#male reader x the witcher

[fandomnerd9602]

Returning to the House

Rhaenyra x Witcher!Reader

Request by @deafeningsharkslimeempath

The world didn’t need another member of the Hightower clan vying for the throne. You were Alicent’s older brother and your father had it in his own machinations for you to court, marry Rhaenyra and then take the throne from the Targaryens. But you couldn’t, wouldn’t. You were her friend, her confidant. So you left.

You took the steps, went thru the trials and process of becoming a Witcher. A hybrid witcher, all the strengths, very few weaknesses. You went thru out the greater Westeros, battling monsters and saving villages with the other witchers you called brothers in arms.

The townsfolk loved you. On a few occasions, you were paired up with the great Geralt of Rivia himself. He tried to get you to join him for a couple nights with a few women of the night but your heart was always bound to Rhaenyra.

No matter the distance, your heart yearned for the princess. Love. It was love that you felt for her. A love so deep and pure that it gave you the strength to power thru, to remain faithful to her when the grateful women of Westeros wished to thank you in private. You’d turn them down and keep moving. Your heart was only Rhaenyra’s.

You traveled up and down the coasts of Westeros for a couple years before you took a contract out on a being locals called the Crabfeeder. You knew it was just a man, an admiral but legend has a way of spreading faster than truth.

You found Prince Daemon engaged in a fierce sword battle with the Crabfeeder. You jumped into the fray and sliced the Crabfeeder’s throat, narrowly saving the prince’s life.

“As I live and breathe,” Daemon chuckled, “(Y/N) Hightower, is that you?”

“I haven’t been called that name in a long time” you answered back.

“Please accompany me back to the Iron Throne” he invited you, “the conquest is over and you just saved the prince’s life”

You traveled back to King’s Landing with Daemon. He tried to find various ways to thank you on the way there. Gold, riches, women, none of it appealed to you.

“We have the finest women in waiting in all of Westeros at our disposal and yet you say no?” He laughs, perhaps a little drunk

“There’s only one woman I love, your majesty” is all you answered back.

You walked into House Targaryen and were greeted by a sight that left you feeling nauseous. Your younger sister holding a little two year old boy. His hair was platinum white. Your mind was able to put two and two together as Daemon strolled up to Viserys his brother.

“Your majesty, this witcher saved my life.” He said brimming with pride. “I think you may recognize him.”

Viserys looked at you closely, his eyes brightened, “(Y/N)? Is that you?!”

“(Y/N),” Alicent gasped. She wasn’t sure whether to approach you or not.

“It appears much has changed in my absence.” You assert, “maybe not all for the best”

Otto, your father, walks and freezes, “(Y/N)? You’re home?”

“Perhaps I never should have left”

Daemon lets out a mocking breath, “awkward. My apologies”

And at that moment in walked the young woman who had your heart. Your best friend, Rhaenyra.

“Y/N” your name left her lips like a gentle whisper.

“Rhaenyra” you whispered back.

To Be Continued…

[bigfan-fanfic]

Be Still, Be Soft (Male!Reader x Geralt of Rivia)

@jayfeather965 Follow up on touch starved Geralt. Setting: deep winter at Kaer Morhen. Geralt is sitting in his bf’s lap. With bf’s legs around his torso so that Geralt can rest his head on his bf’s chest. And bf starts to give Geralt a neck rub. (I’m completely sure that Geralt doesn’t know what a neck rub is)

Not many people realize just how studious Geralt is.

Though perhaps this is less due to preconception, and more due to simply never getting to see him with a book in hand.

But the man is not only educated, but tends to enjoy learning information. He's a reader when he can get his hands on a book.

Currently he's studying up on Vesemir's most current edition of the bestiary he's been working on.

Geralt only really relaxes in these deep winter days, when it's a struggle even to leave Kaer Morhen for the courtyard.

The keep is well-heated, but Geralt always suggests that you huddle together for warmth because even now, even after he has told you he loves you and admitted to his brother witchers that you are his, he needs an excuse to hold you close.

You sit on the bed, patting the space between your legs, as you grab one of the books Eskel had brought for you from the Path.

Geralt gingerly sits cross-legged between your legs, awkward and stiff, and you chuckle.

"Lean back."

"I'm heavy."

"Oh? I never noticed." You roll your eyes. He scoffs and slowly leans back, his head on your chest, his broad shoulders against your stomach.

He shifts slightly, ensuring you're comfortable and his weight isn't settled on you uncomfortably, and you gently wrap your legs around him, allowing him to sort of tuck your thighs under his arms.

"Nice?" you ask.

He gives a sound partway between a hum and a growl. Definitely not a purr, not at all.

You both read for a while, before you just can't help but smile at how relaxed Geralt feels against you.

His back is literally to you, and there is no sign of tension.

"Geralt?"

"Hmmm?"

"Have you ever had a neck rub?"

He pauses. "A what?"

"You know... where I rub your neck."

Geralt snorts. "Yeah, I sort of figured that part out. Is this... something people do?"

"Yes. Like a massage, but... informal?"

"I see. I suppose... that might be... nice."

You grin and gently reach around Geralt's shoulders to unlace his shirt.

Geralt tries to continue reading, but you can feel him shudder.

You gently push the neck of his shirt aside and slowly begin to rub his neck and shoulders.

Geralt has started to make those low groans of enjoyment, and you start to increase the pressure a little.

Vesemir's bestiary flutters to the ground, as Geralt lets out a sound greatly resembling a moan.

"Can I take out your hair tie?"

"Yes." Geralt almost snaps, eyes shut. His body seems unsure how to process what he's feeling - it's almost hilarious.

You expand his neck rub to a shoulder rub and scalp massage, and Geralt just falls completely limp, relaxed and not resisting at all. His head is completely against your chest, making it somewhat hard to continue.

"I love you so much, Geralt." You smile softly, leaning down to kiss the top of his head.

"Hnnnnnnniluvyoo." Geralt slurs his words, just utterly relaxed.

You laugh this time, and lean back, safe and secure with your Witcher.

Brought low by a simple neck rub.

[bumblesimagines]

“ i like kissing you. “

“ it's pretty nice, this thing we've got going on. “

- Geralt

“ i like kissing you. “

“ it's pretty nice, this thing we've got going on. “

might butcher his personality

pronouns for y/n: they/them, gender neutral

If someone had told you a year ago that each time Geralt of Rivia strolled into town he'd be spending every night warming your bed, you would've laughed in their face and called them a lunatic. How funny destiny could be.

It had started off innocently enough. The townspeople had called on the infamous man for help against a monster, and yet treated him as such behind his back. You found it unfair and hypocritical. So, after he'd gotten rid of the monster, you invited him into your home and fed him. He'd been grateful, even if he hadn't really shown it.

Then it became a routine.

Each time he rode into town for one reason or another, you'd give him a place to sleep and food to eat. It remained like that until you had a particularly rough day and you arrived home to him waiting at your doorstep with his beloved horse, Roach. His brows had lifted at the annoyance on your face and he half-expected to be dismissed, but you opened the door and made him a meal while ranting about how horrible of a day it had been. He decided to repay you for your kindness and hospitality in a rather... less innocent way, and afterward paid a visit to whomever had caused your foul mood.

After that, instead of occupying the guest room, he occupied your bedroom. Your relationship with the monster-slayer hadn't changed much, apart from him slowly opening up more. He enjoyed laying in bed with you and recounting tales, stories he'd either experienced or heard from someone else. He liked how you'd focus on him entirely, giving him your full attention and asking questions. He liked your quips, your humor, your kindness, your occasional feistiness. But it never truly progressed past friends helping each other destress. Even if you wanted otherwise.

Stretching your sore and aching muscles, you yawned and shifted, bumping into a solid body. You lifted your head and cracked open your eyes, peering over at the amused man. Geralt watched the drowsiness leave you face and chuckled when you smiled at him.

"Morning, grump." You greeted and scooted closer, propping your chin on his chest. In turn, he ran a finger down your spine and gazed at you with those vibrant gold eyes. He grunted his greeting, as always, and craned his head to connect his lips to yours. It made your heart flutter.

"You know, it's pretty nice, this thing we've got going on." You said, moving your hand to trace a scar on his chest. He hummed quietly and leaned his head back to stare up at the ceiling.

