#geralt must be SO confused

[nickfowlerrr]

sit me on your throne.

pairing: geralt of rivia x curvy!reader

warnings: i don't know what i'm writing about but if you're here for smut, there's smut. 18+ only. probably ooc - i've only seen season one. if i'm missing something that needs to be tagged please let me know.

words: 4.3k

notes: i really truly do not know. forgive me not.

thank you in advance for reading! any thoughts, comments, and reblogs are so appreciated. let me know what you think. (unless its mean then pls don't).

"You kneel before me?"

Your question is born of nothing but pure confusion as you tilt your head in bemusement at the bulking behemoth of a man before you.

He hadn’t done as much when he first arrived, not to your displeasure, so it was odd to see him do it now - especially after the battle he has just fought.

He is at your feet, his long white hair darker and dingier now, dirty as his clothes and skin; marred with caked mud and what you can only assume is the blood and guts of the beast he has defeated.

The stench he carries with him is pungent, nothing but putrid, and yet that somehow doesn't take from his striking good looks; those paired with his brevity and bluntness have held your attention from the moment he stepped foot in your kingdom.

He is a man of little words, this Geralt of Rivia. His jester of a companion having done much of the speaking - perhaps too much - for him since they arrived.

Geralt says nothing still, only meets your gaze as he takes steady breaths. His yellow eyes, feline and harsh, cut through you in a number of ways - none of which you'd care to share aloud. You have a feeling he knows, however, just how affected you are by him no matter how well you think you hide it.

You are alone together, no guards at the ready, no advisors by your side. Most of your kingdom is now quiet and abandoned, including the halls of your once flourishing and lively home. The halls of this castle have been eerily silent since the night your men went on their mission to save their homestead. You had already sent word for The Witcher, you implored them to keep safe indoors until his arrival. They did not listen. Most of them still having seen you as the young princess you once were, the others simply following the orders of their leaders. You may have been their "Queen", but their faith in their commanders was stronger.

Those commanders who led them to their deaths... You still sigh at the loss.

Those who were not taken, slain, by the beast have long since fled for their lives. You cannot blame them. But you certainly could not join them. Your castle once held many souls, but now it is only you and a handful of others. Titles of servants, but you really never were one for titles.

"Your friend?" you wonder.

"Somewhere," he answers shortly, his voice low and deep as he speaks.

You quirk a brow, "Safe?"

"For as long as he keeps himself from trouble."

You hum, a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of your lips. Their relationship amuses you, you must admit.

"You needn't kneel, Witcher," you implore as you sit back on the throne. It is yours in name alone. It has never felt right to sit in. He seems to sense your unease, but he doesn't speak it. You continue, "You have done what you said you would, I will do the same."

Still, he doesn't stand. Not until you flick your eyes and move to stand yourself. He rises easily as he stands before you still. There is not much distance between you, and the stench of him stings your eyes and threatens to gag you. Your face scrunches in disgust as you turn it away from him, grimacing.

"I've had a bath readied for you, and new clothes set aside," you inform him, moving to pass around. He follows you, and you can feel the weight of his gaze as his eyes cling to you. "Your meals will be served as soon as you're done. I don't imagine anyone would be able to stomach a bite with that smell coming off of you."

He says nothing but lets out an amused "hm" at your words, still following as you lead him to the bathing room.

You thank Amaleah as you enter and she leaves with a nod to you, her breath catching when she smells Geralt enter behind you. It's as fast an exit as you've ever seen.

You move toward the bath and wade a hand in the water. It's a bit hot for your preferences but it should get him clean. You ensure the soap Amaleah brought in is fragrant enough and still look for some nicer oils to add to the water; when you turn around to ask your guest his want, you find yourself stunned silent as you're met with the sight of his broad, bare chest. His muscles flex under his pale and scarred skin as he moves, his solid chest is covered in dark hair, trailing down his torso. His arms are strong and big and a thought at the back of your mind wonders how comfortable he must be to lie with.

You blink, mouth parted slightly as you take a breath. You watch his clothing fall as he discards them and your gaze follows his hand as he begins to strip himself of the rest of his garments.

He is completely shameless as he watches you watch him. You feel as if you are in a trance, you cannot bring yourself to look away despite the heavy weight of his gaze assuring you he sees you staring.

It’s not an act of brazenness, truly you would look away and leave him at once…if you could.

