#geralt oneshot

[intrepidacious]

bring your hunger

summary: There is a Witcher in your house.

pairing: geralt of rivia x succubus!reader

word count: 2k

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

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

masterlist | read on ao3

There is a Witcher in your house.

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

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

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

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

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

Gods, you’re hungry.

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

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

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

"I know what you are," he grits.

The low timbre of his voice makes you grin.

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

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

"I don’t kill your kind," he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Don’t," he says, barely a warning.

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

"Don’t tease."

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

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

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

Delicious.

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

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

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

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

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

You can relate.

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

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

You haven’t been sated in so long.

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

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

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

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

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

"So good for me," you murmur.

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

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

"That’s it. Just like that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wicked, evil man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is that it?"

Your eyes fly open.

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

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

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

"Eyes on me."

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

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

"Just one more."

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

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

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

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

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

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

[crocodile-tears-and-a-dream]

excuses..

summary: the two of you stopped at an inn after a long night of travel, but there was only one room..

pairing: geralt of rivia x gn!reader

warnings: they're stupid, fluff

word count: 1.6k

a/n: i haven't written anything that's not a crack fic or a screenplay in ages. this is my attempt at fixing my bad writing, any constructive feedback is welcome!

it was stupid, borderline pathetic, how the two of you tried to find any reasoning at all that cold winter night.

you and geralt had been traveling for quite some time trying to get to the famous kaer morhen. he needed to gather more elixirs and supplies for future battles and monsters, but the weather became too harsh to keep going up the mountains. tonight seemed particularly frigid, so you both decided to stop at an inn rather than camping outside like usual.

as you walked in, the warmth from the fireplace consumed the small space of the room, a stark contrast from the conditions you came from. a frail-looking old man sat at the counter bored, instantly sitting up as he watched geralt’s large form stomp through the quaint lodge. you followed closely behind as he made his way to the reception desk.

“we need two rooms.” the white wolf grunted tossing a bag of coins on the counter. (haha.. I'm not funny)

“yes of course,” the old man says snapping out of his stupor. he flipped through his log book and lets out a sigh. “unfortunately we only have one room left”

“we’ll take it”

you weren't given much of an option and the innkeeper had already handed you the key. it's not like you were disappointed though. you had developed quite the attraction for the silvered-haired witcher during your travels together. you would never admit it out loud, but the longing gazes and lingering touches the two of you often shared meant something more. at least to you it did.

it was a silent walk up to the room. neither of you knew what the other was thinking, but maybe that was for the better. it was selfish the way you hoped there would be an excuse to hold him close as the night grew colder.

the door creaked open and your heart sunk a little as you took in your surroundings. the room was beautiful, yes. the nicest thing you had stayed in for months but, there was one problem.

there were two beds.

geralt, oblivious to your internal conflict, stepped further into the room and dropped his belongings onto the bed nearest the window. the soft creak of the mattress, as he sat down, snapped you out of your thoughts, and you busied yourself by removing your cloak, shaking off the snow that clung to the edges.

“we should get some rest,” he said, his deep voice breaking the silence. “the snow will calm by morning, and we’ll need to leave early.”

you nodded, avoiding his gaze as you placed your things on the other bed. the room was quiet except for the sound of the wind howling outside and the faint crackle of a small hearth in the corner. the heat was soothing, but it did little to calm the restless energy swirling within you.

as geralt began to undo his armor, his movements slow and deliberate, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at him. the firelight danced across the sharp lines of his face and body, casting shadows that only made him seem more otherworldly. he caught you staring, and for a moment, his golden eyes met yours.

“you’re quiet tonight,” he observed, his tone softer than usual. never in a million years could you have imagined a time where geralt spoke more than you. i guess there's a first time for everything you thought to yourself

“i’m just tired,” you lied, forcing a small smile.

he nodded but didn’t look away, as if he was trying to read something hidden in your expression. the weight of his gaze made your heart race, and you quickly turned back to your belongings, fumbling with your pack.

“get some sleep,” he said finally, his voice low but gentle. “we’ve got a long day of travel tomorrow.”

you nodded again, slipping under the blankets of your bed and turning your back to him. but as you stared at the wall, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was just as restless as you.

a couple of hours passed, and the two of you drifted into a deep slumber. your dreams took you to familiar places—snow-covered trails, battles against monsters, and the quiet moments by the campfire when words weren’t needed. but more than anything, you dreamed of him. his sun kissed eyes, his rare smiles, and his strong presence always keeping you safe.

then the dream shifted. the warmth of the campfire turned into an oppressive heat, the orange glow becoming flames roaring at the edges of your vision. your heart raced as the bed beneath you ignited, the fire consuming the blankets and wood. the panic felt so real, and you jolted awake, gasping for breath.

except it wasn’t just a dream.

flames flickered at the edge of your bed, small but growing, their heat unmistakable. you scrambled out of bed, the pounding of your heart echoing in your ears. the realization hit you like a cold slap: you had caused this. your magic, tied so deeply to your emotions, had manifested the fire from your nightmare.

“geralt!” you called instinctively, but you didn’t wait for him to wake. your hands moved on their own, summoning a stream of water from thin air. the magic poured from your fingertips, dousing the flames before they could spread further. steam rose in a hiss, and the smell of scorched fabric lingered in the air.

geralt sat up abruptly, his sword already in hand, instincts sharp even in the haze of sleep. his eyes darted around the room before settling on you, still standing with trembling hands and remnants of magic fading from your fingertips.

“what happened?” he asked, his voice low but alert, eyes narrowing in concern.

“i—i had a nightmare,” you stammered, your voice shaky. “and I... i think my magic got out of control.”

he stood, crossing the room in a few quick strides clearing some of the smoke with his arms along the way. his gaze flickered between you and the damp, charred edge of the bed, realizing the situation.

“are you hurt?” he asked, his tone softening as he placed a hand on your shoulder.

you shook your head, swallowing hard. “no. i’m fine. i put it out before it got worse.”

he studied you for a moment, his hand lingering as if to steady you. “you should’ve woken me,” he said finally, his voice calm but firm. “fire magic is dangerous if you’re not careful.”

“i didn’t mean to,” you whispered, guilt creeping into your voice.

“i know,” he said, his thumb brushing lightly against your shoulder before he stepped back. “but you handled it well.”

he looked at the scorched bed and then back at you. “you need rest. take mine.”

“what about you?” you asked, still shaken.

“i’ll manage,” he said simply, dragging a chair toward the hearth and settling into it, his sword resting across his lap. “just... sleep. i’ll keep watch.”

you hesitated, the weight of his gaze grounding you. slowly, you nodded and climbed into his bed, the lingering warmth of his presence oddly comforting. his scent lingered on the pillow and you found yourself wanting more.

"wait-" you called, your voice wavering slightly as you sat up in bed, unsure of the words you were about to say.

geralt looked up at you, his honey-dripped eyes still sharp but softer in the dim light. he waited, allowing you to speak, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze.

"you're going to be tired tomorrow if you don't rest now..." you hesitated for a moment, but the quiet need gnawing at you grew stronger. "we can share the bed, i don’t mind."

you could feel the tension between you two, both of you trying to navigate the line between comfort and something more. geralt's gaze flickered to the bed, and for a moment, you saw a flash of hesitance cross his face. but it was gone in an instant, replaced by that familiar stoicism.

“are you sure?” he asked quietly, his voice low and careful, like he was weighing the words carefully.

you nodded, not trusting yourself to speak again. you didn't need to, though; your eyes, pleading and vulnerable, said enough. there was no turning back now.

geralt gave a soft grunt of acknowledgment, settling back slightly as you climbed into the bed next to him. his body remained rigid, keeping a respectable distance, but the air between you was charged with something unspoken. neither of you said anything, but the shared warmth in the bed was all that mattered. you could feel his presence beside you, close enough to touch, but not quite allowing it. as you lay there, facing your back to him, your heart raced with the knowledge that, despite the stillness of the night, something had shifted.

before long, the warmth and the sound of his breathing lulled you into a deep, dreamless sleep. the tension in your body melted away, and the darkness of slumber took over.

but geralt stayed awake a while longer, his gaze never leaving your form. he couldn't help but watch, the softness in his expression betraying his usual guarded demeanor. as the hours passed, something inside him shifted, a quiet longing he’d tried to ignore.

slowly, he moved, as though pulled by some invisible force. he gently shifted closer, his arm slipping around you instinctively. his body molded to yours, and without a second thought, he held you close, his warmth wrapping around you like a shield.

the movement was so subtle, you barely registered it in your sleep. but your body, so attuned to his presence, naturally relaxed against him. his heart beat steadily behind you, his grip possessive but not tight, just enough to keep you there, pressed perfectly against his chest.

and maybe- just maybe, you would never find out that it was him who set your bed ablaze finding it the simplest excuse, in his mind, to hold you close.

[yandere-sins]

HELLO HAPPY NEW YEAR.... i would like to request a continuation of that super yummy quiet!reader/yandere!geralt piece you posted a year back? there's so much horny potential.... please i, i need to know what happens next,, i beseech you,, perhaps with him taunting reader and using it against them later, like you wrote?? or eVEN... him taking off the collar ONLY when he's fucking them where other people can hear/see them so everybody thinks reader's absolutely into it?? thank you sm either way <3

Thank you for requesting! I kept this request for a while to think about it, so sorry for the long wait! ^^

[Part 1]

Warning: Yandere, Sexual Content (Grinding, Thigh Job, Fingering, Teasing, Public Indecency (and getting caught), Humiliation), AFAB!Reader, Darling Breaking

»»———————— ♡ ————————««  

"Enough teasing," Geralt grunted, leaning forward and forcing you to bend over the table with him.

You whimpered as the exciting pleasure of the grind was interrupted, mewled even, as his hips separated from yours. Now that you had decided to enjoy this, use him as much as he used you for his own desires, he tore apart the connection between you two? Unfair!

With your hands braced on top of the table, you pushed your body back, earning yourself the satisfaction of feeling his cock perfectly molded against your sex again. Geralt gave a surprised groan before he chuckled, his hands that had fallen from your waist returning to your sides as he lifted you up and forward as he needed you.

"Getting greedy now, eh?" he teased, and with no chance to voice your discontent, you huffed. But the dissatisfaction turned into another bolt of pleasure very quickly as Geralt bucked his hips, sending you chest down on the table but with your sex quivering in delight. You didn't know what he was doing behind you as he began fiddling with something out of sight. But if he wanted teasing, he could have it, and shaking your ass as you glanced back at him had more than the desired effect, the apparent redness across Geralt's face spreading to his ears while he reached up to stiffle a groan with his hand.

You saw his other arm moving below your butt, but he collected his composure so quickly—gripping your waist hard with his free hand and slamming you back into his lap—that you had no time to realize what he was doing. Not until you felt it, that is, hard and throbbing between your thighs.

Twisting your torso around, you gave him an appalled look, almost gasping out the question of how he could bare himself in such a crowded place. But your cut off voice was met with a smirk as Geralt nodded his head to the side, knowing fully well what you were meant to say without needing to hear it.

"Not like we're the only ones fooling around, Sweetheart."

Biting your lip, you glanced at the tables around you, trying not to stare and not to be too obvious as you checked out the whores. You saw glimpses of skin under the tables, hands where they shouldn't be stuck. Some lap-sitting ladies were rolling their hips suspiciously, biting their lips and letting their heads fall back. They looked happy, excited—almost like you.

It was your turn for the heat to spread across your whole face, burning at the tips of your ears as you realized others were having fun out in the open without any sense of shame and dignity. And you were one of them now, Geralt grinding your hips up and down his length. You felt every drag as if it was inside you, your thighs abused as a sex toy while your cunt throbbed desperately, yearning to have his cock shoved into you deeply.

The trousers you wore covered you enough from curious eyes that licked their lips at the salacious sight of you two getting it on, but not from the precum and slick that spread and stained the fabric, your panties soaking wet as your hips were slammed into Geralts over and over.

You couldn't tell anyone how disgusted you felt by your own body's reaction. How much you resented Geralt for turning you into public entertainment, abusing your needs for his own pleasure. You wanted to scream and shout at him, but even more so, you wanted the sweet release from this nightmare. The grinding was fine and dandy, but you needed more stimulation to get rid of the pent-up frustration, even if it meant overcoming your own disgust.