"I..." He began then stopped, pressing his lips together. You peered up at him curiously and tilted your head. Geralt sighed quietly and you could've sworn his cheeks flushed. "I like kissing you."

His quiet, gruff murmur sent a shot of glee down your back and you giggled, pushing yourself up and pecking his jawline. "Yeah? I'm gonna remember that, Geralt." He rolled his eyes, his lips threatening to pull into an amused smile.

[cuddly-dean-baby]

I saw your need for requests, and I come bearing a request! Could you write a Geralt/Male!Reader in which Geralt comes home super dirty and very tired but his boyfriend takes care of him ( I.e. bathes him, bushes his teeth/hair etc. pretty much whatever you feel like writing 😂); And then brings him to bed and tucks him in? Just anything super sweet and fluffy because he deserves all of that and more! Plus I’m a sucker for reverse comfort fics. Hopefully more requests come your way and you can get back into your writing groove! 💖💗

Pairing: Geralt x M!Reader Words: 337 A/N: So I decided to merge these two together since they’re kinda similar and I went off the top of my head, I don't know what I did

With his boots shuffling against the floorboards, he toes them off, noting in mind to clean the mud and blood off of them later on as he can’t be bothered right now. 

As he lifts his head up, he sees steam come out of the bathtub, knowing that his husband ran it for him. 

Geralt knows not to deny your love languages for him, so he strips out of his armour and clothes as he walks over to the bathtub. He eases his body into it, groaning in satisfaction as the heated water relaxes his muscles. He feels his eyes become droopy, so he closes them and rests.

He wakes up moments later to feel you brush his hair. Moaning a bit, he tilts his head to the side, feeling the plush of your thigh against his cheek as he closes his eyes again.

You smile, tying his white hair into a ponytail. “Food’s waiting for you.”

Geralt groans tiredly, meaning that he doesn’t want to move. “I’ve gotta clean my boots, clothes, and armour.”

“Already done, out on the line.”

He lifts his head off your thigh to look over at his said clothes and armour near the fire on a line, his boots clean of mud and blood. He opens his mouth to say something, but Jaskier runs in, going on about something.

“Jaskier!” Geralt growls out, making the bard shut up.

“Oh, sorry, coming back later.” Jaskier is out of your sight within seconds.

Geralt plops his face back against your leg, not liking how he got disturbed. He groans in disagreement as he feels you move out from the back of him. “Bed, now. I’ll bring you some food.”

As he’s about to say something again, you interrupt him. “Roach is fed and brushed.”

He finally gets out of the bathtub, feeling you dry his body with a warm towel. “Mm.” He leans his body against you, pushing his face against your neck.

“The scary Witcher going soft for his husband.”

“Shut up.”

Henry Cavill + Characters Tags @enchantedbytomandhenry

The Witcher Tags @justreadingficsdontmindme @chrisevansangel

[mlm-writer]

Old Friend (Geralt x GN!Reader)

Pairing:  Show!Geralt of Rivia x Gender Neutral Reader (can be interpreted as platonic or romantic) Rating: Mature Words: 1670 POV: Second Summary: The Big Tober Day 21 - “I did what I had to do to protect those I love… I had no choice!” Note: Don't @ me for still posting things that were supposed to come out in October. Tags: angst, mention of Ciri & Yennefer, ft. Jaskier & Milva, murder and dark magic

Everyone would agree that Ciri was an unlucky girl with a life tainted by tragedy. Every time you spoke with her about her past, you felt a little pang in your heart. However, sometimes you envied her. The way Geralt reserved his warmest of smiles for his charge, the way the most powerful sorceress spent her time teaching Ciri and the power Ciri possessed sometimes made you feel like she was, in some way, a very lucky girl. 

You spent life on the run with Ciri, Geralt and Yennefer. Most of the time you felt like you were family, sometimes you felt like an extra, an unnecessary weight, but no one told you to leave. You had nothing to teach Ciri that Geralt and Yennefer couldn’t. They had it covered from sword to spells to alchemy. 

Then things kept going to shit and before you knew it, Geralt was flirting with death and Ciri was missing. You wanted to go find her, but Yennefer insisted you stayed with Geralt. “You can heal anything!” Geralt exclaimed as you exhausted yourself once more. He was capable of loud verbal abuse. You should’ve counted that as a win, but it was hard to, when Geralt was still bed-bound. 

“I’m doing everything I can!” You yelled back. Milva entered, her hand landing on your shoulder. It has been the same song over and over again ever since Jaskier revealed Ciri was on her way to Nilfgaard. Geralt proceeded to demand more of you. Milva forced you out. Jaskier was waiting for you with a brew of herbs that would help you recover your strength. “I’m really doing everything I can,” you sobbed by the fire. 

Jaskier put his arm around you, comforting you the best he could. “I know. He knows. He is just… Geralt.” You leaned against the bard, letting his body’s warmth seep into yours. You sat by the fire until it got dark. Jaskier eventually let you be to mull over your thoughts in peace. When you had the strength you used your magic on those that did appreciate it. You were weak, but even a little was for many enough to pull their foot out of the grave. 

Exhaustion gnawed at your bones. Your muscles felt like they were weighed down by the state of the world. You took a stroll out of the camp, trying to avoid Jaskier and Milva. They meant well, but their words were not enough to distract you from the power you lacked. 

When the lights of the camp were far behind you, you stopped walking. You couldn’t hold yourself up anymore, knees colliding with the muddy ground of the forest. From a secret pocket sewn into the coat you’ve had for over two decades, you procured an amulet you haven’t worn since you met Geralt all those years ago. The deep red gem reflected the light of the moon onto your eyes. Deep within the stone you could see an old friend. You promised Geralt you’d throw this trinket away; you promised you would never give in to temptation again, but despair had forced you quite literally to your knees. You clenched the charm tightly in your fist. “All is fair in love and war,” you whispered as you stared down at your fist, noticing how red light seeped between your fingers. “These are times of war and… I love him.”

Those words spoken aloud strengthened your resolve. You closed your eyes as you put the thin golden chain over your head, letting the amulet fall right where your heart was. As soon as that metal hit your chest, you felt an old friend occupying your mind once more. “I always knew you’d come back,” it told you. It gave you visions of how to help Geralt. The methods dancing on the grey moral spectrum, but led by these visions, you made your way back to the camp. You entered the tents of the sleeping patients you had helped earlier. You touched those that you didn’t think would make it to the morning. Their life force entered through your fingertips. They breathed their final breath. You felt the weak energy pooling together. One tent, two, three, you passed though the whole camp, taking what you needed from those that were not likely to hold onto it for long anyway. Each time you took, darkness rose to your skin, revealing your deeds in the night. 

Your veins had turned black by the time you entered the final tent. Geralt was fast asleep as well, too injured to even hear you entering, too unwell to open his eyes and ask you what you were doing there. A black tear rolled down your cheek as you placed your hand on his chest and let go of all the energy you had collected. The life energy of the people that died that night flowed from your chest down to your fingertips. In his sleep, Geralt inhaled deeply as the energy filled him. It only took a moment, but it felt like an eternity as you felt the weight of the lives you took to save the one most dear to you. 

When you were devoid of all the energy but your own, you collapsed on the ground, legs too tired to keep you up. You took deep breaths, trying to avoid looking at your hands. However, in the end you just needed to know how bad things were. You raised your palms, the sight - though expected - still horrifying. Your skin had blackened from the dark magic. Your hands felt fine though. “You did well. This is only the beginning of what we can achieve. You’re meant to take what you please,” the old friend’s voice echoed through your skull. The words were reassuring, but you knew all too well where things could lead. You reached for the amulet, ready to rip it off you. “You need me. Without me you’re useless. You can’t protect the ones you love.” 

Geralt had you once believe otherwise, but it only took one glance towards him to show you where his faith in you had led him to. Even the great White Wolf could be wrong sometimes. Defeated, you slowly let go of the amulet, allowing it to occupy its old spot. “Everything will be fine. You will be fine,” the being spoke through the amulet to you. You had heard those words a million times from Jaskier, but only now did they actually soothe you. 

The next morning you woke up from stirring on the bed. You hadn’t dared to leave the tent and slept on a chair. “Geralt,” you whispered, aware of your surroundings the moment your ears picked up on the rustling of blankets. You forgot what you looked like, immediately rising from the chair and joining Geralt at his side. You inspected the wound on his leg, but it was not there anymore, a new scar adorning his skin. 