“I’ve slain your monster,” he speaks and your eyes rise back to his chest, trying to ignore the heaviness of his thick cock as it hangs so temptingly before you. No, not temptingly…Shamelessly. He has put himself entirely on display before you, without an ounce of shame or concern, and you are still frozen to your spot. “Was there something else you required of me, Your Highness?”

The title gets your attention, the breath caught in your chest finally flows and your eyes flick up to meet his. You can't tell entirely if he meant it as an insult or if he thought you'd prefer it to Queen.

You remain quiet for a moment as you try to gather a response. Either way...

“I told you that wasn’t necessary, Witcher.”

“Geralt.”

You swallow hard as he takes a small step forward, and you will yourself to not break his intense gaze.

"Geralt. I thank you, for saving what was left of this ruined kingdom, but I consider myself not princess, nor Queen, any longer."

"Did you ever?" he asks, staring into your eyes a moment longer before he steps closer still, looking you up and down then nudging you aside, eliciting goosebumps along your skin, rising under his touch.

You glance over your shoulder as he continues past you, lowering himself into the tub.

You think.

You know your answer, but you won't say it aloud. Clearly he knows it, too.

You can hear the water sloshing with his movements as he begins to clean himself.

You take a deep breath.

"The clothes will be brought in shortly. You might tell Jaskier when you're done that the food is ready."

"Ah," he says amid his washing, "so you do know his name."

"Of course I do. I've grown quite fond of the bard in the week since you've arrived."

"I couldn't tell," he says plainly, yet still biting - his words sharp with sarcasm.

You furrow your brow at his meaning and then there's a laugh at the door and you look to see Jaskier as he leans on it. "You sound jealous, there, Geralt," he taunts, holding folded clothing in his hands as he pushes off the door to saunter in. "I wouldn't worry. I don't believe I'm the one who's caught her eye." He looks to you with a smirk, bowing before you, "Your Majesty."

"I am no longer queen," you repeat for what feels like the hundredth time.

"My Queen, none the less," he simpers before standing to his full height.

You smile tightly, eyes narrowed playfully at him before you finally move to exit, leaving them to their inevitable quarreling. And trying not to focus on the tingling still affecting you between your legs.

--

You eat with the women in the kitchen; the dining hall one of your least favorite places to be.

There is a calm yet solemn energy around you all. A peace in the slaying of the monster who took your kingdom, and still the grief from the loss of it all, your people, their families, friends...

Calliope readies the plates for your guests as you bid them all a goodnight, kissing Amaleah's son on his head on your way out with a 'sweet dreams'. Since his father was killed, the poor thing has nightmares recurringly. You only hope with the monster's demise, they might ease for him some. He is far too young to be in such pain...

You think to pass by the dining hall on your way to bed to thank Geralt once more and wish them both a goodnight as well but think better of it.

You will see them in the morning before they set off. You still owe him his coin and you know he won't be leaving without it.

--

You open the heavy door of your chamber and once you are inside, begin to undress.

Slipping into your shift, you swiftly make your way into bed. You thought you'd fall asleep quickly, but as you lay there, your mind wanders to thoughts of only one.

You have one hand on your lower belly, the other resting on the soft skin right above it.

You sigh and close your eyes, but all you see when you do is his built form. His dark, firelight stare set on you. His clothes left on the ground as he stands strong in his glory.

You breathe deeply, your hand starting to slowly drift down your stomach as you tickle yourself. You're so tempted to touch where you want it most, but you can't bring yourself to do it. Not just yet.

You slip your hand between your spread thighs, softly running your fingers across the sensitive skin you find there.

It'd been a week of torment, having Geralt so close and not being able to act on your most base feelings. You know he knows what you think when you look at him, if Jaskier can see it, surely, he can too.

You might feel embarrassed but with the way he's managed to get closer and closer to you with each passing day as he awaited the beasts' return, you would wager he feels similarly.

It feels like an age that you lie awake. All the noises about the castle, not that there were many, have settled and it assures you everyone has retired for the night.

Sleep begins to nip at you but the stronger pull is to the dissatisfaction that weighs on you. The emptiness that echos through your body and soul.

Your fingers twitch, and you begin to glide closer to your uncovered core, the need to be touch too much to be ignored for much longer. Your eyes are closed and you imagine it isn't your hand running over your skin, but rather his large, rough palm feeling you, teasing you just so...

Just as you inch closer, your eyes snap open in the dark as a heartbreaking scream cuts through the night air. You sit up, pulling your hands off of yourself. You know immediately where the sound comes from and who it belongs to.