Reaching down, you grabbed one of his hands, wrapping your entire palm around his fingers. He didn't seem to mind you holding on to him for support, but Geralt hummed questioningly as he noticed you trying to drag his grip forward rather than away from you. He let go immediately, allowing you to do whatever you wanted with his hand, curious and devoted to you as he was. And when you placed his palm against your exposed belly, you heard him chuckle behind you as he noticed your unbuttoned pants.

You were relieved that he caught on so quickly. Relieved for the first time that you didn't need to shamefully say what you wanted aloud. And most importantly: Relieved as you felt his hand sink into your panties, greeted with the wet and hot mess that was your pussy. He found your clit with no problem, probed, and massaged it as your walls clenched miserably around nothing. His own pleasure halted, his cock throbbing and bobbing between your thighs impatiently. But like an eager scholar, Geralt fixated on your pleasure that you had denied him for so long.

His hand was bulging out your pants as he played stimulating pranks on your nub. The transition from his fingers pulling and teasing to his thumb working your clit into a hot mess was so seemless, you only noticed his wandering hands as they began exploring your entrance.

You both let out a blissful moan as he slipped the first two digits into you, your body immediately yearning for more. But when you spread your legs even a little to accompany his large hand, giving it easier access, he immediately stopped, his hand digging into your waist, growing firm.

"Keep them together. Don't be mean."

You gritted your teeth, your instincts trained well on defiance, but Geralt—quite literally—had the upper hand, not helping you as long a you weren't helping him. Reluctantly, knowing fully well you'd not get as much depth and stimulation as you wanted if you closed your legs, you did as you were told, feeling surprised as Geralt bucked his hips first before putting his fingers into motion. He grunted, satisfied, as you squeezed your thighs around his cock again, thinking to yourself that the fabric couldn't possibly be a comforting feeling against the sensitive skin, but he didn't seem to mind.

Steadying you across your chest with his free arm, Geralt leaned back, taking you with him. Now there was much more space and freedom for both of you to get the pleasure you deserved, and while you barely kept your moans behind clasped teeth and bitten lips, Geralt buried his face in your shoulder, his husky voice shaking through your whole body as if spoken directly to your soul.

"That's right, squeeze them as tightly as you squeeze my fingers. Do you like that? My fingers inside you? You're so wet; I'd have fucked you much earlier if I knew you liked it that much. Guess you're not so pure are you? Hiding this sweet, wet cunt from me all this time?"

Tears welled up in your eyes as Geralt exposed you, laying bare that you were, at the end of the day, just a human with needs and longing for satisfaction like any other. You wished you could have been more virtuous, needing less of him than you did at that moment, but he was so right, knowing fully well that if he were to stop caressing you, you'd become a pitiful, begging mess. At that moment, you were no better than these whores who enjoyed the attention they got a little too much. You wanted it all and wanted it now, getting greedier by the second.

"Time to admit it, Babe," he mumbled, planting a goose-bump erecting kiss to the nape of your neck as he made your spine curve, handling your body as he wanted. You were so close to the edge as he bucked his hips upwards as hard as he could, using the leverage to place his hand beneath your slit, perfectly situated for you to plummet on it, giving you the most earth-shattering orgasm you had ever experienced. No playing with yourself, imagining uncouth scenarios of depravity in your head, could have prepared you for this.

And in the most inappropriate, vulnerable moment, you felt your throat tightening before the magical collar snapped off, loudly letting an uncontained, unfiltered moan, followed by a still dazed, "Fuck, yes!" echo through the tavern.

Around you, things got awkwardly quiet; hushed voices and clearing of throats could be heard while you felt Geralt shake behind you, his own hot mess spilling over your thighs, some shooting against your belly. You faced the wooden table, gasping for air as you rode the waves of your miserable orgasm. Only when someone next to you remarked mockingly, "Well, someone's having fun here," did you feel the shame and embarrassment tremble through your body, tears overflooding your eyes and dripping onto the wood as chuckles and laughter went through the patrons.

Geralt sighed blissfully while you wouldn't dare to lift your head from the humiliation. It seemed like no big deal to him, and the opinions of these people shouldn't have mattered much to you, either. They were just as undignified and driven by their needs as you were, but since they didn't need to hide it, they at least knew how to keep it to themselves. Other than you, who had just lost the losing game of caving into Geralt's obsession for your own needs.

"I think you two should go," someone said sternly in front of you, and you recognized the barmaid's voice, a sob eluding you. There was so much scorn and distaste in the way she said it, so much dismissal rather than concern about you. And perhaps, a little bit of jealousy. Another sob escaped before you could use your hand to muffle yourself. Still, the barmaid either didn't hear or cared about it, putting the final nail in the coffin for you. "You're making the others uncomfortable."

Uncomfortable? You were fucking humiliated!

"Alright, alright," Geralt said unconfrontationally, pushing you up and off his lap, your trousers still covered in stains and cum, as well as tears that kept falling from your eyes as you couldn't get yourself to look up and face the mockery of the people that thought you enjoyed this abuse. Which you did, and you hated yourself for it. Geralt quickly got himself situated again before grabbing the collar and your wrist, pulling you off the bench and after him as he made you do a walk of shame out of the tavern.

You heard every snicker, every snarky comment. All the whispers about what kind of bitch you were and how only someone like you could stand being a "Witcher's Toy". Geralt didn't seem to mind. Not enough to stop and defend your honor, clear up the misunderstanding, and make you feel better. He didn't even seem to care about your tears and shame when you two finally reached Roach, mistaking the droplets on your face for the rain that poured down.

Still, he wrapped you tightly in a blanket and made sure you went on top of the horse first before taking his seat behind you, holding you tightly against him. You couldn't help but lean into his chest willingly for the first time in a long while, exhausted and still crying. The silence as you two rode down the muddy street and off into the forest to find shelter from the rain made what just happened even more shameful. It made you feel used, even though it had been you who wanted to use Geralt for once. You wanted to say something just to break the ice, but you couldn't find the words even without the collar.

It took another hour until you three stumbled over an abandoned house, dirty and full of bugs but good enough for shelter from the rain. Geralt helped you off Roach before making sure she was settled beneath a wooden roof. She was happy to just be out of the rain, and he took your hand and secured the inside of the house first before getting you two dry as well. Even with him starting a fire, you felt frozen to the bone, partially because of the rain and partially because you felt completely dead inside, worn down and empty. Where you had once been filled with life, defiance, dignity, and strength, everything seemed to have poured out of you together with the orgasm and the humiliation that followed.

"Take your clothes off, you're soaked."

Gripping the blanket tightly around you, you kept standing there as Geralt stoked the fire, waiting for you to simply obey and do as you were told. "Come on," he urged when he noticed you were unresponsive. "You'll catch a cold."

But even so, you couldn't let go of the cover.

Even when you felt like everything was cruel and meaningless, you couldn't obey him. He, who had wronged you so many times, made a fool out of you to the point where you didn't even care. Geralt rose from the firepit, standing before you as you two stared at each other in silence. That night, boundaries had been crossed. Things had been done that couldn't be forgotten. Your life had collapsed under the weight of his obsession, and you didn't know how to rebuild the crumbled sense of self you felt.

Geralt raised his hand, brushing his knuckles along your cheek, a mix of concern and affection in his expression as he caressed you.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, his voice a small rumble. "I couldn't help it. Seeing you look at other people, not hearing you say how good it felt—I couldn't help any of it."

Your tears were still hot as they ran down your cheeks, and this time, Geralt had to notice them as they dripped over his hand. He halted, a moment of sadness flashing in his eyes before he leaned down, kissing you as if to comfort you. As if anything he gave you truly brought you any solace—you learned it the hard way that night. His hands fell to your shoulders, gripping the blanket you held onto so tightly, pulling and stretching it until he could free it from your grasp and make it fall to the ground.

"I can't help loving you even more every second we are together," he whispered against your lips, and a sob escaped you, muffled by the kiss. You didn't want to be loved by him, didn't want to be comforted or caressed. You wished you had never met him as you stood there, forced to allow him to undress you so you wouldn't catch a cold. Forced to be spooned by his naked body to stay warm and forced to be taken care of by him even though you wanted to throw up from the feeling of his skin against yours.

"And I'll never stop loving you," he assured you as you lay in his suffocating hug, crying and sobbing, your whole body shaking in disgust and shame.

Praying to any god that could hear you, begging to end your misery.

[cowboygenesis]

( ౨ৎ ) MASTERLIST

⤷﹐welcome to the masterlist! navigate my fics with the links below the cut. trigger warnings are listed upon clicking the designated chapter. if you'd like to be added to a taglist, let me know! please don't interact with my 18+ fics if you're a minor!

★ - author's pick ♡ - fluff ☾ - angst ✿ - sexual content

౨ৎ series

din djarin

⤷﹐18+ brown eyes | ongoing multi-chapter ♡ ☾ ✿

summary: din settles on the distant planet of lazure prime while seeking a safe-haven for his son. unbeknownst to him, the choice leads him to unforeseen threats—and a deeper connection he never thought possible. (inspired by "rough day" by @no-droids i love you stevie)

chapter 1: kindness and coin

chapter 2: a sweet brew ♡

chapter 3: the mandalorian ♡

chapter 4: call it like you see it ♡

chapter 5: the armory ♡ ☾

chapter 6: spotchka ♡ ☾

chapter 7: his creed 10% complete!

↷ to be continued...

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kylo ren

⤷﹐18+ bump it, cool it | ongoing multi-chapter ♡ ☾ ✿ ★

summary: when your roommate’s older brother needs a place to crash, you begrudgingly offer up your couch— only to realize he’s the most insufferable, entitled asshole you’ve ever met. the worst part? you can’t seem to stop thinking about him.

chapter 1: charity case

chapter 2: the roommate

chapter 3: al limone ☾

chapter 4: baby, baby ♡

chapter 5: turpentine ♡ ☾ ✿

chapter 6: rhiannon ♡ 5% complete!

↷ to be continued...

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gale dekarios

⤷﹐18+ fatum | ongoing two-shot ♡ ☾ ✿

summary: you've loathed each other since the dawn of his first arrival. it never should've worked, but somehow, as you find yourself chest-to-chest within a sunken crypt with no way out, your feelings finally surface— and gods, do they cut deep.

chapter 1: fatum invenit ♡ ☾

chapter 2: fatum signatum 17% complete! ♡ ☾ ✿

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geralt of rivia

⤷﹐18+ wild woman (hiatus) | ongoing multi-chapter ♡ ☾ ✿

summary: geralt begrudgingly accepts a monster contract issued to him by a strange girl, thinking it to be an opportunity for some quick coin. nothing goes as planned.

chapter 1: redanian ale

chapter 2: sign from the skies

chapter 3: of thunderstorms ♡

chapter 4: a light in the dark: 17% complete!

↷ to be continued...

౨ৎ oneshots

astarion ancunin

⤷﹐18+ knuckle up | oneshot smut ♡ ✿ ★

summary: after a drunken night and a dumb bet you're left in an emotional (and physical) chokehold by your favourite vampire companion.

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geralt of rivia

⤷﹐polite company | oneshot smut ♡ ✿

summary: years after a chance encounter in skellige, a skilled sorceress and an experienced witcher reunite at an annual aretuzan party, reigniting old flames amidst whispers of courtly intrigue.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

(all fics listed are my intellectual property and i don't wish for them to be copied or reposted without my explicit consent. thank you for respecting my creativity.)

[sweetdreamcreator]

Elixirs of Fate

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Human Female (OFC)

Warning /tags: smut (18+), NSFW, unprotected sex (practice safe sex, please), creampie, Oral sex, dirty talk, light dom/sub, p in v, fingering.

About: Geralt finally accepts his feelings for Andrea (OFC)

Part 1

“You’re staring, Geralt.” Andrea’s voice was soft, teasing, and laced with something unmistakable. Her lips curled into a sly smile as she leaned back against the counter of her cluttered cottage, one hand resting on a vial of shimmering blue liquid.

Geralt’s golden eyes flickered up to hers, his expression unreadable—or so he thought. But Andrea could see the slight tension in his jaw, the way his fingers twitched at his side. She knew him too well.

