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eggcompany · 3 months ago

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Julian, On My Knees Part1

Young, broke, omega Julian Pankratz, Jaskier, finds a place to live. Sharing a nice little flat in the good part of town with a fit older alpha who's daughter just moved out. The room is perfect, his own bathroom, and his flatmate is probably the most gentle yet stern, buff and beautiful, and sweetest smelling alpha he's ever encountered. It's just perfect

At least he thought so. Stupid thin walls, stupid heat brain.

“Hi! You must be Mister Rivia! I’m Julian Alfred but everyone calls me Jaskier. It’s wonderful to make your acquaintance.” The young man said quickly, in a chirpy way as his hand stuck out as soon as the front door swung open. His eyes squinted with how widely he smiled, the picture of happiness and joy.

Geralt shook his hand, taking in the chipper man.

He was nearly as tall as the older alpha, which was surprising but welcomed. He’d be able to reach all the shelves, Geralt thought as he took stock. The boy had messy brown hair and a round baby face. Soft pink cheeks, sparkling blue eyes, smooth summer sun tinted skin, clean and nice. So much more beautiful than his profile picture.

Geralt nodded, turning to let the omega into the apartment, waving him in with a hand.

“Hmm, this is the flat. Bathroom’s over there. I have my own so that’s yours. That’s my room, you can knock if you need anything, I work from home mostly. There’s a mini fridge in your room, it’s older but if you want it out, I can remove it. The living room, the kitchen, I prep my food so please don’t mess with my containers. I split it down the middle with electric tape to make it easier but it’s not a strict line.” Geralt explained as he walked the other man around the house, pointing at doors. He couldn’t help but glance at the wide smile on the omega’s face.

He’d explained the apartment over text when the boy said he was interested. It didn’t take Geralt long to take the ad down and decide Julian Pankratz was the only applicant. He was young, only 22 years old, worked part time at a coffee shop and part time riding his bike around delivering food. He was an aspiring musician, liked staying in and watching movies, didn’t have many friends in the city, and most importantly, he was an unwed, unmated Omega. Someone who wouldn’t be bringing another alpha into the house at all hours of the night stinking up Geralt’s space.

Geralt knew another alpha in the house would only cause trouble. Betas didn’t like all the rules about scenting in Geralt’s building, and most of the Omegas interested so far were 18 year olds who wanted someone to look after them once they left their parents house.

Julian, Jaskier, was different. He’d said he wanted some freedom and space, just wanting one person to live with so he didn’t get lonely but would let him be his own person. Someone to have his back and talk to but wouldn’t smother him or try to parent him. Seemed like a good fit.

Geralt smiled a bit, amused, when Jaskier’s eyes widened and explored the kitchen, opening the fridge and cabinets. He almost forgot what it was like to be around someone with enthusiasm about everyday things, a youthful bounce in their step.

Jaskier couldn’t hold in his excitement. The space was big and open, cool grey flooring with a big rug in the living room and well loved black leather couch and matching recliner, the tv was huge, the kitchen was huge, the cabinets were spacious, the fridge was big and had a nice freezer, and it smelled amazing, like warmth and clean laundry and a little like leather shoes. It was so much bigger than what Jaskier was hoping for, and so much bigger than what it should be for the price they had agreed to.

“Wow this is nice! I’m so excited! The last flat I was in had two bedrooms and I lived with seven people. I’ll make sure to pay rent on time and keep my space clean, sir. But um… can I ask you something about the room?” Jaskier asked as they made their way to the slightly ajar door. He stopped short of it, not reaching for the doorknob but standing patiently.

Geralt waited a minute for the boy to continue but Jaskier was waiting for the Alpha’s permission. Geralt liked that, it was respectful and pet something ingrained in his mind.

“Yes?” Geralt asked as he stood beside the door he’d freshly painted, a nice light nearly white. He watched the omega look down at the floor, cheeks turning a cherry color. They had discussed house rules, rules for the complex, rent payments, but not quite the details of the actual. Apart from the contents and size.

“I'm an omega. I… have quite um veracious heats. Are the walls…?” Jaskier said in a timid way, embarrassment burning inside of him. He’d only told Mister Rivia that he was an omega, he’d felt it was inappropriate to talk about his heats and such over text. He wanted to make a good impression on the alpha, didn’t want him to think he was some floozy puppy looking for a mate and a free bed. He was a grown man, he wanted the alpha to see that. Even if he still had to ask about the ventilation and soundproofing.

Geralt understood immediately though, having had the room remodeled after Cirilla had presented. He wasn’t shy about omegan issues, he had an omegan daughter, and had dealt with her issues. Not much scared him anymore. Nothing is more exhausting than a thirteen year old omega who wasn’t scared to leave the house in her pajamas, barefoot, to walk two miles to McDonalds if you didn’t wake up fast enough.

Geralt wasn’t a blushing twenty year old alpha anymore, after all. He could handle having a screaming banshee in the house for a few days a month.

“Yes, soundproof and insulated. You have your own thermostat, the door has a seal around it, and there are extra ventilation vents that lead out and not to the rest of the apartment or building. I had it specially remodeled to be… as comfortable as possible for an omega.” Geralt explained and pushed the door open, welcoming Jaskier inside. He stood by the door, wanting to keep the separation of Omegan Space and General Space very stark.

Jaskier walked in, eyes looking at the ten foot ceiling, the calm blue walls, the plush grey carpet, and the still plastic wrapped mattress Mister Rivia said would be provided sitting on a black metal bed frame that had a spiral patterned head and footboard. It was bare but somehow he could already picture where he’d put his things, hang his posters and pictures.

He looked at the closet with its louvered doors and the big window overlooking the park that was spread out next to the building. He could open it and get good fresh air or the warm sun, and hear the rain at night.

“Wow… This is amazing, really. So much space and such soft carpeting… so plush. I'm really really happy. Thank you Mr. Rivia! I’ll go get the rest of my stuff, just a couple bags and my instruments and my ikea shelves.” Jaskier thanked graciously, and happily, nearly skipped, to the front door. The alpha was right behind him, grabbing some keys from the rings by the door.

“I’ll help you. I have your copy of the key in my truck anyway.” Geralt said and couldn’t help the small smile that smirked on his lips at the omega’s genuine response.

“Oh, thank you, dear.” Jaskier said as he slipped his shoes back on and opened the front door. He couldn’t help but feel giddy. He’d always dreamed of a place like this. So what if he had a smoking hot roommate who smelled so nice, it was only a bonus. He couldn’t wait to get the plastic off that bed and sleep alone for the first time in… since he moved out of his parent’s house.