You get out of bed, intent to make sure Hartley and Amaleah both are okay.

You open your door just as the one across the wide hall does the same. You frighten at the unexpected movement but are then unsurprised to be across Geralt.

He is shirtless again, and his eyes are wide as his chest rises and falls with his heavy breaths.

"Are you alright?" he asks, voice hard.

"Yes, I'm fine. It was the boy, Hartley. He has nightmares," you explain, keeping your voice quiet as to not disturb the renewed peace of the night.

The flick of the flame that lights the hallway allows you both to see one another. You say nothing for a moment as your eyes fall to his bare torso.

"Did the clothes not fit?"

He looks down at himself briefly, then back to you. He shakes his head, "I prefer to sleep naked."

You burn at his words, swallowing hard. "Oh. Well, I- I'm going to check on them, make sure they're fine."

"I'll go with you."

It's not a question, it's a statement. You stop in your start, turning to look at him. You say nothing, just blink and quickly carry on as you were.

You make your way down the stairs and down the hall until you see the flames licking at the end of the hallway.

You follow the glow to Amaleah's room and knock gently as you look in the open door.

She turns and looks to you, her eyes tired and cheeks damp as she rocks her toddler in her arms. He is sleeping again as she rubs his back gently, more to soothe herself than anything.

She sniffles, "Your High-" she stops herself, "sorry, forgive me," she whispers.

"Don't apologize. Please," you implore her. "I know it's habit."

"Are you two alright?" Geralt asks from right at your back.

"We are, thank you. Just another nightmare," her voice gets thick at the explanation. You know it hurts her that there isn't anything she can do but be there to comfort him when they come.

You smile sadly and nod. "We'll let you be, then. Do try to get some rest. He'll be okay," you reassure her.

You pull the door nearly closed and wind up with Geralt firmly at your back.

You turn into him but he doesn't seem to mind as he just looks down at you nearly pressed against his chest. You try to budge him to turn and move back down the hall but he doesn't waver. After a second, he relents and steps to the side, allowing you to go back down the hallway first.

It isn't until you come up on the throne room that Geralt speaks again.

"Might I have a word with you?" he asks.

You stop and turn to eye him as he stands at the entryway of the door.

"Now?" you question.

He nods once, "Now."

You approach him trepidatiously, and as you near, he gestures you in the room before him, extending his arm, "Princess."

Your eyes narrow again. And you turn on him, watching as he enters the room behind you. "Why do you keep doing that?"

"What am I doing?"

"Princess? Your Highness?" you quote him.

"I assumed you preferred it to your true title," he tilts his head at you.

"True title," you scoff, rolling your eyes. "I prefer no title at all."

"And what shall I call you then?"

You remind him your name, not that he really needs to be reminded. You know he knows it full well.

He considers you, then closes in on where you stand in front of the throne.

You don't move back, no, you quite like the closeness when he doesn't reek of death and innards.

Geralt seems to appreciate your resolve, his lips twitching with the beginnings of a smile as he studies your face.

"It's a beautiful name," he speaks lowly, taking another step into your space and raising his hand to gently caress your cheek before he leans in to speak against your ear. Your hands touch his solid stomach in an attempt to keep yourself upright, you can feel the muscles as they flex under your delicate graze. "I think I might prefer princess," he husks.

He slips away from you, turning to take a seat on the throne instead. You follow his movements and turn yourself to face him. You're stunned and completely set ablaze all at once.

"Well I don't."

"No," he smirks, agreeing with you, one large hand settling on his thick thigh as he spreads his legs, "you don't."

"It's too bad," he tsks, his voice a smooth rumbling. "No title, no throne."

"I don't want any throne."

Your eyes are glued to his thighs as he brings attention to his lap by rubbing the muscle there.

"None?" he asks before his gaze shifts directly on you, his mesmerizing stare burning into you. His voice lowers deeper than you've ever heard as a desperate longing shoots through you once again, resounding deep in your core. "Not even mine?"

Your mouth goes dry and your brain fuzzy as you take in his meaning.

Unthinking, you step toward him closer.

"You mean to defile the very one you sit on?"

"You don't seem to care for it much anyway."

Another step.

You are nearly stood between his spread legs, carefully you reach out a hand, your fingers light on his thigh. You feel his muscle then, flicking your eyes up. His gaze is dark and heated.