“I’m not,” he muttered, gruff as ever. His voice was low, gravelly, but there was a hint of something else beneath it. Something she’d been waiting to hear for months. She tilted her head, letting the firelight catch the sheer fabric of her dress. It clung to her curves like a second skin, the material so thin it left little to the imagination. The neckline dipped dangerously low, and the slit along her thigh teased just enough to make Geralt’s breath hitch. He tried to look away, but his gaze kept drifting back to her, drawn like a moth to flame.

“Liar,” she purred, taking a step closer. The scent of herbs and spices filled the air around her, mingling with something sweeter, something entirely her. “You’ve been staring since you walked in.”

He shifted uncomfortably, his broad shoulders tense under the weight of his armour. “I came for potions,” he said firmly, though his voice lacked its usual edge. “Not… whatever this is.”

Andrea chuckled softly, her laughter like a melody that made his chest tighten. “Oh, I know why you came,” she said, her green eyes locking onto his. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun while you’re here.”

----------‐-----------------------------------------

The first time Geralt had met Andrea, she’d been knee-deep in mud, harvesting rare herbs by the edge of the forest near Kaer Morhen. He’d been on patrol, his senses sharp, his instincts warning him of danger lurking nearby. But when he’d seen her, crouched among the roots of an ancient tree, her auburn hair glinting in the sunlight, he’d momentarily forgotten all about the monsters. “Careful,” he’d called out, his voice cutting through the stillness of the forest. “There’s a leshen nearby.”

She’d looked up, her eyes wide with surprise, but not fear. “I know,” she’d said simply, holding up a small pouch filled with crushed leaves. “That’s why I brought this. It masks my scent.”

Geralt had been impressed despite himself. Most villagers would’ve run screaming at the mention of a leshen. But Andrea wasn’t like most villagers. She was a healer, a potion brewer, and one of the few people who didn’t flinch at the sight of a witcher. Over the months, their paths had crossed more often than he cared to admit. Each time, she’d greeted him with that same confidence, that same spark in her eyes that made him feel… unsettled. And each time, he’d told himself it was better this way. She was reckless, wandering the woods alone, risking her life for ingredients he needed. It was dangerous. Too dangerous.

But tonight, as he stood in her cottage, surrounded by the familiar scent of herbs and the faint crackle of the fire, he found himself questioning everything.

“Fun?” Geralt raised an eyebrow, his tone dry but tinged with curiosity. “Last time I checked, ‘fun’ wasn’t part of your usual services.”

Andrea smirked, setting the vial down on the counter before moving closer. She reached out, her fingers brushing lightly over the hilt of his sword. “Maybe I’m feeling generous tonight,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Or maybe I’m just tired of waiting for you to make the first move.”

His breath caught in his throat as her hand trailed up his arm, her touch sending a jolt of heat through him. He could feel the warmth of her body, so close now, and the way her eyes never left his.

“Waiting?” he echoed, his voice rough.

She laughed softly, the sound sending a shiver down his spine. “Don’t play dumb, Geralt. You’re many things, but oblivious isn’t one of them.” Her fingers grazed his cheek, warm against his cool skin. “I’ve seen the way you look at me. The way you try not to look at me.”

He swallowed hard, his hands itching to reach for her, to pull her closer. But he hesitated, the weight of his doubts pressing down on him. “It’s not safe,” he said finally, his voice strained. “You know that.”

Her expression softened, and for a moment, she looked almost vulnerable. “And what if I don’t care about safety?” she asked, her hand resting against his chest. “What if I care about you?”

Geralt’s heart pounded in his chest, the battle between logic and desire raging within him. He’d spent years building walls, keeping people at arm’s length. But Andrea… she wasn’t afraid of him. She saw past the mutations, the scars, and the rumours. She saw him.

Before he could stop himself, his hand came up to cover hers, his fingers intertwining with hers. “Andrea,” he murmured, her name slipping from his lips like a prayer.

She smiled, and it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “Finally,” she whispered, rising on her toes to close the distance between them. Her lips brushed against his, light as a feather, and yet it was enough to make his knees weak.

He couldn’t hold back any longer. With a low growl, he pulled her flush against him, his mouth crashing down on hers with a hunger that surprised even him. She gasped into the kiss, her hands tangling in his hair as she kissed him back with equal fervour.

Her skin glowed in the firelight, smooth and soft, and he couldn’t help but run his hands over every inch of her.

“Geralt,” she moaned, arching into his touch as his fingers explored the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist. Her voice was music to his ears, a symphony of pleasure that drove him wild.

He lifted her effortlessly, carrying her to the bed in the corner of the room. The old wooden frame creaked under their combined weight, but neither of them noticed. All that mattered was the way their bodies fit together, the way she trembled beneath him as he kissed his way down her neck…

"Wait," Andrea breathed, her hands pushing gently against his chest. Geralt froze, his muscles taut as he stared down at her, confusion and desire warring in his eyes.

"What is it?" he growled, his voice thick with need.

She bit her lip, her gaze darting toward the vial of blue liquid still sitting on the counter. "The potion..."

Geralt’s lips curved into a slow, predatory smirk as he leaned closer to Andrea, his breath hot against her ear. “The potion can wait,” he growled, his voice low and commanding. His hand traced a path down her side, fingertips brushing over the thin fabric of her dress, feeling the heat of her skin beneath.

Andrea shivered, her body arching slightly toward him, but she feigned resistance, pressing her hands more firmly against his chest. “Geralt, you need it for the hunt,” she murmured, though her voice wavered, betraying her words.

“What I need,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument, “is you.” His fingers grasped the hem of her dress, tugging it upward with deliberate slowness. The fabric slid up her thighs, revealing the soft curve of her hips, and the pale skin of her stomach. Andrea’s breath hitched as his touch grew bolder, his palm sliding up to cup her breast through the flimsy material.

Her nipple hardened instantly under his attention, and Geralt let out a dark chuckle, pinching it lightly between his fingers. “You’re already so eager for me,” he murmured, his eyes locked on hers. “I can feel it.”

Andrea’s cheeks flushed, but she didn’t deny it. Instead, she bit her lip, her breathing growing uneven as his thumb circled her nipple, teasing it through the fabric until she couldn’t help but gasp. His other hand moved to her opposite breast, kneading and squeezing with just the right amount of pressure to make her squirm.

“Geralt…” she breathed, her hands finally sliding up to grip his shoulders instead of pushing him away.

“Tell me you want this,” he demanded, his voice rough with desire. His fingers slipped beneath the neckline of her dress, pulling it down to expose her breasts fully. He paused just long enough to admire the sight—her nipples hard and pink, begging for his attention.

“I want it,” Andrea whispered, her voice trembling. “I want you.”

That was all the encouragement Geralt needed. He bent his head, capturing one nipple between his lips, sucking and flicking his tongue over the sensitive peak. Andrea moaned, her fingers tangling in his hair as he lavished attention on her breasts, moving from one to the other, leaving them wet and glistening in the dim light.

He grabbed the hem of her dress once more, pulling it up and over her hips, exposing her completely. “Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he muttered, his hands gripping her ass, spreading her open. Andrea gasped as he leaned in, kissing and nipping at her inner thighs, driving her wild.

But Geralt wasn’t patient tonight. He rose to his full height, unbuckling his trousers and freeing his cock, already hard and throbbing with need. He pressed the tip against her entrance, teasing her, making her whimper with anticipation.

His hands roamed lower, sliding over her hips and down to her thighs, spreading them apart as he positioned himself between her legs. “On your knees,” he ordered, his voice firm but laced with hunger.

Andrea hesitated for only a moment before obeying, turning around and positioning herself on her hands and knees. The dress clung to her curves, the fabric barely covering her ass as she looked back at him over her shoulder. Geralt’s gaze darkened as he took in the sight of her, ready and willing.

Andrea’s nails dug into the sheets. “Please, Geralt,” she pleaded, her voice shaky. “I need you inside me.”

Geralt thrust into her, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth motion. Andrea cried out, her body arching as he filled her completely. He gave her no time to adjust, setting a steady, punishing rhythm that had her gasping with every stroke.

One hand gripped her hip tightly, holding her in place, while the other reached around to play with her breasts again. He squeezed and pulled at her nipples, the sensation shooting straight to her core, making her clench around him.

“You feel so fucking good,” Geralt groaned, his pace quickening. His breath came in ragged bursts as he fucked her harder, driving her closer and closer to the edge.

Andrea’s moans grew louder, her body trembling as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter within her. “Geralt… I’m close…” she managed to gasp, her words barely coherent.

“Come for me,” he growled, his fingers pinching her nipple sharply, sending a jolt of pleasure through her.

That was all it took. Andrea cried out, her body convulsing as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over her. She felt Geralt’s grip tighten on her hip, his own release following shortly after as he spilt inside her with a deep, guttural groan.

For a moment, they stayed like that, both of them panting and trembling as they rode out the aftershocks. Then Geralt leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck. “Still think the potion can’t wait?” he teased, his voice thick with satisfaction.

Andrea laughed weakly, collapsing onto the bed beneath her. “Maybe… maybe just a little longer,” she admitted, turning her head to look at him with a sly smile.

Part 2

The room was still warm, the air thick with the scent of their shared desire. Geralt lay on his back, one arm draped lazily over Andrea’s waist as she nestled into the crook of his shoulder. Her fingers traced idle patterns across his chest, her breath soft and even against his skin. For a moment, it was peaceful—too peaceful for a witcher used to chaos.

But peace had a way of turning restless when Andrea was involved.

Her hand slid lower, her fingertips brushing the faint trail of hair leading down his abdomen. She felt him tense beneath her touch, his body already responding to her unspoken invitation. “Tired already?” she murmured, her voice dripping with playful mockery as she tilted her head to look up at him.

“Never,” she replied, her smile widening as she propped herself up on one elbow. Her other hand continued its exploration, wrapping around his hardening length and giving him a slow, deliberate stroke. “I think you’ve got one more round in you.”

Geralt’s golden eyes flicked down to meet hers, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You don’t know when to quit, do you?”

He groaned, his head falling back against the pillow. “You’re going to be the death of me, woman.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Andrea purred, leaning down to press a kiss to his chest. Her lips trailed lower, leaving a path of hot, open-mouthed kisses along his torso. When she reached his waist, she paused, glancing up at him with mischief dancing in her eyes. “Let me take care of you this time.”

Before he could protest—not that he would have—she lowered her mouth onto him, her tongue swirling around the sensitive tip before taking him deeper. Geralt’s breath hitched, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he tangled his fingers in her hair. “Fuck, Andrea…”

She hummed in response, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure through him. Her pace was unhurried, almost teasing, as she worked him with her mouth and hands. Every now and then, she’d glance up at him, her eyes dark with desire, and he couldn’t help but wonder how someone so delicate could wield such power over him.

When she finally pulled away, his cock was throbbing, pre-cum glistening at the tip. Andrea wiped her lips with the back of her hand, a coy smile playing on her face. “Now, where were we?”

Geralt didn’t give her a chance to answer. In one swift motion, he flipped her onto her back, pinning her wrists above her head as he settled between her legs. His gaze burned into hers, predatory and possessive. “You’re playing with fire, darling.”

Andrea laughed, the sound rich and throaty. “And yet, here you are, ready to burn with me.”

He growled, capturing her lips in a searing kiss as he lined himself up with her entrance. With one firm thrust, he was inside her again, both of them moaning at the sensation. He set a steady rhythm, each movement deliberate and deep, as if trying to brand himself into her very soul.

Andrea arched her back, her nails digging into his shoulders as she urged him on. “Harder, Geralt. Please.”

He obliged, his hips snapping forward with increased force. One hand released her wrist to cup her breast, his thumb circling her nipple before catching it between his teeth. Andrea gasped, her body trembling as he bit down lightly, the mix of pain and pleasure sending shockwaves through her.

His mouth moved to her other breast, lavishing it with the same attention while his free hand roamed her body, exploring every curve and dip. He loved the way she responded to him, the way her breath hitched and her muscles tightened with every touch. It was intoxicating, knowing he could reduce her to a quivering mess with just his hands and mouth.

“Geralt,” she whimpered, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m close…”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Releasing her breast, he braced himself on his elbows, his movements becoming more frantic as he chased his release. Andrea’s legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper still until they were both teetering on the edge.