Your eyes didn’t meet Geralt’s until he sat up on his own. “What did you do?” His voice dripped of venom. You lifted your head to meet his yellow eyes, darkened by the deeply furrowed eyebrows. Your throat felt tight, so tight that not a single syllable could make it through to the cold space between you and the Witcher. He called your name and reached out. You were frozen in place as his calloused fingers traced the black marks on your face. “What did you do?” He repeated the question, emphasising each word with urgency. 

Black tears pooled in your eyes, the first few already rolling down your cheeks by the time you found your voice once more. “I did what I had to do to protect those I love…” You swallowed a lump in your throat. “I had no choice.” Your voice trembled, each word shaking more than the previous one. 

Geralt was visibly seething as he grabbed your arm, his grip tight. “What did you do?” He demanded, voice booming in the small space. You tried to free yourself. 

“Geralt, please, you’re hurting me!” “Say it!” 

He knew you. He knew you from the moment he met you. He knew the person you could be once you gave up on your ‘old friend’. He knew what you did then and he knew what you did last night. He knew, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to be wrong. He wanted to have mistaken that familiar amulet around your neck. However, things were exactly as it seemed and just like things never changed, Jaskier and Milva came in right on que. 

Jaskier called out for Geralt, tried to calm him. He immediately commented on how he seemed to be better, proceeded to ask how. Meanwhile, Milva freed you of Geralt’s grip. A crowd had formed at the entrance, but you couldn’t see anyone in the room but Geralt. “How many have died tonight?” Geralt demanded to know, Jaskier and Milva now in between you two. They tried to calm him. “How many?” He roared. 

His fury eventually ripped the answer out of you. “I don’t know! I only took from those that were not likely to make it to the morning anyway.” 

“Jaskier…” Geralt’s voice was quieter now he got his answer from you. He turned to the bard. “How many people died tonight?” Jaskier turned to Milva, hoping she held the answer. 

“42,” she spoke with surprising steadiness. She then looked at you, shaming you with her eyes alone. She was not the only one who despised your existence after that night. Jaskier pleaded for your life, then left with Geralt to find Ciri. You had to go your own way, fend for yourself once more. If it wasn’t for your aching heart, it was like you never met the Witcher at all. He never wanted to see you again, but even as you walked with your backs facing each other, you felt like you would see him again. It was a funny thing… destiny. 

—————

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[delusionalwritingsofagay]

Excellenttttt! Can I req something with (male) witcher reader x jaskier in a soulmates!au?

Maybe reader gets a contract to take care of a monster(s) that's been terrorising the village/city jaskier was staying in, somehow they meet (maybe reader saves jaskier from said monster) and find out they're soulmates <3 ok that's all ty

Of Monsters and Melodies

Pairing : Jaskier x Male Witcher Reader Tags: soulmate Au, Flirting , pre relationship, Word count : 1533

The late afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the bustling market square of Lyria, where villagers keenly traded their wares and exchanged pleasantries of the day. Yet beneath the vibrant hustle and bustle, a tense atmosphere lingered. Whispers of a lurking monster that had been terrorising the outskirts of the village floated through the air, casting ominous shadows over the laughter of children and the scent of fresh bread.

Y/N approached the village at a slow, deliberate pace, his sombre demeanour in stark contrast to the lively surroundings. As a Witcher, he had experienced more than his fair share of hatred from humans . His grumpy disposition had earned him a reputation that often preceded him. But tonight, he was here to eliminate a 

a ghoul A horrible, low, and nasty beast.

As he made his way to the tavern, the villagers sent him wary glances. Witchers were known as outsiders, monsters in their own right if you asked some folk—different with their silver hair, cat-like eyes. Y/N preferred it that way. The less attention he drew to himself, the better. Lost in contemplation, he barely registered the cheerful singing that emanated from the nearby tavern.

Inside, the tavern was filled with laughter, clinking glasses, and a melody that seemed too joyous for a village beset by fear. A bard stood center stage, strumming a lute and pouring his heart into a tale of bravery and love, of knights and damsels.

Jaskier’s bright eyes sparkled as he spun tales, but Y/N’s irritation began to grow. Why was he so effortlessly cheerful? Didn’t he realise the darkness lurking beyond the tavern’s walls? But as much as Y/N hated to admit it, he found himself caught up in the rhythm of the music, despite his reasons to remain grumpy.

“Ah, and a Witcher, he bravely shall stand!” Jaskier’s voice rang out, drawing Y/N’s attention as the bard spotted him. “To confront the ghouls with sword in hand!”

“Yeah, sounds about right,” Y/N muttered under his breath, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He didn’t want the bard’s attention, not now. He made his way to the tavern keeper to ask about the contact.

The tavern keeper, a burly man with a bushy beard and a wary eye, leaned forward as Y/N approached.

“What brings a Witcher to our humble square?” he asked, his voice low, tinged with an edge of suspicion. “We’ve enough troubles without you stirring the pot.”

“I’m here for the ghoul, not to make trouble,” Y/N replied evenly, his tone devoid of warmth. “I was told I could find a contact here,”

The tavern keeper frowned, wiping down the bar with a rag that had seen better days. “Aye, the ghoul has been coming closer to the village. There’s a farmer, old Braeden, lost a son to one of those beasts not long ago”

“Tell me where the creature was seen last?.”

“East of here, by the old ruins,” The tavern keeper said, voice low and harsh. “It comes at dusk when the light fades—snatches up livestock”

Before Y/N could respond, the bard was at his side, grinning widely. “Ah! The mighty Witcher! How could I ignore such a striking figure?”

Y/N crossed his arms, unwilling to be flattered. “I’m merely here to do a job, bard. I don’t have time for your foolishness.”

Jaskier’s expression did not falter; if anything, his smile widened. “Who said doing a job had to be devoid of charm? Surely, even the most seasoned Witcher needs a little mirth to brighten the path ahead?” He leaned closer, an impish sparkle in his eye. “Tell me, do you have any exciting tales of ghoul-slaying? Perhaps a war wound or two?”

“Just the job, bard,” Y/N replied tersely, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. He didn’t want to share his burdens with anyone.

As he made his way toward the door, Jaskier's voice followed him, a mix of exasperation and playful incredulity. “Oh, come on! At least let me come with you! I can sing about your glorious feats while you’re out slaying! It’s a win-win!”

Y/N paused at the entrance, glancing back at the cheerful bard whose exuberance felt unbearably misplaced.” No, piss off Bard” he said before leaving slamming the tavern door closed and heading towards the woods.

He surveyed the woods just beyond the village limits. He cared little for the townsfolk, but he felt the weight of desperation in their urgency. He had taken this contract, not for their fear, but for the promise of coin. Yet now, as dusk fell and shadows lengthened he was growing more irritated.

A familiar voice broke through his thoughts, singing with far too much passion, “Oh, to love so sweetly, as the moon does to the sea! To find a heart that beats so true, oh, what joy it must be!”

That damn bard was back, of course. He was a whirlwind of charm and mischief, a stark contrast to Y/N’s more stoic demeanour. The bard had followed him.

“Do you ever stop to breathe,?” Y/N muttered, not bothering to turn. “I have a contract to fulfil, and I can’t have you getting in my way.”

Jaskier huffed indignantly. “Getting in your way? I’m here to aid you, brave Witcher! Can’t you see? I’m your loyal bard, your fierce companion against the horrors of the world!” He flourished his arms dramatically.

Rolling his eyes, Y/N turned to face Jaskier, trying to maintain his usual gruff demeanour. “You’re a Fucking nuisance. Stay here, out of trouble.”

However, trouble had a way of finding the bard. Just as Y/N prepared to plunge deeper into the woods, a guttural roar echoed from the trees. The sound sent a shiver down Y/N’s spine—one he recognized all too well. He unsheathed his silver sword, instincts sharpening with every heartbeat.

Before he could warn Jaskier, a massive creature burst forth, its scaled body glimmering in the dwindling light, eyes blood-red with rage. Jaskier barely had time to react before Y/N was upon him, pushing him behind a sturdy tree for cover.

“Stay here!” Y/N barked, and the bard nodded, eyes wide.

The fight was a blur. Y/N moved fluidly, The creature was a formidable adversary, and he could feel the weight of its danger. But it was the sound of Jaskier’s voice, rising in panic, that made his heart race.