"That's true enough," you say, your voice breathy in a near whisper.

You gasp as your suddenly pulled closer by Geralt's rough hands around your waist. You can feel him through the thin fabric of your shift and its only then you realize how much of your figure he has seen thanks to your nightwear.

"Truer still," he speaks, "I don't mean to defile this throne." He squeezes your plush waist, groping you through your shift as your hands latch onto his solid shoulders. "I mean to defile you."

He manages to pull you onto his lap with little effort, leaning in to crash his lips into yours.

You kiss him back hungrily, chasing his lips as you settle on his lap. Your fingers wind in his hair and you can feel his cock growing beneath you through the material of his pants.

His hands slide down your waist and over your wide hips, reaching for the hem of your shift and pulling it up. His tongue slips past your lips and you moan, shifting your hips atop him.

You pull away, reaching for your dress and pulling it over your head, discarding it behind your back.

Geralt holds you closer, letting his lips explore your heavy breasts as you allow your head to fall back in pleasure, your hands returning to his hair.

"Geralt," you breathe, pulling him off you after a moment.

"Mm," he hums, kissing the swell of your breast once more before he moves to free himself from the restraint of his pants. He knows what you’ve both been wanting for days. What you need.

One heavy hand returns to your back, holding you by your waist while his other grips his red, throbbing cock.

He moves his tip up and down your slick center, making you whimper as he teases you - his cockhead rubbing delightfully against your sensitive clit.

He watches your face scrunch in rapture and holds you tighter to stop your wiggling about as you whimper.

He smiles smugly to himself and when you're just about to open your mouth to protest his teasing, he finally pulls you down on top of him. The sound that escapes you is music to his ears as you grasp onto him, your nails digging into the muscle of his back as your walls squeeze and stretch to accommodate his thick length, the size of him almost too much for you to take.

"Fuck," he groans as your walls tighten around him. He gives you a moment before he begins to urge you to move. He guides your hips, slow and sensually. The feeling of his hands on you motivates you to try and ride him yourself. And you do try, but you cry out again at how big he is, how fully he is stuffing you. You can barely move.

Geralt kisses you as he holds you closer, taking pity on your tight cunt and instead he moves his hands to your soft hips again. He holds you on top of him securely before he begins to fuck up into you.

You mewl as he jostles you, bouncing you up and down his cock, your breasts moving in time.

You pull on his hair, forcing him to look up from where his gaze was fixed, watching his own cock as he stretched you out for him, watching as your cunt took as much of him in as she could, up to your hooded lust filled gaze. You lean into him, chest to chest as you kiss him fervently. His lips follow yours as you taste one another. You nip at his lip and he growls, his hands gripping the ample flesh of your ass, "Keep that up," he snarls.

"And you'll what?" you breathe heavily, eyes screwed shut, jaw tight as you deadbrain on the pleasure coursing through you.

Your answer is a harsh thrust of his cock inside of you, stealing your breath while he slaps your ass, your flesh stinging from the force.

"Oh, fuck," you whimper debauchedly, your velvety walls squeezing him ever tighter as you feel yourself growing closer with every bounce. The tip of him hitting exactly where you need it to. Your body is on fire and you are loving every second of it. The feeling of him inside of you, of his hands squeezing and caressing you everywhere he can, of his lips demanding yours for more.

His grunts are growing louder and his thrusts more powerful, you kiss him hard in an effort to quiet him some, but you can feel what is coming.

Geralt is near slamming you down on top of him, the sound of your ass slapping against his thick thighs mix with the salacious sounds coming from you both and of your slick wetness as you're worked up and down his shaft, your cunt taking him better and better with each thrust.

Your hands move to hold his face, your noses brush as you breathe each other's air, lips touching just slightly.

"Geralt, I'm,"

"I know," he pants harshly, concentrated before taking your lips in his. You whimper pathetically as the coil in your belly winds tighter and tighter. He keeps you moving a top him, your clit being stimulated with every brush of your hips over his, and then with another deep thrust it snaps before you can speak. Your voice is an empty high then silent squeak as your legs tremble and your eyes roll back. Are you even breathing? Your walls clench down on Geralt's cock and he finally allows himself to reach his own high as your tight walls flutter around him, squeezing him perfectly. You ride the waves of ecstasy as his come spills inside of you. You feel him shudder beneath you and it only adds to your feeling of weightlessness, stars in your eyes as you feel, think, breathe nothing but him.