With a final, powerful thrust, Geralt buried himself to the hilt, his roar mingling with Andrea’s cry as they came together. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them lost in the throes of passion.

As their breathing began to slow, Geralt pressed his forehead to hers, their noses brushing as he looked into her eyes. “Still think I’m tired?”

Andrea chuckled weakly, her fingers trailing down his spine. “Not in the slightest. But maybe… we should take a break. Just for a moment.”

“A moment,” he agreed, though neither of them made any move to pull apart. Instead, they lay there, bodies entwined, savouring the heat and intimacy of the moment.

But moments had a way of slipping by too quickly, especially when Andrea’s hand began to wander once more. “Or…” she whispered, her lips grazing his ear, “we could see just how much more you can take.”

[justanoasisimagines]

For you

Summary; Geralt's been lying to you about his pain. Now he'll do anything to get you to stay. Pairing; Geralt of Rivia x Female Reader WordCount; 538 A/N; Hey lovelies back with another drabble. My requests are open and my guidlines are pinned to the top of the page! Credit to cafekitsune for the banner and the divider!

Geralt stormed through the crowd ignoring the stares and the hushed remarks. Examining the crowd, he searched for you. You'd stormed off after you'd learned he'd lied. Lied about how injured he was. He gritted his teeth pain spreading all over his body as he pushed through. He caught a glimpse of your navy cloak, and Geralt's pace picked up. Never before had he been grateful for a Witcher's reputation.

Much to Geralt's surprise, he caught up to you, reaching out he grasped your hand in his. You immediately pulled back, turning hurt in your eyes. "I told you to leave me alone." "No." You turned your body to face him. Geralt dared to face your wrath as he stepped into your space. You took a step back but Geralt stepped forward, and your jaw tightened. "Shouldn't you be off, pretending to be okay, when you're one hit away from collapsing?" Your eyes turned away as they glassed over, Geralt reached out taking your hand, you didn't yank it away from him his time. "That is the life of a Witcher." With a tug of your hand, Geralt tightened his entwining your fingers together. "That is the life of witcher." With a tug of your hand, Geralt tightened his entwining your fingers together. "I will not stand by and watch you work yourself into the ground." Geralt's stomach sank. He should have known you would leave him soon enough. Yet he couldn't imagine his life with you by his side. "No," Your eyes flickered between his searching for something. "No?" "You're not leaving." "I'm not watching you kill yourself. It's not-" "I fucking love you." Eyes winded, mouth agape, Geralt closed any remainder of a gap, whispering the words again, a private moment between the two of you. "Don't leave me. I can't force you to stay, but this belongs to you. It always has." Geralt brought his hand entwined with yours to his heart. "I don't want to leave you, but I can't watch you keep doing this to yourself. You wouldn't even tell me-" "I'll take a break. I'll take some time to heal. Pick a location and we're going." "Geralt," Geralt kept your hand firmly on his heart. "I don't want to influence you into something you wish to not do." "You're not. My world changed. The moment our eyes laid on each other. Whether I knew it or not. So name a place and we'll gather supplies and go." "Promise me, you never lie to me about being in pain." Geralt leaned in, breaths mingling with one another. "I swear to you." Geralt leaned down pressing his lips to yours firmly, circling his free hand around your waist, you reached out to the nape of his neck, playing with the small hairs. You pulled away to inhale, just about to rejoin your lips, Geralt chasing your lips when you looked past him. "Geralt, we've got an audience." You whispered under your breath. "Let them. They're only envious of what they're lacking." Your lips fought a smile. Geralt purposely brought your lips down onto yours. If they were going to stare, he was going to enjoy kissing you once more. Then his rest could begin.

[redskull199987]

Of Thoughts and Actions

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[willowsages-blog]

Forbidden love: Geralt rivia x female reader

You're a princess awaiting marriage. Every girl has to marry a prince even if the girls do not want to marry,

they have no other choice.

At this moment, you are wandering around your garden, admiring the flowers. As you were leaning down to smell the flowers feeling someone's

as you kneel down to pick a pretty one, you hear someone coming behind you,

you immediately got up and turned around and saw an older prince that you had a crush on for a while now.

''My princess' geralt rushes towards you, and you do the same.

you smile widely. my prince

he pulls you into his grasp. holding onto you as if you were leaving him at any moment.

Y/N, i can't let you leave to someone else, he says seriously

looking down, heartbroken,

hey, he lifts your chin! making you look at him,

Geralt lifts your chin. making you look at him. he then takes a deep breath. caressing your cheek,

I'm running away.

before you could say anything, he cuts you off, and you're leaving with me,       

[shutuplilith]

the witch and her cottage, part 1 - geralt of rivia x reader

the witch and her cottage, part 1

ciri's pov. (takes place after the ending of season 1, episode 8. yennifer exists in this, but not as geralts love interest but as his best friend)

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"Geralt." "Hmm?" "Where are we riding to, exactly?" "We're going to visit an old friend." With that, our conversation came to an end. For two days already we had been roaming the lands, and if I hadn't been by Geralt's side, I was sure we would have gotten lost long ago. But his presence gave me security, as did Roach, his loyal bay mare, whom nothing could upset. Even if she hesitated once, Geralt's grumble calmed her down. We were approaching the sea. I could hear the sound of the sea getting closer, could feel the salty air on my lips and the stormy wind dancing in my hair and on my face. We left a small forest and arrived at a meadow. Only a few steps later did I realize that we were on a vast cliff. To our right, meadow and forest stretched, unperturbed and endless. But ahead of us, the meadow gradually narrowed. The wind continued to whip in my face and by now we were shrouded in a thick fog. The wind continued to whip, and we were surrounded by a dense fog. Nevertheless, I recognized a small building in the distance. I squinted my eyes and thought I saw light burning in the windows. The closer we got to the house, the more fiercely the wind raged, and Roach also became increasingly restless. " Calm down," Geralt murmured, but this time the mare was not so easily soothed. By now we were in the immediate vicinity of the house. It was a small cottage with many flowers and surrounded by a small stone wall. Finally I understood why Roach had been so nervous. In front of the house and behind the stone wall were several horses. They were staring at us as confused as I was at them. My gaze slid past the horses, and I spotted a young woman standing on the edge of the cliff behind her house. Her (y/h/c) were swirling in the wind, and her hands were moving through the air. We watched her for a while, and finally she lowered her hands, and the storm abruptly stopped. She turned around, and her lips formed a wide smile.

[thewritersaddictions]

Request: The Witcher: Geralt Of Rivia- Brutal Life

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Fem!Wolf!Reader

Pov: Geralt

Warnings: Kissing, injured reader, fake monster sighting, camping, jaskier being his normal self, lone wolf, romance, fluff, dreaming.

Summary: A hurt wolf is marked as a monster so Jaskier and Geralt go to investigate. Geralt knows something is off though so he tries to be helpful.

WC- 2.0k

A/n- Firefly-graphics for dividers; Remember that Geralt of Rivia here on my page will continue to be written as if Henry Cavill is playing his character.

The Witcher Master List // Requests Master List

There was commotion going on just outside of the small town that we were staying in. Damn people and there need to intreput my dinner time. Jaskier was already apart of the drama happening outside. He came running back into the bar. “Jaskier what is it now?” A roll of my eyes gave tell to that small fact that I didn’t care or want to go outside to deal with commotion going on. 

“Geralt you just have to help these people. You’re the witcher for fucks sake.” Jaskier wasn’t kidding. He was dragging me or at least trying to drag me towards the door of the bar. “Jaskier would you stop it already.” I mumbled out. “I’m coming alright, are you happy now.” Just outside the door the dark and loud rumbles of a growl could be heard. My interest was peaked to say the least as people ‘ohh’ and ‘awwd’ at whatever monster they had decided stupidly to surround. 

By the time we got outside there was more then a gaggle of people surrounded it. Forcing it down into a tiny closed circle. “Oh the great Geralt Of Rivia here to save the day as always.’ A cocky old gente. I ignored him as I did with truly everybody in my life. “What seems to be the problem here?” I asked loudly into the crowd of people that was steadily growing. 

The ‘monster’ was ovibouly not that scary, or dangerous as the crowd drew louder and crazier with every passing second. The rambles of talking and screaming, and everything else that humans are so great at doing. The smallest of whimper I heard in the crowd of people. “Can angbody get their heads out of their asses and tell me what the fuck is going on.” I asked loudly, my voice moving through the crowd. 

A little girl is the one that answered me. Her voice was squeaky, and high pitched but she came forward. “Witcher it’s just a pour lonesome wolf, her leg is injured a little. She’s a whimpering mess over here.” The little girl said. I was impressed, but then the immediate stress of the world came crashing down on me. If that was so not a true monster then I wasn’t needed here, but the whimpers were so damn hard to ignore. 

“Alright gents and gals it’s time to get your noses into something else that isn’t this clear none monster.” My voice boomed loudly across the field. Their were sighs, and disappointing words flying in through the sky. The growling started as soon as the crowd cleared the field and I got closer. The closer I got the more protective the wolf seemed to get. Jaskier as always was whining behind me. “Geralt let’s just go if you say it’s just some wolf then theres no need to sit around and wait for it to bite on of us.” Jaskier blabbled out. There were many times I wished that I had told Jaskier to shut up, but going to do a task was better for me right now. 

“Why don’t you go gather our things from the bar, and Roach. I’m staying here to help this little one out.” I looked over my shoulder at Jaskier. There was an odd look on his face, then a shrug of his shoulders before he left the two of us in the field. The growled hadn’t stopped not even when I was talking to Jaskier.

 I turned my attention back to the wolf on the ground a growling and whimpering mess. I reached one of my hands out, “Y/n is that you?” The words pouring softly. Even strange to my ears. Her eyes were so damn familiar, and I hadn’t seen her in years… more then years. It felt like decades had passed. The last time I had seen her was when we were young children. Playing and before the world had separated us. The hand that I had reached out was getting closer and closer to being bite. 

“How about we try something different huh?” I suggested, she growled lowly, and kept her eyes on me the entire time. “How about if you want help you just have to follow us.” I wasn’t one for having tag alongs but Jaskier had broken that record, and the wolf well if she was Y/n then there was nothing I would do to help her. Jaskier returned everything in his hands. A small huff of frustration falling from his lips. ‘Are you fucking insane Geralt, I can’t go around having people think I’m just your servant.” With that Jaskier dropped every single one of the bag interlocked in his arms and fingers. I rolled my eyes and walked away from the wolf towards Roach. 

Petting her muzzle and then her mane. I turned and gave Y/n a knowing wink before walking towards the bleak basically dead treeline. Winter was on its way and the further we got away from the cold the happier that Jaskier would be. I kept an eye behind us as we travelled. Jaskier walking beside Roach, I kepther on the right track. “Who’s following us?” Jaskier prayed. I looked down at Jaskier. I wondered for how long had he been standing behind me, while I was talking to Y/n. “Nobody.” I clarified, as I got Roach back on the right path. 

By the time that night fell on the sky, and treeline disappeared behind the dark sky I knew it was time that we stop. The last tiem I had seen Y/n walking behind us was before the sun set, and I was purposely walking Roach slower then normal for Y/n to keep up with us. Yet another thing that Jaskier commented on. “Why are you walking Roach so slow? Is she sick? You aren’t going to put her down if she’s sick are you? I’ll kill you if you do.” Jaskier rambled on, and with that the first question was forgotten behind Jaskiers concern for the well being of the horse.

The moon was high in the sky when we finally managed to settle in the small camp that we had… that I had made for the two of us. I could Y/n far in the distance, close enough to the heat. Far enough away from being caught, or taunted by either on of us. A fire burning that crackled with each burn of leaf and stick. The most scariest thing for Jaskier was the wolf, she had come to camp. A limp in her walk and still forever staying far away. A full moon had just passed and so from what little knowledge I had on wolves I assumed she would be changing form tonight in the darkest of night. 

The wolf had decided that when of course she was comfortable she would join the camp. Jaskier being the scared little puppy he always was about everything wasn’t having it, and retreated to his sleeper. I tired my hardest not to laugh as Jaskier hurried away underneath the sheets of his cot. “If you feel comfortable, my lap is open for you to sit.” I muttered towards Y/n. Her ears peaked up, as she gave me a weary look. The truest of black eyes staring me down as I wondered what might happen. The growls had stopped, and the whimpers had began as Y/n walked on her paw. Small winces could be seen down her snout and with the curve of her brows underneath the prettiest fur I’d ever seen. 

