#geralt must be SO confused

[alons-ycreeper]

I had fun with the last idea so have this as well:

Post-mountain, Jaskier goes back to Oxenfurt where he notices something strange. All the mail at his apartment is under the name "Julian of Rivia". When he tells the postal there must be a misunderstanding because no one under that name lives there it's always just been him and he hasn't been kicked out or moved. They ask if he's Jaskier to which he says yes and they reply that no it is indeed the right address.

Confused the bard goes to the bureau asking to see his identification papers because he wants to clear up a misunderstanding of identity. Well the bookkeeper brings out the forms and sure enough Jaskier's name changed because he married...he married Geralt. He wonders how this could've happened then thinks back to one night between contracts the two men got roaring drunk, Geralt was being his usual 'woe is me' self saying that witchers could never have certain things like retirement or marriage, Jaskier as usual wanted to prove him wrong so he dragged the two to the nearest town and married him just to prove witchers can be have whatever they pleased. Guess that didn't age well.

But that's not all, no. The town they went to was big enough and populated enough to have an actual courthouse so the marriage license is an official document and Jaskier hasn't got it annulled so he's still married.

Post-reunion and at Kaer Morhen, Jaskier has been talking to Yenn about it. Jaskier's family has found out about the eloping and has demanded to meet the princess. The bard wouldn't put it pass them to send Ferrant their way making false claims of insanity or child endangerment to take legal custody of Ciri only to either get head of the game and marry her off or give the girl over to Nilffgaard. So in order to keep both Ciri and Geralt far away from them he's already got his half of the divorce papers signed they just need Geralt's signature or mark and it'll be done. They'll be safe.

But when Jaskier hands Geralt the paperwork and quill the bastard says no then chucks it into the fire before walking away. Yenn has to physically hold Jaskier back from attacking Geralt.

[inexplicifics]

Hiii! So your newest story got me binging your A/B/O fics (again) and got me wondering…

If AWAU was set in A/B/O, what dynamics would the main characters be? And would it have changed anything?

Ooooh what an interesting question. Alright, let's see how I'd make the AWAU omegaverse. I'm not going to do everyone, but I'll try to hit the main characters and relationships.

Jaskier: The obvious play is to go omega, but I think that's wrong. I think he's a beta, and therefore assumed he wouldn't be vulnerable to the "send off a less-valued child as tribute" ploy. This also explains why he was allowed to go to Oxenfurt and be a bit wild while there, as an omega might not - and why he's not higher in the line of succession for the county, as an alpha son might be.

Geralt: Again, the obvious choice is alpha, due to the whole Warlord of the North thing. But he didn't do that on purpose, after all, and part of the evolution of his relationship with Jaskier is Jaskier seeing past the Warlord-of-the-North mystique to the person beneath. Also, I'm going to assume that Witchers in the omegaverse AWAU have a method of concealing their scents, so as to mitigate issues with outsiders. So I think the feared and fearsome Warlord, who everyone assumes must be alpha among alphas, dominant and terrible, is an omega.

Eskel: Alpha. Of the "care for my pack" variety, specifically - he'll work himself to the bone looking out for the people who are his. And, occasionally, go avenge them on their enemies in dramatic and extremely violent fashion. And having a demisexual alpha pleases me.

Lambert: Again, very tempting to go alpha, with that temper. But I'm going to go beta, actually. He's just bad-tempered by nature and nurture - and getting less so as his life gets better. And the fact that he wasn't an alpha is part of why his father was so willing to sell him off.

Milena: Oooh, I'm not sure where to go here. Let's go with omega, because her parents do expect her to be a nice obedient pawn for them to move around and marry off as they please. And also it gives Lambert something else to be insecure about, the poor lad. (No, she does not want an alpha. She's very happy with him. Yes, even in her heats.)

Marika: Beta. Cool-headed and calm and rational, by stereotype and nature both. She's going to be a very good queen.

Griffin: Also a beta. Has never particularly wanted to be an alpha. Is genuinely glad that he doesn't have to deal with heat or rut; they seem deeply inconvenient.

Marta: She's an alpha, which explains why their parents were so willing to cut her so much slack and indulge her in so many things. I'm not sure how inheritance rules work in this variant of omegaverse, but she may even be heir to the duchy, right up until she kidnaps Jaskier and Eskel and Milena and experiences Consequences for possibly the first time ever.

Aiden: Alpha, because it makes his preference for bottoming even more scandalous to anyone outside the Witcher society. He's a cocky, charming, dangerous man and he knows it. He does have a bit of a temper but he's good at controlling it, and it blows over quickly.

Aleksander: Also alpha, because it makes him even more like his despised grandfather and he hates it. He doesn't want to be that sort of swaggering monster. Aiden's cheerful arrogance confuses him at first, the flirtation really baffles him, and eventually he's going to settle on Eskel as his role model, because that style of looking after His People makes sense to Sasha.

Livi: Omega - Duke Velen had strong preferences. Which probably means all the Mantikittens are omegas, too. Zia is going to surprise some people.

Dragonfly: Alpha, and has recently discovered her doting instincts.

Yennefer: Null, because she's a mage; their dynamics are removed during the ascension process. That said, I think she was an omega prior to that.

Triss: Also null, because she's a mage. Probably a beta before that.

and finally, Ciri: Oooh, this is the hardest one. But I think she's an alpha. And if she takes after her Papa in ferocity and her Uncle Eskel in protectiveness, she's going to be magnificent.

That's the best I've got - anyone else got thoughts?

[thedemonofcat]

“What would you give to save him?”

“Anything,” Jaskier replies truthfully.

Instead of claiming Jaskier’s soul or whatever ominous, otherworldly voices do, it says, “By the gods, that is precious! I’ll heal him with no charge this time, and I’ll grant you a boon because it’s been centuries since I’ve seen such beautiful devotion!”

Confused, but not wanting to offend the powerful being who was suddenly being very helpful, Jaskier says, “I—I am honored by this favor you have shown us. I swear to write a song in your honor, my dear.”

“Aren’t you just lovely? You may dedicate your song to ‘The One Who Joins Hands’”

Jaskier had no idea what the fuck that meant, but he made a mental note.

“And your boon?”

“Pardon?”

“What would you like as your boon?”

“Oh,” what would he like? More importantly, what wouldn’t come back to bite him in the arse later?

“How about I guarantee that your love will always remain true?”

“Oh, well, there’s really no need.” Jaskier would like even the barest hope that he’ll get over his unrequited feelings some day. And Geralt would hate for his feelings to be messed with. This being liked the idea of them together though, so best to find a good excuse. “I do not doubt my beloved. Really, the only thing to separate us would be my shorter lifespan.”

“Done!”

“What—?”

“Your lifespan is now tied to his! You’re welcome!”

———

Geralt wakes and is surprised to be alive. He soon spots his bard, staring dazedly at nothing.

"Jask…" Geralt called, hurrying to the bard's side, gently patting his face. "Jaskier, wake up."

It took a moment, but Jaskier's eyes eventually fluttered open, regaining focus. "Geralt, you're alright!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms around the Witcher in an embrace.

"Yeah, I'm alright. But what about you?" Geralt asked, his voice tinged with confusion.

"I'm fine. Do you… not remember anything?" Jaskier replied cautiously.

"The last thing I remember, I was fighting something… must have killed it if it's gone now," Geralt said with a shrug.

Jaskier froze, his mind racing. Geralt didn’t remember—he didn’t know about the deal. The bargain Jaskier had struck with *The One Who Joins Hands* to bring him back.

"We should probably get going," Geralt continued. "I promised to meet Yennefer soon."

Of course, Jaskier thought bitterly. Geralt loved Yennefer. Never him.

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 99

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

[book--brackets]

The Raven Cycle by Maggie Stiefvater (2012-2016)

Every year, Blue Sargent stands next to her clairvoyant mother as the soon-to-be dead walk past. Blue never sees them--until this year, when a boy emerges from the dark and speaks to her.

His name is Gansey, a rich student at Aglionby, the local private school. Blue has a policy of staying away from Aglionby boys. Known as Raven Boys, they can only mean trouble.

But Blue is drawn to Gansey, in a way she can't entirely explain. He is on a quest that has encompassed three other Raven Boys: Adam, the scholarship student who resents the privilege around him; Ronan, the fierce soul whose emotions range from anger to despair; and Noah, the taciturn watcher who notices many things but says very little.

For as long as she can remember, Blue has been warned that she will cause her true love to die. She doesn't believe in true love, and never thought this would be a problem. But as her life becomes caught up in the strange and sinister world of the Raven Boys, she's not so sure anymore.

Shades of Magic by V. E. Schwab (2015-2017)

Kell is one of the last Antari--magicians with a rare, coveted ability to travel between parallel Londons; Red, Grey, White, and, once upon a time, Black.Kell was raised in Arnes--Red London--and officially serves the Maresh Empire as an ambassador, traveling between the frequent bloody regime changes in White London and the court of George III in the dullest of Londons, the one without any magic left to see.

Unofficially, Kell is a smuggler, servicing people willing to pay for even the smallest glimpses of a world they'll never see. It's a defiant hobby with dangerous consequences, which Kell is now seeing firsthand.

After an exchange goes awry, Kell escapes to Grey London and runs into Delilah Bard, a cut-purse with lofty aspirations. She first robs him, then saves him from a deadly enemy, and finally forces Kell to spirit her to another world for a proper adventure.

Now perilous magic is afoot, and treachery lurks at every turn. To save all of the worlds, they'll first need to stay alive.

The Witcher by Andrzej Sapkowski (1992-2013)

For over a century, humans, dwarves, gnomes, and elves have lived together in relative peace. But times have changed, the uneasy peace is over, and now the races are fighting once again. The only good elf, it seems, is a dead elf. 

Geralt of Rivia, the cunning assassin known as the Witcher, has been waiting for the birth of a prophesied child. This child has the power to change the world -- for good, or for evil. 

As the threat of war hangs over the land and the child is hunted for her extraordinary powers, it will become Geralt's responsibility to protect them all. And the Witcher never accepts defeat. 

Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones (1986-2008)

Sophie has the great misfortune of being the eldest of three daughters, destined to fail miserably should she ever leave home to seek her fate. But when she unwittingly attracts the ire of the Witch of the Waste, Sophie finds herself under a horrid spell that transforms her into an old lady. Her only chance at breaking it lies in the ever-moving castle in the hills: the Wizard Howl's castle.

To untangle the enchantment, Sophie must handle the heartless Howl, strike a bargain with a fire demon, and meet the Witch of the Waste head-on. Along the way, she discovers that there's far more to Howl--and herself--than first meets the eye.

In this giant jigsaw puzzle of a fantasy, people and things are never quite what they seem. Destinies are intertwined, identities exchanged, lovers confused. The Witch has placed a spell on Howl. Does the clue to breaking it lie in a famous poem? And what will happen to Sophie Hatter when she enters Howl's castle?

The Dresden Files by Jim Butcher (2000-2020)

As a professional wizard, Harry Dresden knows firsthand that the “everyday” world is actually full of strange and magical things—and most of them don’t play well with humans. And those that do enjoy playing with humans far too much. He also knows he’s the best at what he does. Technically, he’s the only at what he does. But even though Harry is the only game in town, business—to put it mildly—stinks.

So when the Chicago P.D. bring him in to consult on a double homicide committed with black magic, Harry’s seeing dollar signs. But where there’s black magic, there’s a black mage behind it. And now that mage knows Harry’s name…

Peter Pan by J. M. Barrie (1911)

Peter Pan, the book based on J. M. Barrie's famous play, is filled with unforgettable characters: Peter Pan, the boy who would not grow up; the fairy, Tinker Bell; the evil pirate, Captain Hook; and the three children-Wendy, John, and Michael-who fly off with Peter Pan to Neverland, where they meet Indians and pirates and a crocodile that ticks.

The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov (1966)

One hot spring, the devil arrives in Moscow, accompanied by a retinue that includes a beautiful naked witch and an immense talking black cat with a fondness for chess and vodka. The visitors quickly wreak havoc in a city that refuses to believe in either God or Satan. But they also bring peace to two unhappy Muscovites: one is the Master, a writer pilloried for daring to write a novel about Christ and Pontius Pilate; the other is Margarita, who loves the Master so deeply that she is willing literally to go to hell for him. What ensues is a novel of in exhaustible energy, humor, and philosophical depth.

Saga by Brian K. Vaughan and Fiona Staples (2012-present)

When two soldiers from opposite sides of a never-ending galactic war fall in love, they risk everything to bring a fragile new life into a dangerous old universe. Saga is the sweeping tale of one young family fighting to find their place in the worlds. Fantasy and science fiction are wed like never before in this sexy, subversive drama for adults.

The Farseer Trilogy by Robin Hobb (1995-1997)

Young Fitz is the bastard son of the noble Prince Chivalry, raised in the shadow of the royal court by his father's gruff stableman. He is treated as an outcast by all the royalty except the devious King Shrewd, who has him secretly tutored in the arts of the assassin. For in Fitz's blood runs the magic Skill--and the darker knowledge of a child raised with the stable hounds and rejected by his family. 