You part from his lips and your bodies are slick with sweat as you both pant heavily. Geralt holds you to him as he softens inside of you, his forehead pressed to yours as your hand comes behind his neck, holding him to you in kind.

Your lips mimic a kiss but neither of you lean in close enough to actually do it. You work to catch your breath and settle for a minute before you finally break the quiet.

"Do I still owe you your coin?" you breathe, smiling when Geralt laughs in your face. You reach to move a stray strand of hair from his face, holding his cheek gently once you do.

Your stare into one another's eyes for a long moment, just breathing and being close.

"Where will you be off to in the morning?" you ask, hoping your solemn tone isn't as audible as it sounded to you.

"Don't know," he shakes his head, eyes straying to your lips.

You take a breath and pull his face closer to kiss him softly.

"I envy you, you know."

"Don't."

You huff a humorless laugh, readjusting yourself on his lap. "Not because you're a witcher. You may not have the most enviable life, but at least you have one. I've never made it past the most exterior gates," you smile sadly, playing with the hairs on his chest as you avoid his eye now.

"I suppose I'll have the chance, now, though. Thanks to you."

"And where will you go?" he asks.

Your gaze floats up to his and you repeat his previous answer. "I don't know. But I won't stay here. This kingdom is..." you shake your head. "I don't belong here. Never felt like I did. But I made a promise to my mother when I was young, and another to my father before he passed. I know I've let them down," you swallow the rise of emotion threatening to overcome you, "but alas, the fall of a kingdom is ever inevitable. Especially under such rule as my own."

"I've heard word of your rule from many. You're known to be kind. Caring. Protective, even. I don't believe you've failed. I think you were exactly the kind of ruler you should have been, who you needed to be. But perhaps it's a good thing you won't be forced any longer into holding power you don't desire. You're now free to do as you wish."

"I am," you nod lightly in agreement. "If only I knew where to start,” you muse with an uneasy laugh.

His hand runs up your back comfortingly; he's pensive, deep in thought for a long moment before he speaks.

"If you ready your things, I don't think Roach would mind a travel companion of her own. She seems to have taken to Belfast… I'm not sure she'd be ready to part with him so soon, anyway."

"Is that so?" you ask him, faux curiosity playing in your voice.

"And Jaskier is easier to take when I'm not the only one he has around to bother."

"Right," you nod, fighting your soft smile.

"And of course your coin would be useful as well."

"Of course," you exaggerate your agreement. "…Geralt, are you getting at something here?"

"Just that, if you want to join us…you might."

You lean into him again, thumb rubbing along his stubble lining his cheek, and this time he kisses you first. More gently than you expect. You can’t help your smile now.

You part lightly and breathe,

"I hope you mean that, Witcher. Because I just might."

[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.

[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."

[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.

[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.

[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.

[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.”

[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.

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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.

[fragolar]

A new promise || Geralt Of Rivia - The Witcher

Hello to everyone, new and old! As you may have noticed, I'm a slow and lazy writer. I write for fun and to keep my mind busy rather than wasting time on social media. To those who enjoy my light-hearted stories, thank you! You keep me smiling all day long. Previous part. Summary: Lexa challenged Geralt's belief in destiny, expressing frustration over her lack of freedom. Geralt explained his quest to find Ciri as his purpose. The result of their diversities but similarities results in an explosion of emotions.

Warning: Strong language and depiction of carnal desires, nothing too explicit.

The next day brought little change. The Princess was awake early for her usual morning walk in the garden, while the Witcher meditated under the gentle sunlight.

A bench was nearby, yet Geralt preferred to sit on the green grass, where, if the botanists saw him, they would try to behead him. Lexa found his provocation rather amusing.

Geralt didn’t seem to care about royal statuses, and frankly, neither did Lexa. The thing is, she couldn’t show it. She had an etiquette to follow.

“Your eyes are more piercing than the sun,” Geralt’s low, raspy voice finally spoke after she had been seated on the bench for half an hour, her elbow on the edge of the armrest, staring at him.

“You were meditating. I didn’t want to disturb.”

“I doubt that.”

Lexa rolled her eyes, amused. “Must I ask for consent to observe my guest’s unique behaviors?”

His eyes slowly opened, revealing that yellow color they held, golden under the sunlight. They were beautiful, Lexa thought.

