting tournament between Lyria, Aedirn, and Rivia. He's invited by the Lord and Lady Pankratz to watch from their private box as their champion, Dandelion, defends the title. Geralt becomes jealous of this Dandelion under the assumption that he and Jaskier would make a fine match. And just where is Jaskier anyway? He's missing quite the show. Alt - Jaskier enters a joust as part of a family tradition and Geralt is having heart palpitations. Jaskier dedicates his matches to his 'laddie fair' and he and Geralt make a little wager as to whether he'll win with some fabulous prizes in store.

Heartbeat M 12,423

Geralt doesn't understand what it means when Jaskier's pulse changes or why his breath catches, he doesn't understand why he either avoids Geralt or doesn't leave him alone. Geralt is confused about many things but mainly why he even cares.

Jaskier knows Geralt isn't an idiot and he hasn't been very careful but he just can't help himself. He has a poet's soul and what he feels he sings. It won't be long now until Geralt figures it out, maybe he already has.

Biting Snake Isn't Better Than Knife In Your Back M 280,400 SERIES

There was something ugly churning in Geralt's gut watching all those nobles flock around Jaskier. Fawning, complimenting, flirting. Jaskier should be thriving and preening from all the attention. Instead there was something uncomfortable and pinched in his expression, skillfully masked behind playful smiles and bright laughs.Geralt didn't want to contemplate why he, and only he, noticed the bard's wish to run.

I Can't Say I Love You (But I'll Try) T 23,739

Jaskier may or may not be in love with his closest friend. (It’s the former.) Geralt may or may not feel quite the same way. (It's the latter.) They'll make do

The Witcher Soldier M 24,871 SERIES

Geralt barely managed to slam the pommel of his sword up in a glancing blow that shattered the metal latch holding the Soldier’s mask in place. The Soldier rolled into the movement with a dancer’s grace and came to his full height just as easily. For a moment, his hands reached up to run over the exposed skin, before he slowly turned to face Geralt once more.

The Witcher froze in a mixture of horror and near-frantic hope.

He stared into the eyes of a dead man and whispered, “Jaskier?”

The Soldi--the bard frowned at him in confusion and spoke with a voice rough with disuse,

“Who the hell is Jaskier?”

It's What My Heart Just Yearns To Say T 5,564 SERIES

Jaskier’s a romantic at heart. So you would think he falls in love at first sight. But... when he falls in love with Geralt, he falls very, very slowly. Or, ten moments where Jaskier falls a little bit more in love with the Witcher, until he's really not sure when it started in the first place.

If I Had My Way, I'd Tear The Building Down M 7,257

Jaskier rescues Geralt from a villain who commits the ultimate sin: he cuts Geralt's hair.

The Driftwood And The Rift T 6,727

It's been months since the mountain, and Geralt hasn't spoken to or seen Jaskier since. He certainly hadn't expected to run into the bard like this--fending him off in the woods, trying desperately to help him break out of the spell that has him slashing at Geralt's throat before one of them ends up dead.

And Everything I Ever Did Was Just Another Way To Scream Your Name T 2,298

The damn Witcher, with his eyes and hands and arms. Jaskier has a type, and his type is sleeping three feet from him every night, and he could leave if he wanted to but he’s always been a bit of a masochist. More than a bit, if he’s being honest. It’s no coincidence, then, when he seeks out the rougher side of things more often. Waits for them to come to him, because he knows it’s dangerous- doesn’t say a word to Geralt, just in case. Not everyone is tolerant, and Geralt is a good man beneath everything but. But. It seems foolish to risk the friendship he’s built just for that. He talks at length about the women he beds and doesn’t breathe a word about the men. He’s not ashamed of being the way he is, just… careful.

If I Must Starve (Let It Be In Your Arms) M 31,259 SERIES

The witchers of Kaer Morhen have never been comfortable with gentle touches. It just isn't who they are. But when Geralt arrives to spend the winter with his brothers looking more relaxed than any of them have felt in years, all due to the affection of a human bard, Lambert and Eskel grow curious. They wonder what it would be like to be touched or held without fear. When Lambert runs into Jaskier in a small town in Redania, it's the safest he's felt in years. He and his brothers need touch and kindness more than they're willing to admit, and all Jaskier wants it to help , if only the witchers would let him. Geralt and Jaskier are together, all the other relationships are platonic with a good helping of touch-starvation on the side.

