#tw3 fanfiction

[advena87]

Chapters: 4/? Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Lambert/Keira Metz, Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Aiden/Lambert/Keira Metz Characters: Lambert (The Witcher), Aiden (The Witcher), Keira Metz, Eskel (The Witcher), Triss Merigold, Bertram Tauler | Jad Karadin, Original Characters Additional Tags: Fix-It, Post-The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt, Post-Blood and Wine (The Witcher 3 DLC), Love Triangles, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher), The Witcher 3 Spoilers, Canon-Typical Violence, Bisexual Lambert (The Witcher), Aiden (The Witcher) Lives, Not Beta Read

Chapter 4 summary:

Aiden’s return forces Lambert to face what he’s spent years burying, while Keira is chasing answers of her own, determined to solve a puzzle that demands more from her than she’s willing to admit. And if there’s one thing Lambert knows, it’s that when sorceresses start making deals in the dark, trouble is never far behind.

___________________________________________

 Aiden’s return had turned everything upside down. What they’d shared before—before Karadin had decided to fuck it up—had never been defined. But it didn’t need to be. It had been raw, intense, and vital in a way Lambert couldn’t put into words, even if he wanted to. Which he didn’t.

 Witchers weren’t taught to name their feelings, let alone express or manage them. Quite the opposite. Every school—no matter its methods—drilled the same lessons into their recruits: feelings were a weakness. A distraction. Better to bury them. Forget them. Feel nothing. The less you feel, the better a hunter you are, and the better you hunt, the longer you live.

 And sometimes, that worked. They said some witchers genuinely felt nothing. But for every one of them, there were dozens who weren’t hollow at all—witchers who felt everything too sharply, too painfully. And because they were never taught how to handle it, became dangerously unstable. Or worse, unable to read their own situation or the intentions of others, which could be deadly for them.

 Of course, the experience taught them fast enough when to trust and when not to, but even the oldest veterans, who’d seen it all and been burned more than once, still felt that emptiness. That hunger for something more.

 That’s why Lambert had never been able to define his bond with Aiden, but he knew that Aiden’s presence had filled that emotional void in a way nothing else had. It was as if some missing piece had finally clicked into place. And the best part? He didn’t have to explain it. He didn’t need words he didn’t have. Aiden just knew. He’d always known exactly what it was like.

 When he lost him, anger became Lambert's refuge. It was the only emotion he knew that didn’t leave him vulnerable, the only one sharp enough to keep the grief at bay. Fury pushed him forward, and gave him purpose, while sorrow? That was a slow poison, draining his strength. He’d thought vengeance might fill the void—killing the bastards who’d taken Aiden, recovering his swords—but it hadn’t. Neither had drowning himself in bottles until the world blurred. The emptiness lingered, gnawing at him with a quiet ferocity he couldn’t shake.

 It wasn’t until he met Keira that something shifted.

 Lambert never trusted sorceresses. Too many had danced around Geralt, weaving their webs of lies and manipulation, for him to think they were anything but trouble. They were proud, selfish, and maddeningly calculating—the kind of people who lit a short fuse in Lambert every damn time. And yet, Keira Metz had come to him, bluntly stating what she wanted. She was selfish, argumentative, and wildly ambitious, no doubt about that, but at least she didn’t try to pretend otherwise. She amused him, intrigued him even, but what really sold him on the arrangement was how clear she had been from the start: fun and a few samples for her experiments, nothing more.

 He could respect that. Hell, he could even appreciate it.

 And besides, he owed her. She’d saved his life during the fight with the Wild Hunt, and the debt still sat heavy on his conscience. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do, anyway. His world was unraveling, thread by thread. Vesemir was gone, and with both Geralt and Eskel deciding to leave Kaer Morhen for good, there wasn’t much left of his old life to cling to.

 So, when Keira offered him something—anything—Lambert figured, why not? He had nothing left to lose and, if nothing else, the sorceress knew how to keep things interesting.

 He hadn’t even noticed when Keira began to fill the void left by Aiden. He liked her company—her fiery spirit, her sharp tongue, even the way she fussed over him. Though he’d sooner swallow his tongue than admit it. For the first time since Aiden’s death, he’d dared to think that maybe, just maybe, life didn’t have to be completely terrible for a witcher.

 He wasn’t stupid enough to make plans, though. Life had a way of spitting in the face of optimism. Witcher's luck was notoriously rotten, and he figured his recent good fortune would run out sooner rather than later. He just hadn’t expected it to blow up in his face like this.

Read more on AO3

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher) Characters: Lambert (The Witcher), Aiden (The Witcher) Additional Tags: Stolen Moments, Partner Betrayal (Kind of), Anal Sex, Passion, Lovers' Tryst    Excerpt: Once more, the dark curls tickled his heated skin as Aiden wriggled out from beneath him. He looked at Lambert, and for the first time in a long time, Lambert did not feel the need to hide his scars behind sarcasm. He was among his own kind. Although, maybe not quite. Because whatever seriousness surrounded the wolves – not that he had ever tasted any of them – Aiden made up for in passion.