“I’m not plucking your roses—”

“But you’re crushing my grass with your—”

“Your etiquette, Princess.” Geralt smirked at her, putting her back in her place as she huffed, less joyfully now. “I admire your dedication to get a reaction from me, to anger me, but I’m a man of great patience. It will take more than that to break me.”

Lexa’s eyes diverted. The Witcher was smart. He had caught on to her little teasing to make him snap and give her a reason to lock him behind bars. For a reason she wasn’t aware of herself, she enjoyed his company. Which could be explained because she usually didn’t have visitors, so now that she did—

“You could just ask me to prolong my stay instead of trying to trick me like a child. But I’d have to decline the generous offer. Not because I don’t appreciate your hospitality but because I am searching for her,” Geralt reminded her.

“Do you have at least a path to follow?” Silence. It was clear Geralt was navigating blindly. Lexa tore her eyes from him, straightening her body on the bench and crossing her legs under her dress. Her eyes looked ahead at the gardens.

Full of life and color, yet they felt like mere decorations. All these years she felt like nature was her home; now it felt like an illusion of control. She was trapped inside her own castle by her father, who had denied her permission to be free. She despised him.

“It’s not that easy,” Geralt finally spoke back. “But it’s what my destiny is.”

“Destiny this, destiny that. Fuck that.” Lexa suddenly said, mad, making Geralt open his eyes to look at her, confused. However, he was met by her back. “You can decide your own path because of your actions. Nothing happens for a reason. We give it reason. If there’s a reason behind everything, why the fuck are there so many wars, so much injustice?”

Geralt sighed, considering her words. “You’re not wrong,” he said quietly. “I’ve seen my share of horrors, and I know that destiny can be a convenient excuse for the chaos in the world.” He paused, his voice softening. “But I’ve also seen things I can’t explain. People whose lives have crossed mine in ways that feel… fated. Ciri is one of them. I can’t ignore that. Maybe destiny is just a word we use to make sense of the chaos. Or maybe it’s real, and we’re all just trying to navigate it the best we can. But in the end, I have to find her. For my sake as much as hers.”

He studied her for a moment, searching for a response. “We give things meaning because we have to. It’s what keeps us going. And right now, finding Ciri is what gives my life meaning.”

“Take me with you.” Lexa turned around to look at him, her determination showing through her expression. Once again, Geralt was slightly surprised by her reactions.

“The road I walk upon is not an easy—”

“The road you walk upon is better than being a Princess with no crown or kingdom to rule.” She stood up from the bench, hovering over him as he was still on his knees. “A better road than me being a mere ghost presence in a place where I’m no one. What? You’re scared I can’t stand up for myself?”

Geralt grunted softly as he stood up and looked down at her, standing much taller and much closer to her as well. “I’m not scared, and I know you can stand up for yourself, but you can’t wield a sword. A sharp tongue is not enough to keep you alive day and night in the woods. If you think it’s so easy to survive in the wild, I question why you haven’t escaped already if staying inside these four walls because your father said so is so unbearable.”

Lexa wanted to slap him, her hands trembling with anger as she stood up against him. He had gotten so close she could feel his breath on her face, his voice growling, angrier at her. Complex emotions overwhelmed her, not knowing how to handle them properly.

“You’re stepping on the roses, Lexa,” Geralt’s rough voice grounded her, making her frown and look down at her feet. She had stepped on the grass and flowers, her rage having clouded her.

“And you’re—” Her head raised to look at him, to try and be spiteful towards him, to insult him.

“Lexa, I’m not that gentle—”

“Well maybe I don’t want you to be—”

Geralt’s lips crashed against hers, making her moan in frustration as she kissed him back. She felt her body burn with desire, with a need to be satiated. Something she had never experienced despite all of her lovers, women or men. And the way his roughness consumed her, she wondered if she’d ever be able to kiss another after this. She wanted more, whining against his lips as her hands went to grab his shirt, but he pulled away from her, a heavy breath making his chest rise and fall rapidly, just like hers. Lexa frowned at the rejection, looking into his eyes for an answer.

Geralt’s intense gaze met Lexa’s as he took a step back, trying to regain his composure. His breath was still heavy, and he could see the confusion and frustration in her eyes. He knew he had crossed a line, but there was something about her that made it impossible to resist.

“You make everything so frustrating…” Her tone calmed down, steadier compared to her angered state. “Teach me then, teach me how to survive out there.”