 As barbarous raiders ravage the coasts, Fitz is growing to manhood. Soon he will face his first dangerous, soul-shattering mission. And though some regard him as a threat to the throne, he may just be the key to the survival of the kingdom.

Earthsea Cycle by Ursula K. Le Guin (1968-2001)

Ged was the greatest sorcerer in Earthsea, but in his youth he was the reckless Sparrowhawk. In his hunger for power and knowledge, he tampered with long-held secrets and loosed a terrible shadow upon the world.

This is the tumultuous tale of his testing, how he mastered the mighty words of power, tamed an ancient dragon, and crossed death's threshold to restore the balance.

[write-ur-wrongs]

The Set Up

Fic prompt from @always-and-forever-alone : I was wondering if you could write a store of reader, being called a monster for most of her life, and he either telling her she's not or saying something well it's happening(in he's way, because let be honest he probably wouldn't say it directly, God forbid he cares)

A/N: not proofread or beta-ed. I really wanted to get this one out today so I am going down with my typos. I had another idea in the works for this but this idea snuck up on me as I wrote. I honestly might keep working on v1 to post eventually but here's this one for now! :) ______________________________________________________

“What the fuck, Jaskier?” you screamed, your voice overlapping with the immense witcher standing across from you, who said the same thing.

When your longtime friend had asked you to come into town to meet a friend of his, you’d been hesitant. Life wasn’t kind to non-humans, and it certainly hasn’t been very nice to you. But you’d known Jaskier for years, and he’d never given you any reason to think he’d hurt you. Until now of course.

“Woah! Hey,” Jaskier, to his credit, sounded about as panicked as you felt, “please both of you just sit down and let me – Geralt put the sword down for fuck’s sake.”

You tore your eyes off the white-haired brute, his merciless grip easing off the hilt of his still-sheathed weapon, and chanced a glance at your supposed friend. There was a little bit of sweat on his upper lip, his eyes were wide, and he had his arms outstretched between the two of you, palms down – pacifying? He looked nervous but not guilty.

Why the fuck doesn’t he look guilty? You thought, confusion and hurt mingling bitterly in your stomach.

Wait. The witcher – Geralt? – yelled at Jaskier too. Why the hell was he pissed? Maybe Jaskier expected he kill you for free, or maybe he was on some kind of vacation and resented the job.

You set your eyes back on him, still refusing take a seat at their table, and your breath caught in your throat as his harsh, cat-like eyes, met and held your gaze.

“Y/N,” Jaskier said, waving you forward with the hand closest to you, “please sit. Let me explain.”

“Explain what?” you hissed, “How you hired a witcher to kill me?”

“Kill you?!” Jaskier and, confoundingly, Geralt, said in unison.

“Come on,” Jaskier continued, softening his tone and looking from you to his guest, “you know I would never do that. I have no reason to do that. Please, just sit.”

Fighting every instinct, you pulled up a stool from an adjacent table and joined the pair. Your heart was beating into your ears but you figured the witcher wouldn’t make his move in the middle of a busy tavern so you should be safe – for now.

***

Geralt watched the woman sitting across from him with growing curiosity.

When the bard had told him he was looking forward to introducing him to a friend of his in town, he’d rolled his eyes. Jaskier was always trying to introduce him to women he knew, women he hoped would sway and soften him up a little. It was exhausting, infuriating, and frankly, a little embarrassing. Geralt didn’t need any help in that department and he definitely didn’t share Jaskier’s taste in partners.

But this woman was nothing like the others. For starters, she wasn’t human. Geralt could sense her power even before she entered the tavern, his medallion vibrating in warning against his chest. When she entered, he took immediate notice of the way every candle got brighter, each flame now leaning toward her slightly, drawn in by her power.

She must have been a fire elemental of some kind, he’d thought. Or maybe a sorceress who’d given into the Power brought by fire. Either way, Geralt couldn’t take his eyes off her.

His fascination had only grown when she spotted Jaskier from across the room and her guarded face erupted into a wide and open smile. A smile that turned defensive as soon as she locked eyes with him over the table.

She bared her teeth and sent a surge of power through the room, flames flickering around them. How did Jaskier even meet this woman?

“What the fuck, Jaskier?” he said, pushing up from his seat and reaching for his sword, a confusing mix of defensiveness and jealousy settling in his gut. How and where did his soft, flowery friend meet someone like this?

***

“Okay, first of all, thank you both for agreeing to this.”

“I would never have agreed had I known –”

“Jaskier you son of a –”

“Okay, sorry! Sorry! That was a mistake, I admit that, I’m sorry,” Jaskier said, rambling, “but look, Y/N, you’re always saying how you wished you could find someone who saw you for who you are and not what you are.” He turned to you as he spoke, cupping his hand gently over your elbow, urging you to uncross your arms.

“And Geralt, please don’t kill me for this,” he blurted, placing his other hand next to the witcher’s on the table, “you’re too lonely for your own good, and I thought maybe if you met Y/N, someone who could match you, you could, I don’t know…”

“Wait,” you interrupted him, laughing despite yourself, “you’re saying this is a romantic set-up and not a,” you brought your hand across your throat in a mock-slice, “murder-for-hire set-up?”

“Now, wait, hang on. Why would I kill you?” Geralt said, speaking over your realization defensively, as if he didn’t reach for his sword when you made eye contact. “I’m a witcher, not a damned assassin.”

“Because I’m,” you hesitated and glanced around you to make sure no one was looking before briefly demonstrating by drawing a flame up in your hand and extinguishing it just as quickly. Jaskier was looking at you so softly, his eyes betraying the way he pitied you, but Geralt? He was looking at you like you’d just juggled the bread rolls on the table rather than summoning fire.

“Why would that be reason enough to kill you? You’re not a monster.”

“Tell that to every village I’ve ever dared to call home.” You scoffed.

“Geralt can relate!” Jaskier said, jumping in far too loudly and with too much exuberance. “People have been wrongly treating him like a monster for years!”

“Jask!” Geralt hissed, looking pissed and, wait, was he embarrassed?

“Sorry!” he squeaked, throwing up his hands as he got up from the table. “I am going to get us another round, the two of you… get to know each other.”

You watched your idiot friend rush over to the bar for a beat before rolling your eyes. “I can’t believe he did this.”

“We could take him if we team up,” Geralt said, a mischievous glint shone in his eyes when you looked back at him.

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you then, nor could you stop the blush that crept up your neck when you saw the witcher’s face break into a wider smile.

“Yeah,” you breathed, uncrossing your arms so you could lean over the table toward Geralt conspiratorially, glowing under his open and earnest gaze, “I think we’d make a good team.”

[tielmamon]

Geralt meets up with Jaskier at the marketplace only to find him unusually flustered by some merchant he's talking to. Strange, usually its the other way around. Rolling his eyes at another possible angry spouse situation, Geralt stalks his way towards them.

He couldn't really tell you why exactly he's more irritated now- when Jaskier is the one stuttering and blushing under the charms of this fucking nobody- and so he pointedly ignores the little twinge he feels in his chest .

The merchant stands to casually roll the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows and smiling wider when Jaskier knocks his lutecase against the stall, thoroughly distracted.

With a low growl he didn't realize he was doing, Geralt lays a hand on Jaskier's shoulder once he's close enough. The bard squeaks, turning to Geralt and flushes a deeper shade of red.

"G-Geralt! I didn't hear you, my friend." The bard smiles, but his eyes are slightly frantic.

"Is everything alright?" He asks and before his bard could answer-

"Everything just fine, my good witcher! Was just asking Master Jaskier here to tell me a few stories of his travels." Geralt turns, eye twitching slightly at the interruption. He finally gets a good look at the fucker who seems to have his bard in a blushing mess. Dark wavy hair, strong build, piercing blue eyes, strong jaw and dimples as he smiles.

Nothing they hasn't seen before. Daresay, Geralt might even guess that this man- no, this boy was downright boring to look at, compared to all the other colorful people Jaskier surrounds himself with. Still, the child continues.

"I was just wondering if he had the time to tell me a few over dinner-"

"He's busy."

"Oh, well maybe at breakfas-"

"We leave at dawn."

A tense silence settles between the three. Jaskier's eyes widen upon reading Geralt's attitude. His witcher was thoroughly annoyed. Why? He's not so sure yet but with the snarl on his face and the clenching fists, Jaskier figures it's probably best if they leave now.

"Okay I think it's about time we settle back at the inn, wouldn't you say, Geralt? Right." He doesn't wait for a response, instead snaking his hand around Geralt's arm and tugging hard.

"Henry! Wonderful meeting you, of course. Thank you for your lovely company this afternoon but I'm afraid we have a contract bright and early tomorrow so we really must go. Goodbye!" Jaskier watches the young man startle from his frozen state to a disappointed look as they walk away. Jaskier is reminded of a kicked puppy.

Once they were a safe distance away, the bard turns to ask what the hell was all that about when he realizes that Geralt was straining his neck looking back at the man, eyes narrowed with one of those scowls Jaskier sees him use on people who think its a good idea to touch Roach, or one of his bags, or apparently now Jaskier himself.

"Will you stop that??" The bard all but smacks Geralt's face forward to stop him. The witcher, ever stubborn resists and only relents when he feels a palm cup his cheek to face him.

"What the fuck had you so enamored with him?" Geralt grumbles, like a grump. Jask stops them and shoots him a confused look.

"You don't see it?" He cryptically says, which only confuses Geralt as well.

"See what?" A beat of silence before Jaskier huffs an amused laugh and drags them into the inn, arms linked.

"Nevermind." Jaskier smiles.

[fragolar]

Secrets of the Forgotten Realm || Geralt Of Rivia - The Witcher

Greetings, It's been a while, specifically more than a year. My fixation for Geralt of Rivia has been re-awakened. And no. Before you ask, I will not watch the fourth season. I didn't even watch the second, since I come from the videogames and books. I'll try to make this a series, but also each chapter would be conclusive on it's own for those who like stand alones.

Summary: As Geralt continues his search for Ciri, he finds himself drawn to the secluded Amell Mountains, rumored to house a kingdom unknown to most. Guided by tales from Jaskier, Geralt ventures to the remote ruins of the mountains, where he encounters the enigmatic Princess Lexa Mor'wena, secret daughter to the absent King Ardan Mor'wena, who's on an expedition. As Geralt's curiosity is piqued by the mysterious princess, he embarks on an unexpected journey, his path becoming intertwined with Lexa's in ways he never imagined.

/mɔːrˈwɛnə/

Every step felt like a stab in the ribcage. Amidst the thick, intense mist, the Witcher finally understood why no one ever attempted to search for the lost kingdom. It was intense, the path uneven, long. The humidity making it hard to properly breathe.

Which, after all, wasn’t so lost. Simply hidden, enclosed by rough bark and dense leaves that deprived it of light.

Fatigue weighed heavily on his shoulders, his feet ached, and his mare was restless.

“What's wrong, Roach? Are you tired?” he asked. She snorted, clearly not amused by this journey. “Alright, alright. We’ll stop for a bit... Look, there’s a spring nearby. You’re thirsty, aren’t you?” His hand went to stroke her muzzle.

Once they settled down to rest, sleep began to take over; Geralt was exhausted. And so they spent the night, lighting a small fire, eating the little food they had left from hunting, and finally falling asleep in the middle of the forest.

Grave mistake. Upon awakening, Geralt's eyes weren't greeted by the now familiar leaves but to cement. Alertness jolted through his body, making him spring from the floor to dissipate the confusion. He was in a cell - a quite claustrophobic one, too. "Oh, the White Head is awake." A disinterested mumble reached Geralt's ears, making his eyes dart to the source. A guard stared at him, amused, before speaking again. "Hey, White Bunny, what's your business up in the woods? Don't you know scary wolves roam around? You're lucky that we found you before they did." Geralt scoffed, shaking his head slowly. "I wouldn't worry about a couple of wolves who bark." The guard frowned but quickly recomposed himself. "I asked you why you are here. Don't make me repeat myself a third time." "What would happen if I did?" Geralt was amused, no denying that. "Important personal matters, I'm searching for a girl." "Girl? The Princess?" Geralt raised an eyebrow, his thoughts briefly drifting to Ciri. Did they know her? "I'm looking for someone," he clarified, hoping to avoid more suspicion. "What's your matter with the Princess? How do you know about her?" The guard pressed. "No harm. Let me see her, and I'll go. King Ardan wouldn't treat an old acquaintance this way." The guard's expression grew increasingly perplexed. From his perspective, not only did this stranger know about Princess Lexa Mor'wena, but he also claimed familarity with King Ardan. Panic began to set in as the guard realized he might have severely mishandled the situation. If the King learned how badly he had treated a known guest, he would be in deep trouble.

"You must be the White Wolf my men found sleeping in the forest with his horse." The woman spoke calmly, seated on her throne. Geralt was kneeling in front of her, feeling a mix of disappointment and surprise. King Ardan had a secret daughter, a Princess unknown to the outside world. This explained why the King could leave his Kingdom for extended periods without fear of attack. There was always someone to rule in his absence. And Ciri was nowhere to be seen. "Are you perhaps the Butcher of Blaviken?" Geralt's head lifted up, not expecting to hear such an old name. Upon his expression, the Princess continued. "I’ll take your silence as an affirmation. I have never seen a Witcher before, let alone the Butcher-"

"Princess Mor’wena, I’d rather be called Geralt of Rivia."