What you need to know: I’m doing my umpteenth playthrough of TW3 at the moment and I was rewatching some videos (xLetalis, if you need to know, because he’s your no 1 source for everything TW3). One presented the theory that Lambert slept with Triss (in TW1), because in the drinking game of “No Place Like Home”, he admits that he once slipped out of a lover’s window to avoid to hurt a friend. There are some fascinating clues to that theory, but this time, I thought: what if it wasn’t even Triss? (Or Geralt)

[aenwoedbeannaa]

Ok so I've noticed this getting a few likes lately which is really nice because I wasn't sure if anyone was reading my Witcher stuff anymore, and I'm thinking I should finish this bad boi. Plz like if you are interested in me continuing!!

A New Empire || Ciri x Fem!Elf! Reader || Part 1

Summary: With the war finally over, you have left your position as a Scoia’tael commander and joined the Imperial Guard in the capital. However, war has no happy endings – and you are far from happy. Over the course of the war, you lost your two brothers who were your only family aside from your abusive father and brainwashed mother. Your less than ideal family situation was what led the three of you to set out and fight for the Empire in the first place. You were not expecting to be happy in Nilfgaard – you simply went because it was a job offer you could not refuse; a roof over your head and money for food. You pass the days on autopilot. That is, until a young woman with ashen hair arrives. The famed Princess Cirilla, the Child Surprise, the Child of the Elder Blood and the Chosen one. The White Flame who saved the whole miserable world from the White Frost, and the one person who might prove to you that life is beautiful, despite it all.

Word Count: 2,650

A/N: Ok, I know I have like four WIPs right now, but I recently finished The Witcher 3 and I just could not resist starting this one. I’m working on creating a schedule so you all have some idea when I will be posting new chapters to everything, but it’s kind of hard to schedule out because I have to balance writing with work. But anyway, hope you all enjoy! Also, if the formatting is off, sorry about that—I’m posting from my iPad and it has been quite the hassle.

If you enjoy my work, you can check out my masterlist for more, and if you’d like to be added to any of my taglists, feel free to comment here or send me a message and I’ll add you. You can also check out my personal blog. I also have a ko-fi page, as I’d like to cut down on the hours I work and start working more on writing and acting. And finally, if you’re into video games, you can follow me on Twitch @ aenwoedbeannaa.

Part I

There are times when you miss the war, despite the fact that it stole everything you held dear. Perhaps that is why you miss it. After all, it is not the bloody battles that you miss; the perching in trees and loosing arrows on caravans and bands of soldiers alike was not a task you relished or took pleasure in. What you miss, what your mind seems to drift to in order to escape the horrible mundanity of each day on guard duty, is the late nights spent sitting around campfires laughing and talking with your brothers and sisters in arms. You miss the war because it brings back the smell of wood smoke, of roasting meat and hearty stew, and most importantly, the ring of laughter and the sound of voices that you will never hear again.

The sound of hooves on cobbled streets and the excited rumble of a growing crowd pulls you from your reverie, albeit not as quickly as it should have. You blink away the glow of campfires and soft light of night stars, eyes taking a moment to adjust to the afternoon sun bearing down on you as if you had truly just stepped from the dark into the sun. You chance a glance at the guard on post at the other end of the gate – another former Scoia’tael commander from a different unit – to check for any sign that something is amiss. His bow is still slung over his back, no arrow knocked. So, it appears you haven’t missed anything important while off in your daydream.

You fix your attention on the fanfare unfolding down the road. You see several cavalrymen on their black horses riding in formation around a figure that you can’t quite make out. You recognize it as a Nilfgaardian escort at once – the kind reserved for important people, not criminals. You cock your head to the side as the realization hits you, wondering who the mysterious rider of the horse in the middle could be. Ordinarily, the Guard was told of important arrivals when they were expected, but, unless you’d somehow drifted off into your mind during a briefing (an extremely unlikely scenario, as you preferred to keep your head on your shoulders), the Guard had not been informed of this particular arrival.

As the escort draws closer, you catch sight of the mysterious arrival between two black-clothed riders. You know, from the moment you spot the petite woman with ashen hair, exactly who is currently being escorted to the castle. Cirilla of Cintra.

“Well, don’t let your eyes pop out of your head!”

You turn your head to look at your fellow Guardsman and narrow your eyes. “Keep your eyes alert and off of me,” you reply sharply. “Or it’ll be on your head if something goes wrong.”

Of course, you know nothing will go wrong. Since the war ended, there has been little reason for uprisings. Non-humans are safe in Nilfgaard, so they keep quiet. Humans have jobs that keep them busy and well-fed. Radovid, and most of the other former royalty of the Northern Realms are dead, so they have no leaders to rally behind and conspire with. Temeria is free as it will ever be, leaving no reason for them to fight against the newly established order. And, finally, the Wild Hunt has been defeated, meaning no spectral warriors are likely to appear out of thin air.