Silence In This Room, The Death Of Me T 5,799

fate really is a bitch like that sometimes or, 5 times jaskier dies and geralt lives, and 1 time something different happens

Guardian Of The Soulless EX 138413

Modern!AU. Geralt has just left a relationship with Yennefer, the boss of a top London crime family. They leave on good terms, and he stays as a bodyguard for hire to be called upon when needed. He has every reason to believe his life will carry on as normal, but he barely gets two footsteps down the street before he finds a noisy angel amongst his monsters of the crime world. Jaskier has no idea what he's gotten himself involved with, and frankly he's more excited for it. Cue Jaskier finding a heart to call home, and Geralt realising love is what he'd always been missing.

Maybe Time Running Out Is A Gift NR 8,055 SERIES

He knows Geralt loves him because there is no other explanation for the way he holds Jaskier, like he’s something gentle and treasured, like he’s precious. But he also knows Geralt is not human. Geralt has lived more than twice as long as Jaskier, and will live on for possibly centuries more. And, unlike Yennefer, Jaskier cannot be there with him forever. And you love him. He thinks, watching Geralt oil his blades by the fire. God help you, you love him more than anything.

Do It Again EX 6,771

By the twentieth time Geralt has gone through the loop, he decides to just throw himself off the cliff’s edge after Borch. He wakes up to his twenty-first attempt. “Fuck.”

(No Longer) Wanting NR 5,114

Jaskier finds Ciri after the events of Episode 6 and brings her with him to Oxenfurt as his bastard daughter. Geralt shows up too. Found family ensues.

All Unwoven M 2,911

Jaskier cares for Geralt after they are attacked by bandits. Geralt knows he isn't getting the full story of how exactly they escaped, but Jaskier isn't ready to talk about it yet. But when a bard at a tavern sings a song recounting the events, Geralt gets the full story.

If Wishing Made It So M 6,158

Geralt stared down into the ravine and the glittering rocks below and wished the rumors of the Witcher’s missing emotions were true. He wished for a lot of things, then, staring down at the smear of blue silk stained red. None of them came true. On a hunt that goes bad, Geralt is forced to imagine a world where his bard will no longer walk at his side.

Five Times People Thought Geralt And Jaskier Were A Thing... G 7,438

... + 1 time they really were.

Who Is The Monster EX 30,728

The life of adventure has been calling to him all his life, and the second he met the Witcher he knew this was destiny knocking on his door. Geralt was strong, beautiful, and surprisingly gentle- despite the incredibly painful punch to his loins he'd received the first time they'd traveled together. However, the longer Jaskier travels with Geralt the more he starts to realize the world was nothing like what he'd been taught in Oxenfurt. He's been very sheltered, very spoiled, and very stupid. He pauses on the word humans, hesitant to admit it. Perhaps uncertain of how Jaskier would take it. Maybe hoping that Jaskier would be the first human to understand it. Monster, the word thrown at Geralt everyday, wasn’t something he himself thought defined him properly. And even though Geralt’s job was to hunt and slay and kill for coin, he didn’t see them in human terms. Jaskier wasn’t sure. He was only guessing. It seemed like a pretty spot on guess though.

In Ways That Can't Be Said T 6,960 SERIES

Geralt lives in a very dark and violent world. Good things are few and far between. He doesn't know what it means, really, to be in love. So when he falls in love with Jaskier, it happens slowly. Gradually. Reluctantly. Or, 10 moments where Geralt falls a little more in love with the bard no matter how much it scares him.

Soap Suds And Capable Hands G 4,385

Jask wants to coax him into it, soap him up and wash him down in a way that strips him of all the mud and muck and misery of being a witcher on his lonesome, and he wants to watch what Geralt’s like beneath all of that, beneath the facade he’s learned he has to keep up in front of other people. 3 times Jask helps Geralt bathe, and 1 time Geralt helps Jask

The Silence Between Heartbeats T 7,969

Geralt faced off with a sorceress, only instead of her magic killing him, it stole his voice. But this should be an easy fix, he knew many women who could heal this. But that would mean anyone noticing something wrong. He knew he was quiet, but seriously, did no one wonder why he wasn't saying a single thing? Months he traveled silent, no one noticing and it was driving him mad. Until he runs into Jaskier, who notices immediately that something is wrong. Because of course it is Jaskier. Who else in the end would it be, who properly saw the White Wolf?

The Lesser Evil EX 78,584

1674 and piracy is rife throughout the Caribbean. Plenty of work for a Pirate Hunter such as Geralt. But when he takes a contract to hunt down a pirate captain who is interfering with important trade, a harsh truth arrises that will question his morals and he will be forced to choose between two evils, and risk the one thing he never thought he would find. Love.