“Witcher! Watch out!”

With a powerful swing, Y/N barely avoided a swipe from its claw, redirecting his focus back to the monster. The air crackled with tension and magic, and Y/N found himself driven not merely by instinct but by an unexplainable pull toward the bard’s safety.

In a flurry of movement, he struck true, and the beast collapsed, lifeless, at his feet. Breathing heavily, sweat mingling with dirt on his brow, Y/N turned toward Jaskier, who had emerged from his hiding spot with a wild mixture of relief and awe. “By the gods, that was astonishing! You—”

Before Y/N could respond—or push the bard away—Jaskier reached out to touch him, grasping his bicep from adrenaline and in that very moment, warmth radiated between them, a sudden surge of energy felt by both men.

Y/N stumbled back slightly, startled. The sensation was not something he expected. Nor was the mark that he was sure stung, his arm probably matching the bard's mark on his palm —a circular design that swirled in shades of blue and silver formulating into an intricate pattern, shimmering in the dim light.

Y/N stared,. Soulmates. He had heard of such phenomena but had always dismissed them as tales woven by drunk storytellers. Jaskier electrified with excitement as he looked at his own palm, then back at Y/N, his face split into a radiant grin.

“You know, I always thought the day I met my soulmate would be more romantic.” Jaskier clasped a hand over his heart with a melodramatic flair. “But this? This is a marvellous tale ready to be shared!”

Y/N scoffed, his grumpy nature faltering at the bard’s infectious enthusiasm. “You’re ridiculous. This isn’t a story. We’ve received marks. It’s hardly romantic.”

“Not romantic? A fateful encounter, a valiant rescue—how much more poetic do you want it to be?” Jaskier countered, eyes glimmering with mischief. “Admit it! We’d make a magnificent couple!”

“You aren’t supposed to be excited about this,” Y/N said, his scowl strained as he attempted to maintain his gruff exterior.

“Think of the songs, Our lives twined together by destiny! Adventures to sing about for the ages!” Jaskier’s enthusiasm was infectious, even if Y/N tried to ignore it.

“Right — adventures,” Y/N said, rolling his eyes, but despite himself, he felt warmth blooming within him. It was annoying, actually.” “We’ll make a plan on how to… deal with this, but stay out of my way songbird”

“I make no such promises!” Jaskier declared, his laughter echoing in the stillness. With the adrenaline still pumping through his veins, Y/N sighed and  nodded, unable to suppress a faint smile. 

“Fucking bard”

[roguerambles]

By the Fire

The Witcher Fic - Geralt of Rivia x Male Reader

Warnings - 18+ Only. Some mild NSFW. Brief description of monster violence.

So, fun fact about me, the Witcher 3 is one of my favourite games ever and Geralt of Rivia is kinda sorta my ultimate weakness. Look at him. JUST LOOK AT HIM--

Toussaint is one of my favourite areas in the game, and I figured Anarietta could use a court mage to fall in love with the local witcher, oops--

-

Perhaps hiring the Witcher had been unnecessary.

The Duchess had been quite insistent, however, that her newly appointed Court Mage not go wandering the Marcescent Forest unaccompanied. Several of the Ducal Guard had volunteered to accompany you, but oddly enough it was Captain de la Tour who recommended hiring Geralt of Rivia.

“All manner of beasts stalk the region.” He had gruffly told you, ignoring the surprised expression Her Grace had given him. “A witcher would be a prudent choice for a travelling companion.”

You could not critique his reasoning, although you liked to think your magic could handle a few beasts. But your research could take hours, and a man familiar with killing monsters watching over you was reassurance enough to Her Grace.

You had heard of Geralt of Rivia, of course – you doubted there were many in Toussaint who hadn’t  – but you had not met the man in person since his arrival to the region. When you had arrived at Corvo Bianco, dressed in your finest travelling cloak and a large pouch of coin attached to your hip, you had been somewhat embarrassed at the almost boyish excitement you felt as the majordomo – Barnabas – welcomed you to the estate and led you into the vineyard.

“Master Geralt, the Court Mage has come to see you.”

“Barnabas, you need to stop calling me that.”

Geralt of Rivia – the White Wolf, the Butcher of Blaviken – stood amongst the rows of vines, heavy with grapes, white hair tied back loosely, his chest bare, a fine sheen of sweat coating his skin from the blazing warmth of the summer sun. Your gaze was drawn to the patchwork of heavy scars decorating his skin, the toned musculature of his arms, the broadness of his shoulders, the handsome jawline dusted with silver. He moved with the easy grace of a warrior and it took you a moment to realise you had not spoken at all, even as he rose from where he had been kneeling and approached you.

“Damien de la Tour sent word. Apparently you need a Witcher.”

His voice was deep and pleasant to your ears, and found your tongue was refusing to form words in your mouth. You were staring like you had never seen a man with his tunic off before, and you saw the corners of Geralt’s lips twitch, his brows arching slightly upwards. You felt heat rush to your cheeks and you cleared your throat loudly, hastily reaching for your coin pouch and fumblingly explaining the terms of your contract.

“It’s only a few hours…and I can pay your handsomely. I mean, you are handsome. I mean, pay handsomely!”

You contemplated fleeing back to Beauclair on the spot. Geralt simply looked bemused, while Barnabas remained cooly neutral as you made a fool of yourself.

But the Witcher accepted your coin, and within the hour you were both riding towards the forest, the sun grazing the tops of the trees. You focused on examining the local flora, and tried to ignore how striking the Witcher looked in armour. You eventually settled into a companionable quiet, with Geralt occasionally asking about what exactly you were doing. You initially thought he was just being polite, but he seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say. He even answered a few of your own questions about the various potions you’d spotted attached to his belt.

Even if he was only humouring you, it did little to quell the pleased flutter of butterflies in your stomach every time you coaxed a small smile or a thoughtful “hmmmm” from the man.

“It’ll be dark soon.” Geralt spoke up the nearby tree he leaned against, watching you work. “We shouldn’t be out much longer.”

You had been searching for a few hours, and while you had collected a few interesting specimens, none of them had been what you had been looking for. And aside from the occasional curious deer, no creatures had made their presence known. You sighed and brushed your hands against your cloak, smiling apologetically. “I am sorry. This must be rather dull for you.”

Geralt barked out a short laugh, shaking his head with faint amusement. “Don’t worry about it.” His eyes flickered over your shoulder. “I’m sorry you haven’t found what you were looking for.”

“Was it that obvious?”

“Either that or your excited reaction is very understated.”

You laughed, prompting a subtle smile from Geralt that made your pulse quicken. You dipped your head slightly, turning back to gather your materials, when Geralt suddenly went still. Then he darted towards you, his hand reaching for his silver sword. “Move—!”

You startled in alarm, the earth shifting under your feet. Something screeched underneath you, high and shrill, and you stumbled backwards, claws long and sharp slicing at the air where you had been standing. Dirt and stone flew in every direction as something tore through the ground, and all you could see clearly rows of needle-like teeth snapping inches from your face.

You threw out your arms, panic burning fierce and bright in your chest as Geralt shouldered past you, a ripple of magic spilling from his open balm. The monster screamed as your magic clashed with his, sending it hurtling through the air and into the trees with a loud crack. Wood splintered as the creature writhed and wailed, blood spewing from a wound in its underbelly. Geralt swore loudly, before swinging his blade and thrusting it into the creature’s exposed stomach.

The ground continued to crack under your feet, soil and earth spilling into a deepening crevice. “Geralt—!” You willed your feet to move, but the crumbling earth was faster, and you found yourself being rapidly yanked downwards into cold, open air. “Geralt….!”

The Witcher dove after you, his large hands grasping your arms as you both tumbled over the edge. His arms circled around you, pulling you sharply against the metal of his armour so hard your teeth rattled, but you barely had time to register the dull burst of pain before plunging in the overwhelming chill of the river below.

-

You were curled under a blanket near the campfire, and you were hoping that if you prayed very, very hard, the gods would show mercy and simply kill you now.

After Geralt had dragged you out of the river like a bag of soaked vegetables, he had dove back in to fish out you and he’s scattered belongings before they were washed away. Your ankle throbbed painfully, somehow injured in the fall, and you had been forced to watch from the side-lines as Geralt set up your little makeshift camp, set up traps to ward off potential beasts, and cooked the fish he’d caught for you both over the fire.