It was like heaven already.

~~~~~

Geralt was surprised about how much he enjoyed another man’s presence in his home. He liked the sound of Jaskier cooking in the kitchen, he liked that the omega would leave his bathroom door open after he got a shower and his scented steam would waft out, all honey sweet and warm, he liked that Jaskier would come quietly sit down and watch TV with him if he heard a show come on.

He liked when Jaskier sat on the kitchen counters under the bright white lights to tweak and fix his old second hand instruments. He liked that Jaskier would talk and talk, about his job, customers, his music, anything in the world and not get offended when Geralt didn’t answer. The alpha found it soothing to have the chatter while eating dinner or breakfast. He liked that Jaskier hummed as he did laundry or washed dishes or swept, tunes that he’d hear on a guitar or keyboard after a few weeks. Geralt felt less lonely, like the hollow feeling he felt after Cirilla moved out was being filled, not in the same way his daughter’s presence did, no not at all, it was an all new feeling. It was nice.

Jaskier loved living in the apartment. He could open up his window and smoke when he got itchy for a cigarette, he could work late into the night and not worry about making too much noise, he could masturbate and not worry about the smell or his sounds, and Mister Rivia let him watch TV with him.

He loved that. He loved sitting by the older alpha, eating dinner with him, greeting him in the morning. He loved that Mister Rivia would ask him if he had a good day at work or if he was cold or if he got wet by the rain and then tell him to get a warm shower and put on some dry clothes before dinner. He liked that when he forgot his work apron and his name tag and his jacket, Mister Rivia caught him in the lobby of the building, all three in his hand and a gentle finger wag.

He loved being looked after. It wasn’t overbearing, it was sweet.

They were happy together, Geralt made sure Jaskier knew when to be out of the apartment when his daughter or ex-wife was visiting, sending Jaskier off with a few dollars to get coffee or a snack. Jaskier gave Geralt ample warning when he was going into heat, making sure the alpha was okay with him to heat in the apartment before locking himself away in his room for a few days.

There were a few hiccups. Geralt had a yelling match in his office which made Jaskier cry and hide away at his friend’s house till Geralt called him, and swore it wouldn’t happen again. Jaskier came home drunk, very drunk, and fell asleep half hung over his toilet, naked from the waist up, shoes left in the middle of the floor, front door left unlocked. Geralt had given him a strong talking to.

‘That is not safe Julian. If you ever get that drunk, where you can’t keep yourself on your own feet, you call me. At least then I can lock our front door.’ Jaskier had sniffled and nodded, making sure he had Geralt on speed dial.

And the one time they actually argued. Four months in and they had a fight. Jaskier wanted to hang up a new poster, a big framed thing. But he didn’t ask where the step ladder was and thought it was too rude to stand on a dining room chair. So he stood on his computer chair. And left his bedroom door open.

Geralt had come home from a meeting at the office, tired and uncomfortable in his tailored suit. He’d barely broken the entryway when he heard Jaskier scream out in fear. He found Jaskier crying, hand over his bloody knee. He was first concerned and scared but once he saw it was just carpet burn, and noticed the computer chair was tipped and the half hung poster, he was angry. He barely kept his voice from rising as Jaskier cried, yelling back.

‘I’m a grown man, I can do it by myself!’ Jaskier had shouted, shoving away Geralt's concerned hands.

‘Obviously, if you used the right things. You should never stand on a swivel chair, Julian, You can be as grown as you want as long as you use your head! Don’t be stupid Julian. Think.’ Geralt had reprimanded, leaving a hand to help Jaskier to his feet. Jaskier had pouted and stomped to the bathroom, slamming the door. Geralt had huffed and slammed his own door.

Jaskier apologized and looked like a dog, tail tucked between his legs.

‘I’m sorry. Just got scared.’

‘I forgive you. You know where the step ladder is, next time, use it. Please’

And all was set back to normal.

Month after month, five had passed, their few disagreements passed easily, and soon Jaskier had been there for Christmas.

They had exchanged small gifts. Jaskier got Geralt a pair of new blue slippers because ‘Geralt yours are ugly and old, look these have really good insoles!’, and Geralt got Jaskier a nesting bundle of music print blankets and pillows.

Jaskier had cried and told Geralt that it wasn’t fair and that he shouldn’t have spent so much money, ‘Jaskier would it make you feel better if I said it was on sale?’

‘Yeah, it would.’

‘It was clearance, cost me barely anything.’

‘Okay good, lie to me if it makes me feel better.’

‘I will’, Geralt had rubbed the omega’s back until he stopped crying. He’d made a note to himself to always tell Jaskier his gifts were cheap, even if they were $100 nesting bundles. In Geralt’s mind it was worth it, to see Jaskier tie the bundle to feel each piece, cotton, flannel, fuzzy material that Jaskier rubbed against his lips repeatedly until he hauled it all to his room with a big smile.

And then New Years and Jaskier sent Geralt a selfie, covered in glitter and glow sticks under a blanket of confetti and fireworks, right at 12:01. Geralt had saved the photo, he didn’t know why, but the big smile on the omega’s face and the way his cheeks were crimson red and eyes drunk dilated, it made Geralt’s heart jump. He didn’t mention it to Eskel or Lambert when they asked why he was smiling at his phone during their poker game.

Then Valentine’s Day which was the worst because Jaskier was supposed to be in heat but he’d just started new hormonal heat aids, which supposedly were supposed to keep his cramps at bay, and they were making him crazy. He sobbed into a gallon of ice cream on the couch, covered in piles of blankets, watching some disgustingly cheesy romance movie with Brad Pitt.

Geralt was trying to finish a spreadsheet but each time he heard the omega sob, it felt like his heart was being ripped out, making him hurt. So he was out on the couch soon enough, rubbing the omega’s back as he cried and babbled about how the medicine wasn’t working and his stomach hurt and his head hurt and he felt starving and he was getting fat and a million other things. Geralt just shushed him and didn’t say anything. Eventually Jaskier calmed down and fell asleep there on the sofa, leaving his empty tub of ice cream and spoon on the side table. Geralt put pillows behind his head, wiped his sticky face and hands with a damp paper towel, and turned the tv and lights off. It made Geralt feel better, even though he kept his door open, headphones half off. Just until Jaskier dragged himself to bed.

They liked living together, they liked having each other around. Just as roommates, as friends, as… whatever they were. They respected each other, never going into each other's bedrooms, Geralt never going into the omega’s nest and Jaskier never stepping foot in the alpha’s den. They didn’t talk about Yennefer or Jaskier’s heats.

They pretended to not hear each other’s personal dramatics. Jaskier pretending to never hear Geralt’s phone calls with Yennefer or the late night binges on the candy he had stashed above the fridge. And Geralt never hearing the noises that came from Jaskier’s bathroom at 3am.

It was easy, it was a silent arrangement that worked.

Until it changed.

#egg_company #fanfic #smut tag #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction #geralt of rivia #geraskier #jaskier #geraskier fluff #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rvia #witcher geralt #geralt z rivii #omega jaskier #the witcher #geralt #julian alfred pankratz

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sammysmaddy · 1 year ago

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Ransom (Geralt x Reader)

Summary: King Bryce, the father of Princess Y/N, wants to marry her off to an enemy in an attempt to reconcile the relationship between the two kingdoms. Geralt of Rivia makes his appearance in perfect timing and Y/N promises to pay him handsomely for holding her as 'ransom'.

Pairing(s): Geralt x Princess!Reader, OC!Lyd x Geralt x OC!Rosni (mentioned, but not explicitly)

Warning(s): Angst, mention of blood, alcohol, prostitution, p in v, desperate!geralt, fingering, creampie

A/N: There is a noncon version of this story linked if you would prefer that. This is the first I've written for Geralt. I enjoyed writing it, so I hope you enjoy reading it! ;)

W/C: 6k+

Noncon Version

Masterlist

"Hm," The low hum of Geralt's voice filled your ears. While it was one of the few words you have gotten him to say over the course of the past week, if you could even call that a word, you were happy to have your remarks validated nonetheless.

You walked on the snowy dirt road next to Roach, treading a little bit behind as the horse was much faster. Geralt was adverse to you walking at first, but you had managed to convince him that it would warm your freezing bones.

Geralt's eyes traveled back to where you were every few minutes, you assumed to make sure you were still there, yet barely acknowledged any of the words you spoke.

You had learned that this was simply who he was over the past few weeks of traveling with him. And you had also learned to be quiet. This allowed you to enjoy and appreciate the serene atmosphere in silence, which was difficult at first and much different than the lively setting at the castle you call your home.

You missed your kingdom. You missed the warmth and your clothes, the maids and the dances, but most of all, you missed your father. You never wanted to let him down or make him disappointed, because he was the only person who truly understood the pain of missing your mother. On top of all of that, he loved you more than anyone ever could.

You knew your father wouldn't understand your dislike for Prince Loren. He was a handsome young man, yet only you could see his arrogance and lack of concern for anyone but himself. So, Geralt was your only option.

You knew witchers preferred to be paid in gold in return for their bravery, and luckily you had more than enough. You also knew that even though this wasn't necessarily a common task for a witcher, no monster was worth the amount of gold you were willing to pay Geralt for holding you as ransom.

Your father did not know you devised the plan and he had no clue that Geralt played a part in any of it. Both you and Geralt were free of any accountability and you could both walk away happily.

You cut your arm as you went, leaving a trail of blood out of your window which was on the second story. You drafted the letter before you left, listing the price of the ransom. You had claimed to be a very powerful force in Prince Loren's kingdom who would, at any cost, kill you if you had stepped foot into the kingdom.

Listing a bunch of random but reasonable motivations for your own death, you wrote a date to meet two odd months later. Then, you sealed the letter with a stamp you had borrowed from one of Prince Loren's guards.

You knew your father would pay whatever price he could to have you back. And you figured that it would be a good chance to explore the world on your own without the weight of being a princess.

Now, three weeks later, you could feel the lack of food and mead in your stomach. Your clothes seemed to fit looser from the lack of calories and the constant travel, your feet ached and your shoes were almost completely worn. In addition to your troubles, your company was less than pleasant to be around.

Your dream of traveling didn't take long to be unattainable, as you were still a princess and Geralt was very obviously a Witcher. You had stopped a few times, sometimes in the brush of a lush green forest and as the atmosphere got colder, you began to stay at a few inns.

Geralt was antsy at the lack of hunting for monsters, but you did your best to remind him of the handsome pay he'd receive for measuring your safety. He seemed to be annoyed with you most days, but you assumed that was his normal demeanor.

Luckily for you, there were women at nearly every stop, allowing Geralt to blow off steam and for you to have some time to yourself.

The next stop was only a day's travel from the next, and as the sun dimmed you knew you were close to your destination. As the road became wider and easier to travel, you started to smell fires being burnt and saw houses lit with candlelight.

"Where are we?" You asked Geralt, your voice slightly coarse from the cold air and the lack of use.

"Gelibol," He answered curtly, carefully climbing off Roach.

You knew more questions asked would not be answered, so you walked next to Geralt and grew more cheerful as you smelt food. The local inn was not hard to find and your stomach ached as you walked through the doors, leaving Geralt behind as he tied Roach up in a stable.

"What can I get you, princess?" The bartender asked as you sat down. Your cheeks grew red and your heartbeat fastened as you realized you were recognized, but you still attempted to play it off.

"Princess?" You asked coyly, with a small yet nervous smile on your face.

"Just something I like to call pretty ladies who walk into my bar," He said with a thick accent, winking at you as you sighed in relief.

He was handsome, light facial hair, and he didn't smell horrid. If he were dressed properly, he could surely pass as a nobleman.

"I'll take two of whatever ale you've got," You gave him a small smile.

As he walked away, you glanced across the room, tactfully avoiding any eye contact between yourself and anyone looking in your direction. Of course, the inn was full of men and very few women- all of whom nearly had their breasts spilling out of their corsets.

Your ale was brought to you and you placed one at the bar seat next to yours as a way to claim it. You didn't have to turn around to understand the silence that took over the inn, knowing that Geralt had made his entrance- his face sure to scare any living creature.

The sound of his large body slamming down on the stool next to you would have scared you had you not already been used to it. Geralt didn't say a word as he completely downed his ale, signaling to the bartender for another.

"This one yours?" The bartender looked at you, surely asking about Geralt.

"She's with me," Geralt answered gruffly before you could speak.

"I'm traveling with him. Needed a witcher to make sure I don't accidentally kill myself on my journey." You corrected Geralt, giving the bartender a small smile.

"Didn't realize witchers did anything but stink and kill rotting monsters. This one doesn't smell as bad as the others," He placed down the ale in front of Geralt with a small smirk. Geralt chose to sip the ale rather than down it, glaring at the bartender over the rim.

"We'll also need two rooms tonight." You announced. "And a bath drawn."

"I've got one room left and enough hot water for the both of you, but the witcher can make do on the sofa." The bartender answered and you nodded your head lightly. "I've also got a few women working tonight who have their own chambers if the gentleman is willing. We like to make sure our witchers get taken care of so that our creatures do as well. And I attend to the ladies before heading home to my wife." He winked at you.

"Thank you, we'll take the room and the bath," You could tell that Geralt's low gruff was in tune with the idea of women at his disposal, and you chose not to comment at the bartender's last sentence. "And a few more ales."

•••

You didn't mind bathing with Geralt, so long as your backside was turned to him. All of your life you've had time to grow used to being indecent around many people, whether it was alterers or guards- the male gaze never seemed to faze you.

You did however mind when there were two other women accompanying the witcher. You didn't like the fake laughs they gave or when they asked about the scars, you had heard the stories many times before through previous baths with other women.

And somehow after every one of these baths, you felt a lot dirtier than you did before bathing. So, you tried to wash yourself as quickly as possible.

Normally there'd be two rooms for the both of you, but unlike normal, these women had their own chambers for lustful men. You grunted as you climbed out of the bath, annoyed that the business could not have started in one of the women's rooms, and you quickly threw on your robe.

"To bed, I assume?" Geralt asked as you tied your robe, the two women caressing his chest as you glanced over.

"Not quite tired, might head down for another pint," You answered in a shrug, slipping your shoes on.

"Don't," He replied and you rolled your eyes before turning back to him.

"Geralt, have your fun. I'll be in bed before you've even got to the second one," You gave him a small smile and he grunted lowly.

"I don't want you down there without me. It's not safe," He hummed, barely paying attention to the other women.

"Why don't you join us, love? We could use more young, pretty women like you here," The brunette giggled and you scoffed at the idea.

"She may be too elegant to join whores like us," The second woman joined in but giggled afterward as she returned her attention back to Geralt.

"You really think I'd make it?" You asked jokingly, feeling a strange form of pleasure from being doted on.

"I think any man would pay a thousand coin just to watch you undress. Of course, you'd make it, love," The first woman commented.

"I think the women in this town would hate their husbands if she were like us, Rosni. They'd never be home!" The second chimed in and they seemed to be in tune with one another.

"Well, maybe I'll press my luck and begin my new career tonight," You joked and the women shrugged with small smiles on their faces.

"No," Geralt chimed in. "No selling yourself and no men. It's not safe, Y/N."

"I think the 'no men' rule is a little far, don't you think?" You crossed your arms, staring straight back into his glare.

"Come on, we get by just fine don't we, Lyd? I'm sure Y/N would handle herself quite well." Ronsi spoke up and the other woman nodded.

You were more than grateful for the women encouraging you, especially so against the witcher. You loved nothing more than winning an argument.

"Rosni and Lyd are still alive and well, I bet I could do the same," You smiled whilst agreeing.

"I said no," Geralt reiterated, this time much quicker and sharper.

"That's alright, then. I think I'd much rather receive than give. I don't reckon I'd make it in this line of work." It was partially a lie on your behalf.

Men could rarely ever do the trick for you, most often you'd end up finishing yourself, but by the Gods, you were going to choose them rather than having those same men pay to have their way with you.

"Lucky woman. Wish I could say the same, but I have my suspicions the witcher won't be a letdown." Rosni giggled as she turned her attention once again toward Geralt.

"Sometimes, just sometimes, you get a treat like this man and you know you won't go to bed without satisfaction," Lyd doted on Geralt and you internally cringed at the thought of pleasuring a witcher, someone who knows little to nothing about human emotion.

"You ladies sound like you're in for a fun night. My night will be just as fun but will rather consist of another ale and then a long rest," You gave a small smile, preparing for your exit.

"You may have one," Geralt's voice rang around the room. "Then bed. And definitely no fucking innkeeper will attend to you."

"Of course, Witcher," You answered before leaving the room, hearing Geralt's grunt at the nickname.

You knew Geralt would be too busy to even know whether or not you exceeded the limit he had set for you, there was no sense in arguing with him.

•••

You had two ales just to spite Geralt, despite becoming completely exhausted halfway through the first. While the bartender became more and more handsome with every sip and you really did want to continue to spite the witcher, you found that your tiredness would overtake your attraction toward him.

So, you made your way up to the room. The fire was lit and the small snowstorm tapped lightly on the outside of the window, your slight drunkenness made you feel even more at peace. The bed was warm and your belly was full, sleep was imminent and calling your name.

You climbed into the warm and rather large bed, lying right in the center and wrapping all of the blankets around you. You hadn't gone to bed this satisfied in weeks.

It seemed as though you had only dozed off for ten minutes before you heard those familiar boot stomps on the bedroom floor. You didn't think to open your eyes, partially hoping that you were still dreaming, but large hands slid under your body jolting you awake.

Before you could respond, you were lifted up as if you were a feather and pushed towards the right side of the bed. You landed softly and the covers were thrown onto you rather hastily.

The bed dipped as the weight of a witcher began to sit beside you. Watching as Geralt toed off his boots and threw his tunic onto the floor, you felt as though you were wide awake again.

"I thought they had their own chambers," You mumbled in annoyance and he grunted as a response. "Or I hoped that you would take the sofa, but I suppose this is fine."

"Go back to sleep," Geralt climbed under the comforter, staring daggers at the ceiling.

Your first guess as to why he was grumpy was that the women weren't willing to put up with a witcher, possibly leaving him high and dry. You knew just how difficult handling Geralt in any situation could be. You just stared at him, your eyes not wanting to close.

His eyes remained focused upward, and you took the opportunity to examine every one of his features. He was handsome, you weren't sure why any woman would deny him- especially for money.

At first glance, he was rather large and strange-looking, the attraction wasn't immediate. Then, as you traveled with him for the first week, you realized how stunning he was. After that, the attraction faded as you realized how impersonal he was.

You didn't like feeling alone whilst with someone else, and without Geralt's two emotions he displayed, you would have gone insane. Now, he was just a puzzle piece to your next destination.

"I can feel your eyes, princess," Geralt hummed, not breaking his staring contest with the white ceiling.

"Sorry, your hair is just a lot more gray than I originally thought," You poked fun at him, not expecting a response and not gaining one. "But, if it makes you uncomfortable, I too will stare at the wall above."

You turned your body and looked up, watching as nothing seemed to be happening. Like normal, you assumed Geralt was just lost in his thoughts. You stared for a good five minutes, hoping to become sleepy again.