Unwanted T 8,499

Having reunited with Geralt post-dragon hunt, Jaskier finds everything he used to do for the Witcher is being done by someone else. He considers where he fits in Geralt's life, if at all.

The Arrangement EX 143,679 SERIES

Lyria and Rivia were either at war with each other or conjoined by personal union. In order to establish a strong new era of trade, a marriage was arranged between Geralt Roger Eric du Haute-Bellegard, Earl of Eskalott, merchant of Rivia, and Julian Alfred Pankratz, Duke of Lettenhove, pride of Lyria. But one night before the ceremony, Geralt runs from home, unwilling to marry a stranger and be forced into a strange new country after the loss of his own family at sea. For three long years, he's escaped capture, hunted like a dog across the Continent. When he's finally found a quiet place to settle down in Novigrad, he happens upon a bard one night who turns his unsteady world on its heels, and at last he believes he's safe to love freely. But the pack is closing in, and destiny might at last claw him back to his duty and bring him within the reach of the duke and away from his beloved Jaskier. And to make matters worse, the scourge of nobility, Drache Dagger has it out for the bard.

It's Only Forever, Not Long at All T

Just as he was about to lurch forward and check that Ciri was still safe in her crib, the french windows that led to his parents’ personal deck blew open, forcing him to take a step back. Jaskier blinked rapidly and waited for the curtains to settle. When he could finally see clearly again he took another frightened step back; there was a man standing in front of the open window.

“Who the hell are you?”

The man blinked, seemingly surprised by the question. “I’m Geralt...the Goblin King? You just summoned me to take your sister away.”

What Makes Life So Sweet M

“Did you learn about music?” Ciri asks one day, after a particularly bad night of terrible dreams, perched on Roach in front of Geralt. “At Kaer Morhen?

Geralt doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and when Ciri cranes her neck to look up at him, his face is full of what she thinks might be regret. His voice, when he answers, is quiet, almost sad. “No, we didn’t.”

Assuming that’s all she’s going to get, Ciri turns back around, startling when Geralt continues, haltingly, “We learned to whistle, to mimic bird calls. Useful things. Someone—a friend. A bard. He was always singing, humming. Talking constantly. Still is, presumably.”

When she glances back at him again, Geralt is smiling wistfully.

WITCHER JASKIER

All The World I've Seen Before Me Passing By T 93,101 SERIES

Julian just wants to play music without being driven out of towns with torches and pitchforks. So he procures what he believes to be a simple glamor from a mage. With his newfound appearance and confidence, he starts his adventure as Jaskier the bard. And then he meets the famous Butcher of Blaviken in a tavern in Posada.

Destiny Denied T 31,054

Stregobor created Witchers to be the perfect monster hunters, but they rose up against their creators and were not loyal to them. And so in revenge, Stregobor kidnapped one Witcher’s child of surprise, a young Julian Alfred Pankretz de Lettenhove. And yet, because of one small medallion that spoke to him, Jaskier’s loyalties were not to Stregobor, but to the Witchers who tried to raise him despite the distance.

The Nightingale Prince T SERIES

Jaskier doesn’t remember anything before waking up in Blaviken, hearing tales of a Butcher. He has scars he can’t explain and reflexes he can’t control, but he’s human. Absolutely, Positively, 100% human. At least, that's what he tells himself. But how long can he outrun his past before it comes back to haunt him, golden eyes and all? The Nightingale Prince was a Witcher feared across the continent and known for rescuing girls cursed by the Black Sun, including one particular Shrike. Until he went missing over a decade ago. Now there is only Jaskier, a bard. Armed with half a memory, a mage and a witcher at his side, Jaskier will have to discover his past in order to survive his future.

Demand An Encore M

He looked up, and a man stood before him. Geralt hadn't heard him approach. That was the first sign there was something odd. The second was the faint but still noxious smell of poison that clung to his fingers, just strong enough to make out over the spiced perfume he wore. And under all of that was a richer smell, as familiar as Geralt's own scent, because it was Geralt's own. Or a witcher's, at least.

WARLORD AU

With A Conquering Air EX 27,880 SERIES

Jaskier arrives at Kaer Morhen knowing his family gave him up without a second thought, and absolutely sure that the dreaded Warlord of the North will value him even less than his own blood did. But the White Wolf and his pack are not what Jaskier expected...and if he's unreasonably lucky, Kaer Morhen might become far more of a home than Lettenhove ever was...He is, in fact, going to be unreasonably lucky, because the Warlord of the North is a far finer monarch - and a far better man - than Redania's king has ever dreamed of being.