In short, things are perfectly safe and entirely boring. And boring, you’ve found, was not something you deal with very well. Especially now, when boredom only gives you more time to think about things you’d rather never think about again.

***

After Cirilla’s arrival, things remained much the same. Entirely safe and utterly boring. The only difference were the filthy comments you heard day and night in the barracks. Most of the Guard were men, and even worse, most of them were human men. At least most of the other elves and other non-humans were a bit less unbearable; most likely because they were worried that a slip of the tongue could land them in a hell of a lot more trouble than the humans would face.

And the comments were not only limited to the beautiful Crown Empress, either. As one of the few females in the Guard, you’d grown rather accustomed to the men bothering you day and night. None as much as Emariel Sorenn.

He, like you, is an elf. You have no idea which commando he fought in, nor do you care. You do know that he is quite a bit older than most of the elves who fought in the Scoia’tael units You just know you never saw him on the battlefield or in the forest camps. But for his apparent lack of fighting, he certainly has a huge mouth and wandering eyes.

“Stay back, you fucking leech,” you hiss through your teeth.

The two of you are stationed to stand watch over one of the back entrances to the sprawling Keep, and he has spent every moment since the two of you arrived at your posts muttering utter shit. You had been doing a pretty good job of ignoring lecherous comments, but when he started taking a few steps toward you, you’d had about enough.

“Oh, come on, beautiful,” he says with a grin that you imagine might have once been attractive. But, the years have clearly not been particularly kind of the elf. His teeth are yellowed and rotted here and there, and his eyes bulge slightly, suggesting at least fifty years of heavy fisstech use. You find it incredibly hard to believe that he even fought in the war when he can’t seem to show up to work high out of his mind on the white powder and gods know what else.

“Such foul words from such pretty lips,” Sorenn leers, clicking his tongue and shaking his head, “Such a shame.” He takes another couple of steps, erasing much of the distance between himself and you until you raise your left hand, stopping him with the gesture.

“Take another step closer and I’ll cut out your eyes so you won���t ever have to look at these pretty lips ever again,” you drawl, your smile is sickly sweet as your right hand comes to rest on the hilt of your rapier. You’ve had just about enough of this shit. When you’d been running with the Scoia’tael commandos, you’d bene amongst your own kind, who respected your own customs. The same could not be said once you arrived in the Imperial City.

Sorenn was just a shining example of the incredible arrogance of those who thought the black and gold liveried armor they were provided with so that they could stand and look pretty while they whiled away the hours standing guard over the precious Emperor Emhyr.

“I’d like to see you try, you little she-devil,” he smiled in a way that made your stomach turn.

“I’d like to see her try, too.” The voice came from just down the hallway that hooks off to the left behind the two of you. That voice…

Cirilla Fiona Ellen Rhiannon. Crown Empress of Nilfguaard.

You turn to find the young woman already somehow just next to you. You hadn’t even heard her approaching. She is a Witcher-Girl indeed, you suppose. Silent as an elf approaching rather than a human.

“Y-your Excellence,” you breathe, quickly dropping into the bow they taught you on your first day at the palace. You’d never been up this close to her, or any of the other high-ranking nobles, before. You could see Sorenn doing the same out of the corner of your eye.

“Oh please,” Ciri scoffed, “None of that nonsense.” For a moment, you thought that she was angry, but when you stood up straight once more, the way the corners of her lips pulled slightly upward dispelled those fears.

Her enormous green eyes met yours for a brief moment, knocking the air from your lungs—but you tried your best to hide it. And, mercifully, she turned her gaze to your fellow guardsman, who had utterly paled at the appearance of ashen-haired young woman.

“It’s hardly behavior fit for a guard,” she drawled, taking a few steps closer to the elf who was likely at least triple her age (you’d never actually bothered to find out how old the little shit was), “To be harassing your fellow guardsmen.” You couldn’t help the smirk that stretched over your face as she spoke. Sorenn was practically cowering.

“Just know that the lady…”

“Y/N,” you responded with your full name right away, hardly believing that the Crown Empress had deigned to actually ask for it.

“Just know that the Lady Y/N has the authority, and my blessing, to carry out those threats if your behavior continues.”

You jaw drops at the words. You are unsure of how to react. The threats had been empty when you made them, of course—it wasn’t as if you were trying to get yourself hung—but the idea of carrying them out to the letter didn’t sound bad, if you were being honest. Though, you doubted Sorenn would be giving you trouble again any time in the near future; or ever.

With all the grace of an Empress, the ashen-haired woman turned on her heel to leave, those hug green eyes fixing on yours once more.

“Care for a trip to the market?”

“I… Yes.” You had been about to protest and point out that you were only a few hours into your long shift, and that you couldn’t disobey orders, but you supposed that orders from Cirilla herself definitely outweighed those of the Captain of the Guard—and anyone else in the Empire, for that matter.

“Excellent.” The young woman smiled; a real, warm smile, as you fell into step beside her.

Excellent, indeed.