I waited for what seemed like a few moments. Time passed and the fire crackled against the dark sky, I waited until I felt the softest of nudge on my hand. When I did look down it was Y/n, her paw was placed gently on my hand almost bracing herself on me. Her eyes watched me with intent, keeping everything in a close enough gaze. “Y/n just lay down I promise I wont hurt you.” She took only a few seconds before making the quick choice and snuggling into my lap. 

Warmth from her fur exploded into my clothing and skin. I wasn’t about tp pet her, but the closeness was enough for me. It had been so long that I hadn’t even thought of Y/n, but seeing her like this stuck in this form and hurt. My mind raced as I thought of what a cruel human being could have done this. The question popped into my head. Looking down at the curled up wolf in my lap her head rest on my thigh. “Who did this to you Y/n? You must tell me.” Gently the words flowed out soft around the edges and waiting for a response. 

She just looked up and then nuzzled her nose into my thigh. A wet imprint from her nose stained my trousers, and I wondered if she’s ever tell. If she’d ever get the chance to the mutter the name of the horrible, vile, straight up disgusting human had hurt her this way. I moved ever so slightly and took Y/n with me as I lowered myself into the cot. “For now we will sleep and tomorrow you will tell me who hurt you. We have much to discuss Y/n.” I whispered into the cold winters air. 

I dreamt that night for the first time in a long time. A small boy chasing a beautiful young girl. Her hair flowing in the wind before her mother had told her to cut it all off, or rather before the girl had taken a pair of shears to her hair and chopped it off at all sorts of angles uneven with each other. 

I watched as she grew into a beautiful women. With piercing eyes, and a beautiful smile that made me melt in the knees. The only women to ever bring me to my knees was Y/n, the girl that hadn’t thought about in such a long time. Even has I slept the smell of Y/n whafted into my nose. Dirty, blood, but a hint of rose, and lavendar. Calm was everything that Y/n was, she was peace next to me. 

In my dreams I saw a her standing there waiting for me, open arms and the widest smile on her face. Kind eyes that made you fell safe, I ran and ran as fast as my feet would let me. I wanted to feel the warmth of her body, the warmth of her heart pressed up against mine. When I reached her the batted breathe I let out felt like thousands of pounds being lifted off my shoulders. 

She was the one to kiss me. Y/n lips felt so soft, not chapped and cut like mine due to the work I did. Her hand coming to rest comfortalbing in my hair as she tug and pulled me close. No fighting for dominance within the kiss or teeth scrapping against each other. We weren’t haste for time, so we took it for what it was. A peaceful, calm, deep, and loving kiss. The first of many and the best for a first. I wished that I didn’t need air, and Y/n was all that I needed in order ot survive. Y/n was my life line. In her arms I feared nothing and wanted nothing more then to be there in that moment forever with her. 

A brutal life was one of waking up with her gone. Nothing was left behind as a guide of hope, just as she was here she had gone. As luck would have it for me I hope, Y/n might just come back into my life. “She went into the woods. If you move your ass you can catch up to her.” Jaskier yawned. “By the way she stole your coat. I think she might have shifted last night.” Jaskier mentioned, as I wiped the sleep from my eyes and hopped up. In search for maybe just the right person for me.

Completed on: 03/07/23

Posted on: 03/17/23

The Hero's-

[ohhxdile]

Mysterious Man ☆ OS

∞ ₒ ˚ Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x reader

⋆༶⋆˙⊹

Words: 793

Summary: Typical night for you working in a Tavern that is also an Inn. But tonight is different, there is a strange man in the corner of the room

Warnings: reader pov, use of medieval words, reader as an accent

(A/N: oh my god! i didn't expect my first fanfic to get attention, idk how to thank you all 💕😭)

⋆༶⋆˙⊹

I worked in this tavern for over years now. I’ve experienced many festivals, towns people's departure, new faces, mariage and even rivalry. We could call this quite the “experience”

But today was different, while a few drunk men were singing in the middle of the tavern, ripping their vocal cords and pouring ale on the floor. Messy customers that we didn’t really enjoy to serve, but they consumed the most. Something else was different. A blond-white haired man was sat at the corner of the tavern, a long black piece of linen covered his whole body, I couldn’t quite make out his apparence. 

The owner approached me while I was rearranging the barrels “The Witcher wants his pottage with boef” I stood up with a quirked eyebrow questioning him, he pointed quickly to the white-haired man. “Fine, sure” I sigh and put down the barrels I was occupied with, taking the wooden tray in my hand with the pottage and boeuf.

I walked to him and served him “Here is the pottage and boef, Mister asked” I took the empty vessel asking him if he wanted more to drink, he nodded and thanked me. I got to work and poured another drink for him.

Night was settling in, people were leaving, some bought a hall to sleep in. People were getting kicked out forcefully, typical day for a tavern that also works as an Inn.

My hands were sticky with all the type of ale and meals. I cleaned my hands while the owner cleaned a few vessels and plates. “Tonight was good” I smiled at him, when I turned my head, the empty barrels took my attention “Ah ya’ I forgot to refill them, Would ya please get the Pale Lager in the Undercroft?” I nodded and took in hand the empty Pale Lager and got working. I rummaged through all the cask, they were a lot of them, I quickly found the right one and filled in the empty cask. 

It was getting pretty cold in the tavern and I shivered a bit. Someone didn’t leave and It was the “Witcher” I quickly glanced at him and approached him “You’re leaving soon the village?” He raised his head at me and chuckled “I need to stay here for quite a while, people are asking me to solve a town problem.” His rough voice was like neumes to my ears, but soon after something bothered me in his sentence “a town problem?” I take a hold of his empty tankard and ask him “What? I never heard about a problem here before?” His eyebrows raised itself just like mines and we stared at each other.

Continuously we talk to one another, I understand what he means by “problem” there is a thief that is fliching money from ladies by making them buy deadly roses, what a complete disaster. I understood now why he would stay here for a while. “This is quite the story ya’ have” I chuckled to him and he shrugged off, raising his shoulders slightly. “It is my duty as a Witcher” The strange man was interesting, more than any menne I’ve meet along my years of working, he started ruffling through his piece of linen and gave me a sack of gold, I stared at him for approval and he made a sign with his hand. I opened the bag and counted the coins.

He had the perfect amount for the ale, pottage and boef he ate. I was pretty satisfied and thanked him. “My pleasure, the food here is gracious and the ale is smooth to the gullet” I blushed a bit, happy that he was satisfied. I took the bag of gold, content and walked to the owner giving him the coins.

Before leaving the Witcher came close to me, I looked up at him and he smiled, silence settled between us. I didn’t know what to say, but I was a tad busy with wipping the tables that I haven’t realised his eyes travelled around my figure. “Thank you again” I shrugged off his comment and said It was my pleasure. “I still haven’t asked your name” He mentionned and yes, I realised I never introduced myself to the stranger and I told him my name. 

He said my name, and the way It rolled on his tongue was mischievous I liked it. “My name is Geralt” I smiled hopping he wouldn’t see it since my head is lowered to the table in front of me. Suddenly dead silence and I lifted my head.

 Geralt was gone, he left the Inn with a souvenir and a warm welcome, and I was left with many questions in my mind and hoping that he would come back.

[hannibard]

"I'm choking from the taste (but I can't help but swallow)"

Chapter 6: Soul Contract

Summary: The deal is done and Jaskier copes with the aftermath.

Click here to find on ao3

(Please check the tags before reading)

“You can’t possibly be serious Your Majesty-- this trade is in no way equal!” Dijkstra yelled in disagreement, standing up abruptly and slamming his hands on the table.

Radovid shot him a warning look, displeased by his outburst. Tensions between the king and his advisors still ran high. They only recently started working towards some sort of reconciliation for the sake of the kingdom, and the balance was still too fragile for the Spymaster to make such a big show of defiance against the king, but he couldn’t help it.

Dijkstra took a deep breath to get his emotions in check and sat back down. “I understand how important this… gentleman is to your Majesty, but I merely worry a decision like that would put Redania in huge disadvantage.”

Radovid sighed and scratched his chin. “I can tell why you’d see it that way Dijkstra, but think about it.” He came to stand behind Jaskier and placed his hands on the bard’s shoulders. “Julian here is one of the White Wolf’s dearest friends! From his point of view, Julian came here to be with me of his own free will because we’re madly in love. Surely he wouldn’t carelessly put his friend in danger by attacking us.” He tightened his grip and Jaskier winced as the king’s nails dug into his skin. “Especially if said friend is tied to me.”

He let go and went back to his seat behind the desk. “Besides, the White Wolf isn’t just conquering kingdoms for the fun of it. He’s only doing it to the ones he deems unsafe towards non-humans. If we try to limit the discrimination against them and give them equal rights he should have no reason to show hostility.”

Dijkstra was silent for a moment, considering. “…Do you think we can make all these changes before the White Wolf comes knocking on our door? The sentiment against the elder races is deeply rooted in this kingdom. People aren’t going to change their ways easily.”

Radovid scoffed. “That’s what laws are for dear. We may not be able to make a difference right away, but we have to show we’re trying. That alone will be enough- especially if Julian vouches for us.”

Philippa looked at her nails nonchalantly. “And to ensure Julian’s cooperation, a soul contract will be needed.” She said and turned to Dijkstra. “I’ve got the perfect spell for it too. Our king gets to keep his boytoy forever tied to him and Redania stays safe as a result. It’s a win-win situation.”

The Spymaster frowned in contemplation before relenting. “Fine. But we must get this over with as quickly as possible.”

The king nodded in agreement and all three of them turned to look down at the still kneeling bard. Jaskier flinched at the sudden attention after his presence was mostly ignored for the majority of the conversation. He gulped and avoided their gazes. This was really happening.

The king’s quarters were chosen as the best place for the binding ceremony to take place, being in the safest part of the palace and away from prying eyes. Jaskier and Radovid were left there alone for a moment while the sorceress went to gather the necessary items, and the king spent this time reading through documents as if it was any other day, but the smile on his face betrayed his good mood.

He glanced up at the bard, who was sitting motionless on the bed, staring off blankly into the distance with his head hung low. Radovid rolled his eyes and abandoned the documents to come sit next to the other man, taking the bard’s hand in his own. When that still didn’t snap Jaskier out of his trance, he tagged at it harshly.

Jaskier blinked a few times and turned to look at Radovid, whose gaze softened when he saw the haunted look in the other’s glassy eyes. The king raised his free hand to gently stroke Jaskier’s cheek- as if the bard was made of crystal, fragile. As if Radovid hadn’t spent the past nine months trying his hardest to break him in every way possible. He seemed to have mellowed out now that he knew for sure he’d won.

“Why the long face love? We’re gonna be together forever- this is cause for celebration!” He leaned in to kiss the bard’s cheek and giggled. “Almost like a wedding don’t you think?”

Jaskier couldn’t tell if the king was saying this to mock him or because he genuinely believed it. Nonetheless, he chose not to respond, too lost in his own thoughts to care. Ever since he’d arrived in Tretogor he’d tried so so hard to keep it together. To stay positive. To find joy in the little things. Would that even be possible after this spell was done? How binding would it even be? He wished he’d asked for more details beforehand, though his questions would have probably gone unanswered anyways.

The king was starting to get annoyed by Jaskier’s silence, but he didn’t get to do anything about it since that was the moment Philippa chose to appear inside the room, through a portal that created a light breeze before it vanished.

With a flick of her fingers, various furniture started to move away to create space in the middle of the room. She used chalk to draw a magic circle on the floor before beckoning the other two closer and making them stand in front of each other at opposite sides of the circle.

The bard watched her place candles, crystals, feathers and animal bones at what seemed like specific spots inside the circle, before entering it herself and standing in the middle, arms reaching out.

“Take my hands, both of you.” She said calmly. After they’d both obeyed, she scrunched her face in concentration and started reciting words in Elder. The air in the room started swirling around them, blowing the candles out and leaving the three in complete darkness. The magic circle started to glow red.