She smiled amused, resting her cheek on her palm as she leaned on the throne armrest. "My guard said you were searching for me. How did you even know?"

"It’s a different kind of a princess, I’m searching for. I didn’t know about the King having such a pleasant surprise, however. I’m not complaining."

"Pretty words won’t get you anywhere Geralt. Are you talking about the promised child?" How much did she know? And why didn’t Geralt know anything? "I’m getting tired of your loud silence. Let us discuss after having lunch. You probably are starving."

Geralt rose from his kneeling position, his expression remaining neutral, then he gave a slight nod in acknowledgment. "I appreciate your hospitality, Princess," he said, his voice husky. "I have many questions, and I'm sure you do too. Lunch sounds like a good place to start."

As they walked to the dining area, Geralt remained observant, his sharp eyes taking in the surroundings and the demeanor of those around him. He kept a polite distance, his movements measured, showing respect but also an underlying readiness for any potential threat.

After a moment of silence and finally seated while attending their food, he asked, "What do you know of the promised child?" His tone was curious but cautious, seeking to gather information without revealing too much of his own vulnerabilities.

"Not much. My Father had told me about your unfortunate accident." Lexa looked at him. "I guess you learnt how to stay silent during the years."

Geralt was weirdly amused by how pungent she was, just like her father, but she was much more unfiltered. She seemed to not care how strong he truly is, or how impacted she could be from the way she spoke to him.

A spoiled child with a gold crown on her head. Geralt smirked to himself. "What's her name?" "Cirilla." "A nice name." Lexa began to drift off topic. "Did you choose it?" "She's not my child-" "Not biologically and yet..." "Princess, careful." His voice growly, warning her. A shiver of excitment running down her spine. "I may appear friendly, but I'm not here for fun."

"So the White Wolf would try to bite?" Lexa provoked. "He'd devour." His yellow eyes looked at her, knowing well what she was doing. And she looked quite pleased with his threats, something promising behind those words. Next part.

[ellethespaceunicorn]

Make That Kitty Purr [Director’s Cut]

Title: Make That Kitty Purr [Director’s Cut]

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Mike x Reader, August Walker x Reader

Fandom: Hellraiser: Hellworld x Mission: Impossible - Fallout, Crossover AU

Word Count: 5.7K

Summary: Uncle August doesn’t give a shit that you’re Mike’s girlfriend. THIS IS THE DIRECTOR’S CUT OF THIS STORY.

Warnings: voyeurism, cheating, unprotected p-in-v (wrap it before you tap it), dubcon, creampie, breeding kink, impregnation, spit kink, choking, slapping, dacryphilia, adult breastfeeding, August is an asshole, Mike deserves better 

A/N: Original story is here, Make That Kitty Purr. I decided to share what the story was before I cut it down, based on this ask from @geralts-yenn. Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best.

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

My Masterlist 

“You must be Michael’s girlfriend, right?” The velvety voice slides over you like warm honey. As your name rolls off of his tongue, you turn around in the small space of the open fridge door and are face-to-chest with a mountain of a man.

Everything about him was perfect. A tall frame with a muscular build was easy to spot at first glance. On closer inspection, you stare into aquamarine eyes that have a brownish-gold spot in the left iris. And that ‘70s porn stache oddly worked well on his face. Fresh sweat slid down his neck, the heat from outside still radiating off of his body. You feel his breath on your face before you realize he’s speaking to you.

“I’m sorry, what?” You shake your head slightly and smile up at him as he smirks at you.

“I said, I’m August. I’m Michael’s Uncle, Walt’s brother,” He reaches over you to grab a beer off of the door of the fridge, “Not surprised he didn’t introduce us.” At your confused expression, he only shakes his head and sips from his beer. He watches you watching him as he lowers the beer from his lips, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “Like what you see, Princess?”

The noise that comes out of your mouth is a mix between a gulp, a yelp, and a moan. And it seems to echo in the kitchen of Mike’s parent’s house. Everyone is still outside, Mike asked you to come in and get…something. You’d forgotten when you were suddenly in the presence of a god among men. You would have to watch yourself around this one. He had the power to make you misbehave.

“There you are, Sweetcheeks,” Thank goodness Mike comes into the kitchen when he does, “Thought you got lost in here. Hey, Uncle August.” They exchange looks with one another, looking back at you at the same time.

“I just got talking with your Uncle and forgot what I came in here for.” You decided to tell the truth, although you left out eye-fucking his Uncle. He didn’t need to hear that.

“You were coming in to grab us a couple of beers, but now Mom asked for a couple more things.” Mike moves you out of the cool haven of the fridge and grabs a few things from inside. With his back turned, he can’t see August looking into your eyes as he adjusts himself.

Fuck.

“Hey, Uncle August, was that invitation to come up to the cabin still good? I may have a free weekend coming up.” Mike closing the refrigerator door saves you from the intense draw of August’s fixation. 

“Of course. Anytime you wanna come up, just let me know in advance so I can make sure everything is good for you.” August looks to Mike like he hadn’t been touching his dick and looking at his girlfriend.

“Alright, awesome. Come on, Sweetcheeks.” Mike leads the way, holding the potato salad. You pick up the beers and chanced a glance back at August who is licking his lips and following behind you. You feel his presence behind you as you exit the porch. The unmistakable feeling of a hand ghosting over your hip almost makes you squeal but you school yourself, catching up the Mike.

The rest of the barbecue goes off without a hitch. The interaction between you and August is forgotten until you go in to help clean the dishes. You tell Mike’s Mom to go back outside and that you’ll take care of the rest of the washing. That is, until August comes in and has you all to himself again. 

“Need some help, Princess?” That voice goes straight to your pussy and you instantly tense up at the pet name.

“No, I, uh…I got it. Thank you, Uncle Aug–” You start, but he cuts you off.

“No, Princess. I’m not your Uncle. You call me August.” His hand on your hip as he spoke had you trembling.

“Yes, August.” You don’t know how you were able to speak, but you did it and that’s all that matters.

“Good girl.” The praise has you squeezing your thighs together and accidentally pressing back into August who has moved closer to you. Your ass had been pressed against his clothed cock and it sent shockwaves to your brain.

The groan that escapes August’s mouth vibrates through you. Before you know it, August is putting down his empty beer bottle and putting both hands underneath your dress. Your protests die on your tongue as his fingers hook under the waistband of your panties. With a tug, the underwear is coming down your legs and you’re stepping out of them. August brings them to his face to inhale your aroma before pocketing your thong.

“I’ll see you soon, Princess,” August says, leaning down to kiss your shoulder in an almost sweet albeit possessive gesture, “Give Michael my best.”

You’re left gobsmacked in the kitchen, only coming out of your reverie when you hear the door to the kitchen opening. You finish up the washing as the family files in. 

If you ride Mike into the mattress that night, that’s your business. Mike was none the wiser as you thought of a velvety voice, a mustache, and your taken undies. Thoughts of August go away soon enough and are but a distant memory when Mike brings up needing a break from school for a while. 

You casually ask if August will be there while you are at the cabin, Mike says it will just be the two of you and you relax. At least you won’t have to worry about those little moments you and his Uncle shared.

When Mike invites you up to his Uncle’s cabin for the weekend, you are beyond excited. You’ve never been away with him and this is the perfect opportunity to have a little fun away from your college roommates. You love them, but it’s so hard to get some alone time with two other girls breathing down your neck.

You pull up to the cabin on Friday afternoon and notice another car already in the driveway, a tall man dressed rather sharply grabbing a suitcase out of the trunk. As he turns around, you recognize Mikey’s Uncle August. I guess we’re not going to be alone this weekend after all.

Mikey puts the car in park and jumps out before you can even unbuckle yourself. “Uncle August, what are you doing here?”

“My schedule changed so I figured I would come and check on the cabin while you were up here,” August put down his luggage and rolls his sleeves up before running a hand over his mustache.

“Well, we were kinda thinking we would have the place to ourselves, actually,” Mike says, walking around the car after turning it off.

“We?” August’s head tilts as his eyes land on the passenger window.

You watch the exchange from the car, seeing that August has finally noticed you. Exiting the car, you close the door behind you and join Mike who puts a possessive arm around your waist.

“Uncle August, this is my girl. You remember her, right?” 

August nods and correctly remembers your name, slowly letting it pass over his tongue. While Mike is smiling down at you, August lets his eye rake over you from head to toe. If Mike had seen, he would not have been happy. Damnit, August, be cool!

“Michael, why don’t you get the bags while I take your girl inside out of the cold? You can handle that, right?” Before you know it, your hand is taken by a large paw and you are led inside the cabin. August walks close to you and you can smell his aftershave up close, the scent intoxicating.

You’re surprised when it takes Mike as long as it does to get all of the bags into the cabin. You packed pretty light, but August had him take everything to the rooms instead of leaving them by the hallway. You notice August is staying on the bottom floor of the cabin while you and Mike are staying in another room on the second floor.

While Mike is upstairs, August goes to the refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of wine. He pours two glasses and offers you the other. You don’t miss how his fingers linger on yours.

“What shall we toast to, Princess?” You don’t hide the shiver that runs down your spine at the pet name.

“Um, to…a hot tub and time away from annoyances,” You lift your glass over to connect with August’s. He holds your gaze as he takes a sip. 

“And to these, maybe?” August holds up a pink lacy pair of underwear, your thong from the barbecue months ago. He still has them, smiling down at you before pocketing them again when you reach out to try and take them.

Mike’s voice startles you as it booms through the cabin, “Sweetcheeks, you wanna get in the hot tub now or later?” Sometimes you wish Mike had a chill mode, but you loved the adorable goofball.

“I’ll get started on dinner while you two have some time alone,” August takes your wine glass and tops it off, and sends you up to find Mike. You can feel his eyes on you as you walk away, but you don’t dare look back.

As you get in the hot tub after getting changed into your bathing suit, the sun is setting over the mountains. Mike’s hands and mouth are over you in an instant, not caring what his Uncle may be seeing. He pulls you into his lap and attacks your neck. Your eyes close at the sensation and when they open, a gorgeous set of oceanic blues lock on you.

August is watching you as Mike slides a hand into your suit bottoms. You know you should tell Mike to stop but the idea of putting on a show for August is a temptation you can’t ignore. Your mouth opens in a silent scream as Mike’s fingers circle your clit before sliding into your entrance. Clutching a hand in his hair, you bite your lip as you ride Mike’s fingers.

As August watches you, he grips and strokes his cock through his pants. You reason with yourself that since you aren’t touching each other, this isn’t cheating. This is just slightly inappropriate, nothing to truly worry about.

Mike’s attention to finger-fucking you is gone as he pulls out his cock, pulling your bottoms to the side. He swiftly enters you and pulls you down onto him fully. Within seconds, you adjust to Mike’s cock and start to ride him while maintaining eye contact with August.

Mike pulls out your tits from your suit top and gives attention to your nipples. The man loves your boobies and it keeps him occupied as you continue your impromptu sex show for August. The older man unzips himself and for a moment, you think you’re going to be graced with the sight of his cock, but he only reaches in to stroke himself. Watching him watching you is enough to send you over the edge. Mike follows after you shortly, pulling out of you to jerk his cock as you didn’t exactly bring condoms to the hot tub.

You watch as August pulls his hand out of his pants, zips himself up, and walks out of your field of vision. It doesn’t look like he came and you instantly want to help him over the edge but hold yourself together. You move yourself to sit next to Mike and rest your head against his shoulder as you both catch your breath and readjust your clothing. A million thoughts run through your head, the most severe of which is gnawing at your soul.

You want August, and it’s obvious he wants you back. How could you want something like that? Mike isn’t perfect, but he’s yours. He adores you and you think the world of him. Yes, he can be a bit aloof, but he’s genuinely interested in your happiness. He doesn’t deserve to be fucked over by your selfish desires.

You are broken out of your reverie minutes later as August beckons you both to come in for dinner. You both towel off and put on robes. August already has the table set with three plates and he sits at the head of the table with you and Mike sitting across from each other. 

The conversation comes easily enough, August mostly focuses on asking you about what you are studying and what your future plans are. Mike seems to be none the wiser that August is paying you so much attention as he shovels pasta in his face. August refills your wine glass, handing it to you, his fingers lingering again. August finally turns his gaze to Mike and asks what you all have planned for the weekend. 

Mike mentions you are scheduled to go to a beer garden tomorrow and you would be meeting some friends afterward. You don’t remember making plans to meet up with friends but you go with it anyway. Mike’s friends were pretty cool, at least the ones you’ve met. Well, Derrick could be annoying and could make Mike completely miserable to be around but hopefully, he wouldn’t be there tomorrow.

You all finish dinner shortly thereafter, a few glasses of wine in your system. August gets up, and you assume he is going to start clearing the table. “August, you cooked, we can clear the table.”

“Nonsense. You’re a guest here,” he says, waving you off, “Michael can clean up the kitchen while I give you a quick tour.” He holds out his hand to lead you through the living room, and that same hand ends up on your lower back. 