Staying within the castle walls for days on end was unbearably boring, and when you had the chance to go out into the city, you were usually too tired from working double or triple shifts to do so. Not to mention the slightly, barely perceptible flutter in your chest at the thought of walking through the city streets with Cirilla herself—not because of her rank and standing, though that was likely part of it—but because of those eyes, and… well, a whole lot more. But that whole lot more you prefer to keep tightly to yourself.

***

Three hours later, you are still out, sitting on a ledge that overlooks a good portion of the city. From this vantage point, you admit that it even looks pretty. For all of its faults, the Nilfgaardian Empire did one thing correctly. At least here in the Capital, humans and non-humans worked and played side-by-side; or at least in the same vicinity as one another, without any major fights breaking out. It hadn’t been that way in the northern cities.

Novigrad had been the worst by far. You’d grown up there, in a rough part of town with a number of other non-humans. No matter how hard you worked, you were always looked down upon. Even your parents, cold as stone itself, eventually moved the family back out to the wilderness. It was easier to live among the trees and as far away from humans as possible, even if it meant hunting for every meal and making all of your clothes. Modern comforts were nice, but it wasn’t worth the risk of going to trade for them.

Ciri, noticing the far-away look in your eyes, hadn’t said a word since you’d sat down. Thankfully, it was not uncomfortable silence.

“I take it you didn’t grow up in Nilfgaard?” She finally asks, glancing sideways at you with those huge green eyes. It was impossible not to get lost for a moment before you answered.

“No.” You realized your answer was clipped short, but you didn’t exactly trust yourself to say any more. The last thing you needed to do was spill the messy contents of your head on the floor at her feet.

“Me neither,” she responds softly. Then, with a wry smile, “Obviously.”

You can’t help but offer a small smile, “It’s not as bad as they made it sound… up North.”

Ciri nods, narrowing her eyes in thought. “I suppose everywhere is a bit better now that the damn war is over.”

You nod, “If only it would have ended a long time ago.” Or never happened at all, preferably. But there would always be wars; you know that much.

“It seems all anyone wants to do is fight,” Ciri says with a resigned sigh. You glance over at her, corners of your mouth twitching downward somewhat.

“Maybe that will change.” You let the words hang in the air, unsure if you should have said them at all. You’re not an advisor to the Empress—you’re a common member of the Royal Guard. But you can see the same darkness in the ashen-haired woman’s eyes that seems to have permanently settled in your own. Stormy darkness and sadness that no number of days seems to dissipate.

“Me, too.” The young woman chews on her lip, and you remain silent. You cannot even imagine the pressures placed on that girl. First to quite literally save the world, and now to lead an empire. You may be bored as all hell with your job, but you would much rather be insignificant and boring than have a weight like that placed upon your shoulders. You’d surely fuck it up.

“Well, at least it seems like everyone is tired of fighting, now,” you point out. Though, you are sure that somewhere—probably at this very minute—there are people conspiring to change that. No matter who is leading or how, there seem to be people coming out of the woodwork to lead foolish revolutions.

“Tired, and without resources.” The emphasis the young Crown Empress puts on that final word tells you exactly what she means—there are too few people left to raise armies. For the elves, it will take generations to rebuild their population. For the humans, however, it wouldn’t be all that long before they had a whole new batch of young warriors ready to fight for whatever ideals they decide to find appealing at the time. You shudder at the thought. You’d rather not live to see that—but you know you will.

“Gods, the world is miserable.” You force out a sigh, rueful smile playing at your lips as you scan over the city.

“Sometimes I wonder why I didn’t just leave the White Frost to destroy it,” Ciri says with a smirk. You can’t help but smirk back.

“Could’ve put us all out of our misery.”

Despite the topic of conversation, you are both still grinning.

“Seems I’ve made a huge mistake.”

You shrug, eyes somehow unable to move from the young woman’s face, “Or you’ve changed everything.”

You don’t know exactly where the hopefulness came from—you aren’t a particularly hopeful person. But, even in these few moments of talking to the soon-to-be Empress, you can tell that she’s different. She’s different from the leaders in the North, she’s different from the current Emperor.

“For the better, I hope.” The clouds are back as her face pulls into a serious expression, a troubled expression.

You are struck with the sudden urge to reach out and place your hand over hers, but you hold back.

She is the almost-Empress, you remind yourself.

“You’ve got common decency,” you offer, “That’s already better than most who call themselves leaders.”

She turns to look at you, silence hanging in the air between you until she finally says, “Thank you.”

“No need,” you respond, “I’m only stating the facts.”

It takes you several seconds to register the soft hand resting over yours, and once you do, it is impossible to keep a grin from breaking out across your face.

***

To be continued.

[thesleepy1]

In The Cold Winter's Keep

A/N: A super nice anon left this long comment on my Tumblr about an old fic with Lambert and Aiden and I just couldn’t get it out of my mind. It was so sweet! My heart just couldn’t take the sugar overload. I had to fulfill their request. (I’ve lost my writing style simply from disuse so I apologize for the differences, but I hope you still like it nonetheless).