The red light gathered in the middle of the circle and climbed onto the sorceress, who closed her eyes and tightened her grip on Jaskier and Radovid’s hands, causing the magic to course through them. It felt like static was making its way all throughout the bard’s body, getting more and more painful as time went on. He bit his bottom lip to the point of drawing blood in order to stop himself from screaming.

Finally, the sorceress stopped chanting and exited the circle, though the magic continued unperturbed. She brought the men closer to each other, pulling them inside the circle, and let go, making them hold each other’s hands instead of hers. She took Radovid’s free hand and placed his palm on Jaskier’s chest, right above Jaskier’s wildly beating heart. The sorceress looked exhausted, but she kept her chin held high.

“Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove and King Radovid V of Redania both consent to the following: The latter will have ownership of the former’s soul in return for promising not to engage in war with the White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia. Julian’s life will be tied to Radovid’s and if the latter one dies, so will the former. If the White Wolf attacks Redania first, Julian will lose his life since his part of the deal will be broken.”

Suddenly, an excruciating pain started radiating from Jaskier’s heart. It felt like it was being squeezed and the skin over it started to burn as if something was being carved on it. This time the bard wasn’t able to muffle his screams and they echoed loudly throughout the room. This moment felt like it lasted hours but it was probably just a few seconds because it ended just as suddenly as it started.

Jaskier immediately fell to the floor, like a marionette whose strings had been cut. He sat there for a moment to rest, dry heaving.

“So it’s done?” Radovid asked, looking a lot better than the bard. He was staring down at his palm in curiosity. “Yes, it’s done.” Answered Philippa hoarsely, who was also trying to catch her breath.

The king’s gaze snapped to Jaskier as a sinister smile creeped on his face. He closed his fist and manifested a glowing red chain that extended until it attached itself to a matching red collar that appeared on Jaskier’s neck. He tugged harshly, forcing he bard closer to him.

“W-what is that?” Jaskier asked, horrified. The sorceress chuckled. “Just a little something to keep you in check. Its radius extends all the way to the outskirts of Tretogor but you won’t be able to go farther than that unless the king is accompanying you, and he can bring you back to him whenever he pleases.”

Radovid looked very pleased by this add-on, and he made sure to let Philippa know. The two started talking about her compensation as they made their way outside the room. Jaskier chose to stay behind as he struggled to come to terms with what had just transpired. When his raging mind showed no sign of calming down after a while, he decided it’d be a good idea to go get piss drunk instead, but before he went looking for alcohol, he stopped in front of a large ornate mirror and pulled his shirt up.

There, right over his heart, was something akin to a tattoo- made of scar tissue instead of ink- depicting a crowned eagle holding a scepter and what seemed like a banner with a cross on its chest.

Redania’s coat of arms.

...

Life moving forward was much the same as it was previously but with one notable difference.

Since it was now physically impossible for Jaskier to escape, he was finally allowed to leave the palace premises. The first time he stepped outside he almost wept with joy, but the direness of the situation prevented him from shedding any actual tears.

Being outside was intoxicating. The direct sunlight was almost blinding to his eyes, and Jaskier’s skin tingled with warmth on the places it touched. Other than the sun, the weather was less than ideal, what with winter being right around the corner. The greenery had mostly withered already, and a small fog was created whenever Jaskier exhaled, but none of it mattered. If anything, the cold air that entered his lungs was refreshing.

Autumn used to be Jaskier’s least favorite season, because whenever the temperatures started dropping, it signified the end of yet another year on the Path, which meant the time for him and Geralt to part ways was also coming near- unless it was one of the rare occasions Jaskier accompanied the witcher to Kaer Morhen. Somehow, the anticipation of their parting was worse than the months that followed which they spent apart. Out of sight out of mind as they say.

Now that none of the above were any of Jaskier’s concern anymore, he was able to at least partly appreciate the season for the first time in years.

He hadn’t spent as much time in Tretogor as other Redanian cities, like Oxenfurt or Novigrad, but he still remembered the way to a few places, though it was mostly inns and brothels.

Seeing as sex was something he was currently far from lacking, for better or for worse, he decided to stick to the inns instead. The one he used to frequent most in the past was called ‘The Merry Maiden’, and so it was the first place he chose to visit. The man who owned it was thankfully the same as before, and he recognized Jaskier instantly.

“Well well well, if it ain’t the famous Jaskier! We’ve been waiting for ya to show your face ‘round here ever since we learned ya’ve been staying in these parts. I started ta think ya’d forsaken us common folk since ya never left the palace.” Piotr, the innkeeper, said when he spotted Jaskier.

“What nonsense my friend! I’ve just been really busy; the king has been throwing banquets almost daily if you can believe it.” Jaskier said with a strained laugh, taking a seat across the bar. Piotr immediately placed a tankard of ale in front of him. “Good ta know. I see ya’ve yer lute with you, ya plannin’ on playin’ tonight?”

Jaskier downed the ale in one long gulp and wiped his face with the back of his hand before turning to look at Piotr with an expression of mock offence. “But of course! It’d be an insult to my name and my bardic integrity if I didn’t!”

The innkeeper chuckled. “Then get ta it lad! Business has been shite lately, if ya do yer magic I’ll let ya have dinner on the house.”

The bard all but jumped off his seat in excitement. “No need to tell me twice old pal!” He said and took to the stage, elated at the chance to play for his preferred audience for once instead of the Redanian high society that saw him as barely more than a toy at best or a piece of meat at worst.

The tears he couldn’t shed before threatened to come out as he sung the bawdiest songs in his set list and his fingers trembled as they plucked the strings of the lute, though he managed to at least keep his voice steady thanks to all his past training. This was the closest Jaskier had felt to happiness in months, and he wished this moment could last forever.

What a useless thought to have, he thought bitterly. The performance went great regardless, and the crowd that gathered to watch him made sure his tankard was never empty for long.

After his set ended, most of the patrons got up to leave, but Jaskier stayed behind to flirt with Piot’s daughter, Anna, as she cleaned up around the place. Things between them were starting to heat up when the bard felt a tug at his neck that made him yelp. He looked down to see the collar from before, whose chain stretched across the room and disappeared into the wall. Jaskier turned to look at Anna in alarm, an excuse ready at the tip of his tongue, but her eyes hadn’t left his face.

“Is something wrong?” She asked in confusion.

Oh, Jaskier sighed in relief, she can’t see it, thank fuck.

“Nothing’s wrong my lady, but it is getting rather late. You should probably finish up and go to bed before Piotr catches us.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t protest. “Fine. Don’t be a stranger ok?”

“I wouldn’t dare.” Jaskier said and kissed her hand, making her blush and giggle.

His smile dropped when she disappeared from his vision. The bard wasn’t ready to return to reality yet, but he didn’t have choice. He was barely out the door when the tugging started again. He stumbled several times as the chain dragged him across town, all the way to the palace, and he was out of breath when he finally made it inside.

Radovid was waiting for him in his room while lounging on the bard’s bed in his nightclothes. The king frowned when he took in Jaskier’s disheveled appearance and clicked his tongue. “Your little outing went well I presume?”

Jaskier closed the door but stayed frozen at the entrance. “Y-yes your majesty, I am deeply grateful for this opportunity.” The king stood up and sauntered towards him, closing the distance. “I see.” He said and started unbuttoning Jaskier’s doublet, making the bard shudder, and not in a good way.

The king leaned close to whisper in his ear while his hands continued working on the buttons. “I’m glad you had fun darling, but I have to admit I missed you terribly.” He grabbed Jaskier’s nape and squeezed harshly. “If you were as grateful as you say, you wouldn’t have made me wait this long. Don't let it happen again.”

The only thing Jaskier could do in response was nod.

...

Being able to go out was a nice bonus but it didn’t take long for it to lose its appeal since Jaskier’s hellish life in the palace continued on without respite. The bard’s “workload” increased more and more as time passed, and when the nobles started realizing Jaskier wouldn’t say no even to their most depraved desires, they took full advantage.

Asphyxiation was one of the tamest kinks he was forced to engage in, but one night early on, a particularly eager baron took it too far.

Jaskier was laying underneath the man on all fours as the other pounded into him. A piece of silk ribbon was tied around the bard’s neck, and the baron took great pleasure in cutting off Jaskier’s airways by pulling at the ends until he went dizzy, at which point the nobleman loosened his hold to allow the bard to breath once more.

This pattern continued until Jaskier could feel the baron getting closer to his climax. He cheered internally, already imagining the hot bath he was going to take once this was over, but when the nobleman gave one last tug to accompany his release, he didn’t let go. It was awfully reminiscent of the time Radovid stopped playing nice, and this only served to make the bard’s panic even worse.

Jaskier struggled to hold himself up with one arm as he used his other hand to claw at the ribbon on his neck, but it was no use. The baron was too far gone in his post-orgasmic bliss, and when he finally noticed what was happening, Jaskier had already gone limp

When the bard woke up again he was in the infirmary and one full day had passed. The healer ran to inform the king of his return to consciousness, so Jaskier had a short moment alone to gather his bearings.

I almost died.

It was a thought that by all accounts should have terrified him, but the only thing he felt was regret. Regret that the baron didn’t finish the job. Regret that he survived. Jaskier had never been a suicidal person, but recently he’d started toying with such thoughts more and more.

The bard had many qualities, positive and negative alike, like his outgoing nature for example, or his flair for the dramatic. But his most unique quality was his ability to feel things much more intensely than other people. It was a gift and a curse all at once, because while it helped him form deep, meaningful connections and become an outstanding artist through his ability to impart a piece of his soul in everything he created, it also greatly amplified all his negative emotions as well, sadness being one of the strongest amongst them.

Jaskier was someone that wore his heart on his sleeve, and even though it had been trampled on time and time again, he couldn’t make himself stop. Even now that he was experiencing the absolute worst time of his life, he wasn’t able to numb his pain by disassociating, no matter how hard he tried. He was mentally present for every torturous second, and he felt Everything, even when drunk out of his mind.

After taking all of the above into account, who could fault him for considering death as a possible solution to his predicament? But despite how much he’d love to escape this eternal torment by ending it all, he knew it was impossible, not if he wanted to maintain his and Radovid’s deal and keep Geralt safe. So he went with the next best thing.

Jaskier was first exposed to fisstech on one of his rare outings. He had found himself back at ‘The Merry Maiden’, only this time he wasn’t at the bar, but at Anna’s bedroom, doing a whole different kind of performance.

The were laying on her bed facing each other after the second round, both sweaty and breathing heavily, when Anna sat up and reached over the bard, taking out a small pouch filled with white powder from the nightstand drawer.

She gave Jaskier a cheeky grin before pushing him to lie on his back, and poured some of the powder on his chest, arranging it in three neat lines using his tuning fork necklace, before leaning down to snort one of them. She gave a contented sigh and fell back into the pillows.

“Oh fuck yeah.” She laughed. “Feel free to have a taste handsome, there’s more where it came from.”

Jaskier considered her offer. There had been many opportunities for him to give fisstech a try throughout his life, especially while he was a student at Oxenfurt Academy, but one of the most common side effects was damage to the respiratory system, and that would be catastrophic for a bard, so Jaskier always resisted the temptation.

But now he was at a point in his life where he had run out of fucks to give.

The bard swiped at one of the lines with his index finger, gathering some of the powder, and then opened his mouth to rub it on his gums as he’d seen others do. Right away, he could feel his brain getting foggy and his muscles relaxing, all his troubles melting away. He let out a groan of satisfaction and stared up at the ceiling with a loopy smile. How had he not considered drugs before? It was exactly what he needed, the perfect cure to help him escape his horrid reality.

Before going back to the palace, Jaskier traded all his measly earnings (gone were the days of luxury) for all the fisstech Anna had left, after ensuring from her a steady supply in preparation for the future.

That night, as some aristocrats used and abused him like usual, Jaskier was able to lay back and accept it easily from his vantage point up in the clouds, sheltered inside the safety of his own mind. No more buzzing thoughts or internal screams of pain.

Blessed silence at last.

[dragongirlpoet]

Where the sun kisses

An infinite expanse of light, not quite enough, for even the sun struggled to kiss every crevice of his being. He was power and God-forged, sainted by love, light and the magic of mountains. He stood there smiling — in all his resplendent glory, his grandeur of muscles tendoned together to grab the gilded-iron hilt he so casually carried by his side.