Your bare feet pad softly on the hardwood while his shiny shoes clack next to you. Your robe is the only thing preventing August from touching your skin directly. The heat coming off of his hand is enough to elicit a shiver from you. Instead of mentioning it, he just smiles down at you and walks you into the spacious entertainment room.

A large television screen is in front of a sectional couch. Two vintage full-height arcade game systems stand against either side wall. A pool table sits on the right, while a poker table is to the left. You’re impressed with the setup and you say as much.

“Yeah, I like to entertain sometimes. You’re welcome to this room whenever you want. Most of the streaming apps are already set up and there’s a Playstation and XBOX as well if you’re interested,” August points over to the tv, leaning in as he speaks.

“I can already see Mike getting lost in here for a few hours,” you snort, trying to hide your obvious annoyance.

“I’m sure you can keep him occupied, Princess.” There goes that pet name again. You look up at August and he grins like the Cheshire cat down at you.

If Mike hadn’t walked in when he did, you would have leaned into that smile. “I was looking for you guys. Sweetcheeks, are you ready for bed? I’m exhausted.”

“You’re tired from cleaning the kitchen?” August teased, knowing full well that wasn’t what tired the younger man out.

“Yeah…well, it’s a big…kitchen, so,” Nice save, Mike.

“Sounds like a good idea, baby. Let’s go,” you grab Mike’s hand and turn toward August, “Night, August.”

“Goodnight, you two,” August hums, looking from you to his nephew.

The two of you head to bed upstairs, arm in arm. It takes everything out of you not to turn around and look at August once more.

In the middle of the night, you pull yourself out of Mike’s grip and head to the bathroom. You notice your throat is dry and decide to go to the kitchen for a bottle of water. August is already in the kitchen, pouring himself a drink. As he picks up the lowball of amber liquid, he turns to greet you.

“You alright, Princess?” The genuine concern in his voice almost overshadows the fact that he is only clad in a tight pair of boxer briefs. Almost. 

Instead of answering, you are entranced by his hairy chest and defined abdominals. Muscular arms and thick thighs are on full display. You’re sure you’re staring but he doesn’t seem to mind as he makes his way over to you. It seems like he moves in slow motion and your brain doesn’t fully comprehend when he reaches out to you.

His warm hand on your arm reminds you that you forgot to put on a robe before coming downstairs. Your crop top and cheeky underwear leave little to the imagination and you look down at yourself before looking from his hand back up at him. As if seeing your thoughts across your face, August removes his hand from your shoulder.

“I just came down for some water.” You’re surprised that you were able to get those words out, as whiny as they were. Your dry throat returns after you speak.

August nods and turns around to go back to the fridge. The ass on this man is ridiculous too, that’s just unfair. He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and brings it back to you. He holds it out to you, and you take it shakily before opening it and taking a sip. You cap it again and hold it up to your suddenly warm neck. You let out a sigh and close your eyes for a beat. When you open them, August is standing closer to you. You didn’t even hear him take a step.

You slowly lower the water bottle from your skin and August takes it, putting your bottle and his whiskey down on the nearby dining table. When he turns back to you, he reaches up and holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger. He takes his time leaning in, giving you an out to easily lean back.

But you don’t lean back, you lean into him as he slots your mouths together. You whimper into his mouth and it is all over from there. He drops your chin, his hands sliding from your face to your neck and down your back until they settle under your ass as he lifts you into his arms.

“Tell me you want me, Princess,” August whispers, the heat coming off his clothed cock blazing into your core, “You want me to take care of you?”

Fuck.

“Yes,” you whimper, carding a hand through his thick head of hair. 

“That’s my good girl,” he groans, walking to his bedroom. He kisses your neck, nipping at it as he settles you back upon his bed. He hovers over you for a moment, rubbing your covered sexes together. Letting you have ample time to change your mind while making sure you won’t.

“Please,” you whine, no longer able to hide your desire to have him inside you.

“Please what? Say it,” he grunts, pressing his groin harder into you.

“Fuck me, August.” is all he needs to hear before he’s pulling your underwear down and off. He doesn’t remove his own, only tucks them under his balls as he runs the head of his dick through your sopping folds. He enters slowly and gradually, letting you adjust to his girth and length.

Once he is fully seated inside you, he begins a punishing rhythm that has your cervix screaming. Your legs wrap around his waist and his hand finds your throat, placing slight pressure on the sides. The older man has you in a daze soon enough, filthy words leaving his mouth.

“Fuck, it’s just like I imagined it,” August grunts, his pupils blown wide as he looks down at you, “I jerked my cock so many times with your panties. They barely smell like you anymore. I’m gonna change that.” With that, he pulls out. Getting off the bed, he reaches into the pocket of the slacks he was wearing earlier and finds your thong.

He gets back on the bed and starts to stuff the underwear into your wet snatch. You squirm under his touch as he pushes the material inside you. Once you are full, his finger circles your clit.

“I’m gonna get you to cum all over your panties so I can have that smell back in my life. You’re so perfect, Princess.” Between his words and his finger working you over, it doesn’t take long until you're coating your underwear in sweet nectar and moaning August’s name.

“Mmm, that’s my good girl. Now, let’s get this out, shall we?” That’s all the warning you get. August inserts one thick digit inside you and pulls out the wet lace. He sets them aside and slides his dick back inside you. He sets a slow pace, wanting you to beg for more. It’s not long before he is granted his wish.

“August, harder, please?” Your whimpers go straight to his dick and you feel him involuntarily twitch.

“Yes, Princess. Anything for my good girl.” August lands two soft slaps on your face, his hand then moves back to your throat as you toss your head back into the pillow underneath you. “Is Princess gonna come all over my cock?”

You nod, this time when he lands a slap, you feel a sting. The shock of it mixed with his thrusting has you so close.

“Come for me, Princess. Then I’ll breed this tight little cunt.” 

“No, August. I’m not on birth control. Please don’t…come inside me…” Your words are trailing off as your orgasm catches up with you. The sound of wet squelching echoes in your ears.

“I’m gonna stuff you so full of my cum. You’re mine now, Princess. And I will keep you full of me, giving me strong children one after the other. Tell me to come inside you, Princess. Now!”

“Come inside me, August.” If his hand wasn’t around your throat and his body against yours holding you down, you think you might not have said it. But you did say it. You can’t take it back.

His hips stutter in their movement and you are soon flooded with his spend. He doesn’t stop fucking you until you come again, some of his seed leaking out past his cock as he pulls himself out. He looks down and smiles watching you leak with his spunk, before laying next to you. He draws you closer to rest your head on his chest.

He kisses your forehead in a sweet gesture. Juxtaposed with the filthy act you’ve just committed, you suddenly feel nauseous. You bite back bile as you rest against August. You wish the Earth would open up and swallow you whole. You stay like that for a minute more, feeling your legs get wet with his cum as it leaks from you. 

“You’re going to break up with Michael. I don’t care if you love him and he loves you. You’ll be pregnant with my children soon enough and I’ll be the one taking care of you. He won’t want you because I’m going to ruin you for all other men, Princess.” His words hit you hard followed by his hand around your throat, “Did you hear me?”

“Yes.” You sniffle.

“Yes, what?” You feel his body tense.

“Yes, Sir.” 

“That’s my good girl. You’re mine, remember that. Now, open your mouth,” He still holds onto your throat while he turns to you.

You open your mouth and he spits, half of it landing on your lips. You squeeze your eyes shut in disgust as you hear him laugh at your discomfort. He wipes his saliva into your mouth, “Swallow it, Princess. I would hate to think you don’t want my gift.”

Your world implodes as you swallow, the gravity of cheating on Mike suddenly screaming its way into the forefront of your mind. You hate yourself and you hate August for enticing you.

“Now, be a good girl and end it with Michael. And make yourself useful and bring me my whiskey on your way back, Princess.” 

You get up quickly, finding and putting on your underwear before all but running out of August’s room, you can still taste him on your tongue. You reach the upstairs bathroom connected to your bedroom and make it to the toilet in the nick of time. Your dinner comes back up so harshly that you end up waking Mike up with your gagging.

He comes to hold your hair out of the way and rub a soothing hand on your back. As you finish, you spit, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You close the lid, sitting down on the floor next to Mike as he looks at you concerned.

“Mike, baby, I’m so sorry.” 

“Sweetcheeks, what are you sorry for? You just got sick is all.”

“Not saying sorry for that, I have to tell you something.”

“Babe, you’re scaring me, what’s going on?” Mike’s voice quivers and it is all you can do to stop yourself from kissing his frown away because you’re about to break his heart.

“I…slept with August,” you blurt out, and you start to cry before you can help it, “He told me to come to break it off with you and I don’t want that, Mikey. I don’t want him.” You stop your rambling and sit in silence.

Mike isn’t saying anything and you wonder what is even going through his head. You hazard a look over to his face. His jaw is working in anger and he pulls his knees up to his chest.

“Mike, I’m so sor-”

“We’re leaving. Get dressed.” Mike cuts you off and gets up from the floor. You get up and follow him to the bedroom, pulling on your jeans and hoodie quickly as he begins to pack your suitcases quietly.

You watch him move about the room mechanically. You wish he would talk to you. But, you know you don’t deserve to be comforted. He needs and deserves better than you. As he finishes, he pulls on his clothes and takes your things downstairs.

You follow him down, pausing when you both see August now wearing just pajama bottoms. He actually looks surprised to see you both dressed and holding your luggage.

“Go to the car, I’ll be out in a sec, ok?” Mike’s voice is eerily calm as he hands you the car keys and ushers you outside.

“Mike, let’s just lea-”

“I said, go to the car. I’ll be right there,” he barely raises his voice, but he pushes slightly on your shoulder to get you outside. Like he doesn’t want you to witness something.

You grab your luggage and head outside, closing the door behind you. You try and block out the sounds of a struggle in the cabin as you walk across the gravel driveway. You put your suitcase in the trunk and get in the car. You’re putting on your seatbelt as August comes out to the car. Opening the car door, he reaches in and pulls you out. 

“August, what are you doing? Where is Mike?” Your questions are left unanswered as you are pulled inside. The cabin is eerily quiet and you notice Mike sitting on the staircase, his hair and clothing a mess, staring daggers at you.

“So you gave him my favorite thong of yours, let him fuck you and come inside you, and what? I’m just supposed to let that go and forgive you?” Mike practically spits fire at you, his words scalding you.

“Mikey, please. Let’s just leave like we were going to. I want you, Mikey, I’m so sorry I made a mistake. Please don’t leave me.” You beg at his feet, groveling for him not to quit on you.

“It wasn’t me that left. Remember that. I never wanna see either of you ever again,” Mike grabs his suitcase and moves to pass you, “And you can find another way back to school. I’ll leave your stuff outside. You two deserve each other.”

“Mikey, please–”

Mike pushes past you and walks out of the door. You can hear the gravel crunching under his feet. The unmistakable sound of your luggage and bookbag hitting the driveway. You run out in time to see him driving away. Your entire world shifts around you as the weight of your actions consumes you.

The last thing you remember is your legs feeling wobbly as you are caught by strong arms.

You haven’t seen Mike in almost a year when you bump into him in the supermarket. You’re walking down the frozen food section, perusing the ice cream flavors when you hear someone’s throat clear behind you. You turn around and are met with a messy head of curls peering into your cart, the baby carrier in his line of sight.

“I shouldn’t be surprised you had his baby. You always wanted kids, guess just not my kids.” Mike shakes his head, looking away from you. 

“Mikey, I’m–”

“Save it, you’re wasting your time. I got someplace I gotta be.” Mike rolls his eyes and leaves you where you stand. The coldness of the aisle hits you more harshly than before.

You broke a good man’s heart and you deserved the life you have now. 

You grab August’s fave, mint chocolate chip, and then head to checkout. Loading the car, you head home. August made you drop out of school to begin your new life as his incubator.

He comes out of the house as you pull into the driveway, grabbing the baby carrier and cooing to his son. You’re left to bring in the rest of the groceries.

Since you gave birth, August has been relentless in his attempts to get you pregnant again. Once upon a time, sex all day long would have aroused you. Now, it’s become your least favorite activity. You can’t get wet for August. 

To have any kind of arousal, you’re forced to think of Mikey. The way he would kiss you in the middle of laughing, or the sounds he made while going down on you. That part of your life is gone. Now, you are a mother against your will. And August won’t let you forget what you’re here for.

“My son is hungry, can you handle that, Princess?” He waits until you nod, opening your blouse and unlatching your nursing bra before he gently hands you August Jr. As the baby suckles at you, your mind wanders.

“Yes, Sir.” You start to believe August likes the robotic way you speak now. Whenever you did express emotion, it was to show sadness and he hated that.

While you hold your son, August grabs your chin gently between his forefinger and thumb. “Smile for me, Princess,” You look up at August and follow his command, “That’s my good girl. After he’s done feeding, meet me upstairs. You’re ovulating and I am so attracted to this view of you. Just think of it, Princess. AJ sitting atop your pregnant belly while you feed him. It’s so perfect.” He sweetly caresses your face, never is he as sweet as when he wanted you.

After your son falls asleep while eating, you put him on your shoulder and burp him. You walk to his nursery and lay him down, caressing his curls before kissing his tiny face. It’s not his fault that his father is terrible to his mother.