You could not recall a time you had felt so thoroughly useless. You were a sorcerer, a bloody good one, but portals had never been your strong suit, and with how wrong everything had gone today you didn’t want to risk sending you and the Witcher halfway across the Continent into some carnivorous creature’s jaws. He probably already thought you were hopeless enough.

The sun was dipping lower and lower, but the Witcher insisted travelling through the forest at night was asking for trouble, particularly since you were struggling to walk. He had said this while stripping out of his dripping wet clothes, tossing them aside to dry, and encouraged you to do the same, and you had been far too flustered to muster much protest.

So there you sat, shivering under your blanket, guiltily watching as Geralt did everything, his leggings hanging distractingly low on his hips, the fading sun casting a warm, appealing glow against the glistening musculature of his scarred back and shoulders.

It was impolite to stare, but you could not help it.

You settled eventually, your clothes still to soaked to wear, and Geralt sat on the other side of the fire, seemingly quite at ease as you tried and failed to not follow a particular scar that trailed from his side and disappeared into his waistline—

“Bruxa.”

You startled, your eyes snapping upwards to meet his knowing expression. You flushed and stammered – gods you dealt with nobles and your fellow sorcerers with skilled eloquence, yet the Witcher reduced you to a clumsy wreck without even trying – as Geralt chuckled slightly, lifting his arm and gesturing at his side.

“This scar is from a Bruxa. In case you were wondering.”

He had clearly noticed your staring and you were seriously considering getting up and tossing yourself back into the river. You averted your eyes, your tongue useless in your mouth. “I did not mean to stare.”

Geralt peered at you thoughtfully. “They bother you? A witcher’s path is a dangerous one. War wounds are inevitable.”

“Bother me?” You nearly laughed. You had been counting every scar, wondering how they’d feel under your tongue; when you weren’t distracted with the strong, firm muscle of the Witcher’s body on such tantalising display. “No…not at all.”

“…hmm.” You could have sworn you saw Geralt’s lips twitch into a smirk for a moment, and began to fear that there was something to the rumours of Witcher’s reading minds. “You’re still shivering?”

Grateful for the shift in topic away from dangerous territory, you tugged your blanket tighter around your shoulders, smiling a little weakly. “I’m sure it will pass. I just need to stay near the fire.”

Geralt stared at you thoughtfully a moment, before shaking his head. “You’ve been sitting there a while. We need to warm you up.” He stood and began making his way towards you, and your heartbeat quickened.

“Oh! I…that isn’t necessary—”

Geralt shook his head again. “I doubt the Lady Duchess will be pleased if her Court Mage gets sick under my watch.” He sat down beside you, and patted his lap. “Come here. We’ll share body heat a while.”

For a few seconds, you completely forgot how to breathe. You stared at Geralt mutely, and his expression remained perfectly serious. You opened and closed your mouth several times, before finally finding the power of speech once more. “I…can’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t. I’m offering.”

You swallowed thickly, offering a quick prayer to whatever god was listening that you weren’t about to make a complete fool out of yourself. You shuffled into Geralt’s lap, his thighs sturdy and strong underneath you, and he pulled your blanket around him, your back pressed flush against his chest. He felt hot and solid and strong, his toned, powerful arms sliding around you and sweet merciful gods you were growing hard—

“Better?” Geralt asked, his voice low and warm as honey and you squirmed, hoping he didn’t notice your reaction.

“Y-yes.” You choked out, your face burning. “T-thank you. Sir Geralt.”

“Hmm.” You could not look up at his face, but you swore you could hear a smile. “Don’t mention it.”

You sat in silence a while, Geralt’s warmth bleeding into you, the sounds of the forest humming all around. It was almost a pleasant atmosphere, but you found it hard to truly relax, considering how you had ended up in this situation in the first place.

“I am sorry.” You murmured.

Geralt’s eyes narrowed, his head tilting. “For what?”

“For…well this.” You gestured vaguely around you. “It’s not what you signed up for.”

“You didn’t plan for this to happen, as far as I’m aware. You have nothing to apologise for.”

“Still, I am sorry.” You mumbled softly. “This can’t be how you envisioned your day ending.”

Geralt was quiet for a moment, before responding in a soft murmur in your ear that made you shiver for reasons other than the cold. “Hmmm….A warm fire, and a pretty, almost naked man in my lap.” Geralt hummed, the sound vibrating deep in his chest and against your back. “That’s better than I hoped.”

Heat flooded your cheeks, your pulse quickening as though it had been jolted with lightning. You went rigid in Geralt’s arms, and he chuckled lowly, his tone turning apologetic.

“…I’m sorry. Too forward?”

“What?” You twisted around to face him, which was a mistake, because suddenly his face was directly in front of yours, and you fumbled as his strong jaw and striking eyes were right there. “No, I…I mean…” You stumbled over your words as Geralt laughed softly, looking terribly pleased with himself. “I-I just…pretty--?”

You wanted to combust.

Geralt chuckled, his voice a maddeningly delicious mix of rough and smooth as he leaned forward slightly, his eyes seeming to glow molten gold in the firelight. “Yes.” He murmured, lips quirking into a small smirk that somehow made him even more unreasonably attractive. “Pretty.”

He had lovely lips, you noticed, before you leaned forward and pressed your own against them. Geralt made a low, pleased sound in his throat, his large, rough palm sliding over your hip and pressing against your lower back, leaving a trail of tingling warm in its wake.

This was hardly behaviour appropriate of a member of the Duchess’s Court, you realised distantly as you twisted in Geralt’s lap, slinging you thigh over his waist as you pressed your hips together, enticing a groan from the Witcher that set your blood aflame. His tongue slid into your eager mouth, his free hand slowly roaming over your bare thigh appreciatively as he tugged you closer, your chest flush with his. Your hand stroked over the thick swell of his bicep, fingers fascinated by the feeling of smooth skin and scar tissue, his beard rubbing against your skin in way that made you wonder how it would feel rubbing elsewhere.

The blanket fell from your shoulders, but the chill of the night air was chased away by Geralt’s hands, stroking and roaming and grasping, and you heard yourself moan needily as you ground your hips against his, your flesh rubbing against his through the thin material of your undergarments. You wanted to feel the rest of him, and you stroked down his sides, reaching for his waistband.

Geralt grabbed your wrists, tearing his lips from yours with a reluctant hiss. “Wait.” He leaned back, his expression mournful as his gaze trailed over you, lust bright and gold in his eyes.

You felt dizzy and flushed and breathless and you wanted Geralt to keep kissing you. You rubbed your hips against his and the Witcher groaned, eyes fluttering closed as he grasped your waist to still you. “Not here.” He forced out, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “We shouldn’t make too much noise.”

Your face felt hot at the implication of his words, and as you took a moment to catch your breath you remembered you were in the middle of the forest. “Of…of course.” You inhaled deeply, struggling to keep eye contact as Geralt leaned back slightly, the muscles of his abdomen contracting distractingly under your palms. “We…I should…”

You tried to move, but Geralt’s hands cupped your waist, holding you in position. “Hold on.” He smirked up at you, eyes trailing slowly over your body. “I want to look at you a little longer.”

You flushed and cleared your throat loudly, ignoring his mouth and his eyes and his hands and everything else about him that made your stomach feel tight and hot. “You can look at me all you want back at Corvo Bianco.”

Geralt’s eyebrow arched. “Oh?” He leaned towards you again, lips tugging into a small grin. “Is that a promise?”

You shoved him and he laughed, deep and throaty, and you realised his laugh was yet another thing you could add to the list of things you liked about Geralt of Rivia.

Morning came eventually, and you both made your way to Corvo Bianco without further incident. You ankle still ached, but Geralt very gallantly carried you the last stretch of the journey, smirking as you flushed in his arms.

You sent word to the Duchess that you would be taking a few days to recuperate, and if anyone noticed that you spent the entirety of your recovery in the Witcher’s bedroom, they were polite enough not to say anything about it.

[alwaysahiccupandastrid]

Okay but I’m gonna need a sudden influx of Jaskier x Reader fics I’m being serious

Don’t make me write them myself, I promise you all you won’t like the result-

[storeboughtmashedpotatos]

Our Sacred Bond

Geralt of Rivia, a legendary Witcher known for his silver hair and piercing yellow eyes, led a life filled with monsters, magic, and destiny. In his solitary existence, fate intervened unexpectedly, introducing him to an extraordinary man named Y/N.