There was no masked facade to his majesty — just sheer force and vigour driven by the will to protect all that was his. A warrior, that’s what he was — to all the people and creatures that dwelled in his abundant kingdom.

My warrior — that’s what he is.

Art by Alex Kempart

[lynette-m-roses]

Destiny's Embrace

---

In the vast and treacherous world that Geralt of Rivia traversed, he had encountered countless creatures, battles, and quests. But little did he know that his most formidable and life-altering adventure lay in the realm of the heart, when he crossed paths with you.

Your journey began in a small village nestled amid rolling hills, where fate wove its intricate threads. Geralt, with his silver hair and piercing eyes, entered your life like a tempest, stirring emotions you had never known before. From that moment, your paths became intertwined, and destiny took hold.

Geralt, a Witcher burdened by a life of solitude, was initially hesitant to embrace the call of love. But your spirit, your unwavering kindness, and the fierce determination that burned within you captivated him like no other. He found solace in your presence, a respite from the darkness that had consumed his existence.

As you embarked on adventures together, battling monsters and exploring the vast landscapes, a bond grew between you. Each battle fought side by side, each whispered conversation by a campfire, and each stolen glance revealed the depths of your connection. Love blossomed amidst chaos, a beacon of light cutting through the shadows.

But this love was not without its trials. The world they inhabited was rife with danger and prejudice. The very essence of Geralt's being—the mutations, his profession as a monster slayer—sometimes threatened to cast shadows over your love. Yet, you stood strong, defying the odds, believing that love could transcend the boundaries imposed upon you.

Together, you faced the judgment of society, the disapproval of some who questioned the legitimacy of a Witcher's heart. But your love was a force to be reckoned with, unyielding and unapologetic. You proved that the heart of a Witcher could beat with the same intensity, the same tenderness, as any other.

As your love deepened, you discovered the intricacies of Geralt's soul. Beneath the tough exterior lay a man burdened by his past, haunted by choices made and battles fought. You became his sanctuary, a haven where he could shed the weight of the world and find solace in your embrace.

But fate, ever unpredictable, threw more challenges your way. The Wild Hunt loomed on the horizon, threatening to tear you apart. Geralt was forced to confront his own destiny, his duty to protect the realm. The two of you faced an impossible choice: to fight alongside one another, knowing the risks, or to part ways to safeguard each other's lives.

In the face of adversity, love prevailed. You stood side by side, confronting the Wild Hunt head-on, defying the odds stacked against you. Together, you forged a path through darkness, weaving a tale of bravery and sacrifice that would echo through the annals of history.

As the final battle raged, hope flickered like a dying flame. But your love burned bright, a beacon that guided Geralt through the storm. In the crucible of destiny, you emerged victorious, your love serving as a testament to the power of genuine connection and the resilience of the human spirit.

With the threat of the Wild Hunt vanquished, peace settled upon the land. Geralt, now free to choose his path, made a decision that would forever alter his fate. He chose to walk alongside you, to embrace the love that had blossomed amidst chaos. You became his anchor, his reason to fight, and his home.

And so, Geralt of Rivia, the Witcher with a heart burdened by scars, found solace in your love. Together, you embarked on a new chapter, a life intertwined, where love conquered darkness and destiny embraced the unbreakable bond you shared.

[cowboygenesis]

1: redanian ale | geralt x reader

part 1 of the "wild woman" series: masterlist.

pairing: geralt x reader

chapter warnings: blood, animal death, mild gore

word count: 3.9k

series summary: geralt begrudgingly accepts a monster contract issued to him by a strange girl, thinking it to be an opportunity for some quick coin. nothing goes as planned.

notes: i haven't posted a reader insert since middle school, but since ive been getting into the witcher again recently i thought this would be a fun project :) ill try my best to keep everything canon, but please keep in mind that the reader will be given the default name of 'maja'! if you dislike it, i do encourage the usage of a browser extension like 'word replacer II'. the name isn't too relevant to the story, i just find it a lot easier to write this way (as opposed to 'y/n', (name), etc.) anyway, please enjoy! x

Geralt stepped down the element-worn cobblestone road with a quiet huff, Roach trailing alongside the man’s figure with a seemingly matched sense of fervor.

The homes of the outskirts lined up in tight rows, alternating between maintained and otherwise decrepit wooden skeletons of a once lively hearth. Every stained-glass window emanated a warm light from within, casting onto the solemn sidewalk that led into the main square. Similar structures surrounded the tiled area, adorned with wooden plaques representing various businesses: a butcher, blacksmith, herbalist; something typical of towns on the continent.

It was a chilly afternoon, and the amber treeline of the backdrop was a colorful testament to the arrival of autumn’s harvest. The edge of the cracked pavement carried a lively array of wildflowers, growing sparsely out of the famously fertile earth of the region. It was strange, seeing such an abundant land give birth to such impoverished people. They swarmed the town in a hurry, cloaked in rags and somber faces, occasionally turning to gaze up at the flaxen-haired man with abhorrence, hatred, and curiosity.

Their sunken features flooded the street in the silent mayhem of impotence, weathered muscles bravely carrying the weight of their harvest into the beating heart of the city.

Coarse linen bags lined the trunks of carts for the lucky few being able to afford such transportation, others tried their strength at stacking the burden on their dominant shoulder. A permanent slouch was often a good way to identify the economically wounded. He furrowed his brow at the thought.

The cool air nipped gently at Geralt’s nose, fingers numb as they tightened around the leather horse reigns. His pace quickened, strides bold and purposeful as he spotted the centerpiece of town above the bobbing crowd ahead.

The cobblestone smoothed below his feet, transitioning into a sleek brick that led into the hexagonal center of town. People swarmed out of the tight street and quickly dispersed along various stalls lining the courtyard, allowing Geralt’s lungs to expand with fresh breath once more.

His eyes scanned along the walls, noting the uniform architecture of homes surrounding the plaza. Up ahead, sticking out like a not-so-sore thumb, stood the main attraction of the town. Its broad structure spanned significantly further than any surrounding shop, walls towering high into the third floor.

The off-white plaster was embellished with masterfully painted embroidery: a composition of roosters, red flowers, and various greenery; a traditional kind of adornment in these parts.

Unlike the other businesses, this particular building adorned a shiny, metallic plaque by the heavy-set doorway. It was written in a foreign language, carved into the slate in mechanically-even letters. Geralt approached this unfamiliar sign, fastening Roach to the wooden fencing to the side and leaving her with a soft pat on the muzzle. She neighed in response, a sound debatably considered sentient and acknowledging.

“Won’t be long, girl,” He reassured with a half-smile, adjusting his harness before stepping through the doorway.

The tavern air was drastically different from the outside world, hitting his complexion with a soothing warmth as the soft scent of baked goods and freshly poured ale filled his nostrils. The sensation scored a subtle smile from the witcher, hand swiftly unclasping the twinned holster of his weaponry.

He hummed lowly, scanning the crowd of people in sight: drinking, singing, dancing; warm bodies moving in rhythm to the upbeat ballad of a female bard taking center stage with her polished flute. A song about a lost love, druids, bloodshed. Geralt had recognized it from one of Jaskier’s performances, noting how polarizing the tune sounded with a change of instrument.

He continued walking alongside the wall, finally deciding to take a booth seat near the tinted windows of the northern wall. He propped his equipment against the table, positioning himself closest to the wall. The stained glass poured a soft light onto the scratched surface of his table, outlining every crevice and mug stain with a brilliant azure.

“Welcome to ‘the Manticore’, may I take your order?” Came a quiet voice, somehow bleeding into the chaos of the bustling tavern despite coming from his immediate right. Geralt turned his gaze towards it, eyes met with a pair of rheumy eyes.

A doe.

So was the witcher’s immediate thought at the sight of the skittish-looking servicewoman taking his order.

Her skin looked pallid, almost greyish in the soft light of the candlelight, cheeks pudgy yet somehow betraying her otherwise ghastly appearance. The subtle spread of freckles on her cheeks was the only memory of livelihood in the sunlight, spreading to her temples and ending in a single mole above the girl’s untamed brows. They were thick, straight, and resembling a man’s with how unkempt they appeared.

She held her fists firmly against the dip of her hips and her spine declined forward, giving the woman a folded, relaxed posture; a strange mix of confidence merging with a subtle sense of doubt reflected her apparent social abstinence.

“Redanian ale,” He spoke back, arm extending to rest on the plush couch, gaze wandering.

He first took note of the woman’s boots, how worn the leather seemed with the dried mud still clinging to the nooks and crannies of the laces. Her worn, moss-green blouse shamelessly revealed a perched bosom, held up artificially by the corset hugging her waist snuggly, perhaps uncomfortably.

Finally, he caught the attention of the silver amulet that lay comfortably against the flushed skin of her chest, embellished with a large, iridescent crystal sat in the middle. An opal, maybe a moonstone. It felt out of the ordinary, gleaming with a bright light that seemed to come from within the stone itself.

“You should be wary with that kind of necklace in your ownership,” Geralt warned under his breath, chin dipping to subtly signal towards the girl’s jewelry.

Her eyebrows furrowed at the comment, though her gaze instinctively followed his own. She brought a hand up to toy with the pendant, letting the metal move between her fingertips as if it were her first time seeing it.

“Oh, this old thing?” She questioned, a hint of apprehension lacing her voice as she held up the amulet, “It’s a fake, just a trinket I keep around,”

Despite her reassurance, the witcher’s comment seemed to have fuelled the baseline suspicion a barmaid would hold towards most customers. Simultaneously, she seemed genuinely inquisitive about the man’s opinion, her brow perched high on her forehead.

Her pinky traced along the side of the silver base, running down an array of intricate engravings carved into the metal by hand.

“Looks expensive. Different kinds of folk hang around these parts, you’d know best,” Geralt continued, tone flat yet assertive.

He never once meant to threaten the girl but rather tried offering a kind piece of advice based on his own experiences with such riches. Her prideful display of such an eye-catching jewel could land her in more trouble than she could have expected. His curiosity threw her demeanor off, eyes trailing to her feet. A moment passed without contact, then another.

“That’ll be it, girl,” he hummed, attempting to brush her presence off with a final word to the conversation. She shook her head left to right, almost like exiting a trance, and nodded at him hurriedly. Her nose tinged rouge. She turned heel, boots squeaking as she made her way through the boisterous crowd and back towards the bar.

The man allowed his gaze to linger on the girl until she disappeared into the sea of other bodies, huffing at the comfortable feeling of solitude once again. He let himself sink into the seat below. His eyes turned to study the crevices of the oak table he resided at, keen eyes suddenly focusing on something in the distance.

A raven-haired man sat hunched down at an adjacent booth, head clad in a pristine cloak that clasped off at his chest. The witcher stared back in an unspoken manner of competition, his watchful gaze scanning each visual intricacy the man had to offer. The pigment in his robes was intense and rich, an exotic indigo staining the thick linen, lined with silver thread that connected at the neck with a metallic amulet. It might have been adorned with small studs and jewels, from his position Geralt could not tell for certain.

His pale hands perched atop a leather-bound book surrounded by scattered cards, at least two decks. The fingers were scrawny, bony, wrapped in intricate rings that reflected the same blue light of the stained glass. His eyes bored into Geralt with a certain might, pools of sapphires flickering with candlelight.

They both lingered that way endlessly, both trying to intimidate the other into looking down, a gentle admit of defeat. The man smiled.

“And… there we go,” Came that one quiet voice again, accompanied by the dull tap of a glass mug placed firmly on the table. “Can I get you anything else?” it continued as Geralt made a last-ditch effort to squint at the cloaked man in the back of the room. He seemed satiated by this exchange, quickly returning to shuffling a fresh deck of cards sitting just beside his ale.

“…Hello?” The doe-eyed girl waved her hand to Geralt with a confused look on her sunken face, thick eyebrows furrowing with a twitch of her upper lip.

He turned his gaze towards her, quickly noticing the sudden emptiness around her chest— the amulet was gone. She must have taken his words to heart, or perhaps, more unfortunately, found them to be a kind of veiled threat towards her well-being. The skin of her chest was reddened, maybe hot to the touch.