Pairings: Lambert x Aiden x Reader

Summary: With the winters so difficult in the Keep, it's hard to stay warm. Luckily, you have two witchers to help you fix that problem.

Word count: 2,151

Warnings: NONE!

It was cold in the Keep. The kind of cold that stung at the shoulders and bit at the fingers. The sort of cold that made one’s breath come out in clouds of mist like smoke blowing from a pipe. The type of cold that was only found at the start of winter when the briskness of fall faded away and the seasons well and truly turned.

You knew that your cheeks had turned a shade darker of red without looking at a mirror. Despite the layers piled high upon your shoulders, you could not get warm. It was a chill in the air that did not relent. Walking through the hallowed halls felt like traversing a tundra. Even moving was a difficult task, your arms wrapped around yourself to conserve what bit of heat you had.

However, you kept going on because you knew your destination would be worth the effort.

Aiden’s room was at the end of the hall. His door was unlocked, yet you knocked regardless. The sound echoed through the icy halls, the only noise against the snow silently falling outside the Keep’s walls.

Footfalls followed, the handle turned, and before you appeared a clearly half asleep cat. His hair was flattened against one side of his head and his eyes, amber and golden, were barely open. In addition, he stood in his bares, scarred chest on full display. Aiden’s words were muddled by a yawn as he greeted you. “How can I be of service, darling?” he asked once he had finished.

“May I share your bed tonight?” you asked, clutching tighter at your arms. You were shivering now, the cold too much for you to bear.

“Of course. You look as though you’re about to freeze to death. Come here.” Aiden pulled you into his room and the moment you crossed the threshold, you were enveloped in warmth. The hearth was burning and the windows were drawn closed. Aiden was one of the only witchers who had the foresight to put curtains over his window in order to prevent the winter’s chill from entering the chambers. His bedroom was the warmest in the keep, the perfect temperature for a delicate cat.

“Vesemir has the Keep far too cold for me,” you whined, warming your stiff hands over the fire.

“The wolves do prefer it colder than most.”

“They’re wolves, not polar bears,” you bit back with a pout. “I wish they’d have it a little warmer in here.”

Aiden laughed, pulling a blanket off of his bed and drawing it over your shoulders. “You are always welcomed in my room, my love.” He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. The heat of his skin doing wonders to ease the ache in your bones.

“May I be welcomed in your bed as well?”

“Always.”

Aiden’s soft scent filled your nose as you made your way closer to his bed. He smelt of the forest, pine and ferns and something that was just Aiden. It was hard to describe the distinct scent of a person. It was unique only to the cat but it was synonymous with home, comfort, and pleasure. It was one of your favorite smells, on par with another witcher’s spicy cinnamon and smoke.

You thought of Lambert as you drew the covers over yourself, arms wrapping around Aiden’s bare chest as he joined you. You laid your head on his shoulder, face practically buried into him. “I wish Lambert didn’t mind the heat.”

Aiden emitted a sound that could only be described as a giggle. “I haven’t a clue what you said but that tickles.”

You raised your head from his chest, a smile curling the corners of your lips. Despite not being a cat yourself, you appeared as if you were the cat who had caught the canary. “I merely said that I wished that Lambert did not mind the heat of your room,” you repeated, a hand moving towards shoulder. “I never knew that you were ticklish here.” You brushed the tips of your fingers over the skin there.

The touch was feather light but the sound that left Aiden’s mouth could be heard from down the mountain. “You devil!” he exclaimed, a guffaw forcing it way out of his lips.

“Oh Melitele, you’re so sensitive.” You were relentless, attacking him with only the tips of your fingers.

Aiden squirm underneath your touch; a great big witcher rendered defenseless at the hands of a mere mortal. He twisted and turned his body attempting to get out of your reach but that proved difficult due to the limitations of the size of the bed. He was helpless, at the mercy of your mischief.

“Please,” he pleaded or laughed, it was difficult to discern. “I yield!”

“But you’re adorable like this. I see no cat here, only a kitten.” You continued your onslaught, hands running up and down Aiden’s chest.

He turned to roll out of your path but you merely followed him on your knees now, a balancing act as you leaned forward to attack him. A balancing act which he took advantage of, finding an opening to grab your wrists and pin them above your head as he propelled you onto your back.

Aiden caged you in, his other hand immediately going to your waist to hold you down so you were at his mercy. “Well, well, well, what do we have here?” He followed each word with a slow press of his lips against yours. By the end of it you were having trouble catching your breath.

“Mercy?”

“Oh, now you’re eager for mercy?” Aiden’s expression was in honor of his school, utterly feline and devious.

“I’m so cold, you can’t tease me now, Aiden. You must warm me up lest I freeze to death.”

Aiden gave you another kiss, this time tongue licking at your lips for entrance which you unhesitatingly granted. “Well, we can’t have that, now can we?”