"What are you thinking about?" You asked him, the deliriousness of your exhausted yet energized mind becoming apparent.

"None of your concern," He answered.

"Will you sleep soon?" You asked, looking toward him again.

"Will you?" He retorted, but you answered as if he were asking seriously.

"Probably not. Too many thoughts and too much alcohol inside of me," You answered honestly and he hummed at your answer. "It was a long, but very good day with a happy ending. I'm sorry you can't say the same."

You felt his unease as his eyebrows furrowed, his eyes shutting for a split second. "Happy ending?" Geralt inquired, which was something he never did.

"Yes, I had a good time tonight and now I can't sleep," You answered simply.

"I guess you just don't listen, do you?" He replied with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"What?" You asked, confusion laced in your voice.

"Go to bed, princess," Geralt said bluntly as he turned his body away from you, you swore you could see steam blowing out of his ears.

As you retraced your words, and even your thoughts, you recalled Geralt's clear instructions pertaining to the innkeeper. You quickly figured out that Geralt assumed you had slept with him.

You didn't want to make your ego skyrocket, but you sensed there was a bit of jealousy coming from Geralt. A jealously that spawned from you having a night full of pleasure and him not being able to. He was just jealous that you had ended up having a good night, even if he was mistaken.

"You're jealous of me!" You couldn't help it. You read him like a book for the first time ever and you were proud of yourself.

"Go to sleep," Geralt uttered and you smirked to yourself as you stared at the back of his head.

"I, a princess, but more importantly, a woman, made The White Wolf jealous," You didn't care that his jealousy was based off of something that didn't even happen, you were just excited to produce an emotion from him that wasn't annoyance.

"I'm not fucking jealous," He said in return but his tone said otherwise.

"Yes, you are," You retorted, staring back at the ceiling in accomplishment.

"No, I'm not!" He raised his voice, becoming more apparent in his discontent with you.

It was almost loud enough to scare you. However, you didn't begin to feel scared until Geralt suddenly sat up and turned toward you.

"This is all your fucking fault." Geralt stood up and grabbed his tunic off the floor, putting the cloth on before heading to the sofa.

"What's all my fault?" You asked, less excited than before and more anxious.

"You. Everything you've done tonight. I was so fucking worried about you whoring yourself I couldn't even-" Geralt stopped himself but you could assume that he was referring toward his lower region, making perfect sense as to how he ended back in the room for the night.

"I've not done anything, Geralt," You sat up, pressing your back against the wall as you crossed your arms.

"Did you really get off by letting him have you after drinking more than I asked you to?" Geralt sat on the sofa but continued to face you.

"No, I-" You began but were interrupted.

"Then why disobey my direct orders? Do you know how unsafe it is for you to put yourself in another man's care, let alone his embrace? You're a princess for fuck's sake!" Geralt seemed increasingly angry with you whilst you attempted to explain that nothing happened in the first place.

"I wanted him, but I-" You began again, but were interrupted once more.

"But you, what? How could you possibly justify putting yourself in that much danger?" Geralt stared daggers into your eyes, making you have to swallow that familiar lump in your throat.

"I got too tired, Geralt. I had two ales and then I went to bed. That's the truth." You replied, deciding to be as blunt as possible so as to not further upset your traveling mate. "It would just have been a bit of fun, nothing you're not inclined to."

"I am stronger than you, you couldn't defend yourself against a gnat," Geralt huffed.

"The innkeeper was harmless, do you really think he'd harm me after I came here with a witcher? Especially after he offered you his finest women?" You asked rhetorically and Geralt rolled his eyes.

"That's not the point, Y/N,"

"That's exactly the point, Geralt. You're concerned about my safety and justification over something that didn't even happen, and I'm giving you a reasonable answer." At this point, you knew you were tired.

You knew the argument was pointless. But you wanted to be right so badly.

"You should have just stayed with your whores and let me be."

"And you should have never engaged with those whores in the first place," He looked away from you, his jaw tense.

"Kind of hard when I had to share a bath with them. What does it matter to you anyway?" Your annoyance was growing quickly, the witcher yet to back down from his grumpy state.

"All they fucking did was talk about you. They talked about your breasts as they had their hands on my cock and talked about how much they wanted you to join us, and now I can't come back here because I-" Geralt stopped before his final explanation, each word uttered leaving you shocked.

You hadn't been admired by women like that before. Although Geralt was clearly upset with you, you couldn't help but let a smile creep onto your face.

"Because you what?" You asked, that similar cocky feeling slowly creeping back in. You felt an immense boost after hearing the way the women talked about you.

"Because they laughed at me!" Geralt admitted in a thundering voice, standing up and looming over you. Once again, the happy feelings fled as the scared ones took over. "Fuck." Geralt ran the back of his hand against his forehead, going to sit back down on the sofa.

"Embarrassed are you, Geralt? What could a witcher possibly be embarrassed of?" You asked, a little scared to do so but your curiosity got the best of you. You just had to know.

"Because I finished too quickly and couldn't get it up again at the thought of you with that fucking bartender. I looked a fool!" Geralt admitted in a huff, with something you had definitely not expected.

You'll admit it took a second to kick in as you stared right into Geralt's eyes. He wasn't jealous of you having sex with another man, he was jealous of the man having sex with you.

Not only that but having other women talking about you whilst pleasuring him pushed him over the edge so quickly that it caused embarrassment. You didn't know whether to feel uncomfortable at the thought or incredibly flattered. You had no idea that Geralt thought about you in that way.

You couldn't help the smirk from forming on your face. Your mind raced with all the thoughts of what could possibly come next, and you weren't sure if you were becoming rapidly attracted to him because he was wildly gorgeous, because he seemed to be into you, or because you were deliriously exhausted.

"A good night's rest will cure all of your frustrations," You hummed, deciding to bask in the attention rather than progress it.

"If you weren't here, there'd be no frustration at all," Geralt replied, rolling his eyes at your smug face.

"Luckily for you, another month and I'm off your hands for the rest of eternity," You reassured him.

"Do you understand how you've frustrated me or do you simply not care?" Geralt was still tense, you didn't know exactly how to ease the situation but you felt in no danger. In fact, a small rumble in your core began to flood your senses.

"You are not the first man to come to me with frustrations and you won't be the last," Giving him a small smirk, you slid down into the comforters once again and closed your eyes.

You knew you weren't going to bed, especially not after having a witcher confess his attraction toward you. You were simply teasing the man until he grew the balls to say something of substance.

"You're... you're just going to go to sleep? After all of this?" Geralt asked, you could hear him becoming more desperate by the tone of his voice.

"Yes. That's what you've asked me to do and I'm doing it. I'm obeying, you were displeased when I didn't do so earlier." You answered simply, trying to fight the small smile on your face.

"Y/N," The witcher growled lowly, trying to gain your attention.

"Geralt," You answered in a similar tone to which he grunted at.

"I need your help," Geralt admitted in a low voice, like he was ashamed to say it.

"And why should I help you? I'm already paying you in more gold than you could imagine," You replied.

"Because you and I are traveling together for the next month and we're both bound to need some sort of release," Geralt tried to rationalize.

"Almost a fair argument, but you're going to have to give me an even more legitimate reason," You could have given in much earlier, but you were relishing in the desperation.

"Because I have never fucking wanted anyone more badly than I want you. No one has ever entranced me as you have, not even people I've loved before." Geralt's words tempted you to open your eyes, and you were met with soft yellow ones. It was the softest gaze you've ever seen the witcher give.

You sat there for a second. Narrowing your eyes as you looked at the expression on Geralt's face. With the tiredness and alcohol consumption combined, you found the witcher attractive now more than ever.

"Fair enough, but don't tell me you love me or you'll ruin the mood," You said teasingly, watching as his brows furrowed in anticipation as you stood up.

You only had to untie your robe to be fully naked and as the soft cloth fell to the floor with a swift motion, you watched Geralt's eyes as he seemed to take all of you in. You made your way over to the sofa, taking your seat on Geralt's lap as he slowly began to lose his tenseness.

You didn't say a word at first, only examining Geralt's facial features as your fingers combed their way through his silver hair. He seemed to be content with the silence.

His lips inched closer to yours ever so slightly but before they could touch, you pulled back. You looked down at his tunic-covered chest, deciding to pull the edges over his head until it was on the ground.

You grabbed his wrists, placing his hands on the parts of your hips where you wanted them to be, slowly stroking his arms all the way up until his neck.

"We play by my rules, Witcher," You demanded, cradling his face between your hands.

You weren't sure how he'd act if you took control or if there'd be an issue between your dominances, but as you felt him throb underneath you, you knew he was so desperate for you that he didn't care how it happened.

After a few seconds of letting anticipations rise, you tilted your head to fit with his. Your lips collided at a fast pace, the both of you hungry for one another. His lips were softer than you had imagined, much plumper and luscious as well.

Geralt's hands began to roam up and down, your body covering itself in goosebumps as your nipples became erect. Geralt seemed to sense this immediately, his right hand traveling to play with your breasts one at a time.

You slowly rocked your hips against Geralt's covered crotch, moaning slightly into his mouth each time his member moved underneath you. Your head tilted backward as Geralt pressed your core firmly onto his and you couldn't help but let a louder moan escape, his mouth latching onto one of your nipples as he began to suck.

Your fingers ran through his silver hair, the heat in your core rising due to the friction of your body against his. Geralt's hands grabbed your ass, spreading your middle even deeper onto his own. You were surely wet enough to have left a damp spot on his pants, and the hum of his moans against your breasts was enough to make you tremble.

Tilting his head up with your index finger, you kissed him one last time and his lips chased yours as you climbed off his lap. You laid back, propped up by your elbows on the sofa, suggesting how you wanted Geralt to take you.

Geralt gave you a slightly devious smirk which confused you before he placed his forearm over your abdomen. You writhed a little before realizing it was no use and that you were somewhat trapped, the juices flowing out of you a little faster as tensions continued to build.

Geralt kept his arm over your stomach, looming over you as he began to kiss you feverishly. You desperately awaited for him to unbutton his slacks, but instead, his fingers began to easily slip up and down your completely drenched pussy.

Geralt's thumb somehow knew exactly where your weak spot was as he began to trace circles on it. His index finger found your welcoming hole and began to pump in and out of you at great speed.

Geralt smirked into your kiss as you tried to manage breathing, kissing him, and moaning in pleasure all at once. He knew exactly what effect he was having on you, yet didn't allow your lips to leave him for even a small breath.

"Luckily for you," Geralt eventually let up, adding a second finger before pumping furiously. "I prefer to give."

You couldn't even reply before his lips were back on yours and his thumb began moving faster over your bundle of nerves. You could feel that familiar bubble boiling in your stomach, your climax sure to make you burst.

"Geralt!" You whined into his mouth as your body began to try and retaliate against his touch. His strong arm kept you in place until you felt like you were going to erupt.

"Let it happen, Y/N," And as if it were on queue, the rubber band inside of you finally snapped.

You took a big breath followed by a long gasp mixed with a moan. Your body began to shake as Geralt's fingers continued to assault your body, you felt as though the forearm keeping you in place was going to bruise your abdomen.

"Geralt, please," You tried your best to keep up with his fast-paced lips against yours, pushing your hands against his chest as the continuation of your orgasm began to become too much for your body. Tears welled in your eyes as you tried to remember how to breathe.

"We're playing by your rules, remember? You like to receive and that's exactly what's happening." Geralt's fingers seemed to be entirely unfazed as he continued to hit the sweet spot inside of you. Only when you began to whine a bit did he finally relent. "What do you want, princess?" He asked with a smirk, seeming to be extremely content with your desperation.

"I want you inside of me," You answered, knowing damn well you were no longer in charge of what was happening.

You were still riding the high of your climax, but you knew undressing Geralt would give you the time you needed to recuperate. Propping yourself up, you began to help Geralt with his pants. Your nimble fingers quickly got the buttons undone before his large ones could even begin to struggle with the task.

Although you could see the large imprint behind the cloth, when Geralt's pants began to slide down his legs your eyes went wide. You shouldn't have been surprised that a man like Geralt was specially gifted, but it caused a slight nervousness to race through your mind.

"Think you can take it all, princess?" Geralt cockily glared down at your shocked state.

"Fuck around and find out," You replied to which he jumped at, pumping his cock in his hand a few times before guiding it toward your entrance.

You spread your legs wide enough to accommodate him and moaned in sync with Geralt as he slowly slid into you. Once you felt fuller than imaginable he slid a few inches deeper, pressing the weeping head of his cock against your cervix.

Nervousness and anticipation began to ensue, you had never had a man quite as large as the witcher, but as he began to work himself in and out of you- you felt nothing but pleasure.

"Fuck," One of Geralt's favorite words, began to flee his mouth at a constant pace. He started the pace slow enough for you to get used to his size, but he began to move faster as he moaned louder with immense pleasure.

You gasped as his large hands gripped under your knees and pushed your legs toward the sofa your back was resting on. With the new position, Geralt began to hit places inside of you that you didn't even know existed.

Sweat droplets began to form on Geralt's body, most noticeably on his forehead and chest. His eyes traveled back and forth from watching himself slide into you to your colored orbs. As your eyes met again, he examined you for a second before crashing his lips down onto yours.

"Geralt!" You couldn't help his name from escaping past your lips again.

The intimacy mixed with the body heat mixed with the way his cock began to build yet another climax was almost an overload.

"I've wanted to fuck you like this since the moment I saw you in that fucking castle," Geralt began to sound more primal and his hips began to snap faster, bottoming out with every single thrust.

You moaned your reply, any words would have come out incomprehensible anyway. Geralt's thumb found your sweet spot again as he continue to attack you with his cock and his lips like there was no tomorrow.

"I want you to cum on my cock," Geralt grunted between peppered kisses.

"No promises," You said shakily, clearly lying.

This only motivated him to work harder as his thumb began to move in a way that was sure to have you coming undone in less than a minute.

"Oh, fuck!" You whined, tears forming again, as you felt the rubber band snapping too quickly to begin to even try to hold off your orgasm.

"That's it, princess. Just like that," The praise flooded your ears, officially pushing you over the edge.

"Geralt!" You chanted over and over. Your hands found Geralt's rock-hard biceps, holding onto him to relieve some of the tension as your climax hit you like a tonne of bricks.

"Fuck, you're squeezing me so fucking hard." He exclaimed, every vein in his head a little more prominent. If you weren't aware of the context, you'd assume he was in pain.

Geralt's once relentless pace began to get sloppy, yet his thumb continued to work its magic. Your body began to shake and you were quickly becoming overstimulated, but you knew he was near completion.

"Cum inside of me, Geralt," You eased him on and his eyes tightened shut as he thrust a few more times.

With one particularly harsh and deep thrust, the both of you yelled out in pleasure as you felt his hot load spill inside of you. Geralt stilled, still deep in you, and continued to groan out curse words as his climax washed over him.

When he opened his eyes again, his gaze was as soft as before, and he reached down to give you a small, intense kiss. You could feel his small chuckle against your lips and the smile that spread across his face.

"Maybe I'll keep you around and forget about the ransom."

•••

If you'd like to read the noncon version next, here it is!

#fanfic #the witcher #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt #witcher

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thedemonofcat · 1 year ago

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Beware the wrath of a Nymph, especially if you harm their forest or their beloved. The Nymph's fury fuses with the forces of nature, and nothing can deter their vengeance.

Juilan, a unique being, is born of a human father and a full Nymph mother who fell in love. Raised in two worlds, he divided his days between Lettenhove, learning to be a Viscount, and the forest, where he connected with nature. It was a constant lesson for him to control his anger.

As time passed, Juilan became the Bard known as Jaskier and joined Geralt on his travels. During their adventures, Jaskier fell in love with Geralt, empathizing with his parents' feelings. Although he concealed his Nymph heritage, Geralt always sensed something extraordinary about his companion.

Their relationship takes a painful turn when Geralt, in a fit of rage, hurls hurtful words atop a mountain. Heartbroken, Jaskier retreats to Lettenhove, seeking solace in nature.

Upon his return, he discovers a devastating scene. Nilfgaard, in its quest for conquest, has ravaged Lettenhove. Nifflgaardian soldiers have taken his home and killed his parents.

In that moment, Jaskier's rage engulfs him, and he becomes one with the forest, using his powers to exact vengeance upon the Nifflgaard soldiers. But the price is high; he loses all memory of his human life.

Meanwhile, as Geralt and Ciri journey together, they hear rumors of Lettenhove. A town claimed by nature, guarded by a vengeful Nymph who slays any human who enters. Curiosity piqued, Geralt and Ciri investigate Lettenhove, hoping to quell the Nymph's rampage.

To his surprise, Geralt discovers that Jaskier is the Nymph but is heartbroken to realize that Jaskier no longer recognizes him, perceiving him as just another intruder in his forest. Unable to harm Jaskier, Geralt and Ciri withdraw from Lettenhove.

Now, Geralt and Ciri embark on a quest to find a way to calm the enraged Nymph and reunite with the Jaskier they once knew.

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andreai04 · 1 month ago

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"Evil is evil, Stregobor," said the witcher seriously as he got up. "Lesser, greater, middling, it's all the same. Proportions are negotiated, boundaries blurred. I'm not a pious hermit. I haven't done only good in my life. But if I'm to choose between one evil and another, then I prefer not to choose at all.“

"Kings," continued Calanthe, "divide people into two categories—those they order around, and those they buy—because they adhere to the old and banal truth that everyone can be bought. Everyone. It's only a question of price.”

"People" —Geralt turned his head—"like to invent monsters and monstrosities. Then they seem less monstrous themselves. When they get blind-drunk, cheat, steal, beat their wives, starve an old woman, when they kill a trapped fox with an axe or riddle the last existing unicorn with arrows, they like to think that the Bane entering cottages at daybreak is more monstrous than they are. They feel better then. They find it easier to live."

"I manage because I have to. Because I've no other way out. Because I've overcome the vanity and pride of being different. I've understood that they are a pitiful defense against being different. Because I've understood that the sun shines differently when something changes, but I'm not the axis of those changes. The sun shines differently, but it will continue to shine, and jumping at it with a hoe isn't going to do anything. We've got to accept facts, elf. That's what we've got to learn."

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starfirewildheart · 11 months ago

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Chapter 7

The Wolf and the Flame

Summary: Geralt had just found Ciri and was headed to Kaer Morhen when something drew him into the woods. He found a woman near death and things changed for them all. (I suck at summaries just read please!) Yennefer is bad in the start of this but she and Geralt work on their friendship. Eskel is a dick at first but there is a reason and it works out. Will have a happy ending. Ciri is younger here than in the netflix show. She is about 12.