“You’re a witcher, aren’t you?” She said matter-of-factly. Geralt raised an eyebrow at the sudden inquiry, otherwise maintaining his demeanor. It wasn’t so unusual.

“That’s right,” he replied tactfully, fingers tracing the handle of his mug before gripping it tightly and taking a hefty swig. The alcohol hit his throat with a delicious burn, trailing down the throat and leaving a tinge of plums and spice in its wake.

With a look as infamous as his, Geralt was undeniably used to being spotted out, even in the smallest of hamlets such as Posada. He didn’t mind the musings of others, as most of his encounters happened to be quite harmless and an inconvenience more than anything. He decided to enjoy his drink in peace and allow the girl to ask any questions she might be curious about. If he got lucky, the conversation could score him a new contract; Gods knew that was the kind of excuse he needed to occupy himself for the upcoming days.

“My, my…” The woman whispered, eyes widening a fraction as her fingers began skimming the edge of her apron in contemplation. There was an air of anticipation surrounding her, as if eager to ask about his dangerous lifestyle but abstaining for the fear of rejection. Same old.

“That makes you a frequent traveler, doesn’t it?” She piped up squeakily, clearing her throat after.

“Somewhat,” Geralt replied dryly, aiding his parched tongue with another swig of the drink. Exactly what he ordered, surprisingly. The girl didn’t bother cheating her way out of extra coin.

“And why do you find yourself in Posada, witcher?” the girl questioned, bright-eyed. Her hips twisted towards him, legs shuffling back and gently resting against the frame of the booth opposite to him. Geralt huffed, placing his ale firmly on the oak below. His face remained in its neutrality.

“Not staying long,” he mumbled with a backhand to his upper lip, cleaning the wetness from it with a smooth swipe. He spotted the barmaid’s coy gaze looking down as she swiftly positioned herself on the seat. When she looked up again, their eyes met.

There was a scar on her temple, kissing the hairline of the frizzed locks growing there. It looked well-healed with time, the weathered strip of skin standing out with the raised edges of its pale, pearlescent grove.

“Just for a rest I assume, then?” she smiled softly, the scar curving with the movement of her muscles. Geralt nodded. Her gaze seemed to falter at that but sharpened a mere second later.

“Just a drink, not much else to get done around here,” he spoke lowly, taking a knowing glance around the tavern; townsfolk swarming the bar in rugged clothing, some barefoot, all baring sunken faces. “Seems like it’s not monsters your town needs helping with,” he scoffed.

The barmaid’s eyes followed Geralt’s gaze, but she seemed to refrain from commenting. Her bony fingers clamped into loose fists before dropping to her lap. She moistened her lower lip with a slow flick of the tongue, shoulders rising and falling with each breath. She stayed silent for a moment, contemplative, then suddenly perked up with a furrowed brow.

“We’ve got monsters, witcher,” the girl mumbled. Geralt’s brow twitched at the comment, but he gave her a nod in recognition. She nodded back. “Something’s been killing off the townsfolk in the night when they go foraging,”

“Foraging? Why at night?” he questioned.

“For Mooncaps. They fluoresce in the dark and so are easier to spot that way; we use them for skin salves, tea, that kind of thing,” the girl explained, “They grow in the woods.”

“Mooncaps…” the man acknowledged, “And the foragers, how certain are you that they haven’t just lost their way back?” Geralt pressed on, fingers tensing around the handle of his mug.

“Rescue teams have been sent out before, but they never come back,” the girl said, “Sylvanus was the only one to make it home in one piece. After the fifth expedition, there were no more volunteers left. We didn’t want to risk any more casualties, you know? I grew up there, too. But I don’t dare go back now, not after I’ve heard the rumors,” she continued.

“Sylvanus?” Geralt interrupted, feeling the name out on his tongue. It sounded foreign to the land, but unfamiliar to him personally. The barmaid nodded.

“He’s this witch-hunter from Temeria. Well, that’s what he says, anyway,” she breathed out, eyes squinting, “He’s not from around here, you’d from the things he wears. Nice things, well-fit and expensive. Arrived one night and asked for the largest room we had, room seven. That must’ve been a whole month ago by now,”

Geralt’s eyebrows furrowed, gaze focusing on the table he had been examining beforehand. Nothing. The cloaked figure was gone, leaving behind a vacant table and that deck of cards.

“We’ve got spare rooms, plenty of them. I could arrange one for you if you’d like, maybe a hot bath to go with it,” the barmaid piqued in with the same smile, soft and genuine as her gaze seemed to bore into the witcher’s own eyes. She pursed her lips, anticipating an answer, perhaps one in favor of her declaration.

Geralt used a gloved finger to tap the wooden surface of the table, the rest of his body remaining perfectly still. “I’ll camp out,” he declared, hand raising his mug as the last drops of ale trickled down his throat. He still felt parched.

“As you wish,” the girl nodded, a glint in her eye as she reciprocated with a polite smile. Her arms stretched across the padding of her seat, relaxing her muscles before she swiftly stood up. Her hand grabbed onto the upper rim of the empty mug, removing it from the table with a huff.

“It’s on the house. Thank you for helping out,” she added quietly, smiling.

“Hold your appreciation, girl. I haven’t done anything to earn it just yet,” Geralt replied, earning a soft chuckle from the woman. It was airy and warm. Her half-lidded gaze met his own.

“You’ve offered your kindness, it’s all I could ask for these days,” she replied quaintly, taking a few steps back while her fingers tampered with the iron handle of the mug. She looked down briefly, then back up. Her smile had disappeared. "I'm Maja."

“Geralt,” he responded half-mindedly, out of habit. He assessed the name she had given him carefully, letting it echo in his mind for a second. Maja, just like the personification of mother-earth. He had read about her in a foreign tome previously, or perhaps heard it in a hymn or song.

“Farewell, then, Geralt,” she giggled once more, sounding somewhat bubbly at the reveal. Her smile stretched wider this time, revealing a pair of dimples adorning each flushed cheek with a shallow grove. She nibbled at her bottom lip, breathing in deeply before turning away, yet she held her gaze with his, somewhat determined to keep the witcher’s attention. She whipped around, her overskirt twirling gracefully around her hips before she leaped away. Geralt caught one last glance of her locks before she disappeared into the crowd again.

He breathed out, eyes closed tightly. His meeting with Ciri would have to wait another day while he took care of the monster plaguing this off-road town. He imagined it to be a Noonwraith, maybe a Werewolf in the worst case. It would be dirty work, but quick, and perhaps the town could spare a decent amount of coin for putting an end to their unfortunate endeavors.

The man stood up with a grunt, eyes scanning the crowds of clientele once again. His mind tried focusing on a certain head of raven-black hair amongst the sea of bodies, but his efforts were fruitless. The witch-hunter was gone, or at the very least in hiding… perhaps somewhere nearby. Geralt recalled the barmaid’s testimony, how she confessed they had rented the man a room just a few nights back.

The witcher’s eyes shifted to the broad staircase at the edge of the room, oddly empty and lit dimly by candlelight adorning the wall. He walked over in a few smooth strides, eyes narrowed and focused. He set his boot on the first stair, hearing it creak pathetically under his boot. He climbed another, another, continuing til the very top.

The gleeful tune of the lute sounded muffled and dull at this level, reverberating through the walls and getting eerily distorted in the process. Geralt lurked down the hallway, passing wooden doors adorned with handmade numbers and watching for light seeping through the gap where the planks met the floor.

He stopped suddenly, faced with number ‘7’. His gloved hand reached to grip the doorknob slowly, but with a firm squeeze, he twisted. To his surprise, it was open.

He stepped in, nose catching the vivid aroma of rosemary and myrrh. It carried in the air heavily, a thin stripe of smoke weaving through the air and connecting at the tip of an incense stick sat on a desk to his left. It was messy, clattered with books and one-off documents stained with slim rings of plum and violet.

“There you are,” came a gravely, monotonous sound. Geralt turned to face it, his eyes met with sapphire ones. They were bulbous, almost too large for the socket, threatening to pop out at any moment. The intensity made the witcher stay put. “Geralt of Rivia!” the man exclaimed theatrically, arms extending wide as he made his way from the bedside mirror. Geralt realized he hadn’t noticed the man when he entered.

“And you are?” the witcher asked firmly.

“You know my name,” the man replied, a smile adorning his lips. There was a thick scar running across them, connecting to his right brow.

“Sylvanus, is it?” Geralt replied, deciding to back into the doorway with his backside. Hearing the hinges squeal as they shut, Sylvanus seemed to relax. His mulberry cloak fluttered as he moved closer, head low. The whites of his eyes were glazed, shimmering like tiles of water. “There’s a monster roaming the woods, I’ve been told you know of it,”

“Certainly, yes,” He replied diplomatically, moving soundlessly to take a seat by the cluttered desk. The incense was shriveled now, copper tray piled with ash. “You’d like to know of this beastie? It was relentless. Ghastly and pale and crimson, drenched in innocent blood. Female in appearance and winged, like succubi,” Sylvanus explained, hands flailing wildly as he recalled the creature’s looks. His tone was low. “It is quite a miracle I made it out with all my limbs still intact,” Sylvanus sighed amongst dramatics.

“It seems we’re dealing with a harpy,” Geralt replied with a nod, hands now placed firmly on his hips as he watched the man before him go dark in the face. His eyebrows furrowed, eyes still bulging as he approached in a swift stride. He pointed a long finger at the witcher’s chest, gaze holding his fervently.

“That is no ordinary harpy, witcher,” the man hissed, offended at the mere suggestion of it. “I’ve seen nothing like it. This is no ordinary occurrence, I’ve come to realize…” Sylvanus carried on, retracting his arm that slivered under his cloak like a snake returning to its lair.

“This town, you’ll learn to know, is cursed. Plagued,” he finished slyly, almost hostile in his manner.

Geralt sighed at the man’s warnings, eyeing his lowly figure as it trailed back to the padded armchair by the desk. His snake-like arm slid out once more, thin and splotchy. It grabbed a match, striking it quickly against the table’s surface to illicit a pale flame that he used to light a fresh incense stick with. The room became smokey within seconds, a thin veil of grey dancing in the light breeze of the window open ajar. When he was done, Sylvanus tossed the match to a pile of similarly decrepit ones.

“If you want to know how I survived, well,” he trailed, “the beastie is weak to light. It fears daytime, sunlight, fire… anything that burns,”

“How did you find out?” Geralt questioned,

“Trial and error,” Sylvanus shrugged with a grin, eyes squinting. He slumped into the chair, tossing and turning until he seemed comfortable. “It only comes out on moonless nights, that’s when it goes out to feed,” he added. Geralt nodded, stopping for a beat to let the man continue on his tirade, but there was nothing else he wanted to say. His focus had now shifted to an opened book on the desk, his fingers skimming through the pages feverishly.

Geralt cleared his throat, eyeing the man once more before turning around to leave. “Thanks for the info,”

“Don’t make yourself allies in Posada, Geralt,” a voice called out behind him, deep and dark. “It might just turn on you,”

Geralt halted. He nodded, head tilting but not enough to catch the man’s figure again. The witcher shuffled away silently, shutting the door behind him with a ‘click’ of the hinges. A soft shuffling came from within, cloth rubbing against cloth and stacks of papers being ripped frantically, in a strange hurry. The flaxen-haired man let the commotion unfold without interruption.

He spotted an ornate window peeking outside, his eyes squinting at the bright lights of the colors flickering around the main square. It was getting late, and he would have to make camp soon. His feet stomped down the flight of stairs, faded music coming back in full effect.

He took note of the blonde-headed bard singing her heart out, and the slowly declining yet continuously vast crowd of townsfolk swarming the vivid scene. His gaze trailed to the bar instinctively, hovering over about a dozen heads that he knew instantly didn’t include the one he sought out.

A soft breath escaped his chapped lips, hands swiftly reaching for the cover of his cape’s hood. As the warmth of the tavern slowly faded from his body, Geralt felt his fingers ache in the cold of the night.

[whitewingsh]

Soooo since The Witcher season 3 is coming out pretty soon I really hope for some more content on writing..the writing side if you know what I mean. Because yes, I see a lot, but with my consuming skills it is not enough.

So once again bc my blog is mostly just begging for writers I do it once again.

Please my dear, amazing, beautiful, unique, fabulous writers please do it once again and feed me with your amazing content.