“No we cannot. Who else will entertain you this winter if I went rigid?” You pushed back against his hold on you, reaching upwards to kiss him.

He met you in the middle, unable to resist the offer. He was unwilling to deny you anything you so clearly desired.

Heat radiated off the two of you as you pressed your bodies closer together. Neither of you were willing to part from the other. His hold on you uncompromising as was yours on him. Your hand went to his locks, the strands so utterly soft between your fingers. He was made out of down and fur and all the soft and good things in the world. He was yours.

“Aiden,” you moaned in between breaths, in between one kiss and the next.

“Yes, darling?” he replied in between heartbeats, in the flickers of flames still burning in the hearth.

“Could we get Lambert? Please? I don’t care if he makes a fuss of the heat. I need him near.”

Aiden chuckled, his amber eyes fond as they locked onto yours. “Anything for you, my love.”

He parted from you, releasing your wrist and the hold on your waist. He went to the door without care for his shirt or trousers. When his hand turned the handle and opened the entrance, none other than Lambert greeted him on the other side.

“I could hear you two from the dungeons, you're so loud,” Lambert chastised though the expression on his face lacked any proper heat. He was panting which was quite a difficult task to achieve as a witcher. He must have ran to Aiden’s room by the way his shoulders were rising and falling so quickly.

“I was just about to get you to come join us.” Aiden flexed his arms as if Lambert did not already get the obvious. He was still in his bares after all.

“It’s hell in here,” Lambert predictably replied. “How do you even stand it?”

You rolled your eyes, a smirk already in the midst of forming on your face. You could play out entire conversations with Lambert without ever having to verbally speak to the mind. He simply had a way of going through the world that anyone with working eyes and ears could sense. It was like reading a book that you’ve read a million times, each act already memorized.

“Lamb, it’s too cold out there for me. You’re already at Aiden’s door. Please join us,” you begged of him, batting your eyes at him coyly.

“Can I put out the fire at least?”

Before you could reply, Aiden was already making his way to the hearth to snuff out the flames. “There,” he presented his handwork with a gesture to smoke leaving through the chimney. “Just remove your shirt and come join us. You’ll love it, I promise.” Aiden smiled brightly at him, an expression that could melt even the iciest of hearts.

Lambert made snide remarks the whole time, as was his habit, but complied with Aiden’s request regardless. Soon, you had two bodies turning to you in bed, twin amber gazes on you. “I love getting my way.”

“You’re spoiled rotten here,” Lambert grumbled, but went into your open arms in spite of his complaints. He laid his head on your chest, tucking himself underneath your chin. He breathed you in, willing his own heart to align itself with the beats of your own. “Soon you’ll be expecting me to do this everyday.”

“Oh would you, Lamb?” you excitedly exclaimed. “I wish we’d spend every evening like this.”

Aiden blanketed your other side, arm going to wrap the both of you in his embrace. He pressed you close and inhaled the mixing scents of his favorite people. It was bliss. “Could we have you pliant and willing like this everyday, Lambert?”

Lambert pressed his face into the nook of your neck, hiding his expression away. “It hasn’t even been five bloody minutes and the two of you are already wanting to push it.”

Your hands went to his naked sides, bare and vulnerable to your touch. “No, if I really wanted to push it, I’d do this.” The attack was premeditated and deadly. Your fingers were quick and light. Lambert was hollering and rolling out of bed in the blink of an eye.

“You absolute arse!” he yelled, but there was no heat in his eyes for they were too filled with mirth now. He grabbed the pillowed from under your head and pulled it away, branshing it like a weapon before bringing it down onto your unexpecting face.

“Lamb!” you cried out, hands going to protect your head.

“You’ve made your declaration of war!” The feathered filled assault continued with a fury.

“Aiden, save m—” Before you could finish you were attacked from the other side. Your witchers had turned against you. “The betrayal!”

“No, can do, my love. You’ve stuck me with the same offense before. I’ve sworn my loyalty to Lambert for he knows the pain I’ve endured by your hands.”

“Aghhh!” You ran from the bed, leaping off of it and running for the door.

“You can’t run from us!” Lambert yelled, rushing to you and sweeping you off of your feet and into his arms. He then deposited you back onto the bed where Aiden was ready with both pillows.

“Do you yield?!” Aiden questioned you as he threw pillows at you. You didn’t even know that Aiden had so many pillows to begin with.

“I—aghhh—yield. I yield. Please have mercy!”

Aiden stopped his onslaught and pressed a kiss to your forehead that was more slobber than lips. He pulled you into him. “You’ve been defeated,” he laughed, holding you tight.

Lambert joined him in this new game of smothering you. A manic grin was stretched across his face, the expression of a victor coming to claim his glories. “That’s what you get for tickling me.” He bit at your neck in a way that was less alluring and more vicious. It was like the nips of a playing dog.

You laughed at their antics, pulling the blankets over the three of you as they continued with their choice of celebrating their victory. Eventually, they were settled enough to simply tug you close and relax. A tired Lambert returned to his position on your chest and a spent Aiden buried his face next to yours. Your witchers had been worn out.