Y/N possessed a strength of character that matched Geralt's own, their connection forged through shared battles fought side by side. From the chaos of their encounters, affection bloomed, transcending the boundaries of friendship and camaraderie.

As time passed, Geralt discovered a love he believed he would never find—a love that shattered his preconceptions and filled the emptiness within his heart. The bond between Geralt and Y/N became unbreakable, tested by trials yet emerging resilient with each challenge.

In their unyielding love, Geralt and Y/N made a vow of eternal commitment, celebrating their union with a sacred bond. The world rejoiced, inspired by their extraordinary love and undeniable devotion.

Together, the couple faced the dangers of being a Witcher, finding solace in the strength they drew from one another. Y/N, Geralt's unwavering husband, ignited the embers of compassion within him, reminding him that love could conquer even the darkest of adversities.

In the sanctuary of their shared home, Geralt and Y/N found refuge, a haven forged from understanding and acceptance. Their love emanated as a guiding light, offering hope and proving that true love could overcome the harshest of realities.

Thus, dear reader, Y/N symbolized the embodiment of love in Geralt's life, their story transcending the boundaries of fiction and inspiring us all.

[dantegreaves00]

Fandoms that I write for and rules

Fandoms

Stray Kids

Eminem

Yu-Gi-Oh! (Any characters from the original to 5Ds as I haven't seen Zexal or Arc-V)

Z Nation

Attack on titan

The Witcher

Shadow and Bone

Star Wars

Dead Island (both the first game+riptide and dead island 2)

Rules

I don't write smut for underage characters, if you want a certain character then it will be set when they're in their 20s

If a gender is not specified in the ask then readers will be gender neutral

Please be patient as I have other commitments irl so I'm not writing 24/7

Masterlist

Original works Masterlist

[bigfan-fanfic]

Geralt and his bf cuddling up in kaer morhen. Just cuddling on a windowsill under some thick blankets enjoying the falling snow over the valley. (What a veiw that would be!) can you tell a little story with that setting perhaps?

The cold doesn't quite reach Geralt. The songs say the mutations turned all witcher blood to fire, but Geralt knows that cold affects him just fine, he simply has a higher tolerance to it because of mutations and the endless residual decoctions lurking in his system.

Perhaps the true reason for this warmth lies in his arms.

Geralt leans his head down, sniffs your hair, lets the scent wash through him. Ask anyone, he's not the poetic type, but ask him to describe the way you smell and he will find the most lyrical and most brief summary he can muster.

Maybe the answer is much more obvious and it's the heat of numerous blankets draped over yourself. Geralt would find it amusing - no, strike that, he does find it amusing. But along with that, it's just adorable. And he won't deny that the physical touch is glorious.

Geralt is a Witcher. And most people daren't deal with a Witcher, let alone touch him. But you - whether bravery or naivety or a need for connection greater than his - you fearlessly initiate and continue contact. Geralt had never cuddled before you. Bed sharing was usually transactional, and with Yen, let's be honest, if cuddling occurred, it was more Geralt holding her than her actively participating.

You seem to crave his touch. You hold his hand on your own, you wrap your arm around his waist and invite him to hold you round the shoulder. You cuddle into his chest as if it is a safe haven. You play with his hair, his nose, his lips, his chest, his arms. There is never fear on you - and though Witchers cannot smell emotion like people think, he can usually hear the elevated heartbeats, see the shortness of breath, the dilating pupils, the contraction of muscles as they tense - none of the signs of fear from you, ever. Not towards him.

Lambert would find it insulting, he chuckles to himself. Geralt finds it... enchanting. More than any sorceress' spell.

"Witchers can hear the snowfall, you know." He smirks. It's a game sometimes. He makes up some wild, outlandish 'witcher fact' and practically dares you to call his bluff. There's enough weird shit that IS true to often disguise well whatever he comes up with.

"Oh, really?" You grin, leaning back against him as the valley beneath Kaer Morhen is coated in snow like powdered sugar. In an hour or so, the clouds will drift and the whole valley will be obscured in fog. "What does it sound like?"

"Like biting an apple. Crunch, crunch, crunch."

"Ew." You respond, and Geralt can feel you cringe while imagining the unappealing noise. "That doesn't sound right."

"Snow is wet and crunchy. Ice crystals grinding together."

"Yes, but they land on top of each other, not crunch, don't they? It should be more like a tinkle or a wet thud."

Geralt laughs. "Ah, yes, I forgot. The Continent's expert in onomatopoeia is in my arms."

You turn to raise an eyebrow at him.

"You do know I studied at Oxenfurt? I taught a class or two at Oxenfurt - I know big words!"

"I believe you." You smile, craning your neck to kiss the underside of his jaw, and Geralt is immediately mollified. "You know what? Tell me about it."

Geralt chuckles. "It's not all that exciting."

"I like hearing your voice anyway."

"Alright then... this was way back, sometime in..."

And Geralt talks, you cuddle against him, and the snowtouched valley is slowly lost in fog. Safe. Happy.

Home.

[bumblesimagines]

“ i'm extremely okay with this. “

- Ciri

“ i'm extremely okay with this. “

pronouns for y/n: he/him/his, male reader

Smoothing out the wrinkles on her dress, Ciri swept her gaze over those present. The Belleteyn festival. A chance for Ciri to feel normal again, to forget her worries for a night. All she felt was giddiness as she took in the lively attendees and listening to the music playing. She kept her mask close to her face and hoped nobody would recognize her.

Geralt and Yennefer's eyes bore into her back as she strode through the festivities, gaze bouncing around in order to soak everything in before they'd eventually be forced to go back out on the road in search of a new place to call home. She smiled and laughed at the performances, finally being able to enjoy herself. She turned to glance back at Geralt and Yennefer, shoulder bumping against someone and she saw it, a new vision.

She heard laughter, a mix of her voice and a stranger's. She saw someone's bare back turned toward her in a cozy bed and watched herself reach out to touch them. The wail of a baby pierced through next and she found herself holding a bundle that had her ashen-gray hair.

When she blinked, she saw the festival again and a voice rumbled near her ear. "Apologies." It sent a shiver down her spine and she whirled around, the mask nearly slipping from her fingers. The man tilted his head at her, (E/C) eyes peeking through the maroon mask on his face.

"You-" She caught herself and cleared her throat, finding that her hands had begun trembling. Had she just witnessed her future? Was she to become... a mother? A wife?

"Are you alright?" He asked, lips curling into a teasing smile. "Did I knock into you that hard?"

"No, I... Sorry, I..." At a loss for words for the first time in a while, Ciri certainly didn't miss the feeling. A hand gently touched her back and she glanced over her shoulder, finding Geralt and Yennefer at her side.

"Is something wrong, Ciri?" Geralt questioned, his eyes fixated on the man. Most would typically turn into blabbering messes when Geralt glared at them, but the stranger simply stared back at him until his attention turned to Yennefer and he grinned.

"It's been a while, Yen." He purred and scooped her hand into his, lips brushing against her knuckles. Ciri felt a flash of jealousy and blinked, startled by her own reaction.

"(Y/N)…" Yennefer breathed. "Vilgefortz said you were dead. He said you had been-"

"Killed in battle? And you believed that, Yen? You wound me." (Y/N) released her hand and shook his head, clicking his tongue in feigned disappointment.

"You know each other?" Geralt cocked a brow, a frown settling on his features.

"(Y/N) is a mage who worked alongside Vilgefortz sometimes." Yennefer explained to the bulky witcher, violet eyes never leaving (Y/N), almost as if afraid if she blinked he'd disappear. "The Brotherhood had attempted many times to recruit him for his abilities. Why would he lead us to believe you were dead?"

"He owed me a favor." (Y/N) replied coolly and shrugged his shoulders, the disinterest on his face clear as day. Yennefer and Geralt exchanged a glance.

"You're a mage?"

"Indeed I am, Princess." Ciri's heart skipped a beat and she nearly huffed. He was a stranger. A potential threat... and possibly her future husband.

"What are you doing here then, mage?" (Y/N) looked back at Geralt, locking eyes with him as Geralt placed a protective hand over Ciri's shoulder.

"I was passing through and heard about the festival so I decided to attend."

"Where are you headed?"