Transient ; Perpetual EX 138,180

The White Wolf, Warlord of the Southern Lands, Conquerer of Many is getting married to the youngest daughter of the king of Redania. Jaskier knows this because she's sent him a letter begging him to find out how to rescue her from her fate. Jaskier may never get another chance in his life to invade The White Wolf's Keep, a feat no other human has been able to do and live to tell the tale. He just didn't plan on that bloody love potion.

The Unconventional Love M 17,485 SERIES

Warlord!Jaskier after setting about creating a world for witchers to be equally treated is forced to confront the fact that his vision did not quite come to fruition. A nasty rumour about him conquering the continent because a witcher spurned his attentions has cause some misunderstandings. Such misunderstandings lead to the kings he has conquered giving him gifts of witchers that they scour their kingdoms for. Our favourite witcher is given as a gift, and Warlord!Jaskier must be a force of change for this man who he has conquered the continent for.

Firelight T

The Witcher Warlord of the North is feared by all. When Jaskier is caught up in a plot to murder the Warlord, he assumes that means he will die. And while his life as a disowned, wandering bard does end, it doesn't happen at all in the way that Jaskier thinks.

Do I Have To Be Who I Am? NR

Julian Pankratz is sent to Kaer Morhen to appease the Warlord of Kaer Morhen.

A Wedding To A Warlord M SERIES

Any other Omega about to be married would have a white lace gown strewn with silver beading and thread. The top would be open to expose unmarked shoulders, collarbones, and neck. A sign that the Omega was unmated and untouched, a precious gift wrapped in understated colors and delicate details. Jaskier’s dress was not any of those things.

The School Of The Raven T 6,166 SERIES

When Nilfgaard marches on Cintra the Warlord of the North wants to aid Cintra, but has no idea how to do so without earning the ire Calanthe (should she survive the battle). Eskel has an idea, and an entire school of allies they can call on.

MONSTEROUS GERALT

The Wrong Words Are Sometimes The Perfect Words M 4,631 SERIES

The mutations made a lot of changes to Geralt, size, eyes, fangs, and generally people were scared or repulsed by him. Jaskier would be quite offended if anyone ever called him something so pedestrian as 'people'

Could Be Wolves T 3,107

So it was safe to say most everyone knew the tales of witchers - of how they were sometimes more like the monsters they hunted than the humans they claimed to protect. They were ignored at best, hated at worst, and none more so than Geralt of Rivia, the white-haired, the infamous Butcher of Blaviken. or, 5 times Geralt is more monstrous than Jaskier expects, and 1 time Geralt is just as human as Jaskier knows him to be

Utter No Cries M 2,942

Geralt is a monster trying to be a man.

High Charisma EX

5 times the bard seduces the monster... (...and 1 time the bard gets seduced.)

Monsters Aren't Just For Hunting M

The bard has always been known to fuck monsters without a second thought through many incarnations of works. A certain tabletop game, for instance. But has anyone ever wondered why? Well, the reasoning goes all the way back to one certain bard. One who sang like a little lark, one that used the name Dandelion instead of his full name, because all of the best musicians had a pseudonym, so why couldn't he? The bard that started it all was one Jaskier, a bard who found beauty and grace in a monster of a man, a Witcher named Geralt of Rivia...Witchers are terrifying mutants, on par with the very monsters that they hunt. They use their swords only when they can't kill something with their bare hands. Even so, they try to look as human as possible, going so far as to file down teeth and claws, stand a little shorter than full-height, drink potions every day to keep their eyes some semblance of a normal color. Jaskier is a normal human bard. Nothing too magical about him, other than his singing and his views on people. His songs can get stuck in your head from the first time you hear them. When he meets a certain Witcher in a tavern one day, he insists on following him and being his friend and maybe a little more

MISCELLANEOUS

All Some Children Do Is Work G 13,805 SERIES

It's two children, he realizes as they slowly sit up. They look about eight or nine, not that he's much judge of children's ages. One is a girl, dark-haired, in a shabby dress. The other is a boy. His clothes aren't much better, and his hair isn't much lighter than the girl's, but his eyes—

His eyes, Jaskier realizes with a distant sense of horror, are gold like a cat's. His mind makes one more valiant effort to keep from connecting the obvious dots and recognizing them, and then it finally does.

"How in the unholy fuck," Jaskier says to no one, "did this shit happen?"

Whatsoever A Man Soweth M 47,210 SERIES

It has been four years since Aiden's death and the Battle of Kaer Morhen. Lambert is licking his wounds after a particularly shitty contract when he finds himself face-to-face with a certain merchant of mirrors. And he has a very interesting proposition...

#the witcher #fic rec #long post

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