It’s your fault for letting yourself fall into the arms of a man that wasn’t your boyfriend. You had everything you needed with Mikey. And now you had nothing you wanted with August. Plastering the smile that August loved so much on your face, you walk into your bedroom.

August sits on your bed, waiting for you while he strokes himself. You walk up to him, the sickly sweet smile still on your face, and begin to undress slowly. He reaches up to play with a swollen, wet nipple and you can’t help but enjoy the relief it brings when he latches onto your breast. While he drinks from you, he pulls you into his lap. Without pulling free of your nipple, he uses a hand to slide his cock inside you.

You groan as he breaches you, whimpering as he guides your hips to ride him. August pulls away from your breast to switch to the other, working to drain you while he fucks you. You want to hate him, you wish your milk was poison to kill him. But, instead, all you do is cradle his head and grind down on him.

When he has had his fill of you, he leans back wiping his mouth before maneuvering you to lay on your back as he fucks into you. 

“I love you so much, Princess.” His words are a surprise and they confuse you.

“Why?”

“You’re the mother of my children, of course, I love you…You give us everything we need…You make me so happy…You’re my Princess, I’m your King…And we have our little Prince.” His words are all coming out in short breaths as he tries to hold back his orgasm until after yours. He reaches down to play with your clit as he sucks hickeys into your neck. “Tell me you love me, Princess.”

“I love you, August,” You actually sound like you mean it as your orgasm rushes through you.

“That’s my good girl!” August thrusts into you one last time, releasing his fertile seed inside you. You feel every twitch and squirt inside of you, and you swear you could feel yourself being impregnated at that moment. He stays inside you for a moment longer, pulling out to hold your legs up and rock you side to side as he heard that helps to aid in conception.

This is your life, an endless sea of pregnancy. A hollow promise of love from a man who took everything from you. And the worst part is, you’ve given up fighting because you know you deserve it.

A/N: Welp, that’s something. I’ll be in my bunk, rethinking my life’s choices.

**Tag List**

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[tashacee]

Thought randomly popped in my head after you mentioned you ised to be in The Witcher fandom: how would Geralt react to the Hero's Aspect AU?

Oh man writing this was so much fun

School of the Cat

Geralt sighed as he made his way through the forest. This was ridiculous. He had no idea why he was doing this. He was wasting his time and he’d be the laughing stock of Kaer Morhen if his brothers knew.

Jaskier had come running up to him in a fit of panic, having gone to take a whiz in the night.

“GERALT!” He’d shouted. “There’s a giant cat man monster in the woods!”

Geralt had… not really known what to say about that. Except that giant cat man monsters categorically did not exist. But Jaskier didn’t seem very pleased by this response.

Which was why he was now walking away from their camp and into the woods, in search of a

He sighed. Was he really doing this?

…in search of a giant cat man monster.

For fucks sake. Jaskier probably startled a badger or something. This was ridiculous.

But here he was regardless.

He rolled his eyes. Five more minutes and he was heading back to camp. Back to his nice warm bedroll and a bit of blessed sleep.

To his left, something cracked. Geralt whirled around, his pupils dilating to see better in the darkness and-

Well shit.

That was a giant cat man.

Huh.

Geralt wasn’t too sure about the ‘monster’ part. The guy was big, sure, but he was also well dressed with some nice jewellery and his hair was brushed and tied back.

The cat man was holding up his hands as if to show that he wasn’t dangerous, his eyes wide and blue as he looked at the Witcher.

“Uh.” Geralt said. Shit, he was no good with people. “Hello.”

The cat man looked relieved, his tail - wow okay yes he had a tail - coming out from where it had been tucked between his legs.

And he… started gesturing.

Fuck.

Geralt was pretty good at languages. He was pretty good at sign. He understood common sign, both varieties of hen llinge sign, he even had a pretty strong understanding of dwarven sign.

This was none of those.

Uuuuh…

Geralt tried common and then both variants of elvish to see if the cat guy understood him. But he only looked confused and gave a frustrated meow - and fuck, THAT was not the sound he expected to come from this seven foot tall cat man.

Catboy tried what was clearly a different variant of sign. Then another. Then- FUCK!

Geralt barely rolled out of the way in time as the cat man made the sign for Igni and a jet of flame shot out from his hands.

In fairness, though, he seemed fairly horrified by it himself, letting out a screeching yowl and scrambling backwards and tumbling to the ground. Well, at least it hadn’t been intentional. Clearly. Though Geralt had NO idea what language he was trying to use if he’d accidentally signed Igni.

The cat man was doing something else- fumbling at the offending arm and -

What the FUCK?

He literally. He. He ripped his arm off. And threw it into the underbrush, yowling.

“Hmm.” Said Geralt, slowly standing.

The he cat man was still sitting in the undergrowth and looking suitably freaked out, which was fair. He was clutching at his shoulder where he had pulled his arm off and - ah. Yes. There was a stump there with an old scar cutting through the fur. The arm must have been a prosthetic.

Geralt stooped and picked it up from where it had been thrown, and immediately his pendant began to hum. Hmm. A magical prosthetic then - that would explain how it moved so well at least. L

He turned to the cat man and held it out.

“I’m Geralt.” He said “want your hand back?”

The cat man nodded meekly and took the arm back, purring in thanks as he slotted it back into place. Fuck. How on earth had Jaskier ever mistaken this guy for a monster? He was quite literally a pussy cat!

“Fuck.” Geralt said, because that was essentially his version of ‘hello’. Looked like he’d made a new friend. “You can… come back to our camp if you want? Till you find… whoever you’re looking for?”

The cat man perked up and nodded. This was going to be fun.

-

Jaskier at least had the good graces to be embarrassed by his earlier reaction and began to dedicate himself to trying to figure out what their new friend was saying.

They were more successful than Geralt expected. Jaskier managed to figure out that the catman was called Wild and that he was looking for his brothers. And Wild, as an apology for startling him, began to cook.

And DAMN he could cook. Geralt wasn’t sure he’d ever had food this good.

Wild could stay. It was official. He was wonderful. If his brothers never showed up Geralt wouldn’t be too mad, as long as he got to eat like this again.

-

But of course, all good things must come to an end. Wild’s brothers showed up and were categorically NOT cat people. As it turned out, neither was Wild, normally, apparently he just fucked around with a cursed object and found out.

Still, the week they’d spent travelling with Wild had been a fun one, and he’d been sad to see the big guy go. Not just because of the food, though that had definitely been a bonus, but because he’d actually been a fairly chill guy.

Geralt smiled as he rode off. At least Wild had managed to leave something with him. The strange slate at his hip had been able to create pictures more detailed than the finest oil painting and he had taken one of him, Geralt, and Jaskier one night. They’d been halfway through eating and both the Witcher and the Bard looked fairly surprised, but it was a fantastic picture. And Wild had managed to materialise a copy and gift it to him.

And Geralt knew that while all things must end and everyone eventually parts ways, he’d treasure that picture forever.

[cyberrat]

89th Batch Of Fics: 9th Fill

Geralt/Gaetan/Jaskier – Part 3/4 – a/b/o; alpha!Geralt; alpha!Gaetan; omega!Jaskier; hurt/comfort; magic healing dick – Jaskier and Geralt just casually breaking Gaetan's little world wide open.

---

When Jaskier finally manages to peel Gaetan’s pants off all the way and ducks his head past his spit wet cock to instead nose beneath his heavy balls, Geralt can basically see the cogs starting to turn in the other Alpha’s head. He’s been downright sweet for them; just quietly growling out his groans, staying nice and placid and letting the Omega service him without trying to take control.

Geralt is not so naive as to think that the behavior doesn’t have in large part to do with the fact that Gaetan is injured. He keeps vigilant, ready to restrain the other if he were to suddenly get shocked out of his stupor by Jaskier’s warm tongue laving warm and needy against his hole.

He is not prepared for the softest little whine to slither out of the other witcher’s throat.

He bites the tip of his tongue to not make a sound. Hands moving slowly, he grasps Gaetan’s throat, fingers just the gentlest points of pressure petting along the skin and feeling the constant sub-vocal Alpha rumble slipping from him. He looks and sounds confused… but his body is all on board for Jaskier slipping his hands beneath Gaetan’s legs and pushing them up enough that he can lap at the other Alpha’s secret little hole.

Jaskier is trilling again. He sounds so damn satisfied with himself. So happy to feel the tension draining from the hurt Alpha’s body; downright addicted to making them feel good.

Gaetan whimpers again when Jaskier shifts; presumably fitting one of his long fingers into the Alpha. Geralt is fascinated. They have yet to find an Alpha that was so good for them; not posturing and struggling and denying the obvious pleasure he felt at getting his sweet little hole opened up by an Omega.

Jaskier pauses suddenly, his head lifting, mouth and chin glistening with spit. His eyes look animalistic but also calculating as he stares at Gaetan. It takes Geralt a second longer to notice his smell as well – and damn was Jaskier’s nose sensitive. There’s the soft tendrils of distress creeping off from the other Alpha. It’s just sour enough to make Geralt’s mouth flood with saliva.

He swallows thickly, his hips angling up, pressing the warm bulge of his erection against Gaetan’s naked ass.

Jaskier tilts his head. His bicep flexes and Gaetan throws his head back against Geralt’s collar bones as the Omega slowly pumps his fingers through the clench of his desperate body.

Jaskier flicks his eyes up to Geralt. They stare at each other for but a moment before Geralt understands what the Omega wants. He gives him a little nod – and begins to move.

Gaetan struggles briefly, then hisses in pain from the wounds. Jaskier no-doubt will tend to them in a bit; but first they need to satisfy that animal need inside them.

“What is… what are you-” Gaetan fights them just as long as it takes him to realize that Jaskier has presented for him, his pristine powder blue pants down around his knees and no longer as pristine; ass up in the air with slick visibly glistening between the furry cheeks. He’s got one shoulder on the ground and twists just enough to peer at the Alphas behind him.

His trill this time is not airy and light but low and throaty and amorous; urging the Alphas to come closer and take him. Knot him. Breed him.

Gaetan does not ask for permission but he gets it anyway by way of Geralt simply letting go of him and watching the injured Alpha awkwardly crawl closer. He’s pushing through the pain that his body must be in, not showing much more than a mild wince whenever the ripped muscles on that side have to work through their ache.

Despite it all, he does not want the pretty Omega to see him off-kilter. Geralt smirks privately, hands working on the bindings of his own pants. He keeps a careful eye on the both of them. While his earlier assessment of Gaetan not appearing to be aggressive still stands, he is not willing to risk Jaskier when he is this obedient and in such a vulnerable position.

Just like Jaskier before him, Gaetan’s first move is not to mount up and fuck but to bury his face between the Omega’s hairy cheeks and find his slippery hole nose first. Interesting.

Geralt cocks his head slightly, fingers light on his erection as he circles it and thumbs the tip; gathering slick and slowly spreading it across the warm, silky skin of his shaft.

Jaskier seems surprised – as well he might be. In all the encounters Geralt had carefully watched him have with Alphas, none of them had used their tongues on him; not for more than a perfunctory swipe to check his general readiness and coat the insides of their mouths with the fragrant, thick slick he generously produces.

Gaetan growls softly, hands fluttering about Jaskier’s hairy thighs, then carefully grasping on to them as he pushes in even deeper. The sound of his tongue and lips against the Omega’s warm little pussy are delightfully wet. Messy smacks of kisses and sucks and self-indulgent licks that quickly have Jaskier singing for them in a whole different way than he usually likes to do.

Geralt’s quiet little smirk becomes wider as he shuffles closer to the both of them. He hesitates for a moment, gaze traveling along Gaetan’s bend-over form, eyes taking in his grip that he has on Jaskier. He seems completely spellbound by how open the pretty Omega is. How eagerly he angles himself back and trills and simpers at him as if they’d been mates for years.

Deciding to take the risk, Geralt leans down and wraps his arms around Gaetan’s hips, cock slotting in against his warm little behind.

Time stills as the other Alpha lifts his head, Jaskier dripping from his chin in slow, stretching strands of glistening slick. He turns his head just enough to watch Geralt from the corner of his eye, his feline pupils pulled together into thin, aggressive slices. He is instantly wary, though Jaskier crooning at him and cutely ducking his chest down against the ground like a playing kitten somewhat distracts him from whatever immediate violent outburst might be lurking underneath his skin.

“What are you playing at, master Witcher?” Gaetan asks softly, his voice barely audible above the low growl rumbling in his chest.

Geralt does not immediately reply; not with words, at least. He hums low and gives his hips a slow roll, dragging his cock between the other Alpha’s cheeks, letting the yet soft folds of his knot brush against his sweet little hole.

Gaetan stiffens further in his grip but he has yet to lash out at him, which is a good sign, Geralt decides as he gently curls himself about the smaller Alpha’s back and hooks his chin across his shoulder so to whisper into his ear: “Jaskier is enamored with you. I think he would like to tend to your… wounds… for a while longer yet. And I do not mind having you around us. At least until the next settlement. And maybe…”

Maybe longer. He does not say it but the meaning is clear.

He waits for Gaetan’s decision as Jaskier is growing more restless by the second; trying for pathetic and horny in a ditch effort to get the Alphas’ attention on him.