Warnings: abuse history, injuries, hurt comfort, no one under 18 to be safe, will add when I need to

Words: 2,104

“Turn your back to the forest, hut, hut. Turn your front to me, hut, hut.”

“I’m sorry,” Yennefer said as they walked through the forest toward the hut.

“Don’t,” he growled. “There is no apology that can make up for what you did.”

“I lost my chaos, Geralt. I’m nothing without it. This was the only way I could get it back.” His silence was more painful than if he physically struck her. “What if someone took your ability to be a witcher away? Would you be this damn self-righteous then?” she snapped.

He stopped walking and spun on her. “Even without the mutations and trials, I would still protect the innocent! I would not damn others because I couldn’t be what I felt I was meant to be!” He tried to calm himself as he knew a blind rage could get them both killed but he was over her arrogance. “Just like your need to have a child when you were willing to sacrifice everyone in your path to get what you wanted! You said you had no choice in becoming what you are just like I had no choice but that’s not true Yennefer. You had a choice! You had a choice to leave Aratusa just like you had a choice to remain as you were before you paid the price for beauty. You had a choice to use your chaos for good but instead, you chose to use it for power. Do not speak to me about choices! Naurel and Jaskier are humans! They are innocents but none of that mattered to you. All you cared about was yourself, it’s all you will ever care about!” He stormed off deeper into the woods letting his medallion guide him leaving Yennefer to wallow in her self-pity.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It took nearly two full days to get to the temple and Yarpin was worried about his charges. Both of them had stopped talking and that was shocking for the bard. He was surprised to see Nenneke and a few others waiting outside the temple when they arrived. There was something about that woman that put him on edge. She seemed to know things that others didn’t and he couldn’t prove it but he thought she could read minds too. “Geralt sent us. He said you would help them.”

The priestess nodded and told her people to take Naurel and Jaskier to the healing wing before turning to Yarpin. “You and your people are welcome to stay but you will not bring weapons into the temple.”

“We’ll wait out here,” he told her, unwilling to disarm.

Nenneke and her people set to work on Naurel and Jaskier quickly stripping them both and cleaning them and treating their injuries. They were both still unconscious when Geralt arrived a day later.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The white-haired witcher shifted in the chair where he’d sat for the better part of two days after arriving at the temple. It had all been a waste of time. The deathless mother had already escaped her prison and was lost to him and Yennefer had fled. He hadn’t cared enough to search for her since she wasn’t a threat without her magic. Leaving her to wallow in her self-pity seemed all he was capable of since he was so worried about those he loved. Nenneke had tried to get him to rest, promising she would come to get him if there was any change in either patient but he steadfastly refused. She called him stubborn and treated his injuries before leaving him with his friends.

He’d held both their hands on and off, talked to them, fretted over them hell he’d even yelled a little hoping to get a reaction but nothing happened. Naurel’s wounds were healing well and Nenneke felt that the reason she’d not woken yet was due to exhaustion and starvation. Jaskier on the other hand was not fairing as well. A few of the burns had festered and infected and with it being winter Nenneke didn’t have access to the herbs she needed to help him. The wars that Nilfgaard had waged had wiped out her stores. She sent some of her people out to check apothecaries but it would be a while before they returned even if they were able to find what she needed.

“It’s not looking good Geralt,” the priestess told him, trying to prepare him for the worst.

“He’s stronger than you think. He will pull through, he has too,” Geralt said softly as he wrung out a cloth and placed it on Jaskier’s fevered brow.

Nenneke put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. “If you need anything, send for me.” She left when he nodded.

Naurel heard water dripping and it caused her thirst to rage as she struggled to break through the blackness of sleep. It felt like her eyelids were glued together and her mind was muddled and foggy as she fought to wake up. She wondered where she was because she didn’t feel like she was still tied to a chair. There was something soft below her. Memories of Geralt riding to their rescue flooded her mind. Her witcher had come for them! Geralt was there! Damn it she had to open her eyes, she berated herself. Finally, her eyelids fluttered open and she saw his broad back and white hair beside her. Breathing a deep sigh of relief that they were safe and he was with them she allowed herself to relax a fraction and focus. His body was tense and she knew something was off because he hadn’t realized she was awake yet. It took more effort than she wanted to admit but she was able to move her shaky hand until it rested upon his thigh. She couldn’t help but notice him jolt at the touch. “A witcher caught off guard?” her voice was raspy and she barely recognized it as her own.

He’d been so focused on Jaskier that he hadn’t noticed the increased heart rate of the shift in scent as Naurel fought to wake. Her touch shocked him and he jumped, turning to her. “Naurel,” he gasped as he moved to the edge of her bed. Carefully looking her over and brushing the hair from her eyes he placed a soft kiss on her lips. When her arms moved around his neck he wrapped her in a hug pressing her to his chest. They stayed that way for a long time just breathing each other in and drinking in the embrace.

When he finally laid her back she saw the tears that were falling from his golden eyes. Reaching up and cupping his face with her hand she wiped at them with her thumb. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner,” he told her.

“You had no idea where we were taken. It’s a miracle you found us at all.” He was beating himself up for it and she knew it. “This isn’t your fault.”

“I should have protected you,” he argued.

“You saved us Geralt,” she said again and caught his eyes looking to the left. She followed his gaze and saw Jaskier laying in the bed next to hers. “Jaskier?”

Geralt lowered his head. “He’s not doing well. Nenneke is trying but the infection is bad. If I had gotten there sooner,” he trailed off.

“Then he would still have the infection,” Nenneke said from behind him.

Naurel looked up and saw a small, friendly-looking woman approaching and noted that Geralt didn’t react to her so she relaxed as well. She took a breath to say something but started coughing and couldn’t stop. Geralt grabbed a goblet of water off the nightstand and held it to her lips as he lifted her head. She took several drinks, the cool water felt heavenly on her cracked, dry mouth and throat. “Thanks,” she smiled as she eased the cup away.

“How are you feelin dear?” Nenneke asked, offering her a smile.

“Like I lost a battle with a dragon,” she grinned. “But better now,” she put her hand on Geralt’s chest.

“You have been through a lot, young one,” the priestess nodded. “The anomaly in your blood seems to be what is keeping you from having an infection like Jaskier.”

“Anomaly?”

Nenneke nodded. “There are several things we need to discuss but you must heal first. You are all safe here. Rest and recover.”

“You can heal Jaskier right?” she looked over at her friend. “He kept me alive through all of this.”

“It’s winter and the herbs I need are out of season. I’ve seen people looking for them,” Nenneke explained. “If they can be found they will be.”

Naurel chewed at her bottom lip worrying a split there causing it to bleed again. She hadn’t realized until she felt Geralt’s thumb gently free the abused flesh from her teeth with a soft hum of admonishment. “Do you have a bed for the herbs where dead husks are?”

“Of course but the dead plant has no healing properties,” Nennenke explained.

“Take me there,” Naurel pushed herself to a sitting position.

“No,” Geralt’s booming voice was jarring. “You are not strong enough to be up. It will do no good to make yourself worse just to see a plot.”

“I know it makes no sense but please. You can carry me if you want but I need to get to that garden.” She was terrified of what she was about to do but she refused to let Jaskier die because she was afraid of repercussions. She could help and she would.

“Naurel, stop,” Geralt pushed her back against the pillow with no effort at all she was so weak. “Nenneke is doing all she can.”

“But I can help!” she insisted. “I’m going, Geralt! You can help me or I can go on my own.”

He shook his head as she tried with all she had to remove his hand from her chest and stand up. “You are going to hurt yourself. Naurel! Meletele you are stubborn,” he sighed in defeat. Standing he scooped her up in his arms and followed Nenneke out to the gardens to the small plot where the herbs she needed were normally.

“Put me down please,” Naurel urged. She wasn’t surprised when he knelt with her instead of just laying her down. She looked around for anything she could use to cut herself, her eyes finally settling on a pair of sheers that had been left near the edge of the garden. “I need those,” she pointed and told Nenneke. The priestess handed them to her curious as to why she was doing this. She and Geralt shared a worried look as the redhead took the sheers.

“Naurel!” Geralt growled when she cut the flesh of her palm with the sheers. “What are you doing!”

She moved her hand over the dead husks before Geralt could grab it and let the blood drip over them as she said a prayer. She felt the energy leave her body and prayed it was enough as she lost consciousness again.

Nenneke gasped and Geralt jumped to his feet holding Naurel to his chest. “How?” he whispered.

“I.. it can’t be,” Nenneke shook her head.

“What?” the witcher asked again.

“There are legends but I didn’t think they were real. It was so long ago,” she said as she quickly picked the now live and healthy herbs.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he demanded!

“I will explain, I promise but right now I have to get these herbs to Jaskier. Bring her back to bed so she can rest.”

Geralt growled, unhappy that he still didn’t understand but he did as she said. He felt Naurel stir as they walked through the halls. “I’ve got you,” he soothed as her small arms wound around his neck and she buried against his chest.

Wolf and flame tag list

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@shellyshellshell

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#geralt x reader #witcher geralt #geralt z rivii #geralt of rivia #witcher fanfiction #the witcher #the witcher netflix

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thedreamlessnights · 2 years ago

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Accismus - pt. 4

{previous chapter} || {next chapter}

Geralt of Rivia x gn!reader (Eventual NSFW)

Synopsis: Arriving in Novigrad proves to be another adventure as you meet Geralt's friends and family and investigate leads on another djinn.

Warnings: Mentions of previous burnings at the stake, blood and corpses, lots of pining, sexual innuendos and references, graphic descriptions of injuries.

Word Count: 9.3k

A/N: It's finally here, and only took... several months 😬 Seriously, though, I'm so sorry for the wait. I've been dealing with so many things it would take an essay to list them out. I hope the content makes up for it! Thank you all so much for your patience and comments, they've kept me so incredibly inspired, and I can't wait for you all to see the rest of the story. Without further ado, enjoy chapter four!

A glimmering light against the darkness you’ve known of late, the Free City of Novigrad has undoubtedly come back to life.

The sight of it takes you aback; the flourishing businesses, open gates, large crowds chattering about this and that. Even with Temeria reinstated, Velen still suffers greatly from the price of the war, still carries the burden of it all. You’d expected it to be the same here. Why should it be any different?

But with Radovid gone, there are no pyres. No burning books or flocks of witch hunters stalking the streets, nothing but minor conflicts as you and Geralt pass by: a business spat, drunk soldiers wandering the street, a brief argument between lovers. Had you not been explicitly told of it, you’d never have known that mages and nonhumans once burned here.

Something about that puts you at unease; a complete return to normalcy. It’s as if it never happened, as if that level of suffering and hatred could simply be washed away. But you know better.

People might pretend that all is normal once more, but beneath the blood and bodies that have been clumsily disposed of, those roots still grow. And if they’re ignored, they’ll take hold once more. Maybe not today, maybe not even ten years from now, but they will.

It’s a knowledge that fills you with an unshakeable sense of dread.

As the two of you roam the city with Roach and Mead on foot, merchants sing out their various spiels and various taverns rumble with conversation.

You don’t know this place, but lingering in the back of your mind is the strange sensation that you’ve been here before. And perhaps, in a way, you do know it - through Oxenfurt.

They smell the same: mud, the reek of piss, the stink of the sea. The stench of beer that hangs on the patrol’s breath. But, just like Oxenfurt, if you walk through the right spot you get the honeyed scent of flowers growing on the vine, the heavenly aroma of baking bread, fragrant meat roasting on the fire.

The sweetness of fresh air that seems to slip through your fingers.

You really do miss it - Oxenfurt, that is. The memories are muddled and tarnished with pain, but somewhere between them, you still ache.

The lectures, poring over the pages in fascination. Hours spent taking in how every internal system works together, creating movement and balance and life. So complex. So involuntary.

Most of all, though, even more than the lectures, you miss the hope you’d had then: hope that things would all fall into place one day. That it would all turn out right in the end.

You don’t think that way anymore. That optimism has been washed away now, so strange and foreign you barely recognize it. All you can seem to think now is how everything is bound to go wrong. Even now, you’re anxiously mulling over upcoming situations.

With every step closer to The Chameleon, that unease continues to grow. Whoever is in there - will they hate you? Will they see what you’ve been expecting Geralt to see all this time, what he’s refused to accept despite your insistence?

You close your eyes for a brief moment and shake your head. It won’t help. But every second here feels like a lifetime. Five minutes and you already want to leave this place.

When Geralt finally stalls in front of a building, your heart skips a beat. This must be The Chameleon, then. Even just standing outside, it’s obvious that this place is nicer than The Swift Oak.

It’s well maintained, newly painted, and - by the number of people filtering in and out - it must also be popular. Whether that’s from Dandelion’s reputation or earned through fair business, you don’t know. It could be either way.

You feel sick to your stomach.

When you and Geralt are done hitching your horses to the posts in front of the tavern, he turns to you and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Gotta warn you…” he says, expression apologetic. “Dandelion can be-”

“Geralt!” booms a nearby voice, cutting off his words. “That really you, ye bugger?”

The two of you turn to see a dwarf with a neatly trimmed beard and mohawk standing at the tavern’s entrance. There’s a grin on his face, an axe slung across his back, and - with a start, you realize you know exactly who he is: even though you’ve only seen him in Gwent cards.

“Greetings, Zoltan,” Geralt replies, rubbing the back of his neck. “Is Dandelion here?”

“Right inside, the rascal,” Zoltan replies, crossing his arms over his chest and grinning. “He’ll be delighted to see you.” He pauses, giving you a brief look over. “And… who’s this?”

You quickly introduce yourself, and Zoltan chuckles.

“Ah, Geralt. Always getting around.”

Your cheeks immediately burn, and you pointedly turn your gaze away from him.

Geralt, suddenly looking incredibly awkward, simply glances at you and nods to the door. “We should head in before it gets dark,” he says.

He isn’t going to correct Zoltan?

“Ah - before ye go,” Zoltan says quickly, “ought to tell ye that your sorceress was here.”

Your entire body goes stiff, and Geralt straightens a little. He’s never talked very much about Yennefer, and - well, your curiosity has been piqued.

“Yen was here?” Geralt asks.

“Aye, a few days back,” Zoltan confirms, shifting uneasily. “Askin’ about your whereabouts, whether or not we’d seen you of late. Told her, ‘no, havenae seen our pal Geralt in ages,’ and she argued a right amount with Dandelion. Set off in a storm, told us she’d be back later.”

Oh, Gods.

“They argued, huh?” Geralt asks dryly, not looking surprised in the least. “What about?”

“Don’t rightly know,” Zoltan replies, scratching at his beard. “Wasnae truly interested, and, well… you know what she’s like, Geralt. Somethin’ about magic, some sort o’ danger, can’t tell you all the details... Dandelion pried, she cursed him, left in a storm. Said she’d be back later.”

“She say how soon?” Geralt asks.

“Nah. Course not.”

“Great,” Geralt says dully. “Knowing Yen, that could mean either a few days or a few months. Thanks, Zoltan. Better get inside.”

“Aye, good to see you again, old pal,” Zoltan grins, shaking Geralt’s hand. “And it’s nice to meet you,” he adds, giving you a nod. “I expect I’ll see you two around.”

He heads off into the crowd, and Geralt makes for the door.

The minute the two of you step inside, you’re overwhelmed. The tavern is warm and lively, flowing with music and mead and chatter. The aroma of cooking food wafts through the door, and your stomach growls hungrily.

Geralt gives you an amused look, raising a brow. The two of you had eaten not long back, but it seems it hadn’t been enough to tide you over. Before you can respond, the sound of another voice cuts through the noise.

“Geralt! I knew you’d come!”

A man with brown hair, a neatly-trimmed beard, and bright blue eyes has woven through the crowd, beaming as he looks at Geralt. His clothing is finely-made, purple fabric with detailed embroidery that glistens under the light, and a hat with a egret feather on top. The finery makes you feel incredibly out of place in your wrinkled, dirty clothes.

“Dandelion!” Geralt fondly squeezes the bard’s shoulder. “Good to see you.”

This is Dandelion? This well-dressed, bright-eyed, charming man? You’d pictured him older, nothing but tawdry. A senile old man well past his peak with a predatory glint in his eyes and a beer-filled gut. You’d been very wrong - after all, how could a man like that ever be friends with Geralt?

“How are you, old friend?” Dandelion asks with a warm smile. “It’s been ages, truly! You must be hungry - ah, Rosa! A bowl of soup for the witcher, if you please!”

“Make it two,” Geralt corrects, and Rosa, a young woman with thick black hair and rosy cheeks, gives a nod. Then Geralt turns back to Dandelion. “How’d you know I would come?”

“Oh, you know Yennefer,” Dandelion replies, dismissively batting the question away with his hand. “Shows up one day asking where you are, then comes back a week or so later with you in tow.”

He stops, seeming to finally see you, and a brief quizzicality crosses his face. “Hold on. You aren’t here with Yennefer, are you?”

As he’s speaking, Rosa returns, handing you and Geralt each a bowl of soup. You start scarfing it down like it’s the best thing you’ve ever eaten, and - it honestly might be.

“Nope,” Geralt responds, starting on his soup too. “Was hoping you knew where she’s gone off to.”

“I haven’t a clue,” Dandelion says. “She burst into the inn, asking where you were, and when we told her we hadn’t seen you in ages, she went pale. Kept muttering something about a curse, but wouldn’t tell me anything else. When I asked her what she needed you for, she called me a pest, Geralt, a pest! Can you believe that? Then she stormed off, claiming she’d be back later.”

Geralt’s brows pinch, and he shifts, setting down his now-empty bowl. “Can’t be good if she’s worried.”

“Like I said, she wouldn’t tell me a thing about it,” Dandelion says, rather petulantly. Then he looks over at you. “Oh, where are my manners! Who’s this?”

Once again you introduce yourself, and Dandelion heartily shakes your hand. “A pleasure to meet you,” he says. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“Long story,” Geralt says exhaustedly.

“A long story?” Dandelion’s brows rise, and a sly smile paints his lips. “What sort? Action-riddled? Romantic? Oh, I know - a long, twisting contract that led the two of you together!”

Your cheeks go hot, and you set your spoon down next to your empty bowl. This must have been what Geralt was trying to warn you about earlier.

“Dandelion,” Geralt chides. “Anything else I should know?”

“Alright, alright,” Dandelion acquiesces. “And no, that’s all - if you don’t count The Chameleon’s booming business, and Oxenfurt University’s recent reopening.”

“Oxenfurt’s open again?”

The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. Geralt and Dandelion both look at you with varying levels of curiosity.

“It is, yes!” Dandelion says proudly, puffing out his chest a little. “Students and lecturers have been flooding back into the city. They’ve even asked me to give a guest lecture! Why do you ask? Are you interested in attending the classes?”

You don’t know what to say. “I…”

“Ex-student,” Geralt fills in for you, and you give him a tight smile.

“Really?” Dandelion asks. “Well, in that case, you’d better register quickly. The classes are filling up faster than lecturers could ever hope to teach.”

“Thank you, but I’m not interested in returning,” you inform him.

“Is that so?” he asks. You can tell you’ve piqued his interest, and you wince with regret as he continues on. “Oxenfurt is where I got my master’s degree in the seven liberal arts, did you know that?”

You didn’t know he had a master’s in the seven liberal arts. “Well, I-”

“Oh, what am I saying?” He props his hands on his hips. “I haven’t even introduced myself! I’m Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove - though most know me as Dandelion. You may have heard my ballads?” He gazes at you expectantly.

“I have,” you confirm, pointedly avoiding Geralt’s gaze.

“Splendid! Tell me, which is your favorite?”

“Dandelion,” Geralt cuts in, “stop the bragging.”