"Anywhere, everywhere, and nowhere. I have no real destination in mind since it seems I'll bump into an old friend in most places. Being found by the Brotherhood is the last thing I desire." (Y/N) tore his eyes away from the witcher to gaze around him. Ciri swallowed.

"You should come with us."

"Ciri-"

"We have the same dilemma. We can help each other. You stay with us somewhere where you won't be found and in return, you can teach me magic." Ciri proposed with a sudden boost of confidence. (Y/N)'s lips formed a grin and he peered back at her, eyes lighting up with interest.

"I'm sure our little mage wouldn't enjoy-"

"Oh, I'm extremely okay with this."

[fantasyqueen502]

"I am a husband now, a father, and damn good one."

A/N: Jaskier x male Y/N who is a Cyclops. Story idea that most likely has grammatical errors. Let me know. Feel free to comment, like, and enjoy.

Summary: Jaskier's time after the fight and separation with Geralt.

Rated: PG-13

Fighting, blood, swearing, injury and mentions of sex.

A hooded man carries barrels of ale on his shoulders like nothing. "Bout time. It’s a full 'ouse, and we’re running low!'' a very short and greasy man rants.

"Forgive me." comes from the pitch-black hole in place of his face shielded within the hood. Stocking the barrels onto the rack with each thundering step.

"Forgiveness," the small man scoffs.

"This is a bar, not Sunday school," he corrects. Scurrying out of the way as the large man walks to his horse with a cart of more barrels of his finest ale, whiskey, and wine "Brew too good for royalty". If only. This was the only bar that paid him; it was below any other winery, but he didn’t have the choice of getting what he deserved.

"Do you know how many others beg for me to do business?" he inquires. That was a lie. "I just might take up on their offers if you disappoint me again," he threatens.

"Won’t happen again." The man grits his teeth, trying his hardest not to growl, imagining wringing his hand around the small man’s throat and giving him some peace. Hoisting two barrels onto each shoulder, whimpers sound, catching the small man’s ear.

"You brought that runt again," he groans. "All it does is wail and squeal, causing my patrons to leave because they can’t even hear themselves think. "Thing sounds like it’s dying. Half the--" the man chokes as the large man punches his arm clean through the barrel of ale. A stream pours from it as he fills a mug.

"This shipment is on me," he whispers, extending the mug into the small man’s trembling hands. "Ale’s on the house!" he bellows, the crowd cheering and rushing over to fill their pints. "I’ll stock the basement in peace if you don’t mind," he continues darkly.

"D-Don’t take too long," he tries to threaten.

"Wouldn’t dream of it,"

With the party going on above, the soft whimpers turn into loud cries. As the large man rolls his neck and shoulder.

"Shhhhhhhhhh," The hooded man says, taking off his cloak and looking over his shoulder at the red-faced babe. Balling her small fists into his back as she wailed. Loosening the sash and cradling her in his arms. "What’s the matter, Tola?" he calmly wondered.

Tracing the horrific scars that stretched across the left side of her face, he smiled as her cry stalled, taking his finger in her fist. The scars were even on her entire left arm. "I wish I could take the pain away." He holds her close. Resting his forehead against hers. She had thick lashes and a doe-brown eye looking up at him. A song starts, and she calms. He is in bewilderment as she seems to smile crookedly, tilting her head towards the strumming of a lute.

Walking up the steps, he looks at the stage and finds a man who is a personified peacock. Strutting about while belting out notes with so much passion, he hears a muffled coo from Tola under his cloak. He chuckles, feeling her snuggle her chubby face between his shoulder blades. Taking a seat in the back. She needed a good nap, and he needed a moment of peace. Folding his arms one over the other and resting his head on them.

With a yawn, he readies his horse, which whinnies and pulls away from him. "What’s wrong, girl?" he asks, stroking her snout. Following her line of sight, hearing pained grunts. Following them to a dark alley. Two men stand beside a man throwing up on all fours in the mud.

"Serves ya’ right!" one shouts, spitting on the man.

"Fucking! Cocksucker!" the other screams, winding up his foot and kicking the man in the stomach. Crawling onto his knees.

"I'm all for presentation and the art of building up suspense, but for my sake." He sways forward, stumbling back and looking up at the men. Groaning as his head pounded, he was sure his brains were knocked loose. "Get the fuck on with it!" He hissed. Tilting his head back to laugh. His teeth were stained pink from the blood that flooded his mouth. "Just… I'm begging you." His breath hitches, and his lips tremble into a frown. "Put me out of my misery." He sobs. "Just kill me." He begs, holding up his hands in prayer. The men snickered, exchanging looks with sick glee. Socking the bard in the face and laying him out flat on his back "Since you asked so nicely." Unsheathing a Buck knife, the cloaked man grabs the man by the back of the neck. The man yelps, striking his knife into the dark figure's shoulder to the hilt. He seethes, throwing the man into the brick wall, his head painting it red. The movement caused his hood to fall. The cloaked man grunts, yanking the knife from his shoulder and turning to face the second man, who trembles. He roars at the burn of his wound, causing the man to run away as fast as he could in fear. Calming his breath, he hears the bard's groan.

"I should have known." The man rants, struggling to his feet and holding his arms out to his sides for balance. "You don't have the balls to—" he trails off, trailing his eyes up from the worn boots. Meeting the giant that loomed over him in the moonlight. Jaskier gawks as he meets the giant man's eyes—well, one big eye in the middle of his face. "A cyclops." He gulps, his eyes widening in horror. The man grunts, waiting for the man to either run away screaming like humans normally do or lunge at him to attack. But the bard was just full of surprises. His eyes rolled back along with his body, which fell to the ground once more.

The bard groans as his hand goes to hold his head. Slowly sitting up from the couch he laid on. A warm fire; it was night, and he gasped at a steaming bowl and cup of water. Scooping the warmed potatoes and meat into his mouth.

"Didn't think you'd wake up."

He freezes, staring into the corner of the room, trying to make out the figure in the shadows. He gulps, tumbling as the stranger steps into the light, poking the fire.

"A-are you going to kill me? Use my meat for stew and my bones for bread."

"You're thinking of Giants." He corrects. "I'm a Cyclops."

"Oh." The bard sounds

"Humans are too gamy anyway." He chuckles at the bard's horrified eyes. The bard laughed awkwardly, not knowing if the one-eyed man was joking or not.

Following the squealing cries up the stairs, pushing open a cracked door to a nursery. Peering over to see a screeching infant. The bard couldn't help but coo, his brows furrowing with concern. Half of her face was scarred.

"You want your daddy?" He asks. "He should be back soon." He hushes. "How 'bout a lullaby? Works on all the ladies." He swings his lute from his back to his front. Strumming a tune.

"If you're happy and ya know it, clap your hands." He sings and claps his hands. "If you're happy and ya know it, clap your hands." He does so, making a face and causing the infant's cries to soften just a bit. "If you're happy and ya know it and you really wanna show it, If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands." He finishes looking at the babe to see her quietly whimpering. Poking her bottom lip, her big brown eye with her thick lashes soaked with tears. The moment is interrupted by thundering footsteps.

"What are you doing?" He demands in a growl.

"I heard her crying and you weren't around," he tries to explain being shoved as the father inspects the babe, who resumes crying.

Trying to console her as she screams louder than before. Looking at the fallen lute, he picks it up, shoving it into the bard's unsuspecting arms.

"Play!"

The bard couldn't hear the father over the piercing wails, but he could easily read the desperation in his eyes. He cleared his throat, strumming his strands to find everything in tune.

"If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands." He sings with an ear-to-ear grin, and the small babe's screams soften. Her big doe eye watched him with curiosity. Ending the silly children's song, her heavy eyelid closed as she fell asleep with a crooked smile.

---Years later---

Downing the remnants of his drink and passing the glass off to a barkeep. The last of the drunken parents now vacated the pub that was with life moments ago.

"Bard." causes him to whip his head, and a scoff leaves his lips. "Witch."

"What are you doing here?" he sneers. "And what fresh hell did you just crawl out of?" he gestures to her disheveled appearance. Damp hair and dirt smudged her face and apparel.

"Sewer," she answers plainly, taking the first step. "What’s your excuse?" she jabs back, quickly closing the space between the two.

"A sewer," he cackles. Never in a million eons did he find himself in better standing than the witch that terrified him. He took his chance. "I always knew you were a blood sucking, joyless—" he bites his tongue as her tiny frame pulls him in for a hug.