Gaetan is quiet, gaze shifty; but he has yet to buck Geralt off which is a good sign.

He waits patiently.

[fandom-junk-drawer]

The Witcher Headcanon - Invisible Danger

Traveling the Path can get boring sometimes. There's only so many times you can admire the scenery before it starts to get old, or so many times you can mentally go over your plans, and you eventually run out of things to talk about with your horse.

Playing I Spy gets old when your horse keeps getting it right on the first guess, and Never Have I Ever is no fun because your horse and your bard already know everything about you.

Two Truths and A Lie is challenging, for Geralt at least, because Jaskier is 1) surprisingly of noble blood, incredibly well educated, and is part of a mysterious world Geralt doesn't understand, and 2) is incredibly adventurous when it comes to sexy time, and has done so much kinky sh*t, and been involved in so much resulting drama, it's almost impossible to pick out the lie.

Banging your wife isn't very much fun when your bard keeps b*tching and threatening to join you if you don't stop being so f***ing loud about it while he's trying to sleep. The little impromptu songs he makes up on the spot are annoying and completely ruin the mood.

Pranks are all fun and games until someone (Jaskier) takes things a little too far and then Geralt has to either keep himself or Yennefer from killing him.

There's only so many times you can sing "Oh, Valley of PEEnis!" before Geralt's eye starts twitching.

All the various little games and amusements that you make up can only be played so many times before someone gets huffy and doesn't want to play anymore, and then it gets really boring because someone says something to someone else and then no one is speaking to anyone.

It was turning out to be one of Those Trips, where all the usual forms of amusement had gotten really old, really fast, and Geralt was starting to wonder if perhaps it wouldn't be a monster that would end his existence, but plain boredom.

But then Yennefer came to the rescue.

They were taking a break under the trees, snacking on bread and cheese, and dried meat. It had been quiet for the last few miles or so, Jaskier too busy working out a tune on his lute to engage in conversation.

Geralt had seen Yennefer glance quickly at Jaskier, then look down at her dried meat. Jaskier was leaning against the trunk of a tree, eating his lunch while trying to scribble down the rough idea for his next song.

A brief smile had skated across Yennefer's face and Geralt knew something was up. Yennefer had suddenly let out a surprised gasp and jumped up, then yelped and ducked. Jaskier had immediately dropped his things and started looking around wildly for what had startled Yennefer.

Geralt had watched, confused, then amused, as Yennefer started running back and forth, randomly curisng, while Jaskier just followed her around, hunched over and clinging to the back of her dress, looking around wildly.

Yennefer had yelled random expetives, and ignored all of Jaskier's panicked questions.

Yennefer: *screaming, flailing, running*

Jaskier *panicking*: *shriek* What! What is-?!

Yennefer: *shrieks and dodges*

Jaskier: *shrieks, hunched down, stumbling after her*

Yennefer: Oh gods, what is that!

Jaskier: What! What!

Both: *screaming and ducking while running around the campsite*

It continued on for a few moments more before whatever it was that had spooked Yennefer had gone. When questioned about what it had been, Yennefer had vaguely answered that it must have been a bird or a bat. Or something.

Jaskier had been amusingly jumpy for the next few hours, and Geralt and Yennefer had giggled quietly to themselves. Thus the game of Spook the Bard was born.

Whenever things started to get dull, Yennefer or Geralt would play their private little game. Geralt found that it was more difficult to play when it was just himself and Jaskier. He had to make his reaction to the invisible danger seem real.

Geralt found that growling, "F**k!" and standing up, or getting off Roach with his sword drawn was enough to spook Jaskier. From there it was all a matter of keeping him panicking by bombarding him with frantic instructions.

The bard had immedately started flapping around, cluthcing his lute and looking for a place to hide when Geralt had, out of the blue, swerved Roach towards the trees.

Geralt: Get to the trees!

Jaskier: *panicked bard noises*

Geralt: Go! Go! Go! Watch out for that rock! No, not that way! Wait, stop! No, keep going! Hurry, it's circling around in front of us! Hide behind that bush! No, climb up that tree instead! No, not that one! F**k it's getting closer! On second thought, get up in that tree! No! Yeah! F**k, get in that thicket! No, wait! It might be hiding in there!

Jaskier: *gibbering, wild-eyed, falling over his own feet*

Geralt: *holding the back of Jaskier's jacket and violently dragging him around*

Jaskier: *just gives up and passes out*

Geralt had laughed until his stomach ached, managing to get himself under control before Jaskier started to come around. After that, Geralt enjoyed a few hours of amusement as Jaskier jumped at every sound and shadow, even shrieking when a squirrel had darted across the road.

The game wasn't limited to when they were traveling. Yennefer and Geralt would play even when they were staying Yennefer's house, an inn, or at Kaer Morhen.

Geralt and Yennefer decided to play Spook the Bard one winter. They had been down in the Great Hall, and things had gotten a little dull.

No one wanted to play The Floor Is Lava, Lambert was p*ssed because he lost The Game, no one wanted to play Spoons after Jaskier started fake crying when Coen tried to take his spoon, and Bard Keep Away ended up on the Banned Games List after Geralt took it a little too personal and started a fight with Lambert.

Geralt saw Jaskier sitting next to Yennefer by the fire, eating out of pure boredom, just minding his own d*mn business. He saw Yennefer casually set her tankard of ale down. Geralt said not a word, just braced himself.

Yennefer shifted with a squeak and jumped to her feet, wildly brushing at her clothes.

Jaskier threw his plate as he started flailing around and gibbering, trying to get up and get away from whatever it was that was on Yen.

Yennefer was chaotically scurrying back and forth and swatting the air as if trying to keep something from landing on her. Jaskier was looking around wildly and trying to avoid it as well. He grabbed the back of Yennefer's cloak and tried to stay close to her.

Jaskier: What! What the h*ll is it!"

Yennefer: *panicked scream and vague pointing*

Jaskier: *screeching* "What is it, Yen!"

Yennefer: "Oh my gods, there it is!"

Jaskier: *terrified shriek*

They were both screaming and jumping, ducking and zig zagging around.

Yennefer jumped up on the nearest table, and Jaskier was clambering up right behind her. Seconds later, he was yeeting himself off the table, following Yennefer as she scrambled down in a rush of panicked screaming.

Geralt decided to get in on it, and ran over and started randomly stomping on the ground around them and grabbing Yennefer and Jaskier and swinging them in random directions.

The other Wolves had no clue what was going on and added to the chaos by rushing over to try to see what it was that was attacking Yennefer and Jaskier. Geralt kept them whipped up by yelling random location words at them.

It ended when Yennefer, trying to give the game a grand finale, shouted and pointed at Jaskier, "It's in your hair!"

She hadn't counted on Eskel, poor cinnamon roll Eskel, reacting by reflexively b*tch slapping the back of Jaskier's head.

Everything stopped as the sound of the slap echoed through the hall, and Jaskier slowly folded up on the floor. Oh, f**k, he'd accidentally factory reset the bard.

Geralt pretended to pick something up and toss it out the window while Jaskier rebooted.

He told his brothers that it had just been a really big cockroach. Sorry for all the screaming. It looked bigger than it was, especially with the way it had been scurrying around. You know how it is.

Yennefer had agreed. Yeah, sorry, it looked super gigantic crawling up on my dress, and especially when it started flying around.

Jaskier, mildly concussed and woozy, had thanked Eskel for getting the bug off him, and let Yennefer and Geralt lead him to his room for a lie down.

Yennefer and Geralt decided to lay off playing Spook the Bard for awhile.

[geraltofriviacollection]

Paring: Geralt × Reader

Summary: Reader is thrown into the Witcher's world. Will she survive? This takes place in the second season .Eventual smut may come about. (Not for a while but will let you know😉)

A/N: This is the second part in a series. Slow burn. I have not edited or proofread. Please do not repost, translate or copy my work with out permission. Please leave comments! Also @purplegardenwhispers sorry this took so long but I wrote this just for you. That being said tell me if you like it 😬

Chapter One

Masterlist

Chapter Two 

I feel warm. I must be back in my bed. Back? Giggle. It must have all be a night mare. I move my arms to stretch and pain erupts from my side. I open my eyes instantly. I look around. I am not in my bed. I’m in ….well I don’t know where the fuck I am I feel the panic begin to rise in my chest and my mouth opens to scream.

“I wouldn’t if I were you.” I look over and see Geralt. Well at least I know where I am again.

“If I want to scream because I got fucking shot and saw a fucking monster rip though a man I should be able to scream if I fucking want! Don’t you think?!” I yell. Geralt narrows he eyes at me then sighs before handing me a cup of water.

“Who are you and How do you know my name?” He ask me. I look from the ceiling back over to him. I see the otherworldly golden eyes looking back at me.

“I’m Y/N. You are from a video-” I try to tell him as a massive throbbing starts in my head. The frown on his face deepensas I whimper. “It’s difficult to say.” I explain rubbing at my temples as the pain starts to fade away.

He stares at me and then leans back and crosses his arms. “Hmm” he says. It’s hard to look away from him. I struggle to sit up. And wince at the pain in my side. “I wouldn’t move too much, I haven't had to stitch someone up in a long while.” He says.

“I need to know exactly where we are.” Demanding him to tell me. He just squints his eyes and looks at me. Just then the door opens and Ciri, who can only be Ciri, walks in the door.

“Geral-“ She starts but then looks at me. A look of recognition stretches across her soft face. She turns to me, wrapping her arms around me as best she can in this position. I place a hand on her. “I know you.” She says. Geralt looks at Ciri with confusion and concern written on her face. The shock must be written across my face at her words.“I’ve seen you in some of my dreams. I’m-”

“Ciri, yes I know.“ I say interrupting her. I stroke her hair. Something clicks into place inside of me and begins to build when she pulls back.In that moment I feel as I am exactly where I should be and it shocks me to my core. She steps back sheepishly. I blink a few times before bringing my hands to my face, rubbing my eyes. When I move my hands from my face Geralt has his sword at my throat. Ciri makes a distressing sound and tries to tell Geralt to stop.

“Ciri not now.” Geralt interrupts his eyes, never leaving mine. “Answer my question.”

“I’m not from here…. I '' I stop. How do I even begin to explain that last night aI fell asleep on my couch watching Seinfeld and now here I am in the middle of what will be an epic shit show.

“What do you mean you are not from around here? Are you from Nilfgaard?” Ciri questions stepping towards me. Geralt ushers her back with his hand.

“She means she is not from our world.”

“How…”

“Explain to me then how you know our names.” Geralt demands

“Where I’m from you-“ Something blocks the words from coming out. “You and Ciri are-“ The words seem to be sucked out of my mouth. A second after my attempts I feel white hot pain lick through my body. Worse than the throbbing in my head. My whole body is still frozen in pain.

“Something is preventing you from saying anything isn’t ?” Geralt says moving his sword. I try once more before the pain radiates more intensely throughout my body. I fell the air sucked from my lungs. The rising panic and pain begins to overwhelm me. Slowly it starts to decrease and breathing becomes easier.

“Okay okay so I can’t tell you where I’m from. I can’t tell you how I got here either, that's because I don’t know.” I sigh in frustration.

“She’s coming with us right Geralt?” Ciri asks as if I am not in the room.

“First I am right here. Second, not to sound needy or anything but I would prefer to stick with you guys. All the shit going happening right now is very concerning.” Smiling at the both of them trying not freak out at the thought of being left behind.

“It’s not safe if you come with us.” Geralt says with the ever present frown on his face. I look to Ciri and almost see the pleading on her face. Geralt looks to Ciri before sighing. “Fine, but I will kill you if you try anything stupid.Ciri, ask Nevillen for some proper clothes for her.” At the sound of his name I jerk up stupidly forgetting about my wounds. The thing building in me grows heavier at that new. Ciri pauses at my movement. I smile at her she smiles back briefly before leaving the room.

I look back to geralt. “We need to leave.” The desperate tone in my voice has geralt frowning again. “You feel something is off here don’t you?” Geralt leans back, shock flickers so fast across his face I barely recognize it. “You don’t want to admit it, fine. We need to leave now all the same.”

“Why?”

“Something-“ The headache starts. “I can’t tell you. You don’t know me. I know you don’t trust easily but at this moment I need you to believe me when I say we should leave.”

“Ciri will be back with clothes for you. I would suggest you bathe while you have the chance.” He says and leaves the room.

“Wait!” I call out and he turns to me. “Thank you for saving my life.” I offer a smile that is returned with a grunt and slight nod of his head.

His evasive grumpiness is going to get old very fast. I huff looking around the old house seeing the holes in the ceiling. Knowing the danger lurking does nothing to easy my anxiety about being here. When the door to the room opens I jump in fright.

“It’s only me.” Ciri breathes out a small laugh. “I brought you clothes. Nevillen has prepaired a bath for you through that door. Do you need help getting there?” She ask with as small smile.

“Yes, please.” I tell her smiling back at her. Ciri come around the bed and helps left me up with a groan coming from my lips. She places a gentle hand around my waist and gides me to the bath. Looking at the warm bathtub with steam rising and bubble has me sighing until I remember that getting in will be painful. Ciri helps me balance on the edge of the tub and holds me as i swing one leg over the other. I sink into the warmth. I pull my nightgown over my head as ciri turns and I drop it with a wet plop to the floor.