“But-”

“We’ve had a long day. Need a room.”

Dandelion hesitates, and his smile falters. “Oh, alright,” he relents. “Don’t worry, I’ll get the gritty details from you later,” he adds quietly. “Two rooms, coming right up!”

You let out a small noise. Geralt clears his throat.

Dandelion pauses, looking between the two of you with widening eyes. “Oh, I see,” he says, grinning coyly. “One room.”

“Dandelion,” Geralt says warningly.

“Alright, alright,” Dandelion sighs, pulling a ring of keys from his pocket. “Here. Take the first room upstairs on the left, it’s open. And, Geralt? Try not to make too much noise. We’ve been trying to get the walls soundproofed, but it’s costing a small fortune, and guests are still complaining from the last time you and Yennefer were here.”

Your face feels like it’s caught on fire. You bite your lip until it stings and pretend you’re admiring the decorations on the walls.

“Uh-huh,” Geralt says, tone flat. “Be sure to do just that.”

He places a warm hand on the small of your back to guide you away from the conversation, and you shiver a little under his touch.

“Much appreciated,” Dandelion says with a wink. “Do enjoy yourselves, though - oh, and let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you!”

Geralt moves his hand from your back and heads toward the stairs, and you give a polite nod to the troubadour. “It was nice to meet you, Dandelion,” you tell him.

“Likewise!” he says brightly. Then he lowers his voice. “And tomorrow, I’ll get all those details from you, alright?”

“Heard that,” Geralt calls.

Dandelion pulls a face. “You won’t let me have anything,” he whines.

You let out a soft laugh and follow after Geralt, legs getting heavier and heavier as the two of you head up the stairs. When he unlocks the room, your heart sinks in disappointment. One bed again. You’d been hoping to sleep on a mattress tonight.

Geralt sets his things down on the bed and sighs, taking a seat.

“Listen… sorry about all of that,” he says, pinching his nose. “Once Dandelion finds out why we’re here, we’ll get stuck answering questions. For hours, most like. Figured it was better to wait.”

“It’s fine.” You set your things on the floor and start unpacking, and Geralt watches you as you pull out the bedroll you’d purchased earlier. His brows immediately pinch.

“Plenty of room on the bed,” he says.

“I know,” you reply softly. “Just…”

You hesitate for a moment. Explaining this means you’re going to have to confess that you’d spied on him when he was asleep, and you don’t want him to paint you as some sort of creep.

Geralt patiently waits for you to continue, and you let out a frustrated puff of breath.

“I know you slept on the floor last time,” you say quickly, “and I know this whole thing must be extremely uncomfortable for you, especially sleeping in the same bed as me. You’re with Yennefer, and it’s only fair that this time I’m-”

“Hey. Hang on,” Geralt cuts in, sending your rambling to a crashing halt. There’s a pause before he shakes his head, then pats the bed next to him. “Come up here.”

You stare at him for confirmation, and he raises his brows expectantly. Turning your eyes toward the floor, you get up and take a seat.

“Slept on the floor last time because the mattress was too soft,” Geralt says gently. “This one’s a lot harder. That one? Felt like I was sinking into a cloud. Been on the path so long, couldn’t sleep. Didn’t have anything to do with you. As for Yen…” He trails off, shaking his head again. “We... Shit. Don’t know how to say this. Didn’t leave off on the best of terms.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh.”

“Listen, don’t worry about any of that,” Geralt says quickly. “Won’t have you sleeping on the floor.”

He has a sternness in his tone like he’s expecting you to argue, but you don’t have any desire to.

“If you insist, master witcher,” you reply.

“Mhm. I insist,” he responds, and you move your things off the floor. He seems to relax as you sit next to him. Then he grabs his things and starts getting ready for bed.

Right, sleep. The thing you’ve been avoiding since last night. In the partial silence that’s disturbed only by Geralt’s breathing, you’re keenly aware of the door at your back, and your heart starts racing like a drum. As you try to get settled in, your hands start shaking.

Geralt immediately turns toward you, fixing you with that piercing look he commonly wears. “You okay?” he asks. “Pulse just shot up.”

Your mouth is dry when you speak, and your words come out as a hoarse stammer. “Could we… switch sides?” You look pointedly at the bed, and his gaze softens with understanding.

“Sure. Happen to like that side better anyway.”

Despite your fear, his words still pull a weak smile from you. Then you quickly trade sides with him, heart slowing as you settle in and tug off your boots.

This room has a privacy sheet, which makes things so much easier with your situation. You change into your nightclothes behind it, clean your teeth, then tuck yourself under the sheets, too tired to do anything else.

As you lay down, you realize Geralt is lost in thought, watching you. Still sitting up, hands propped loosely over his thighs. You give him a questioning look, and he stirs and blinks hard, rubbing the back of his neck.

“The … man you killed,” he murmurs - very hesitantly. “Did-”

“Geralt, I can’t,” you whisper, shaking your head. “I can’t talk about it.”

He nods. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have pried.”

You don’t know what to say to that. You aren’t angry that he did - you’re angry you can’t seem to tell him.

“You don’t have to be,” you reply after a moment. “I’m not upset.” Then, when he’s silent, you add, “Goodnight, Geralt.”

“Goodnight,” he says.

You turn over and close your eyes.

Oxenfurt is so very warm in the summer.

Granted, Velen hadn’t been much better, but it was wet heat, and you’d been used to it - swampy and muggy, boiling you alive. Redania, even along the coast of the sea, is dry.

Too dry. The hot air sears your lungs as you run, legs aching and feet burning like mad. Your shoes have been falling apart for months now, but you haven’t had the coin to replace them. In the midst of everything, your foot hits a stone, and you trip.

The books you’d been carrying go flying. Your hands throw themselves out to brace your fall, scraping raw against the stone, but they’re still too late.

The impact knocks the wind straight out of you.

Your right knee jams into the ground in a blinding flash of pain, and you gasp airlessly, wondering if you’re going to die here until, finally, you can breathe again.

Not without pain.

Gingerly, you push yourself up into an upright position and look around, trying to compose your rattled mind. Your body aches like the Abyss.

Shit.

The notes in your books are scattered everywhere, and you’re already late to class. Your hands are stinging and bleeding, and your knee shoots with pain every time you move it.

But you can’t miss this lecture.

Shakily, you get to your feet, limping around to gather your notes, wincing with pain every time you move. Damned campus. Damned shoes, now broken worse than ever.

As you gather everything into your arms again, a lark flies overhead singing a sweet, cheerful song. You stare at her wistfully for a moment, wishing you shared her freedom, then painfully limp along.

The university always smells of dust and old books, and your footsteps echo in the hall. Somewhere in the distance, there’s the smell of smoke. When you finally make it to class, everyone’s eyes turn to you.

“Late once again,” Professor von Gratz remarks. “Do not make it a habit.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, ducking your head and hobbling to your seat. If he notices your injuries, he says nothing.

You don’t bother telling him that work held you back, or that someone’s cart toppled over and forced you to take a longer path on your route, or that you tripped. You don’t bother, because you’ve learned they simply don’t care.

Instead, with hands shaking in pain, you sit and organize your books. Just as you’re opening up your notes, the lark from earlier flies in from the open window and lands directly on your desk.

Her song, which had been so sweet not long ago, is shrill and piercing, deafening this close to you - and no doubt interrupting the lecture. You cast your eyes to the front of the room, worried that you’ll be scolded again, but you find that the professor isn’t there.

No one is. The room around you is empty.

Your gaze must sweep the room twenty times before you can finally accept it, because that’s impossible, this isn’t possible. But your eyes don’t lie. The room is empty.

Perhaps you’d somehow injured your head in the fall? Perhaps you’re in the wrong classroom? Surely they couldn’t have all left without you noticing. Could they?

Whatever the answer is, you’ve got to get out of this place.

Gods, your hands are burning. Not stinging like earlier, not even throbbing, but burning. They’d been scraped in the fall but, this… this is not right.

Blisters are swelling on your palms and fingers, blisters oozing with blood that grow and grow and burn like nothing you’ve ever felt and finally burst, splattering blood on your face.

Your eyes snap closed and hot bile rushes to your mouth. Gods. You firmly swallow it down, taking a moment to compose yourself. You’ve had worse than this.

With a shaky inhale, you open your eyes again. Breathe. Just breathe.

Still, the bleeding won’t stop. Blood is everywhere - all over your clothes, your skin. When you reach for your things, it gets all over them too. Your books, notes, the desk. All covered in blood. The brooch your parents sent you, a gift for your hard work, is soon doused in it.

Oh, gods, you have to get out of here. Get someone to help you. Where is everyone?

As you helplessly try to gather everything, the lark flies over and firmly pecks at your hand. You hiss in pain but refuse to let go of your books. She pecks again.

“But I need these!” you say.

Giving a chirp, she hops closer and pecks at your hand, over and over this time until it draws more blood. You’re forced to leave everything but the brooch, which you store safely in your pocket.

Then you follow her out the door.

On the other side, the air is biting. Wind howls in your ears, swirls in your hair, numbs your cheeks. Rain beats down against your scalp and shoulders, and you can’t stop shivering.

Your knee doesn’t hurt anymore. Neither do your hands. The lark perches on your shoulder. The bleeding has stopped. You can’t make sense of any of this.

In front of you lies the mouth of a cave. A deep, dark opening that seems to swallow you even now, where you stand. Your knees seem ready to give out at any moment.

In a flutter of feathers, the lark takes flight again, resuming her song as she circles around the cave’s entrance.

She wants you to follow, you realize.

But there’s something here, something in the ground that threatens to sink you, something in your gut so dark you can’t stomach it. Evil. Evil that bleeds into your bones, makes your hair stand up, fills your mouth with the taste of metal.

“I won’t go in there,” you say. Your voice is shaky, but your resolve is firm. “I won’t.”

The lark lets out a dejected chirp and swoops inside. You realize something, then. You realize that if you don’t follow her in, you’ll be all alone. And even at the mouth of this horrific place, you can’t stand to be alone.

So you follow.

As soon as you step inside, you find a torch in your hand. The warm, glowing light offers solace, and so does the lark’s song - echoing all around. Still, the evil remains underneath, coating the walls, coating the mud on your feet. The lark is so much faster than you are.

“Wait, slow down,” you plead, trying to keep up. Gnarled roots and broken stones threaten to trip you, and you find yourself stumbling more than walking. The lark’s song is still present, but you’re falling more and more behind.

Then, all at once, the singing stops. It’s just… gone. No echoes. No more feathers fluttering with the beat of her wings. Nothing. You stand there, holding your breath, waiting, praying that you’ll hear her again. But after a terrible moment of silence, your torch goes out.

You’re left in complete darkness.

Ice floods your veins. Pure, chilling terror that sinks into your chest, your stomach, your legs. Your heart thunders against your ribs, and your breathing is deafening in your ears. The hair on the back of your neck and arms stands up.

Trying your best not to panic - panicking won’t help - you turn around, blindly stretch your hands out in front of you, and start moving. Slow, careful steps. No light to guide you, no sound aside from your heart and your breath. Shaking with fear.

Then something warm closes around your arm.

Your body reacts in pure, unadulterated instinct, jolting and shoving, trying to get away from the pinned grip that’s now pressing on you, out, out, out.

For a moment, you’re lashing out in fear, and then… then you finally see a warm pair of honey-gold eyes above you and white hair and-

“Easy,” comes Geralt’s gravelly, sleep-touched voice. “Easy. It’s me.”

You freeze for a moment before letting out a sigh of relief, going limp. It’s him, you’re safe, just another dream. You’ve never had that dream before.

Trembling, you bury your face in your hands. “Geralt,” you say shakily.

He hesitantly touches you again, soothingly running his hand over your arm, and you have to fight back a sob at the gentle act of comfort.

“I - I’m so sorry,” you whisper.

“Don’t be,” he says. “Pretty fierce claws you’ve got there, though.”

Despite the humor lacing his tone, horror washes over you. Did you scratch him? You pull your hands from your eyes and look him over, searching for evidence of an injury, and it presents in a scratch against his right arm. There’s a clear imprint of long pink lines dug into the skin, even drawing blood in places.

“It’ll be gone in five minutes,” Geralt says calmly. “My fault. You were having a nightmare - tried to wake you up without thinking. Should’ve gone about it differently.”

“I hurt you.”

The words are raw and pained. After everything you’ve already put him through, you’d not only woken him up but also scratched him. Drew blood.

“Doesn’t hurt at all, actually,” he says. “Remind me to tell you later about how Dandelion and I once had to share a bed. Snored like a log, kicked the shit out of me all night long. Pretty sure I broke a rib.”

The words are clearly meant for comfort, but they don’t make you feel any better. You gently run your fingers over the wound and Geralt doesn’t even wince. It doesn’t change the fact that you still feel awful.

“I should bandage it up.”

He shrugs. “Like I said, it’ll be gone in five minutes. Maybe even less. Witchers heal fast.”

“I know, but I-”

You stop mid-sentence, freezing in place.

As you’re only realizing now, Geralt is shirtless. Shirtless and scarred everywhere. Your eyes trail over his torso, taking all of it in - the raised pink lines, rosy strokes against his porcelain skin. You’ve never seen this many scars in your life.

Most are long claw marks, scattered along his torso. There’s a deep imprint of a bite mark where his shoulder meets his neck. His chest has a star-shaped wound on the right side, and there are three diagonal, round imprints stretching across his ribs.

He’s lean, too, lean and broad and just as muscular as you’d imagined, if not more, and - oh, gods, you’re staring again.

“You - you’re shirtless,” you say dumbly. You wince at your own words. Why? Why had you just said that? Why does this man make every ounce of intelligence bleed out of you?

Geralt looks faintly smug at your shock; a cat-like smile paints itself on his lips, but only for a moment.

“Yeah,” he finally replies, eyes fixed on you. “Shirtless. You asking me to put a shirt on?”

“A shirt?” you say faintly. “No - I mean… I…”

He smiles again. It’s quickly replaced by something with more intensity, something still laced with humor and curiosity, but.. different. There’s something suggestive, something warm about his gaze that makes you feel like the floor’s going to fall out from under you.

You shoot him a glare. “Be quiet and sit still,” you snap. “I need to bandage your arm.” Your cheeks scald from within, and you fiercely ignore his eyes on you.

Geralt lets out an amused hum from deep in his chest but doesn’t protest further.

You grab some bandages from your pack and return to him, then carefully dab on the celandine salve he’d insisted you take with you this morning. You still despise doing any healing, but this is small enough that it doesn’t do more than lightly tug at your heartstrings.

“There,” you proclaim when it’s done. “I’m sorry. Again.”

He takes two fingers and places them under your chin, tilting it up so you’re looking him in the eyes. Or at least, you would be - were you not stubbornly keeping your gaze down toward the bed.

“Told you, you’ve got to stop saying that,” he says, voice low. His tone is soothing but it only makes you restless, drives you insane.

You finally look at him and narrow your eyes, heart pounding like mad, and you know he can hear it. “You’re too patient with me.”

His lips quirk into a small smile. “Think so?”

“Yes.”

“You’re wrong. Too harsh on yourself.”

He’s so close to you now that you can feel the warmth radiating off of him, the warmth that his hands share: rough, callused hands that so gently cradle your chin. He still smells of grass and oud and the sweet earthiness of the outdoors, and his lips look so very soft and inviting and… gods, you’ve wanted him since you first saw him. You can’t pretend anything else anymore.

Geralt must notice the way you’re looking at him, because something in his gaze shifts - sharpens. His eyes go even warmer than before, and his lips part, and are… are you imagining that he’s leaning toward you? On pure instinct, you tilt your chin up a little further and -

Suddenly wide-eyed, Geralt tenses and looks at the door, clearly hearing something you can’t. Not a moment later, there’s a loud crash from downstairs.

“Shit,” Geralt remarks under his breath and, to your dismay, he quickly drops his hand from your chin. Then he gets up to pull on a shirt - which is also much to your dismay.

“If that’s who I think it is…” he says, not bothering to finish the phrase.

Yennefer, you think glumly. Without another word, you follow him down the stairs. Clearly, there’s some kind of argument happening; voices are flowing up from the first floor.

“Look, I’m sorry about the fuckin’ glass, alright?” comes a voice that is most certainly not Yennefer. “I’ll pay for it, blah blah blah. Whatever you want.”

“Lambert?” Geralt calls, moving partway down the stairs. “Huh. Can’t go anywhere without getting into an argument.”

His words are teasing, and the fondness in them doesn’t pass you by. Another friend? But Lambert turns, and you’re immediately stricken - because he’s clearly another witcher.

Two swords, thick armor, and, as your wish forces you to follow Geralt further down the stairs, you see the tell-tale glowing yellow of the stranger’s eyes. Just like Geralt’s, only not as warm.

Something in this Lambert’s gaze makes you wary, and you find yourself shadowing Geralt, hiding yourself behind his frame as much as you can. Luckily, you seem to escape unnoticed, because Lambert just crosses his arms over his chest and grins at the sight of Geralt.

“Look who it is,” he drawls. “Wondered if I’d see you here, pretty boy.”

“What brings you here?” Geralt asks, lightly clapping him on the shoulder. “Keira with you?”

“No,” Lambert answers tightly. Something pulls at his face before it vanishes, melting into a scowl as he looks around. “Eskel is, though,” he adds. “He’ll be here soon.”

Geralt’s brows raise. “Eskel’s here, too?”

“Ran into each other on a contract,” Lambert says. “Sort of like me and you with that ekimmara, only this time it was a noonwraith and - well, long story. He’s hitching up his horse. I needed a fuckin’ drink.”

“Geralt, he just broke my best glass!” Dandelion fusses, in the midst of sweeping up the mess a few feet away. You hadn’t noticed him there with Geralt in front of your view.

“And I told you I’d pay for it,” Lambert replies. “Fuck’s sake.”

Dandelion’s eyes narrow. “How many times must I repeat that it was priceless? If you hadn’t waltzed in and served yourself at an ungodly hour, this all could have been avoided. That glass was my prize from last year’s poetry tourney - I can’t simply go and replace it!”

“Boo fuckin’ hoo,” Lambert mutters under his breath.

Dandelion’s eyes narrow and he opens his mouth, but anything he’s about to say is swiftly interrupted.

“Geralt, is that you?” chimes another voice. This one is lighter, and with an accent you don’t quite recognize. “Welcome back!”

The source of the sound is a blonde trobairitz with sparkling blue eyes. She gives Geralt a warm smile and pulls him into a brief hug.

How many friends does Geralt have? How many of them are here?

You don’t like to be envious, but seeing him surrounded by people who clearly know and care for him - and knowing that there must be many, many more out there - it makes your chest ache with a fierce longing. You’ve never had this many friends, not in your whole life.

“Priscilla!” Dandelion exclaims, immediately abandoning his sweeping and leaping to his feet. He gently grips her shoulder, and his gaze clings to her every feature as he beams at her. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you! But… what happened? You weren’t due to be back for another week!”

“The competition was canceled, love,” Priscilla says, giving a small frown. “No one would tell me why, but - if the rumors are to be believed - someone gambled away the prize money. All of us were sent away before it started.”

Outrage crosses Dandelion’s features. “They had you go all that way only to send you back? And over some gambling fiasco, at that? That’s… that’s entirely unacceptable!”

“And I’m sure you’ll be writing a very strongly-worded letter of protest,” Priscilla replies brightly. You find yourself immediately endeared to her.

“Of course I will, my dear!” Dandelion says, hopping over the seemingly forgotten pile of glass on the floor. “This world has no respect for artists, I tell you!”

He scurries away, presumably to grab some paper. Priscilla just shakes her head with a fond smile and takes a seat at the bar.

“So,” she says calmly, framing her hands on the sides of her chair. “Tell me, what have I missed?”

Geralt, in his usual laconic manner, begins to brief Priscilla on what he knows about Dandelion and Yennefer - omitting you and the djinn, of course . You still haven’t been noticed, and the discomfort of the situation is growing more and more. You and Geralt can only delay telling them for so long.

As your mind starts to drift, you take notice of the fact that Lambert has skulked away to the other side of the bar and poured himself a drink. He nurses his Redanian lager with a distant gaze, and you can’t help but think that he looks the way you feel: awkward, out of place, and incredibly lonely.