“Have I remarked on how much I love the two of you?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Well I love you so very much and I don’t think I will ever stop loving you two.”

The two witchers left two final kisses to your skin before drifting off to sleep. Wrapped in warmth and all the love a person could possibly ever need, you followed them. The snow continued falling outside the Keep, but inside, you were safe and utterly adored.

[greenapplespider]

Due to some absolutely horrific art/writers block concerning this story I’ve decided to split it into a couple parts. This is part one, part two will hopefully be both longer and a bit more cohesive <3 otherwise pls enjoy part one and thank you all for waiting

To be continued sometime this decade 😩

[witcherrarepaircommentexchange]

The Witcher Rarepair Comment Exchange is now open for signups!

Signups are open November 1st to 15th, time to comment is from December 1st to 15th.

Please submit fics/chapters with a wordcount of no more than 10k, and no less than 500 words

Rules and details here

[myers-meadow]

Dance of Fate: Gaunter O'Dimm x reader

Title: Dance of fate

Pairing: Gaunter O'Dimm x reader

Summary: On Valentine's Day, you receive a mysterious message from Gaunter, who invites you to spend the evening together. A date, he promises. Yet, there's quite a bit he didn't promise you. What motivations could a man like him have for taking such interest in a mortal?

Warnings: none.

Wordcount: 744

For @gauntermetaverse, who inspired this after the very, very kind gift that still haunts my dreams <3.

divider by saradika-graphics.

His words echo in your head. Even when the meaning of them seems straightforward, you know you have to take them apart and not take anything at face value. Who knows what adder is hiding in the grass when it comes to him. And this was... special. An invitation for a date, on Valentine's Day. Despite the nervousness in the pit of your stomach, how could you ever refuse?

The evening came. Questions about what tonight could have in store for you make way for a new reality as you blink and find yourself somewhere you don't know. Magically transported to another place, or perhaps to another plane of existence altogether. Your feet rest on grass, wind caresses your cheeks and pulls at your hair. To your right, there is a cliff of stone, and underneath it; a coast. The sea turns orange and red as the sun sinks below the horizon. In the distance you see other cliffs, white, regal and still, as if haphazardly carved from marble. A few seagulls screech in the air above. You can't place where you are, but somehow it feels like something from your childhood, hauntingly familiar. Would this be where you'd finally meet the man who has quietly dwelled in your heart for so long?

"How nice of you to join me." He speaks gently, but still it makes you startle. Looking inland, you see him, hands clasped, standing a few metres away. Beside him, lays a checkered blanket. He's prepared an actual date, you think with surprise. Somehow you didn't think he'd follow those mortal conventions, of having a picnic date.

"Thank you for the invitation," you counter, stepping closer to him.

"Shall we?" he gestures to the blanket and sits down, legs crossed. Somewhere behind him is a basket (did he just conjure it up?), he reaches in and retrieves a bottle of wine and two glasses. You sink down next to him. The blanket is rough as you lean on your palms. The sensation grounds you. Is this place real? You pluck a few blades of grass and examine them closer. They seem real enough. Fall apart between your fingers as you tear off piece by piece, before discarding it and turning your intention back to the man in front of you.

"Where is this place?"

"Somewhere I thought you'd like. I said it'd be somewhere quiet, did I not?"

"I imagined your realm to be more... hm, sinister?"

Gaunter laughs. He sets the glasses down, it's a little wobbly on the blanket, so you reach out to hold them steady. He uncorks the bottle with a satisfying pop. Wine pours in the glasses, a deep red. Each taking one of the glasses, they clink together in a silent toast, and you take a sip. The sourness quickly makes way for a deep velvet aftertaste. A moment passes. The atmosphere is calm, yet you get the sense Gaunter, who took you here, has barely hidden intentions hidden beneath the amicable surface. You shift to a more comfortable position and look out over the sea.

"I was rather surprised by your message. What made you think to invite me? Especially on a day like Valentine's?"

"It seemed only fitting to have a proper moment, just the two of us. Don't you agree?" He takes a moment. A glimmer in his eye makes you pause. "After all, it was you who took such a liking to me, in a way."

You hum, your fingers again reaching to pluck at the grass. 

He easily picks up on your discomfort. "Nothing to be embarrassed about! I'm flattered."

"Of course you are," you huff, yet you can't suppress a grin.

He takes another sip of wine, swirling it around in his glass as he regards you. His gaze pierces soul-deep. "My invitation has more  than one reason, frankly. First; I just wanted to meet you, in person. To offer you a glint of the very real powers I possess, of the possibilities I could turn into reality. And second; I'd like to tempt you."

You cock your head to the side, to tell him to keep going.

He sets down his glass, fingers walking their way over to your knee, tapping it lightly. "Who would I be not to try and make a deal with someone as delightful as you? What do you say? Any life-long wishes I could make true for you? Surely you've considered it before."