“I know you won’t harm us.” Ciri says as she turns and takes a seat on the small stool nex to the bath.

“What do you mean?” I ask, rubbing the dirt from my face.

“The moments I have seen you in my dreams. You were always protecting me like geralt does.” I look at her in shock. “I’m sorry I did mean to overwhelm you.” She looks down at her hands.

“Ciri, what you said doesn’t overwhelm me. Knowing you trust me makes it easier for me to keep you safe if I can.” I place a hand on her arm. She smiles at me again and helps me wash my hair. Eventually We manage to get me out of the tub dried off and into a dress that is warm and unsurprisingly fits perfectly. The issue is taming the wild main of wet curls. Ciri opening a jar and starts running some type of cream though my hair and I manage to braid it in to something acceptable. Ciri loops an arm around my waist and helps me to the dining room. Where Nevillen and Geralt waited for us. Nevillen stands at our entrance.

“Thank you so much for this. My other clothes were ready to run away by themselves.” She says walking to take a seat on one side while I site opposite of her in front of the fire. I give Nevillen my thanks less enthusiastically as Ciri.

When we have taken our seats Nevillen conjures food for us that falls from mid air and smacks the table with a loud thud. Creating messes across the table. I begin eating as the conversation around me continues. I try not to stare at Nevillen, he reminds me of the beast from beauty and the beast. Definitely not as attractive.

“Tell me, fair maiden, how you managed to be traveling with this lot.” Nevillen says, turning his attention to me.

“Well I was about to be raped and sold as a slave.” I stare directly into Nevillen’s eyes as I say that. I see a flash of guilt roll across his face. I continue on. “Until a spider-like monster killed the men who wanted to sell me, Geralt showed up and killed the monster, and saved my life.” I peek at Geralt and find his eyes on me quite intently. “Which pretty much sums up my first day here.” I laugh. The awkward tense moment is broken as Nevillen begins to tell the story of how he met geralt. He’s quite entertaining. I could find myself liking him if only I didn’t know what he had done.

The conversations turns, when geralt when geralt ask about his curse. Nevillen pause for a moment and launches into his tale about desiccating the temple.

“This priestess cursed me to live like this. Forever alone.” Geralt grunts at this before replying.

“All curses have cures. What did she say?” He ask.

“She screamed something about love and blood. I don’t remember. I’ll be honest. I have tried to end it, more than once. But I kept coming back.That priestess won’t let me off so easy.” He finishes.

“Surely something that tragic would be burned into your memory. Are you sure that is all that she said? I doubt a priestess would curse you to live forever alone for simply trashing the temple.” I push him a slight edge entering my voice. I wince slightly as I feel a sliver of pain through my head as a warning for me to shut my mouth. I stare at him again. Out of the corner of my eyes I see Geralt's eye practically burning in my direction.

“As I said , I don't remember much.” He says looking at me before breaking eye contact. He knows I know he’s lying. About what specifically he’s not sure. I can tell by the slight wrinkle in his head.

We move to the sitting room. I sit across from ciri letting her teal me how to play the board game between us. Geralt mentions the village being abandoned asking what happened. Ciri and I both pause the game to listen. Nevillen gives almost believable explanations as to why there is not a person in sight down there. Going on about the wild hunt. Saying he’s seen them moving across the sky. Ciri joins the conversation as i sit back and make brief eye contact with geralt before his attention returns the conversation.

The conversation halts as Ciri ask about Nevillen having a cat. Nevillen reassures her that the cat is fine. I feel the anger at his lies as my stomach seems to coil into tight knots. I try to keep my face expressionless. He goes on to tell us he’s glad of her company calling her vereena. I see the poker face on Geralt as he questions Nevillen about his curse. Ciri joining in as well. I see Nevillen quickly change the subject.

Geralt ask about scouting the house. Assuring our safety. Ciri reassures him that we will be fine. He looks at me and I give him a small nod telling him I will keep Ciri safe before walking out. Nevillen the breaks out a moving lamp and begins telling us about the fall of the elders. I simply observe the conversation until Ciri beings to talk about Mousesack. The regret of not being able to save everyone.

I feel an ache in my heart I have not felt fully in a long while. “Ciri, there is nothing that could have been done. I know that will not stop that ache in your chest. All of them loved you so much they gave everything to keep you safe. You must love them by continuing on uninhibited by guilt.” I say softly. Tears well in her eyes at my word and I stoke a hand down her hair in comfort. I feel Nevillen’s eyes on us.

The conversation turns to loneliness, something we all seem to share even if I don't express it. I hear the guilt in his voice and a war begins inside of me. He offers to show us to our rooms and when I try to stand I find that I am physically unable to move. I curse at this as they both turn to look at me.

“I will stay here for awhile ,you go on to bed.” I smile. I desperately try to move to get to Ciri. Eventually my head begins to throb this time I can feel the blood dripping down my nose as I fight against whatever this is. My energy drains quickly and I. I sit there awhile staring into the flames of the fire trying to figure out my roll in this fucked up renesance fair at seemed to be trapped in. I take a deep breath knowing Ciri will be safe but I’m here and that could change the course of things .Ciri insists that I am here to help her. That still doesn’t explain how I got her or when I will be able to go back home.

Feeling stiff I try to stand again and nothing holds me back . I stand and begin to explore the house. The first room I walk into is a rather nice sized library. I huff out a laugh at the sight. Feelin the beast and the monster vibe instead of beauty. I grab one book and find I understand the strange symbols on the page,even though I know it's not of my world. I dive in the tail in the book about the beginning of mages when I hear thwack against the wall. I close the book and set it to the side walking down the hall hearing the voices of Nevillen and Geralt.

“-start with the obvious. How in the name of all that is sacred, How did you find yourself looking after a young girl?” Nivillen questions.

I promised her grandmother before she died.” He says.

“And the rather fetching young maiden?” Nevillen ask.

“I’m not sure. That is yet to be seen.” Geralt says. I hear another thwack and Nevillen laugh asking Geralt what his plan is.

“Keep Ciri alive. Figure out what to do with Y/N.” Well I can’t say I’m surprised at that. However little does he know I will not be going anywhere without Ciri. Her dreams of me makes me think I could be here to help her somehow. This strange connection between the two us might explain some things. If I can keep her safe maybe I will be able to go back home. I return back to the conversation between the two of them. I hear Nevillen questioning geralt claiming a child surprise asking him what made him change.

“Who….Yennifer of Vengerberg.

“And where is this rarest and fairest of all maidens?The one who could crack an icy Witchers heart?” Nivillen laughs.

“She’s dead.” Geralt says. The lightest bit of sadness bleeding through.

“I’m sorry, my boy. How long ago?” He ask. Sorrow more openly lacing his tone.

“A few days.”

“How are you not heart broken?”

“Who says I'm not?” Geralt answers back. I feel my own heart breaking as I thought of my parents death for the second time since coming here. They have been gone almost 17 years and listening to geralt's words makes it feel like it happened yesterday. I wipe the tears I didn’t know that I had off of my face. I turn and start walking down the hall to the room I’m sharing with ciri. I hear the chittering in the ceiling. I look up already knowing what’s up there. I see her peak an eye in a hole looking at me.

“I know what you are, Vereena.” I call out looking at her. Cringing as the light throb. She pulls herself from the whole climbing down the wall like something in the grunge. My heart starts beating faster as she gets closer.

“I know what you are. You are like the child but different. Is she your daughter?” She ask me. Her voice echoing in my head.

“No, she is not. She is someone I care for though. I don’t want to see her hurt.” I tell her.

“I have no intentions of hurting the child.” She says her head twitching from side to side.

“Good intentions often lead to bad actions.” I tell her. The weight inside gets heavier.

“Will you tell the monster killer about me?” She turns her head to the right waiting for me to answer.

“No.” I whisper. Desperately wishing I could.

“Then I will not hurt her.” She says with finality and begins crawling back up the wall and in to the hole she came from. I sigh, questioning how I’m supposed to help when I can not warn a single person about anything. Even knowing what happens next is completely out of my control. I walk in to see Ciri's face soften in her sleep. I smile before getting into the bed next to her. Even after being awake for a few hours I feel drained so much so the second my head hits the pillow I'm out like a light.

[magdelanesingerin]

Lucky

Jaskier is lucky. He knows he is.

He’s alive. It could have been worse. Geralt got him out after only a couple of days, cutting a bloody swath through Nilfgaardian prison guards and leaving his interrogator in twitching pieces on the floor before he swooped Jaskier up in his arms and carried him to safety, cradled gingerly to his chest. He can remember feeling a detached sort of shame at the uncontrollable, shaking whine that forced its way out on every exhale until he finally passed out.  

He’s lucky. He’s alive. It could have been so much worse. 

The thought drifts across his fuzzy mind along with voices in the room, the sound of them floating through the murky, dim air as he slips in and out of a dazed, pained confusion. 

“Just heal him, Yen!” 

Ahh, that rough, low voice, so familiar, but muted now as Geralt hisses quietly and fervently in anger that sounds more like desperation.

“I told you. I. Can’t,” the equally hushed and furious reply. The cadence of their arguments is one Jaskier knows well, the building frustration and exasperation bouncing and building between them until it explodes, and they’re finally driven away from each other again. “I used too much power portalling us in and out of the prison, and that fucking mage took more effort than I planned for. I have either enough power to try to heal him —probably badly, since this is nowhere near my specialty– or to take you both safely to Oxenfurt so a qualified healer can stabilize him. Not both.”

“These are complex injuries, Wolf.” A serious, gruff voice that Jaskier doesn’t know. “These aren’t clean, simple breaks. That bone is shattered. I haven’t treated injuries like this in decades, not since there were trainees here.” 

Oh, this must be the mysterious and venerable Vesemir. Not exactly the way he planned on meeting Geralt’s father figure. In every one of Jaskier’s imaginings of this moment, he had definitely been conscious, and not covered in a crust of blood and shameful human filth. Wonderful. 

“He’s not like us,” Vesemir continued, “if she encourages the bones to heal without setting them correctly, he might never use his fingers again. It will take weeks for the pieces to fuse, months to heal completely. He needs a human physician.”

“Months!?” Geralt sounds incredulous, and Jaskier would laugh, or try to, if he could open his mouth without screaming. Bless his wonderful witcher, he has no idea of how human bodies work. 

Vesemir heaves a deep, weary sigh and Yen cuts in again, her voice tight with impatience and something unfamiliar that Jaskier can’t quite place. Fear? Guilt? Neither of those are things he’s used to hearing from Yennefer. “Yes. He’s human . And not a young man anymore,” she says flatly. 

His half-lidded eyes struggle to take in the details of the room around him; he can see the shapes of the people standing over him but can’t quite understand any of it. The breath hisses through his tightly clenched teeth as he clings to control, sounding impossibly loud. 

“An injury like this would take you a week, maybe two to heal with a couple doses of Swallow, and your body would rebuild ligaments and nerves rapidly. His won’t ,” she says, and the whole room can hear the words “you moron” tacked on to the end of her sentence. “He’ll need special care, and not just for a day–for weeks. someone who knows enough about the human hand to be able to piece this mess back together,” she finishes with a tone of frustrated disgust. But Jaskier barely notices, is too distracted by sudden focused awareness on his body brought on by her words… 

He twitches and clenches his eyes shut, trying not to imagine the sharp, twisted grin of the interrogator, the flare of pain when the man moved his attentions from one ruined finger to the next. The acrid smell of burning somewhere in the room. The breathless ache in his chest as whimpers crawled out of his body unbidden and unstoppable on every pained exhale. His head swims and he can feel his heart pounding at the memory that rises up to swallow him. 

Waves of trembling wash over him, tightening muscles in shivering surges that seem unstoppable. He must be in shock. Isn’t shock supposed to dull pain, though? If this is the pain dulled, he thinks hysterically as he tries to force his body to calm, how much worse will it be when he comes out of it? It would be easier if he could just fall fully unconscious.

“Shani. I can take him to Shani. She’s a physician and…Jaskier’s friend. She’s in Oxenfurt.”

“Can you trust her?” Vesemir asks sharply.

“Yes.”

The conversation keeps swirling around him and Jaskier loses track for a little while. Yennefer and Geralt seem to be arguing about going to Oxenfurt, and something about Ciri, but he can’t quite focus enough to take it in. He feels a chill of formless, shameful guilt anyway. He’s causing problems again. Putting them in danger again. 

And then there’s a broad hand over his forehead, smoothing his hair back gently, and Geralt’s voice, cracked and miserable, close enough to feel the warm air of this breath.

“It’s my fault. They took him to get to me. To Ciri. I should have been there sooner.” 

Jaskier usually loves when Geralt touches him like this, offering softness and comfort. It’s uncommon enough to be precious. 

Right now, the touch is too much, though, overwhelming in a way that shocks him, and he flinches away from Geralt’s palm before he can stop himself, eyelids fluttering open enough to see the wince and flash of hurt on his friend’s face as he draws his hand away.  