He must sense your gaze on him, because he looks up at you and narrows his eyes. You immediately look away.

“…got in some kind of fight with Yen,” Geralt is saying. “Haven’t seen her, though.”

“And why are you here?” Priscilla asks. “I imagine you’ve not come just to visit me and Dandelion?”

Guilt pulls at Geralt’s expression. “Yeah. Sorry.” He shakes his head. “Long story.”

Priscilla raises her brows and perks up - just the way Dandelion had last night - and you want to laugh at the clear similarities between the two. You wonder if Dandelion will remember to ask you about the ‘gritty details,’ as he’d put it.

“Not you, too,” Geralt sighs.

Priscilla lets out a soft laugh. “Don’t worry,” she says. “I won’t write about anything you don’t want me to. Unless, of course, it’s terribly exciting.”

It isn’t, you think. Not the way that the other ballads about Geralt are exciting.

Before Geralt can answer, the door opens, and all of you turn. Another witcher, you realize in excitement. This must be Eskel.

He’s tall, broad, and stocky, with scars that run down the right side of his face and a leathery red jacket rolled up to his elbows. Two swords. Yellow eyes. He grins when he sees Geralt, and the expression melts any initial intimidation he might have given off.

“Hey, Wolf,” he greets, coming closer and shaking Geralt’s hand. His voice is warm, deep, and assuasive. “Good to see you.”

“You too, Eskel,” Geralt replies. “Nasty wound you’ve got there. That from the noonwraith?”

You hadn’t noticed it at first, but there’s a deep cut in Eskel’s neck, trickling partially-dried blood down onto his shirt.

“Yeah,” Eskel says, leaning against a table. “It’ll heal. Got some Swallow with me. What brings you here?”

“Long story,” Geralt replies. “Listen - I know it’s unlikely, but… either of you happen to hear anything about a djinn lately?”

Lambert snorts. “What the hell is the deal with you and djinns?” he asks. “Oh, wait! Let me guess: you finally got tired of being Yennefer’s lapdog, and now you want to beg another djinn to please take back your wish.”

“Cut it out, Lambert, ” Eskel says. “Besides - they already undid that wish.”

Your chest wrenches. Geralt and Yennefer undid the djinn’s wish?

“Mhm,” Geralt says tightly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Remember telling you that pretty explicitly, in fact. You drunk already?”

Lambert rolls his eyes. “I forgot, alright? Forgive me if I don’t remember every intimate little detail of your life. Shit, don’t tell me you’re here to redo it?”

“Got nothing to do with Yen,” Geralt insists. “Just need a djinn.”

“A djinn?” Dandelion has returned, paper in hand, and both he and Priscilla are gazing at Geralt with newfound interest - as if they’re already drafting up titles for a ballad in their minds. The bard grins widely and takes a seat on a nearby chair. “What’s this about a djinn?”

Geralt sighs, and you immediately feel awful for him. You know that it’ll be embarrassing for him to tell them the truth, and, well, he shouldn’t have to. You’re the one who made that idiotic wish - it’s only fair that you're the one who has to tell them.

Without thinking, you step out from behind Geralt and, despite trembling, speak as clearly as you can. “I’ll explain. It’s my fault, anyway.”

Poorly chosen words, because Geralt gives you a chiding look, and you can hear his voice in your mind: Gotta stop blaming yourself.

Too late. At the sound of your voice, everyone’s gaze immediately shifts to you, and all the blood quickly drains from your face.

“There you are!” Dandelion exclaims. “I wondered when you’d be joining us!”

“Been here the whole fuckin’ time,” Lambert points out, pouring himself another drink. “Hiding behind Geralt.”

You ignore them both, swallowing hard and taking collected, even breaths as you try to ground yourself.

“Geralt is asking about a djinn for… well - because of me,” you continue. Gods, this isn’t coming out right, but you have no choice but to go on. “Not long ago, I came across a djinn, and for my third wish, I asked for protection to be with me always. It… sent him.”

You pause for a moment, taking in the various combinations of expressions on people’s faces, which generally seems to be a mix of shock and delight - aside from Eskel, who simply looks shocked.

In their stunned silence, you hesitantly continue on. “It took the always part literally, so… now we can’t be more than a few steps apart, and we need another djinn to undo it.”

There are about ten seconds of sheer, ear-ringing silence before Lambert slams his mug down on the bar. “You’re shitting me,” he says.

The room explodes.

Dandelion starts firing off questions like his life depends on it, trailing off mid-sentence to jot down ideas. Eskel shakes his head with a grin and takes a seat, pouring himself a drink. Lambert snorts out a joke about ‘Geralt, always having shit like this happen.’

Priscilla lets out a shocked laugh before clapping her hand over her mouth - then reaches over to borrow some paper from Dandelion. Geralt, meanwhile, crosses his arms and sighs loudly, bringing one hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. “I’m so sorry, Geralt.”

His expression softens as he drops his hand and looks at you. “Hey. Not your fault. Gonna drill that into you sooner or later.”

You give him a weak smile, still shaking.

“Geralt, Geralt,” Dandelion croons, waltzing up to the two of you. “I’ve been searching for an idea for my next ballad for months now, and the day after you show up-”

“You’re not gonna write about this, Dandelion,” Geralt says. “Promise me.”

“You must be joking!” Dandelion exclaims. “This will be my best ballad yet! Two unsuspecting citizens, bound by fate-”

“Fate?” you exclaim. “What does fate have to do with it?”

Dandelion raises a brow. “Well, correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m assuming you didn’t specify Geralt for your wish?”

“No,” you say firmly. “I didn’t picture anyone at all. If anything, I just thought I’d have some kind of invisible protection.”

“Then that settles it!” he replies brightly. “The djinn decided - out of every being, every number of things in this vast universe that could apply to your wish - he would send none other than Geralt of Rivia as your protection. Not only that, but he entwined the two of you closely together, unable to be apart. What is that, if not fate?”

“A djinn having a bit of fun,” you reply bitterly. “You can’t think I was destined to find that djinn?”

“Of course!”

You don’t respond. You can’t, because your throat locks up.

If you were destined to find that djinn, then all of the horrible things that have happened to you over the course of your life were destined as well. It’s an awful thought.

Were your parents doomed to die a terrible death from the moment they first took a breath? It’s ridiculous to think so. Your parents were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, caught in the crossfire of a newly emerging disease.

But the more you think about it, the more doubt slowly starts to trickle into your mind.

Your parents were born poor and died poor, and no amount of work they did ever could have changed that. As is common for the poor, they were financially trapped, stuck in the place they were born - a place that would soon become riddled with disease.

If their circumstances guaranteed that they were in that godforsaken town when the plague hit, then… is that destiny? Was fate setting up a long string of events, using the price of their blood to drag you back to Velen? Velen, where you’d built a shitty little life for yourself that got ripped apart again and again? Velen, where you’d finally come across that djinn?

Was it fate that put the words of that wish in your mouth, or was it your own stupidity?

“You see?” Dandelion says, seeing the expression on your face. “It’s fate, through and through. And, it will be making an excellent ballad. Tell me-”

“Dandelion,” Geralt interjects. “No ballads. Not happening.”

Dandelion sets his paper down with a scowl, crossing his arms. “Geralt, you are a cruel, obdurate man. You’re denying me the best ballad I’ll ever write.”

“That hurts, Dandelion,” comes Geralt’s response. “No more ballads? Don’t know how I’ll survive.”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Dandelion sighs, fixing his gaze on you. “Please, try to talk some sense into him. He’ll have to see the light sooner or later.”

You shake your head, biting back a smile. “Sorry, but something tells me that if anyone was going to change his mind, it’d be you.”

Dandelion grips your shoulder and gives it a light squeeze. “I wouldn’t be so sure,” he says, a bit slyly. “I see the way he looks at you.”

Your heart skips a beat. Surely Geralt must have heard that? When you turn to look at him for confirmation, he meets your eyes head-on, but… the look on his face is something new. Discomfort, you realize.

Your stomach faintly sinks, but Geralt simply clears his throat and speaks.

“Now that that’s dealt with,” he says, “Any of you happen to know where I might find a djinn?”

There’s a long beat. Then Priscilla speaks.

“I can’t say whether it’s true for certain,” she starts, “but during my recent travels, I heard many talk of a djinn in the Blue Mountains, left by a mage who wished to tame it. He was killed before he could manage it.”

The Blue Mountains. A journey like that would take… you don’t even know how long. Weeks, at the very least.

“Know anything else?” Geralt asks. “Got any specific locations, the name of the mage?”

“They said it was held in a cave near the borders of Kaedwen and Aedirn,” she answers. “But I’m afraid that’s all I know.”

Geralt’s brows pinch. “That border goes on for miles. Lots of caves near there. Long way to travel for a rumor, too.”

“It is. And I’m sorry I can’t tell you more,” she replies. “Unfortunately, most of this information came from a plastered troubadour on the street who was using it to compose a ballad. Though, there were others who all said the same thing, and the details were consistent enough that it just might be true. Not that anyone seemed in much of a rush to go get the djinn, mind you.”

Geralt’s shoulders slump a little, and you ache with sympathy for him. None of what she’d just said is exactly reassuring.

“Gotta see if I can find out anything else about that,” he says. “Appreciate you telling me.”

She nods and gives a weak smile, and Geralt’s gaze briefly skims over the rest of the crowd.

Eskel shakes his head. “Sorry, Wolf,” he says. “Haven’t heard anything.”

Geralt shrugs. “Knew it wasn’t likely. Got something to go on, at least.”

“Yeah, good luck,” Lambert snorts, working on his second lager. “Wouldn’t want to be you.”

“Fuck off, Lambert,” Geralt replies, sighing deeply. “C’mon, better see if there are any books about that djinn,” he tells you.

You follow him without a word.

“Nice to, er, meet you!” Priscilla calls.

You give her a smile and wave before you leave, but your stomach coils with fear. What if you two don’t find another djinn? What if you’re stuck like this forever? How long will it take for Geralt to lose his seemingly endless patience with you?

“Don’t mind Lambert,” Geralt says, interrupting your thoughts. “He can be a prick. Nothing personal.”

“It’s fine.” You don’t particularly feel like talking at the moment.

His pace slows into a halt. “Don’t have to say that if you don’t mean it,” he tells you.

“I know. It’s really fine, Geralt. I wasn’t thinking about him.”

He gives a nod and starts walking again, and you follow alongside him. “Gonna tell me what you were thinking about?” he asks.

You consider it for a long, vulnerable moment. “Alright, Witcher. But only if you tell me what you were thinking just now, too.”

His brows rise. “Huh. Guess that’s fair.” He rolls his shoulders, hesitating before he answers. “Was wondering about Yen - where she is. That curse she mentioned.”

“You’re worried about her,” you say.

“Yeah,” he admits. “Pretty powerful on her own. Can’t think of why she’d need my help. Doesn’t sound good.”

“Maybe she just wanted an outside perspective,” you offer. “Another pair of eyes to catch something she hadn’t seen.”

“Maybe,” he agrees, though he doesn’t sound fully convinced. “Your turn.”

You let out a puff of air, digging your nails into the skin. “I was worrying about the djinn,”you confess. “About what would happen if we don’t find another one.”

He doesn’t seem at all phased by this. “Wouldn’t worry about that just yet,” he says. “Haven’t even started looking, really.”

“How many djinns have you come across?”

“Two,” he answers. “Think you already know about the first. Helped Yen find the other one.”

“Was it hard to find?”

He shrugs. “Wouldn’t say it was easy, exactly. Yen had me searching shipwrecks at the bottom of the ocean for clues. Turned out, the owner died before the djinn fulfilled his three wishes. Ended up having to fight it, make a deal. Wasn’t impossible, though.”

You resist the urge to point out that Yennefer is an extremely powerful sorceress and you aren’t, and instead ask the question you’ve really been wanting to know the answer to. “And you used that djinn to undo the first djinn’s wish?”

He huffs. “Thought you might have caught that. Yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck, and his expression sombers. “Yen… she was never sure if what we were feeling was real. Could never trust it. Wanted to know for sure.”

A lost emotion pulls at your chest; grief, perhaps.

“It wasn’t real, then?”

There’s a long pause before he answers.

“It was.”

You understand instantly.

Your heart squeezes painfully at the memory of Hanna, an old friend. No longer, but that’s not what’s important. She’d been in love with the farmer’s boy, and you’d bet Antoni down the road that they’d marry before spring.

You’d lost that bet.

They’d quarreled most days. Rarely was there a day of stillness between them. Still, the look in their eyes had been love, real love - and you’d known that look anywhere, and you’d thought…

“Explain it to me,” you’d asked her one night. “Don’t you love him?”

“Of course!” she’d said, wringing her hands. “But love doesn’t make it right.”

“No? Then what does?”

She’d gone all starry-eyed then, suddenly looking as if she was a thousand years away. “I think… I think it’s peace,” she’d finally answered. “I couldn’t come home to him like that, spend hours arguing, because all it did was drive me insane. I wanted us to be happy, but we weren’t. And love doesn’t change that.”

And just like that, you understood.

There’s no mention of Priscilla’s djinn in any of the Novigrad bookshops - or anywhere else, as a matter of fact.

Geralt spends hours trekking through places, perusing titles and chasing down leads. Each time he sets a book down or a trail goes cold, his expression is nothing short of grim.

You browse through a book or two, but nothing pulls at your interest enough to keep you from your thoughts, which return again and again to that dream - and what happened after. You’re restless in this city, hoping for and dreading an end to all this searching.

Eventually, when the sun has gone low in the sky, Geralt gives up and takes you back to The Chameleon, where Eskel and Lambert have headed off on another contract, but Dandelion, Priscilla, and Zoltan are chatting at a table.

“There you two are!” Dandelion exclaims. “Come now, have a seat! We were just discussing the new Gwent faction.”

“Never understood it, myself,” Zoltan remarks, leaning back in his seat. “The faction’s shite.”

Geralt pulls a chair out for you, and you take a seat - cheeks going hot.

“Gonna grab us some dinner,” he says. “Want anything specific?”

You shake your head. “Anything’s fine.”

He gives a nod and walks away, and you hear him ordering - just close enough to be in bounds of the wish.

You shift in your seat, suddenly very uncomfortable at the attention directed on you.

“Do you play Gwent?” Priscilla asks.

“A little,” you reply.

Dandelion grins. “That’s what they all say, isn’t it?”

Priscilla shoots him a stern look. “Ignore him. What do you think about the Skellige deck?”

You shrug. “I wouldn’t know,” you admit. “I’ve never played with it or against it.”

“Geralt has a deck,” Dandelion exclaims. “Surely he can pull it out, play a few rounds with you.”

Your heart drops. “Oh, I don’t-”

“Don’t worry,” Priscilla says. “It’s a difficult deck to play against - no one will blame you for losing a round.”

“I don’t have a deck anymore,” you explain. “I can’t play.”

Dandelion leans forward, eyes gleaming. “That wouldn’t have to do with the djinn, would it?”

“Ah, shut your trap, bard,” Zoltan says.

“I’m only asking!” Dandelion retorts. “Anyway, I’m sure you could borrow the Skellige deck, and play against one of us! I doubt Geralt would mind.”

“Would mind what?” Geralt asks behind you, having returned with your dinner. He sets the two plates on the table and takes a seat next to you.

With the lacking space between the seating, his thigh presses against yours, and you quickly stuff a bite of food into your mouth - an attempt to distract yourself from the heat radiating off of him. Heat that’s slowly transferring to you.

“Oh good, you’re back!” Dandelion says. “You wouldn’t mind lending your companion here your Skellige deck, would you? Just for a few rounds, of course.”

“Sure. Wouldn’t mind.” Geralt starts on his food, brows pinching as he observes you. “Who’re you playing against?”

“No one,” you say quickly. “I’m alright, really, I don’t need to play-”

“Why?” Dandelion interjects, giving you a sly smile. “Afraid you’ll lose?”

Unfortunately, if there’s one thing you happen to be competitive about, it’s Gwent.

“Not by skill, no,” you reply, narrowing your eyes. “But I have no idea if the deck is any good.”

“Aye, but a shitty deck doesnae matter when the whole faction is shite,” Zoltan says.

“Hey,” Geralt says, sounding a little wounded. “Happened to win the Toussaint Gwent championship with that deck.”

You let out a deep sigh from your nose and shake your head, setting down your fork. “Fine. I’ll play.”

Dandelion beams and pulls out his deck, and Zoltan snorts in amusement, crossing his arms.

“Hang on. Gotta go get the deck first,” Geralt says. “Might as well finish your food.”

You never get the chance.

Just as he’s spoken, Geralt goes wide-eyed and stares at the door, the way a cat does when it’s heard something you haven’t. The way he had earlier, when Lambert breaking the glass had interrupted the kiss.

A cold wind blows through the room. It chills you deep and down to the very bone, as if ice is seeping through your veins and freezing every inch of you from the inside out. A sharp, deep floral scent accompanies it, fuzzing your mind over with intoxication.

The door bursts open and silence washes over the room as two women enter rather gracefully - one with ashen hair and a scar on her left cheek, and the other, well… you know who the other is. You’ve read Dandelion’s ballads.

Raven hair and violet eyes - this can be none other than Yennefer of Vengerberg.

tags: @henryownsme @madamemelancholysstuff @fullmoonshadowwrites @darkscrossfire @beforethepen @julijal @ailynyan @ivuravix

#geralt x reader #geralt of rivia x reader #game!geralt #geralt x you #geralt/reader #geralt of rivia x you #mywriting

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wren-of-the-woods · 2 years ago

Text

Love, Joy, and Kittens

When Geralt and Yennefer finally get a room at an inn after weeks of travel, Jaskier expects to spend a calm evening with his lovers and sleep in a real bed. This plan is derailed when they find an unexpected creature in their room. Or: In which Geralt, Yennefer, and Jaskier meet a kitten. Established Geraskefer, 5k, rated T. Also on AO3!

Jaskier was having a lovely week.

Ciri had gone off with Lambert and Coën. According to Lambert, they were “having some uncle-niece bonding time.” Jaskier had suspected that this would involve a large number of explosives, cursing in various languages, and very little room for anything else, so he had suggested that he, Geralt, and Yennefer travel alone for a time and rejoin them in a few weeks. The relief on Geralt’s and Yennefer’s faces at the idea had been highly amusing.

The three of them had been wandering the Path for almost a week. It had, for the most part, been wonderful. Jaskier got to spend time with his lovers, singing at them and making them laugh. He got to appreciate their beauty all day long. He got to spend every night cuddled up to the two of them, reveling in the warmth and safety.

However, he did not get to do any of this cuddling in an actual bed.

Their financial reserves were not exactly plentiful and, with Ciri gone, they did not have any real reason to prefer the comfort of an inn over the convenience of a bedroll in the woods. Jaskier understood all of this perfectly well. This did not mean he was happy about it.

He may have complained about it a little bit, but, well, he was a bard. If Yennefer and Geralt didn’t want to hear a little whining now and then, they shouldn’t have brought him along.

Jaskier hadn’t expected anything to come of his grousing. Jaskier had been wrong.

After a particularly long day of travel, Geralt and Yennefer apparently came to an unspoken agreement. Geralt led Roach into the first town they came across and Yennefer headed in the direction of the inn. Jaskier’s confused and halfhearted objections (“What? Yen, that’s not really necessary, I know we don’t have much coin. I’m really fine, I swear!) were met with firm denial (“Shut up and let us spoil you, idiot), so Jaskier deemed it best to give in.

He made as though to protest at the price the innkeeper named for the single room that was apparently available, thinking to offer his services as a bard in exchange for a discount, but Yennefer cut him off before he could. She handed over the money and nodded in approval when Geralt began to drag him upstairs. She followed them shortly after.

“I still think I should have performed,” Jaskier was saying. He tugged halfheartedly at the grip Geralt had on his hand, though he could not claim that he really minded the touch.

“You’re exhausted,” said Geralt.

“I think that, as irritating as the innkeeper was, this town does not quite deserve your half-asleep caterwauling,” said Yennefer with a smirk as she came up behind them.

“Hey! I’ll have you know that you two are the only ones who I grace with my half-asleep caterwauling. Everyone else gets only my performance voice or my drunk caterwauling. Sleepy Jaskier is a gift that only you two get to see.”

“We’re grateful,” said Geralt, “But you really should sleep. Without singing.”

“Just because I’m not a great and powerful magical being doesn’t mean I can’t handle a little fatigue, Geralt.”

“Yes, and acting like a child who doesn’t want to go to bed is such a good way to prove your strength,” said Yennefer.

“Excuse me,” Jaskier said as they approached their room, “I act only with the greatest of grace and—”

A mewling sound from the other side of the door cut off his words.