“Lexa—“

“Geralt, please…” She brushed her nose against his, her heart stammering. Lexa was out of her mind. Maybe he wanted to fuck her, maybe she could use her body to convince him to—

“Lexa, I kissed you because you wouldn’t listen to me.”

Oh. Her stomach dropped.

“I need you to sit down and ponder what you desire truthfully. My path is a dark one. I kill monsters and men worse than monsters. I won’t be able to defend you if you’re danger. Here you’re safe, isolated, but safe.”

“Not from myself.”

Geralt’s eyes turned to look at her, a sympathetic expression on his face formed before he cursed lowly under his breath. “Shit.” He shook his head and then back at her. “We’re leaving at dawn.”

“What?! Really?” Lexa’s eyes widened enthusiastically before she grinned. She couldn’t hold her excitement and threw herself in Geralt’s arms, clinging her body against his. Feeling an immense warmth wrap around her, his strong arms around her waist.

“Lex—“ Geralt’s balance was compromised as he tried to step back but the spot of ground was softer, making him lose and fall down with Lexa in top. He grunted from the impact and his eyes slowly opened to a pair of green eyes full with playfulness. She was excited, happy. “Lesson number one: don’t get so excited, your attention lowers.”

[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.

[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)

[thedemonofcat]

Honestly, the only reason Jaskier cared a lot about his appearance wasn't because he was vain. Instead, he was constantly told that the only reason he had any value was the fact that he was pretty.

Throughout his childhood, Jaskier was the youngest child in his family, which meant that his parents didn't have a lot of needs for him other than marriage. The fact that no matter how well Jaskier did something, all of the adults around him kept dismissing him, telling him he didn't have to worry about his pretty little head at all.

In Oxenfurt, even his professor and other students found it confusing when Jaskier showed any kind of knowledge or interest in the subject, and they even ignored Jaskier's input as they didn't believe he was capable of contributing anything valuable.

It even came to the point at one point when fellow student Valdo Marx tried to convince Jaskier to turn into a whore. Saying sex is the only thing that can ever be good for.

Unfortunately, Geralt also fell into this trap as he initially ignored what Jaskier had to say simply because he believed like others that since Jaskier was so pretty that he couldn't possibly be that smart. Also, Yennefer would make the same claims about him being a pretty face.

Jaskier tried to ignore everything people said about him. Then the mountain break up happened and Geralt talks about how life would be a blessing if Jaskier wasn’t in it.

In the end, Jaskier gives up and decides to go back to Lettenhove and give his parents the opportunity to find him a wife. It is as if Jaskier becomes Julian again. As a result, he stopped communicating with others and instead began talking about the meaningless things everyone thought filled his head. Jaskier lets people have sex with him or beat him up if they want. After all, "it's just a pretty face, what right does he have to refuse"?

When Geralt learns about Jaskier's upcoming marriage, he comes to the conclusion that Jaskier must be cursed in some way, and he sets out to rescue him. Since his medallion doesn't do anything, there shouldn't be a curse. In spite of this, Jaskier doesn't even attempt to fight back. Instead, his parents claim that Jaskier's dream of being a bard is just a foolish one for a juvenile. As a result, Geralt becomes even more convinced that Jaskier must be cursed.

Then, one day, Geralt is shocked to find Jaskier in a corner of a garden at the back of the Pankratz manor. As Geralt asks Jaskier what curse he is under, he is confused as to why Jaskier says there is none. However, when Geralt sees bruises along Jaskier's arms, his belief in the existence of a curse is only heightened

When Geralt asks Jaskier to help him break whatever curse he's under so they can travel together again.

There was only one question Jaskier asked him: “What would you like me to do for you?" Jaskier questions if Geralt wants him to work as a bard to make the Witcher more money, or to be used as a punching bag when Geralt is mad, or even to sleep with while Yennefer is absent.

Despite the fact that Geralt was trying to act like he was better than everyone else since he never touched Jaskier, Geralt. It is at this point that Geralt realizes he is no better than anyone who has dismissed Jaskier all his life.

As Jaskier starts to compare him self to buttercup by saying that he’s also just weed but add that he wish that he had been poisonous to.

Eventually, Geralt decided to do something that no one else had done before, and he asked Jaskier for more details about the flower.

Jaskier continues to talk to Geralt, listens to him, and lets that bard share all of his knowledge. Geralt engages fully in Jaskier's conversation unlike on the road when Geralt would just tune out the bard talking to him. Instead, he asks questions and is amazed at how intelligent Jaskier is.

[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