[genyigames-blog]

The Witcher 3

[ladymarinamart]

If you don't want to write about RocheCiri, then I will do it myself to spite you, so that you can see the ship you hate.

ciri/roche except everyone, fic

Geralt had assured her that Emhyr would not force her to follow his will, that he only wished to talk, but she’d heard all of that before. She could guess what his designs were for her. He had no heir but her, after all. If she was foolish enough to stay in Nilfgaard, she could expect to be married off within the year.

“Do you aim to court me, Vernon?” she asked, and he blinked at her in further surprise. His eyes were icy-brown, the dark kohl at his lids paling them further. “You’re asking an awful lot of irrelevant, personal questions. Isn’t the Emperor waiting?”

“Forgive me, my lady,” said Roche, ducking his head. “I’ve heard a great deal about you and only wished to know more. Your father speaks of you very highly.”

“My father died at sea when I was young,” Ciri said. “I hardly remember him. If he were to have fond memories of his daughter, he’d be remembering a little girl. Do I look like a little girl, Vernon?"

“No, my lady.”

“I’ve done some horrible, debauched things that would curl your Emperor's hair. I wonder if he’d speak so highly of me if he knew them? And you, Vernon, what if I answered you truthfully? Would you regret seeking to know me? I’d think so. No, I know so.”

Roche averted his gaze, his haughty excitement having wholly deflated. Ciri felt almost bad about it. He’d not been unpleasant to her.

///

It must be nice when everyone thinks your cirvran is a wonderful ship and writes fan fiction about it, right? No one blocks, ignores, or considers Cirvran to be trash, unlike RoсheCiri, hated by everyone

[valandhirwriter]

Ciri/Morvran

I have a new fan, who expressed great interest in my take on the pairing. So, here we go:

[advena87]

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Lambert/Keira Metz, Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Aiden/Lambert/Keira Metz Characters: Lambert (The Witcher), Aiden (The Witcher), Keira Metz, Eskel (The Witcher), Triss Merigold, Bertram Tauler | Jad Karadin, Original Characters Additional Tags: Fix-It, Post-The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt, Post-Blood and Wine (The Witcher 3 DLC), Love Triangles, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher), The Witcher 3 Spoilers, Canon-Typical Violence, Bisexual Lambert (The Witcher), Aiden (The Witcher) Lives, Not Beta Read

Summary: Lambert and Keira Metz after the events of Wild Hunt run a joint business in Lan Exeter. Unexpectedly, a stranger witcher appears on their doorstep with an unusual task.

Chapter 3: Trouble doesn't just knock; it breaks down the door

Chapter 3 summary: Aiden reveals how he narrowly escaped death, igniting a whirlwind of emotions in Lambert, who thought his friend was lost forever. Together, they confront the painful truths of their past, their words turning sharp as old wounds are reopened, exposing the jealousy and anger that have festered in silence.

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

Find Me Naked In My Virgin Misery

(My latest fic. I had to do a cheesy cover pic at least once, sorry 😂)

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types Rating: Explicit Relationships: Emhyr var Emreis/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Characters: Emhyr var Emreis, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Additional Tags: Pining, First Time, Idiots in Love, Fluff and Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Mild Smut  Words: 5,382

Summary: Of all the complicated lovers Geralt ever had, Emhyr var Emreis was the worst. Geralt, pining hard, asks his friends for advice in the matter of love...

Read on AO3.

[ooksaidthelibrarian]

"Will you stop it with the alchemy and come fuck me already?" Gaetan doesn't do begging. Well. Not right away. If Eskel wants that, he'll have to work for it. But all it earns him is a raised eyebrow. Things do not go as Gaetan expects them to

Rush

Fandom: Witcher (Video Games) Rating: E Words: 2562 Pairing: Eskel/Gaetan

Read it on AO3 or on Squidgeworld

Smut

Oral Sex

Rough Oral Sex

Anal Sex

Table Sex

Under-negotiated Kink

Praise Kink

Falling In Love

Friends to Lovers

Friends With Benefits

Sub Eskel (The Witcher)

[thesleepy1]

Do I write Eskel as a wet little wimp of a dog? Yes. Yes I do. Do I write all characters that way? Why, yes. Yes I do.

[witchertits]

Witcher AO3 Benefit Zine

The Witcher AO3 Benefit Zine (NSFW! 18+) my lovely server has been working on is available for $1+ download at: https://hollylib.itch.io/witcher-ao3-benefit-zine-2023

ALL sales from this project will be donated to the OTW! Cover art by @captnsunshine <3

Thank you so much to all our amazing contributors! @captnsunshine @kayforpay @kueble @mysticcoyoteart @howdoistormspirit @elythegardeningbard @tiltedaxii

Holographic stickers also available for $3! Again proceeds will benefit the OTW! https://ko-fi.com/s/39a4d280ff

Read the collection free here: https://archiveofourown.org/collection/WitcherAO3BenefitZine2023

[witcherrarepaircommentexchange]

The Witcher Rarepair Comment Exchange is now open for signups!

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