It was soft enough that Jaskier barely heard it, but the way Geralt froze and stared at the door was enough to assure him that he was not imagining anything. He blinked.

“What’s that?” he asked.

Yennefer was frowning. “I don’t know, but be careful.”

“Is it magical?”

“I don’t think so.”

“It doesn’t smell like a monster,” Geralt agreed.

“Who knows what the innkeeper put in there, though?” asked Yennefer. “It could be a trap.”

“Yes. Be careful.”

The three of them stood there for a moment, staring at the door. It occurred to Jaskier that they would likely look rather comical to an outside observer.

“Well? Are we going in?” he asked.

After a moment of hesitation, Yennefer stepped forward. Slowly, carefully, she opened the door and peeked inside the room. She was silent for a long moment.

“Well? Is it dangerous?” asked Jaskier.

“I’m… not sure,” said Yennefer. Geralt stepped forward with a frown to lean over Yennefer and peek in the room as well.

“What the fuck?” said Geralt.

Jaskier’s heart pounded. He tried to get a look inside the room, but it was effectively blocked by the bodies of his witcher and witch. He stood on his tiptoes. It was no good.

“What is it?” he asked again. “A trap? A monster? Please don’t tell me we have to find somewhere else to sleep. My feet are already killing me. Why aren’t you saying anything? Is it gruesome? Can I see?”

With an irritated glance at Jaskier, Geralt stepped back. A little shakily, Yennefer opened the door and entered the room. Jaskier shoved past her and saw, sitting directly in the center of the room’s only bed—

A tiny, fluffy, orange kitten.

Its head was almost comically oversized for its body. Its tail was neatly tucked around its paws. It was looking at them with an adorably bewildered expression, appearing rather like it had just been woken up from a nap. Jaskier thought it could probably have sat in one of Geralt’s hands with very little trouble.

Jaskier stared at it. It stared back.

Jaskier burst into uncontrolled, delighted laughter.

Yennefer shot him an irritated look. Geralt shuffled awkwardly behind him. This only served to make Jaskier laugh harder.

“A kitten!” he wheezed when he caught a breath between giggles. “You were so nervous— You paranoid bastards— I cannot believe— It’s just a tiny kitten!”

“It might be a trap,” Geralt protested weakly.

“You could probably eat it in a single bite if you wanted to, Geralt!”

“That’s morbid,” said Yennefer. She sounded amused.

“And you!” said Jaskier, wheeling around to face her. “You said you didn’t know if it was dangerous! Yennefer of Vengerburg, the most powerful and feared mage on the Continent, was unnerved by a tiny little cat!”

“I can strangle you, Pankratz.”

Jaskier was overtaken by another fit of giggles.

The kitten mewled again, this time sounding rather disgruntled. Jaskier whirled around to face it.

“Oh, you poor dear. Did we wake you up from your nap? What are you doing here, anyway? Where’s your family?”

“It’s a cat,” said Yennefer. “It can’t understand you.”

“Oh, I thought it was a terrifying supernatural being capable of destroying nations.”

“On second thought, maybe strangulation is too good for you.”

Ignoring her, Jaskier approached the bed. Slowly, he held out his hand towards the kitten. It sniffed his fingers then mewled again. Gently, Jaskier stroked its head with a finger. Its eyes went wide. For a moment, Jaskier thought he had gone too far, but then the kitten pushed up into the touch. Jaskier’s heart positively melted. He kept stroking its head, unable to help the grin that spread across his face.

Behind him, he heard Geralt slowly sidle into the room. The kitten did not react.

“Are you sure it’s a real cat?” Geralt asked Yennefer. Jaskier glanced back to see him staring at the kitten, almost transfixed. “Cats don’t like witchers.”

“I don’t feel any magic,” Yennefer admitted.

“It’s kind of hard to be afraid of someone who’s halfway across the room and looking like a frightened pigeon, even if you’re a cat,” said Jaskier.

Geralt scowled and ignored him. “It can’t stay on the bed forever. We need to sleep there.”

“That is an issue,” said Jaskier thoughtfully. He turned to the kitten. “What are we going to do with you, hmm?”

“Again, it can’t understand you,” said Yennefer.

“Ignore them,” Jaskier told the kitten. “They do not understand the concept of whimsy.”

Slowly, Jaskier shifted so he was sitting on the bed beside the kitten. It did not seem overly bothered by the change. Jaskier moved to stroke its back. It looked content. Very gently, Jaskier brought a hand under its ribcage and picked it up, moving his other hand to support its hind legs and then cradling it against his chest. It mewled confusedly and squirmed a little, looking up at him, but he kept stroking it and it settled within a few moments.

He could feel its tiny chest rise and fall against his hands as it breathed. Its fur was slightly matted in places and it could probably have used a bath, but at that moment, Jaskier could not have imagined something softer or more pleasant to touch. It closed its eyes. Jaskier felt his heart melt a little more at the trust it was showing him.

He glanced up at Geralt and Yennefer to see them still on the other side of the room, looking at him with something that looked startlingly like awe.

“You can come over here,” he said instead of giving in to the flustered feelings trying to overwhelm him. “No need to cower.”

“I don’t want to scare it,” said Geralt, and Jaskier’s heart broke a little.

“You won’t scare him,” he said.

“Him?” asked Yennefer, raising an eyebrow.

Jaskier shrugged. “I’ve decided it’s a he. Orange cats usually are, I think.”

“How do you know I won’t scare him?” asked Geralt, returning them to the original topic.

“He can probably smell you perfectly well from here. If he was going to be scared, he already would be.”

Geralt hesitated. “I don’t know how to act around cats.”

“That’s okay. I’ll show you.” When Geralt still hesitated, Jaskier looked to Yennefer. “Come on. What are you waiting for?”

Yennefer frowned at him. “I’m not scared. I just don’t want to get fleas.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “I’m sure you can magic away fleas as easily as blinking. Get over here.”

After a quickly-hidden second of trepidation, Yennefer stepped forward. She looked at the kitten. The kitten, after a moment, looked at her.

“Mew?” he said.

Yennefer looked back at Jaskier, seeming uncharacteristically uncertain. Jaskier had to hold back a laugh.

“Come on,” he said. “Pet him.”

Slowly, Yennefer reached out to stroke a hand over his head. He blinked up at her, rather bemused.

“Keep going,” Jaskier said encouragingly.

Yennefer continued to stroke the kitten, first his head and then his back. Within a few moments, he settled and closed his eyes. He looked very content. Yennefer stared down at him with shock and a tiny bit of delight.

Jaskier decided that it was time for her to ascend to the next level.

“Here,” he said, and handed the kitten to her.

Jaskier had seen Yennefer achieve feats of unimaginable bravery. He had seen her fight her worst fears with determination, seen her battle hordes of monsters that might have made even the most skilled of witchers hesitate, seen her face down armies without flinching. Yennefer was brave. She was powerful. She was, in a word, incredible.

She was also looking down at the kitten he had just placed in her hands with an expression that could only be described as terror.

“I don’t know how—” she started to say, then cut herself off with a panicked gasp when she had to fumble with the squirming kitten to keep him from falling. He mewled indignantly.

“It’s okay,” said Jaskier, reaching forward to help. “I’ll show you. Here, you put your hand where it’ll support his weight, under the ribcage is good. Yes, just like that. Now you— yes! You’ve got it.”

Yennefer ended up sitting on the bed beside Jaskier, carefully cradling the kitten to her chest with both hands. The kitten was rather disgruntled by the whole affair, at first, but when Jaskier gently encouraged Yennefer to free a hand and continue stroking him, he settled down. He snuggled into Yennefer’s arm. After a few moments, his eyes slipped closed.

Yennefer’s eyes widened. She swallowed.

“Is he sleeping?” she asked hesitantly, her voice so soft it was almost a whisper.

“Yeah,” said Jaskier, feeling a grin spread across his face. “He’s taking a nap.”

“Oh,” she said softly.

She sat there for a long moment, quietly stroking the kitten. She seemed unable to tear her gaze away from the tiny, fluffy body in her arms. Jaskier found himself unable to tear his gaze away from her. She pet the kitten so gently that it was almost painful to watch, care and tenderness written into her every movement. Her expression could only be described as awe. In that moment, Jaskier was unable to think of anything that could possibly be more beautiful.

After a few long minutes, she looked up. Geralt was still standing against the far wall of the room, watching the little group on the bed with what appeared to be a mixture of fondness and longing. Yennefer took one look at his expression and sighed.

“Get over here,” she said. Jaskier nodded. Geralt, after a moment’s hesitation, obeyed.

His approach was slow and silent. When he came within a few paces, the kitten stirred, looking up at him with his ears slightly flattened. Geralt froze. Jaskier hushed him and scratched him under the chin, while Yennefer kept her hand resting on its back. That seemed to do the trick. The kitten settled back down into Yennefer’s arms. Jaskier gestured Geralt closer, and at his behest, the witcher sat down cautiously on Yennefer’s other side.

The kitten was still awake and watching Geralt with a little bit of wariness, but he did not seem overly bothered by the witcher’s presence. Jaskier internally cheered.

“You can pet him,” he whispered to Geralt.

“I don’t want to scare him,” Geralt said again.

“You won’t. Yennefer and I will help.”

A little bit of Yennefer’s uncertainty returned. “I can try, but—”

Jaskier waved her off. “Nonsense. He already likes you. Go ahead, Geralt.”

Geralt hesitated. “But—”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “You can make fun of me if I’m wrong. I take responsibility for any and all kitten-related disasters. Go ahead.”

Geralt huffed, amused. Jaskier hid his smile by looking down at the kitten.

Slowly, Geralt crouched down so his head was more or less level with the kitten. He swallowed, reached out, and gently ran his head down the kitten’s neck and back.

“Mew?” said the kitten. He looked up at Geralt. He blinked.

“Keep going,” said Jaskier softly.

Geralt stroked the kitten again. When he did not panic or run away, Geralt did it again.

“He’s soft,” he whispered, entranced.

“Yeah,” said Yennefer, her voice equally quiet.

They both stared down at the kitten, who was content in Yennefer’s arms as Geralt stroked him. The kitten looked very small and helpless beneath Geralt’s big hands, but did not seem particularly bothered by that fact. Jaskier felt himself growing a little teary-eyed at the sight.

“Do you want to hold him?” Yennefer asked after a few moments.

Geralt’s eyes went wide. He glanced at Jaskier, nervous. “Do you think I can?”

“I do,” said Jaskier. “He already likes you, see?”

He gestured at the kitten, who was meowing in quiet protest at the fact that Geralt was no longer petting him. Geralt looked back at him. His face softened.

“I suppose,” he said. He looked up at Yennefer, then back at Jaskier. “Will you help me?”

Yennefer nodded.

“Of course,” said Jaskier. “Here, Yen, you can hand him to Geralt just like how you picked him up. Just support his weight— yeah, there you go. Geralt, you do the same thing.”

After a few moments of fumbling and a few disgruntled mewls from the kitten, Yennefer managed to deposit him in Geralt’s hands. Jaskier had been correct; he could have sat on just one of Geralt’s hands without too much trouble. Geralt was carefully cupping him with both of his anyway. The sight made Jaskier struggle not to dissolve into an unhelpful puddle of affection.

“What now?” asked Geralt, sounding almost as nervous as he had when Ciri first asked him to help her with her hair.

“You can put him in your lap, if you want,” said Jaskier. “You might want to get comfortable, though. Cats don’t always like to move once they have a nice person to sit on.”

After glancing at the bed consideringly, Yennefer crawled up to lean against the rather rickety headboard and patted the spot beside her. “Come on. I think we can all fit.”

Jaskier scooted up to sit near her, leaving space for Geralt between them. Geralt glanced up at them, then down at the kitten in his hands. The kitten had started to nibble on one of his fingers. After a moment of consideration, Geralt cautiously got to his knees on the bed and hobbled over to them, being careful to keep the kitten from being jostled. He settled in between Jaskier and Yennefer and set the kitten gently in his lap. The kitten flailed a little at the new position, but it took only a few moments for him to settle on one of Geralt’s thighs.

“Keep petting him,” Jaskier said encouragingly.

Geralt obeyed. On his other side, Jaskier saw Yennefer resting her head on Geralt’s shoulder and looking down at the kitten. For several moments, the three of them sat in content silence. Then—

“It’s vibrating,” said Geralt, sounding adorably terrified.

“Oh!” said Jaskier, delighted. Now that he was paying attention, he could hear the faintest of rumbling sounds from the kitten. “He’s purring, Geralt. That means he feels safe and content. He’s happy.”

“Oh,” said Geralt. His voice was filled with awe.

“We made him do that?” asked Yennefer. She spoke softly, as though trying not to interrupt the kitten’s purrs.

“Yeah,” said Jaskier, matching her tone, “We did.”

Yennefer smiled. It was not an expression of triumph or of power, not assured or sarcastic. It was not the smile she liked to show to the world. It was small and soft, tender and a little uncertain. It was directed at a small ball of orange fluff lounging in a witcher’s lap. Jaskier knew at that moment that no song he could write would come close to describing her beauty.

“I wonder where his family is,” Yennefer mused after a long few moments of content silence. “He can’t have gotten here all by himself, can he?”

“We can ask the innkeeper tomorrow,” said Jaskier. “Looks like he’s alone at the moment, though.”

“He isn’t,” said Geralt.

Jaskier blinked. “Please don’t tell me there are more cats hiding under the bed and you didn’t tell us, Geralt.”

“No.” Geralt looked rather embarrassed. “I just meant… we’re here. So he isn’t alone.”

Jaskier gave the kitten a thoughtful look. “I suppose that’s true.”

Yennefer looked back and forth between Jaskier. A small frown appeared on her face.

“He might have a family,” she said. “You can’t just take him.”

“I wasn’t going to!” Jaskier protested. “I just think he can stay with us tonight, is all.”

Yennefer looked at him skeptically. “That’s what you said when we found you trying to hide a baby griffin in your backpack.”

“That was one time—”

“It was extremely memorable and also idiotic. I am not letting you live it down anytime soon.”

Geralt casually removed one hand from the kitten to cover Jaskier’s mouth, muffling his indignant response and reducing his words to spluttering. Yennefer giggled at the sight, and Jaskier felt the fight drain out of him at the sound. Sensing his surrender, Geralt removed his hand and started to pet the kitten again before it could stop purring.

“The griffin thing was stupid, but this isn’t a griffin,” Geralt said diplomatically. “I think he can stay the night if he wants to.”

Yennefer subsided. “I don’t see why not.”

The kitten mewled a little. The three of them glanced down to see him resettling himself on Geralt’s legs, apparently having decided that he could make himself more comfortable than he already had.

“We’re going to have to move him eventually,” said Yennefer reluctantly. “We need to sleep somehow.”

Jaskier considered that for a few moments. “Maybe we can put him on one of the pillows. As long as no one rolls over in their sleep, he should be all right.”

Geralt looked doubtfully at the bed. The three them of sitting side by side were already rather squished.

Jaskier rolled his eyes in Geralt’s direction. “I don’t see you offering any better ideas.”

“I think we can make it work,” said Yennefer. “We’ve slept in smaller places.”

“All right,” said Geralt.

“I suppose we should lie down, then,” said Jaskier. Though he was reluctant to break the moment, he was still sleepy and knew that they needed to rest if they wanted to get anything done the next day.

After a few moments of shuffling and some rather disgruntled sounds from the kitten, they managed to get settled in a way that was comfortable for everyone. Geralt was on his side with an arm thrown over Jaskier’s waist. Jaskier was on his back so that Yennefer could lie half on top of him in the way she sometimes preferred. The kitten was curled up on a pillow behind Yennefer’s head. Jaskier’s arm was around Yennefer’s shoulders to keep her from rolling over in the night and crushing the kitten.

Yennefer was warm and heavy on top of Jaskier. Geralt’s breathing was slow against his side. Jaskier drifted off within moments, feeling safe, loved, and content.

The next morning, Jaskier was awakened by tiny and very sharp claws kneading directly on his bladder.

He yelped and flailed, trying to sit up. He was not very successful. This was mostly due to the fact that his right arm was trapped under a warm body and there was a thigh pinning his legs down. The kneading continued. Jaskier squirmed again, more frantically. He tried to free his arm to remove the pressure on his bladder, but—

Yennefer yelped as she went tumbling off the bed and thumped onto the floor.

Geralt sat up like a shot, looking around frantically and reaching for a sword on his back that was not there. Jaskier, now free, wasted no time in sitting up and gently but firmly removing the kitten from his person.

Geralt glanced between Jaskier, the kitten, and Yennefer, who had managed to sit up enough for her head to poke up above the edge of bed.

“...What?” asked Geralt weakly.

“Yeah, Jaskier, what the fuck?” asked Yennefer.

She clambered back onto the bed, giving Jaskier her most ferocious glare. The effect was slightly ruined by her spectacular bedhead.

Jaskier gestured emphatically with the kitten in his hands. “This fucker was poking me!”

Geralt frowned. “Why did that mean Yen had to fall out of the bed?”

“She was trapping my arm. I was desperate. Sorry, Yen.”

Yennefer glared at him. “I could turn you into a toad.”

“Listen, if I hadn’t removed him from my bladder we would have had a much worse situation on our hands.”

Yennefer looked at Jaskier’s apologetic face. She looked at Geralt’s expression of confusion and fond exasperation. She looked at the kitten, who looked distinctly unrepentant.

Unable to help herself, she dissolved into giggles. Jaskier was rather alarmed for a moment — had she just come up with a magnificent punishment for him? His face must have done something interesting, because Yennefer looked at him and started to laugh even harder. Behind Jaskier, Geralt chuckled a little as well.

“How did he even get to your stomach?” he asked. “He would have had to crawl over Yen’s head without waking her.”

Jaskier looked thoughtfully at the kitten. “He’s a master of stealth, I suppose.”

That sent Yennefer off into another round of laughter. Jaskier found himself unable to keep from joining her with his own helpless giggles.

Geralt looked between the two of them and shook his head fondly.

“I’m going to get us breakfast,” he said, leaving them to their merriment.

Jaskier and Yennefer had caught their breath and mostly regained their composure by the time Geralt returned with some food. Yennefer had the kitten in her lap and was petting him absently. He looked very happy with himself.

“I asked the innkeeper about him,” said Geralt, gesturing to the kitten with the hand that was not carrying their food. “She says he’s been hanging around the inn for a week or so, being fed scraps by the guests. No sign of any family, but he seems to be doing well enough. He’s healthy.”

“Is the innkeeper fine with him being here?” asked Yennefer.

“She doesn’t mind him as long as the guests are happy and he keeps some mice away, but she’s had some complaints about him sleeping on beds. She might have to find a way to get rid of him if he doesn’t stop.”

Jaskier looked down at the kitten, pensive. “I hope she doesn’t have to. It would be a shame to keep him away from people if he likes them.”

Yennefer patted Jaskier’s shoulder. “I’m sure he’ll be all right.”

Yennefer reached for the bread that Geralt was carrying and began to eat. Geralt passed another portion to Jaskier. The three of them munched their food contemplatively, looking at the kitten.

“I feel like we should name him,” mused Jaskier. “Calling him ‘the kitten’ in my head is starting to get weird. I need something to shout when I’m reprimanding him.”

“What do you want to call him, then?” asked Yennefer.

“I don’t know! What do you think?”

They sat quietly for a few minutes, the silence only broken by the kitten’s purrs.

“Well,” said Geralt when no one offered any ideas, “There’s always Ro—“

“No!” shouted Jaskier and Yennefer simultaneously.

Yennefer smacked Geralt’s shoulder. “Not Roach. You can name all the horses you want, but I draw the line at cats.”

Jaskier nodded. “We can think of something better. I believe in us.”

Geralt subsided with a huff. There was another moment of thoughtful silence.

“Cirilla the Second?” suggested Yennefer.

Jaskier flopped back down onto the bed, buried his face in a pillow, and groaned loudly. “I loathe you both.”

“I don’t see you having any better ideas,” Yennefer protested. Jaskier groaned again and rolled onto his back.

“What have I done to deserve this?” he asked the ceiling.

“Is that an insult or a compliment?” asked Yennefer with a smirk.

“It can be both.”

“I’m not so sure. That would require complicated things like nuance and finesse. I am not sure a bard of your caliber could keep up. Perhaps we need someone more practiced, for instance Vald—”

“How about Mackerel?” Geralt said loudly and rather desperately, cutting Yennefer off before disaster could strike.

Jaskier and Yennefer both fell silent. They looked at Geralt. They looked at the kitten. They looked back at Geralt.

“Is your entire repertoire of names made up of fish?” asked Yennefer, and Jaskier burst into laughter.

Geralt looked on with some disgruntlement as Jaskier’s guffaws slowly faded into giggles.

“What?” he asked. “It’s a decent name.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes. “Retrospectively, I’m grateful you didn’t go back to claim Ciri when she was young. The poor girl would have ended up saddled with the name Perch.”

“You are an idiot,” said Jaskier to Geralt. “An utter and complete moron. I love you.”

“Hmm,” Geralt said, flustered.