Geralt’s hand forms a shape in the air over his head and Jaskier feels a wave of warmth and relief wash through his body as his clenching muscles relax. “Sleep, and feel no pain, Jask.”

continue on Ao3

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 15

Jaskier realizes that when Geralt comes back from a hunt, pent up, eyes black, still snarling and panting like a beast, the only thing that helps is cuddling him. He hugs him, and runs his hands through Geralt's hair, and gently washes him with a rag and hushes words into his ear, and it helps bring Geralt back down. Sometimes he wakes up to Geralt coming back from a late-night hunt and immediately grabbing Jaskier's waist and yoINking him into Geralt's bedroll so they can snuggle. It's cute. And Jaskier certainly has no complaints.

Jaskier tries to ask him about it one time, but all it earns him is a "Shut up, Bard." and Geralt acting weird the rest of the day. Maybe he's embarrassed? Jaskier doesn't know why. He has no idea what the potions must feel like to Geralt, perhaps he truly needs the warmth and mass of a person in order to not want to rip his own hair out or scratch off his own skin or something else? So he's just fine with hugging his beefcake of a bestie (of whom he may be completely head over heels in love with) if it means keeping some awful ailment at bay. And he believes this for at least a decade, before he meets Geralt's brothers. Don't get him wrong, they're lovely people! But one day, an exceptionally difficult hunt calls for all three of them to go together and leave Jaskier at camp. Jaskier is a bit concerned over how he'll comfort all three of them at once, but when they come back, he finds that Geralt is suddenly ignoring him, and Lambert and Eskel are acting normal, if not just very exhausted. Jaskier pulls Lambert aside and asks him why they're not itching to hug him, and Lambert is very confused. Jaskier explains that usually Geralt needs to hold him in order to deal with the after-effects of his potions. Lambert explains that's not a normal witcher thing, and that Geralt probably just likes him, but he explains it in his own lovely lambert-y way, meaning it's mostly just laughing hysterically at his big brother catching feelings for some bratty noisemaker in silk (He likes Jaskier! It's just... Not what he saw Geralt going for.) Jaskier tries to talk to Geralt about it, but Geralt stops him from even walking close to him, and walks farther off as extra salt in the wound. It's like he can't even bear to be around Jaskier. It hurts a bit. Jaskier asks Eskel if Geralt took different potions or has a toxin of some sort i him that makes him behave like this instead of the normal, and then explains everything Lambert told him. Eskel agrees that it sounds like him just being comforted by the feeling of his mate safe and sound next to him, and that they've never seen Geralt like that. Jaskier is confused, because surely Geralt doesn't feel the same way, right? sURPRISE SECOND ATTACK! THE MONSTER RETURNS! OH NOOOOO Anyways, It slashes the shit out of Jaskier's arm, or perhaps chest, I don't know, whichever wound strikes your fancy, and the witchers go after it, but as soon as the beast is killed, Geralt rushes to Jaskier, and holds him close. The others try to walk over to help patch Jaskier up only to get growled at by their own brother. So now Lambert and Eskel are playing rock paper scissors on the ground over who REALLY got the final hit on the beast while Geralt sits 12 feet away from them, mending his bard. He growls at them if they look at Jaskier and him too long. A while later, he's off the high of the potions and adrenaline combined, and the witchers sure are going to have a field day lovingly making fun of their brother over this. But first, Jaskier and Geralt need to have a heartfelt talk. ♡!Optional addons!♡

• Big bonus points for a sequel or additional chapter of Lambert starting to act the same way over Aiden (or other ship of your choice, but Lambert and Aiden are my bread and butter lol)

[valandhirwriter]

Another snippet

For @laurikarauchscat. This is a snippet of pregnant Ciri, it was meant for a sequel to "Heirs of Nilfgaard" that never materialised. I totally agree that Ciri as a Mom is an idea that doesn't always work, and that not everyone believes possible. I respect your opinion absolutely. I still had fun with the idea of her being pregnant with little Prince Geralt.

The carriage rattled over another bridge, and Cirilla leaned back into the soft upholstery. The roads of the Empire were the best she had ever seen, and the carriage was made for comfort, still, she was exhausted. When her father had suggested they leave the City of Golden Towers and travel to Loc Grim, in spite of the time of the year, she had thought nothing of it. Her father loved to confuse his court and did so with great skill and more glee than one might think. Travelling to the Imperial Summer residence in February had certainly thrown the court into disarray.

Cirilla herself had agreed at once. She might be pregnant, but she was not an invalid. Even as the entire household, the guards, and everyone else conspired to fulfil her every wish and whim, she insisted on caring for herself and not being treated like a porcelain doll. She had little success with it. The servants were all set on making sure she had everything she might possibly need, had every comfort that one might imagine, and her guards were not much better. Captain Adair and his soldiers had made it their personal mission to ensure that she travelled as pampered as she had been at the main palace. Beginning with the best, most comfortable quarters and ending with whatever food she might take a fancy to. Had they all been scraping sycophants, Cirilla would have known how to handle them, but they were not. They were honestly happy and honestly worried for her. There was a type of care she could barely describe. 

Ever since her pregnancy had become known, assassination attempts too had increased, and while assassins never could expect any mercy from Impera, there was a new quality to the assassin hunt now. She did not know all the details, and maybe she should be glad not to know what happened to those who had tried to kill her and who were taken alive. She had heard the Captain of her father’s personal guard talk to Captain Adair, saying that Vattier’s cells filled rapidly and that the old spy was as happy as a hog in a wallow and was working all the hours the Emperor sent. 

The carriage slowed down behind the bridge; they must have reached a station to change the horses. Cirilla leaned back and listened to the voices outside: soldiers giving orders and servants running. She was not expected to do anything, sun forbid that she would have to bother with such mundane things. Still, she did not escape the polite question of whether she wished for anything, water. Tea? Some light food? And when she indicated she wished for nothing, the polite negotiations for maybe a little tea and platter of fruit continued. She gave in with a sigh, pointing out she wanted only a little.

She was more than relieved when Morvran joined her in the carriage. “You can help me eat up all that,” she pointed to the platter with fruit, delicate cheese and other small but enticing bits. “I swear everyone in this household conspires to feed me.”

Morvran smiled gently at her. “You don’t eat enough, my dear,” he said, taking her hand. “And they have worked out what will entice you. Captain Adair most certainly conspired with some officers native to the region to procure your favourite things.” 

Ciri sighed. “I am not used to being pampered like that, Morvran. Even being pregnant with the heir to this Empire does not warrant that much fuss. I understand my maids, ladies in waiting and other household people, but the soldiers? Really?” It was what irritated her most. In Cintra, a pregnant princess wouldn’t have been made such a fuss about. 

“They remember,” Morvran replied thoughtfully. 

“Remember what?” Ciri asked, “I understand that my father’s refusal to marry certainly had people nervous.”

Morvran shifted, leaning his arms on his knees and looked at her. “Long before your father returned to Nilfgaard, there was a strong opposition to the Usurper, nobles, commoners, and soldiers, it went across all classes and estates. Nobles and escaped slaves conspired to take down the Usurper together. But one question remained wide open: the succession. Who should take the throne, once that man was dead? Some groups were fiercely loyal to your house; if they were not loyal to Emperor Fergus, who was dead, they were loyal to his father’s memory. Emperor Torres cast a long shadow over this land. Some of the nobles wanted to elect a new Emperor from their ranks, but they had to realise that the broad base of the resisters would not go with that. That’s why they expended so much effort to find your father and bring him back to Nilfgaard.” He gently took her hand in his. “The fear of those years, the fear of exchanging one tyrant with a worse one, is still there. Your father proved to be a magnificent ruler, a beloved ruler as far as the common man goes, but he had no children. The question…”

“The question what would happen when he died was still there,” Cirilla replied. She had learned that according to the common Nilfgaardians her father was a beloved ruler; in the eyes of the people, he had done everything right. It was something she was still struggling with. 

“Exactly,” Morvran shrugged, “I was to be his heir, but the distrust was great. When you returned, it assuaged some of the fears. And now, knowing you are pregnant with the next in the line… it shows something is right again, dear heart. The sun is still shining on Nilfgaard. Many of the soldiers out there saw the civil war as young men, and to them, the thought that their sons and grandsons won’t be thrown into one again, that there is stability, is a great gift.”

Ciri squeezed his hand, smiling at him. She was delighted with their first child, she wanted it safe and healthy, but she still struggled with being pampered like that. “So everyone from here to Darn Rowan is conspiring to pamper me,” she said, with a hint of amusement in her voice. “I will have to accept that.”

Captain Adair knocked on the door of the carriage to report that both carriages were ready to go again, inquiring whether she needed some additional rest before proceeding. Cirilla shook her head, casting a glance at Morvran. “Stay for a while?” Most of the time, Morvran rode with the escort; he got restless when cooped up the entire day. 

But he smiled and inclined his head. “Of course, my dear.”

The carriage was closed, and the escort mounted their fresh horses. Cirilla could see her father’s carriage move out first through the window, surrounded by a heavy cordon of mounted Impera before their own carriage began moving again. To her surprise, she spotted that her father’s carriage was not drawn by the typical White Albans that served as Imperial coach horses, instead, much heavier horses - Roweni military horses - had been used. 

“Is something off at the station?” she asked Morvran. “Don’t tell me that anyone would have the Imperial carriage drawn by the same type of horse your armies use to move supplies and catapults.” Her husband was a cavalryman; he needed no further explanation.

Morvran shrugged. “Your father decided to leave the Alban road and take the shortcut to get us to Loc Grim faster. The white road shaves six days off our journey, but we need to cross the ridge from here. White Albans would have problems with that ascent. For Roweni, it is no problem at all. I heard your father liked taking the route right through the garden districts; rumours had it, that sometimes he went as far as riding that part of the route.”

Cirilla chuckled before suddenly putting a hand over her belly, as the little life inside her became known through a few strong kicks. “Someone agrees,” she said, not removing the hand. “But my father and riding? He hates travelling on horseback. The worst days on the entire journey from Vizima were when the carriage broke down, and he had to ride.”

She could see the amusement sparkling in her husband’s eyes. “One might say that even your father now and then has the youthful impetus to show he is not a machine of the state but a man. The garden districts bring that out in him, or so the word goes.”

It was an amusing thought. Cirilla knew her father was a great statesman, a machine of the state in some ways, always working on things, not wasting time on unnecessary distractions. And yet… the idea that even he might want to enjoy some things or be perceived as a man by someone… it was an intriguing thought. Something else came to her mind again. “That word - the garden districts, I know it must mean the region around Loc Grim, but it’s not in the maps.”

“It’s colloquial for the Imperial heartlands,” Morvran explained. “The garden districts comprise of Loc Grim District, the Golden Hills and the Dakhur District. Once we are across the ridge, you’ll see why your father insisted on making the trip, early though it is.”

The name of the singular provinces Cirilla knew, they had come up in various things she had learned about the Empire since arriving in the south. They were among the economic strongest of the Empire, trading in various goods, especially dyes, silks and medicines. “While I would like to know what my father’s possible reasons could be, I also am just realising that I cannot recall many noble houses from the region.”

“There aren’t that many,” Morvran said, “except a few minor titles that are as old as the Empire itself. Most of the region is immediate to the Empire, making it the place with the least influence of the great houses in all the Empire. Which would be one reason, the reason of state, why your father chose to move you here before birth.” 

It made sense, Cirilla agreed, that a few houses would still be miffed that her father had spurned them, bringing his daughter from the North to Nilfgaard and marrying her safely to one of his allies. While she had fallen in love with Morvran by herself, and he had been willing to wait for her, wait for a long time if necessary, many houses believed they should have had a slice of the Imperial cake. “Provided that the region’s populace isn’t worse than certain houses…”

Morvran laughed heartily at the suggestion. “With another Emperor, maybe, but your father? When he took the throne, he ended the religious persecution of all the heretics in these districts, stopped his secret service to further nose after traces of the old religious organisations that preceded Sol Invictus as state religion and generally allowed them to live in peace. Keep the Imperial law, pay taxes, and no one will ask to whom or what they pray or whether they believe your father to be a deity or not. Even before, many loyalists came from these hills, but after your father lifted the persecution, it gained him a few provinces with fanatically loyal people. I don’t want to know how many would-be-assassins were taken out by the locals before they could even come close to the summer palace.”

It was one thing that Cirilla truly struggled with - state religion saw her father as a deity incarnate, and she had encountered many people to whom this was important. Her father had allowed for certain religious liberties among his people, stopping zealous persecution of heretics and sects, something she wholeheartedly agreed with. But the entire idea was still very complicated to her. “And what would the other reason be?” she asked when she felt the carriage sway slightly as it began to be drawn along a steep rise. 

Suddenly Morvran beamed at her. “Look outside,” he said softly, cradling her hand between his. 

Peering through the window of the carriage, Cirilla gasped. They were just drawing across the ridge, and beyond she could see white road winding across the hills. Sharp black basalt cliffs formed the background, overgrown and dotted with flowering bushes and trees. Where the capital had been grey and stormy when they departed, spring had already come to these hills. The burst of red and violet bushes in front of the black cliffs were marvelous, and the fragrance of them even made it past the windows of the carriage. “It’s beautiful…” 

Strong, warm hands squeezed hers. “The garden districts usually have an early spring, because the mountains shield them from the rough sea winds,” Morvan said.