"--hugger?" he states in confusion. "Hugging. We are hugging," he announces, trying to convince himself that what was happening was indeed happening.

"Oh, gods," he sighs, holding him at arm's length. "I missed the days when my biggest problem was an ever-present sing-songy twit," she smiles.

"Uh, drink? I’m gonna drink," he stammered, squirming out of her grip. "I’m not having this conversation unless I’m drinking." He makes his way around and behind the bar. Placing two pints onto the counter, looking to the witch who takes a seat.

"You’re the Sandpiper."

"What? No. Yes. No," he yelps, frantically trying to play it off. "How do you know that name?"

"You pick up a thing or two when you’re in hiding."

"You’re in hiding?" He snorts, his brows quickly shooting to the skies. "Because you’re part elf… Yennefer, I completely forgot. I’m so sorry," he says genuinely. "I would not wish that fate on my worst enemy, and, yes, you are…" he searched for the right words. "Firmly lodged in that category, it has to be said, but… What they’ve done to you and your people is… Unspeakable."

"But some people are speaking."

"There are anonymous benefactors working behind the scenes, helping me, helping us, helping us make this right. I was at the great oak, Bleobheris, when it was raided. The Seat of Friendship, as the druids called it. Where every free thinker was welcome, no matter their race, their creed…they come for the elves, Yennefer. They’ll come for the dwarves. And sooner or later, they will come for everyone." He stares off, swallowing thickly. "Anyone that they deem the "other," so… Eventually… No artist is safe."

"Why help? What’s in it for you?"

Opening his mouth to answer the creak of the front door. The bard's face lights up at the sight of who stepped through. Yennerfer turns to see a small child. In a powder pink shoulder cloak. Hood up as she took each concentrated step.

"My heart." He smiles, kneeling before the child, who lifts her hands high to be picked up. He does so resting her on his hip. "Where's daddy?" He asks, pushing her wild bangs from her eye. She coos, snuggling into his neck and playing with the lace of his blouse. She points to a far window as Jaskier nods. "Want. Coin. Want. Coin," She babbles.

"Whose this?" Yennerfer couldn't help, but smile.

"My heart, Tola." The bard smiles. "My daughter."

"Pleasure to meet you, Tola." She extends her hand as the small girl takes it. "I'm Yennerfer." She smiles.

"She's usually quite shy," he comments, somewhat impressed.

"Children are great judges of character."

"Coin!" She continues.

"Again?" He asks with an overdramatic expression, holding her high above his head. She nods adorably.

"Toss a Coin to your Witcher." He smiles as she giggles. "O’ valley a plenty."

Seated in a jail cell after a failed transport and an interrogation with a man wielding fire. Escape with Yennerfer only to be caught and interrogated again by guards.

He now stood before the Witcher himself, who tore out his soul and left him on a mountain, asking for his help.

"Jaskier---" the brute grumbles.

"No, Geralt!" He cuts off, surprised to see the white-haired man meekly biting his tongue. "I am a husband now, a father, and a damn good one!"

Walking out of the jailhouse, taking cover through alleyways. Geralt stops, and the hairs on his neck stand on end.

"What's the matter?" Jaskier asks.

"Quiet!" He hisses, throwing the bard behind himself and readying his sword as a familiar figure steps from the shadows. The figure roars, charging.

"Ger---" Jaskier reaches, but the Witcher bellows and charges. "NO! STOP! STOP!" he shouts, his heartbeat in his ears, as Geralt swung his sword, and the figure dodges and knocks the sword away with sparks from his metal bracers on his forearms. Lifting his arm, Jaskier holds it back.

"Fuck off, Jaskier!" he growls, shoving him onto his ass. The dark figure looks at the fallen bard with concern. Taking the opening, the Witcher drives his sword into the beast's shoulder. With an exclamation of pain, Jaskier scrambles to his feet. Geralt yanks back his sword, lifting his sword high for the finishing blow. Swinging it, he stops. The Witcher's sword nicked the bard’s neck, standing between him and the beast. He swallows, and fear holds him stiff.

"If you want to kill my husband, you'd have to go through me."

His yellow eyes narrowed. Gritting his teeth Jaskier slowly raises his hand, moving the sword away.

The Witcher growls, sheathing his blade.

"Y/N, Geralt, Geralt, the love of my life." He smiles as the pet name dampens the flame of seeing the bard’s teeth stained pink and the scabbed-over cuts on his lips and brow.

The men both grunted their greeting.

"I do have a type, don’t I?" He mumbles to himself.

At home, Jaskier demands that Geralt watch their daughter. The cyclops growls at the thought of his precious gift in the hands of a Butcher. "I trust him." He assures him with a hand on his chest. "He's a right softy with children."

Running a bath, the bard returns with an armful of rags and a bottle of alcohol. Assisting his husband with his cloak and shirt, his eyes watered at the grunt of pain from lifting his arm. "I'm so sorry," he mumbles, holding the alcohol-soaked rag to the wound. The hisses and guttural groans from his chest "This is my fault," he croaks.

"My dandelion." He coos, holding his cheek, forcing him to look into his eye. Reading the bard like a book. "Who do I have to make suffer?" He growls. His bruised temple and stained smears of dry blood around his nostrils.

"I'm fine." He assuredly swatted away his husband's hands, going to test the temperature of the bath. Hissing as he shakes his injured hand that touched the warm water. Stepping out of his trousers into the bath, Y/N takes his hand and ignores his recoil, finding it covered in red blisters and giving each finger a tender kiss.

"Little Tola won't have nightly lute lullabies." He sighs.

"Your voice is music enough." He assures.

"Must you always shower me with compliments?" He breathes. Y/N chuckles, locking his strong arms around his waist and forcing him into the bath, joining him fully clothed in the water. Jaskier exclaims, but laughs, sighing with content eyes flickering from his husband's eye to his lips.

"What of me, my dandelion?" He whispers huskily. The bard rests his total weight on him.

"Hmmm." He hums in thought, running his nose along the scruff of his jaw. Looking with big eyes. "Make me forget." He pleads.

Sitting up and holding him close.

Geralt stoically sits in the living room. Slowly closing his eyes to block out the sound of squeals from the bard and rhythmic banging. Spending his fair share of nights at brothels and whorehouses that seemed not to be so loud. Water begins to drip from the floorboards.

Feeling a tug at his pants and looking down to see the small, one-eyed girl. Black hair in a messy bob. Staring up at the ceiling as the bard's pleas for God rode the air.

"Suppa'. Suppa'." She babbles.

He stares at her.

She stares back.

He stares at her.

She stares back.

He stares back.

She points to her open mouth, causing the Witcher to exhale through his nose. Walking into the kitchen with the girl holding onto his leg. Giggling, he makes her a simple loaf of bread with butter. Handing it to her with hesitation. She gingerly takes small bites, hopping happily in place.

[mlm-writer]

First time in four years that I am not participating in kinktober at all, but you know what will prevail? The annual Shrek smut fic! Who are we pairing Shrek with this year?

[delusionalwritingsofagay]

Geralt of Rivia 

One shots

Fics

Jaskier

One shots

Fics

Of Monsters and Melodies - I Rated G I CW: None I Tags : Soulmate au, Witcher reader, fluff

[thinyvic]

Welcome to my blog

GENERAL INFO, WHAT I CAN WRITE

Request as much as you want, any character you want! (I can decline a reqiest if im not comfortable with it)

I will write headcannons, imagines, scenarios,oneshots ect

I will only write male or gender neutral reader and characters (including ftm)

I will write poly relatinships (ex. character x reader x character)

I can write dark themes such as yandere or cnc

WHAT I WILL NOT WRITE

any drasctic kinks (ex. piss, feet, vore)

pedophilia, incest

nsfw of minors

OC's, but character traits are welcome short!reader, artist!reader

Female readers or characters as mentioned earlier

FANDOMS I WILL WRITE FOR

Danganronpa

Genshin Impact

Detroit Become Human

Game of Thrones

The Witcher

Ace Attorney

My Hero Academia

Jujutsu Kaisen

Resident Evil

Tokyo Revengers

Boyfriend to Death

The Price of Flesh

Something's Wrong with Sunny Day Jack

Five Nights at Freddy's

REQUEST ALL YOU WANT☆