“Do you have any better names, Jaskier?” asked Yennefer.

“Absolutely not. Mackerel is hilarious. We’re keeping it.”

Yennefer sighed but failed to hide her smile. “Oh, fine.”

They finished their breakfast in companionable silence. When they were finished, they sat on the bed for a while longer. It was comfortable, after all, and they were in no particular hurry. Jaskier determinedly did not think about any other reasons he might have for not wanting to leave the inn.

“We can’t stay here forever,” Geralt said eventually, reluctant.

Yennefer sighed. “Yeah, we’ll have to get going if we want to meet Ciri and Geralt’s idiot brothers in time.”

Jaskier hauled himself to his feet.

“Let’s get to it, then!” he said with false cheer.

With practiced ease, they packed up their things. They were ready to leave within minutes.

They did not leave.

The three of them dithered in the room. Geralt gazed out the window. Yennefer checked corners for anything they might have somehow lost. Jaskier fidgeted with his notebook.

“Well,” said Yennefer, “I suppose it’s time to go.”

She went to stand in the doorway. Geralt and Jaskier joined her.

None of them moved.

They looked back at the kitten, who was once again on the bed. Mackerel looked back at them. He meowed.

Yennefer heaved a deep, longsuffering sigh. “We’re taking him with us, aren’t we?”

Geralt sighed. “We might.”

Jaskier whooped so loudly that it startled Mackerel. He darted back to the bed and scooped the kitten up in his arms. Mackerel mewled in complaint.

Jaskier stroked his head in apology. “Sorry for startling you, darling, but you’ll be much happier about it soon. You’re coming with us! You’ll get to see the continent. You’ll get to experience all sorts of varied and delightful table scraps. It’ll be lovely.”

Across the room, Jaskier heard Yennefer trying to stifle a laugh. He ignored her.

“You’ll get to meet so many people,” he said to Mackerel. “You’ll get to explore the world. You can meet our family, too—”

Jaskier cut himself off with a gasp and turned to Geralt and Yennefer, his eyes shining. “Ciri is going to love him!”

“Oh,” said Yennefer with a grin. “Oh, she really will. This is going to be great.”

Jaskier nodded enthusiastically. “This is going to be the best decision we’ve ever made, I can feel it.”

“What do kittens eat?” Geralt asked reasonably, looking rather exasperated at their antics. “We can’t just let him starve.”

“We’ll figure it out,” said Jaskier. “He can’t be that hard to feed.”

Yennefer nodded. “He’s been living off scraps and what he can catch so far. I’m sure he’ll be all right.”

“It’ll be dangerous on the path,” said Geralt.

Jaskier scoffed. “Mackerel is a smart cat. He can take care of himself.”

Geralt looked as though he might protest again, but at that moment, Mackerel meowed. Geralt looked down at the tiny ball of fur in Jaskier’s arms. Jaskier saw the exact moment Geralt’s last arguments drained away in the face of the adorable creature in front of him.

“I suppose he can come,” said Geralt with a sigh.

Jaskier whooped again. Mackerel meowed. Yennefer laughed. Geralt, seemingly despite himself, smiled.

The three of them shouldered their packs, Jaskier passing Mackerel to Geralt to free his hands. They left their room. On their way out of the inn, Yennefer stopped to let the innkeeper know they were taking Mackerel while Geralt retrieved Roach from the stables. The innkeeper seemed happy enough with the idea and waved at them with a smile as they left.

They set off on the Path, with Geralt leading Roach and Yennefer and Jaskier walking beside him. It was just like any other day in the last week — except this time, there was a tiny orange head poking out of one of Roach’s saddlebags, and Yennefer was having a hard time suppressing a smile. Even Geralt looked visibly content.

Jaskier’s lovers were happy. They had, somehow, despite everything, adopted a cat. Despite Yennefer and Geralt’s persistent issues with attachment and commitment, they had agreed to take a kitten with them on their travels for no reason other than sentiment and sympathy. Jaskier was so very proud of them.

Stopping at that inn was the best decision they ever made.

#the witcher #geraskefer #jaskier #yennefer #geralt #the witcher fanfiction #geralt x jaskier x yennefer #this is the third thing i've posted in as many weeks which is wild #wren writes #i wrote and edited this very quickly so idk how well-written it is but i'm fond of it #self-indulgent fluff my beloved <3

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magdelanesingerin · 1 year ago

Text

Milk Duds Are Terrible Candy

Geralt comes into the kitchen to find Jaskier leaned over the counter, rifling through an enormous, open bag of Halloween candy with a focused expression. Beside him on the counter is a pile of little yellow boxes.

He’s momentarily distracted by his boyfriend’s costume–the sparkly silver mini skirt that shows off his long legs hugged by white stockings, the matching bra, the platform shoes. The straps of his garter belt disappear under the fabric in a way that is extremely distracting indeed. It’s barely 5pm, though; there are many hours to go before Geralt can peel that costume off him, so he tears his eyes away and tries to focus.

“What are you doing?”

“Picking out all the Milk Duds,” he says without looking up, tongue sticking out in concentration between darkly painted lips. Geralt is almost afraid to ask, but he can’t resist.

“…Why?”

“Because I hate them, Geralt,” he says as though it’s obvious, and continues to jiggle the bag around, peering into the brightly-colored depths to pluck out any hiding boxes. “It’s right there in the name: these little bastards are DUDS. Gross tacky caramel, too sweet, they stick in your teeth…ugh. And this is our bag of Backup Candy, and if we don’t wind up needing to dig into this bag, I don’t want to risk getting stuck with a whole heap of little boxes of disappointment that will sit around in the pantry for six months before I throw them out. Soooooo, I’m pulling out all the shit candy and adding it to the bowl.”

Geralt blinks. “Why not just buy a bag without Milk Duds then?”

Jaskier huffs and rolls his eyes like Geralt is the one being unreasonable, tossing the poofy white wig out of his face. Geralt can’t help the fond smile that breaks over his face watching his ridiculous boyfriend. “Becaaaause, this is the bag that has the Reeses Pieces and Whoppers! But those great candies come at a price, and that price is Milk Duds. Thus, my very smart plan is to ditch them in the bowl for the trick or treaters.”

“Sure. For the kids.”

“Kids are stupid, Geralt, and have notoriously bad taste in candy.” Jaskier dumps a double handful of Milk Duds over the top of the pile of candy in their biggest mixing bowl, then stands back with his hands on his hips and regards it skeptically before leaning back in to stir up the contents a bit and disguise his candy crimes among miniature Snickers and little packages of M&Ms. “As long as it’s sugar, they’re happy. They eat Smarties, for fuck's sake. And candy corn. Hell, I used to eat those black and orange taffy things with the chalky peanut butter in the middle when I was a kid, and those are only barely candy.”

Geralt shakes his head at the rambling, smiling helplessly, and picks up the big bowl of candy to take to the porch. Jaskier snags a Twix out of the bowl as he takes it away. This is their first year living together, and somehow, despite knowing each other for a decade and dating for two years before moving in together, it’s still been a journey of discovery sharing these little moments with Jaskier. He loves it.

“Stop eating candy, Jaskier. You’ll make yourself sick. Eat some real food.”

Jaskier squawks indignantly. It's one of Geralt's favorite sounds. “I’ve only had, like…three pieces!”

“I can see the pile of wrappers in the trash. Unless Roach has been eating chocolate? Do we need to go to the vet instead of handing out candy?” he asks dryly as he leaves the room.

“No. FINE, I’ll eat some cheese or something.” He can hear the pout in his boyfriend’s voice. It’s adorable.

“Put on the ears, Geralt!” Jaskier calls after him. “And the tail! Without them you’re just wearing all black, and that is not a costume.” Geralt rolls his eyes and groans, but snags the cat-hear headband and the long tail off the entryway table on his way outside anyway. Despite his grumbling, he loves giving out candy to the kids in his neighborhood, though he’s never dressed up before. He plops into one of the chairs on their broad front porch and settles the cat ears onto his head with a soft smile, ready for trick or treaters.

on ao3 here

#a bit of fluff for Halloween #Geraskier #the witcher #geralt #jaskier #Do you recognize Jaskier's costume?

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raccoon-eyed-rebel · 2 years ago

Text

Part 23 - Charles

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 22 -- Part 24

Pairing: Charles x ofc (Sloane)

Summary: The guys throw a New Years Eve party at 179th Crescent Street...

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DNI, oral (m and f receiving), p-in-v shenaningans. And some minor violence, and drinking.

Word count: 3.3k

A/N: Alright, Charles' turn! Do we expect him to shag someone? Yes we do! Does he? That's a stupid question! (It almost didn't happen!)

A liiiiiittle more insight for you guys in the Marshall situation, but not too much (I actually had to go back and edit some stuff out because I felt I was giving too much away, whoops.) Anyway: Enjoy! And let me know what you think! 🥰

@deandoesthingstome @geralts-yenn @summersong69 @peaches1958 @fvckinghenrycavill @keanureevesisbae @livisss @sillyrabbit81 @ellethespaceunicorn @ylva-syverson @poledancingdinos

It’s rather busy in the kitchen, but I think they’re almost done, which means it’s probably safe for me to go take a look without being put to work. Besides, it looks like Leon is taking most of the heat for now. I’m almost slammed into a wall when Mike squeezes past me in the narrow hall, announcing the internet has been fixed.

“I knew there was a reason we kept him around.” I say as I join Leon in the kitchen.

“Yeah, it would be so awful if you couldn’t watch porn for one night.” The only reason it doesn’t sour my mood is because Dani is the one saying it. Anyone else could get bent for all I care, but her, I like. It doesn’t stop me from elbowing Leon wherever I can hit him, though, because he should know better than to laugh.

“I don’t think I’ll be needing any tonight,” I say indifferently. From the corner of my eye, I notice that Mike’s paying attention for a change, and I can’t help but throw in a mildly inappropriate wink at Dani - just to see what he’ll do. And how she will react to it.

“Think you can still get laid with a broken nose and a black eye, Brandon?” I was never planning on taking the flirting further, but if I had been… Mike is fast, and I really don’t need a dent in my face tonight. I’ve definitely become more careful since Sol kicked me in the nuts and Geralt came really close to permanently disfiguring my face.

One look at Dani, however, tells me enough. She’s biting her lip as she looks at Mike. Mikey, on the other hand, doesn’t take his eyes off me while he pulls Dani into his side. God, I’m glad they seem to work out. I can’t take another week of him smiling at his phone like an idiot but too nervous to actually ask her out. I’m fairly sure Anjelica ended up hitting send on that text for him. It was the weirdest thing to witness, because Mike actually has game - which is also why I don’t exactly mourn the fact that he’s off the market, although I’m fairly sure Sy is even happier about that. Everyone in this house has broken up more than one spat between those two about who stole whose chick.

Word travels fast around campus, because there’s a staggering amount of people in the house that I know I didn’t invite. I don’t mind, of course; plenty of the ladies present I’d happily invite back - and from the looks of it, a fair amount of them would be more than happy to come along. Tonight, however, I'm mostly interested in the girls who are with Danielle. From the corner of my eye, I notice that Leon has similar ideas, and he’s a lot closer than I am. Luckily, he seems to be more interested in the other roommate, Ariel. The one I’m after is Sloane Price. She plays hockey on the university team, and I occasionally run into her after practice. She’s been sizing me up for weeks, and it’s driving me insane. The one spanner in the works; Sy. Sloane seemed to have set her sights on him, although I don’t know why. Luckily - again, though I like to pretend I don’t depend on luck - he’s occupied by Alicia Thomson. I decide to try the luck I say I don’t need, and talk to her.

My hand hurts like hell. It’s the price you pay for kicking out some douche who can’t keep his hands off your roommate’s girlfriend.

“Thanks for doing that.” The voice is familiar to me now, and when I look up, Sloane is standing in front of me, holding an ice pack. She hands it to me, and I accept it gratefully.

“Thank you.” The cold is amazing on my sore knuckles.

“Can I take a look at that for you?” Sloane asks kindly. I nod, gritting my teeth as I move my hand slightly. She’s a med student - and this might just be a way to get both of us out of here a little quicker than I thought. “I don’t think anything is broken, but I’m fairly sure you sprained your middle finger. Is there any tape in the house?” Bingo! As a matter of fact, there is.

“I think there’s some in my hockey bag,” I say, “do you want me to check?”

“Might as well come with you.” Sloane shrugs.

We make our way upstairs and I lead the way to my room. My bag is at the bottom of the wardrobe, and I was right about the tape; there’s still some in there.

“This is a pretty nice house,” Sloane says as she starts working on taping my finger to the next. “Better than the apartment I share with Dani and Ari… Definitely bigger.”

“I’d hope so,” I say, “there’s eight of us! It’s crowded enough as is.”

“It’s neat, for a house with eight guys,” she notes. I can’t say she’s wrong; we do keep things clean around here. It’s either that or get murdered by August, Geralt and Sherlock. Trust me when I say no one would ever find the body.

I hiss when Sloane pulls the tape a little too tight. “Easy.”

“Sorry.” She has a fantastic smile. “You’re all set.” She lets go of my hand a tad quicker than I’d hoped. It's strange. Normally I'd be wishing for them to get the niceties over with as soon as humanly possible, so we can get to the fun stuff. Not with her. It's not that I'm going to try to pretend I don't know what's going on. I've been in love before. The guys would try to say that I fall in love three times before breakfast every godforsaken day, but they're wrong. I like to fuck. That's all there is to it, really. More importantly: I don't do relationships. Those just end with everyone involved disappointed and hurt. I can't do that to her. To anyone. Not anymore.

Now, the smart thing to do would obviously be turning away, going back to the party, finding someone else and screwing her brains out. The only problem with that idea is that I wouldn't be with Sloane - who is agonisingly slowly leaning in for a kiss, while I'm moving away even more slowly.

"I'd feel incredibly insulted if I couldn't see with my own two eyes you're rock hard for me," she purrs out of nowhere. "To resist you is an almost olympic level achievement, but to be resisted by you? I'm not sure my reputation could take a hit like that…" Her hands are on my thighs, sliding up. I know exactly where they're going. Do I stop her? Who am I kidding? I don't have the strength of character to do that. Involuntarily, I let out a groan.

Her lips meet mine, and I’m done for: there’s absolutely nothing I can do to stop myself now. She pries my mouth open with hers and slips her tongue into my mouth. The vague taste of liquor - not beer or wine, it’s something else - lingers on her lips. It’s good. As far as kisses go, this one is pretty fucking amazing. Miss Price is handsy, and my shirt is on the floor before I know it. Part of me wishes they were all this fast. Yes, from a time-saving perspective. Don’t judge me, at least I’m aware I’m a bit of a jerk. I consider a world where all girls are as eager to sleep with me as Sloane for a moment, until she rakes her fingernails over my chest. When one of them grazes my nipple, I hiss. Hate the feeling. She has way too much control over me at this point, anyway.

I toss her on my bed, fully expecting her to shriek - and she does. They all do. Sometimes, I find myself wondering when things became so predictable. Is there really nothing new to this anymore? She pulls me in for another kiss. God, even if it’s the same old thing over and over again, it never stops feeling good. The decision to wear jeans was a poor one, I have to admit. They’re not going to be a problem for long, however, judging from the enthusiasm with which Sloane attacks my face and neck. Those wet kisses along my jaw and down towards my collarbone make me shiver.

“You like that,” Sloane moans into my ear. I love how it isn’t a question, but rather an observation. And she’s not wrong.

“I do,” I reply, “but it makes me wonder what else that mouth can do.” Not even a minute ago I was impressed with her tempo, and now I’m acting as if she’s not even fast enough for me. What is wrong with me?

“Are we in a hurry?” she asks. We really aren’t, but I’m acting like we are. Sloane raises an eyebrow at me. “I’m happy to admit I’m throwing myself at you, Charles, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to get away with a five minute pump and dump.”

“Don’t insult me,” I scoff, “or do I have a bad reputation I don’t know about?”

“You mean a reputation for being a manwhore? I’m surprised you didn’t know…” I laugh at her retort - albeit sarcastically.

“I mean a reputation for being bad in bed,” I fire back at her. The corner of her mouth twitches, but she doesn’t say anything. I don’t consider it a win just yet. Until she finally shakes her head, that is. I smile at her. “I can give as well as take.”

If that’s not a statement of the type ‘put your money where your mouth is’, then I don’t know what is. Sloane sighs as I slowly kiss my way down her neck. It doesn’t seem to do much for her… Oh, well. I’ll figure it out after I get a good look at these tits. She helps me take her sweater off. The fabric is thin, so even though it’s a relatively modest thing, it did reveal that she has much heftier equipment than I had expected. Curse sports bras and their figure-hiding properties - it's practically the only thing I've seen her in up until now. She stops me when I move to undo her bra, leaving me… confused, in a way. Is she distracting me from the fact she won't show me her tits by taking my cock out? Well… it's working.

My jeans are off in no time, and she makes her way down quickly. Those massive bedroom eyes make up for what she lacks in technique. Not that she's bad. Not at all! It's just…

"That - oh, fuck! Keep doing that!" I'm a simple man. There's two or three things I really like, and I don't need much more than that. It makes it really easy to give pointers. Unfortunately, any kind of hint makes it really easy for girls to want to punch me in the nose. Listen, I know us guys can be dicks about getting directions during sex, but ladies… Pot, kettle, black. In my experience, at least. Sloane doesn't seem to mind, though, which is lovely. She just settled for what I told her works best, making this one of the nicest blowjobs I've ever had. It's a matter of finding out how quickly she'll give up, now.

About five minutes into giving a blowjob, about fifty percent of girls are going to call it quits. The ones who see oral as nothing other than pregame. Next forty to forty-five percent are gone after ten minutes. They're the ones who consider sucking dick fun enough to have at it until jaws start cramping or whatever. If she sticks with it after that time, that’s when I start to consider actually saving her number for future reference. Is that something a total jackass would say? Absolutely. Like I said: I don't have any strange ideas about what I am. I know many people consider me a jerk, and Sloane's assessment of 'manwhore' was far from incorrect. Still, I don't think I deserve the amount of shit I get for screwing around. I've never pretended to want more from a girl than a bit of good fun. It's not my fault some still expect me to call them, right? And I quit getting caught up in serious relationships after I ruined the third one by cheating. Now, some of the guys think my stance on sleeping with girls who are in relationships is questionable, and I won't pretend my opinion on the matter is undisputed…

Sloane breaks into my thoughts in a rather unorthodox way: sinking her teeth into my cock.

"I don't feel I deserved that," I groan. It didn't hurt, she was gentle enough, but it was an unwelcome enough surprise, nonetheless. What's worse is that she comes crawling up and kisses me. It's not the kiss that bothers me, it's the fact that she's no longer sucking my cock. Oh well, she's made it well past the ten minute mark.

"Tell me," she moans into my ear before softly sucking on my earlobe. Fuck, she's good. "Would you ever have cum from that?"

"No," I answer honestly, "but it felt absolutely divine." There's a big difference between a good blowjob and one that's going to finish you off.

"I'd ask you to return the favour but… I would actually like to cum," she whispers. I chuckle softly. I'm reasonably confident I can make that happen for her. And I'd love to.

She’s a willing participant for sure. She’s loud, which I’m definitely not going to complain about. Tastes good, too, and the way her pussy clenches around my fingers makes me very curious and very eager to fuck her. I keep eating her out until she screams my name - it’s almost suspiciously easy to get her there, but I’m the last person to question it. I can’t hold back a chuckle when I feel her fingers beneath my chin, pulling me up. Sloane’s hands are gentle, but impatient - so is her mouth. She kisses me fiercely. Feverishly. Almost desperately. I allow my eyes to wander, feel my expression turn into a frown when they meet her bra. It’s pretty, but in my way. Sloane, however, also stops my next attempt to take it off.

“Why?” I ask. I’m curious by nature, which is not always beneficial - not even in these moments. Sloane looks at me and rolls her eyes.

“What? I’m not good enough for you like this?” she counters.

“I never said that,” I warn her. Women and their godforsaken talent to twist your words. I swear it’s at least half the reason I get in trouble all the time. “I was just wondering.”

“I like the support. They’re pretty heavy,” she says plainly.

“I can imagine.” Apparently, there’s a tone in my voice she doesn’t like, because she smacks me in the arm. “Hey!”

She’s testing my patience now, and it’s working. It’s gone. I reach for my nightstand. Can’t screw around the way I do without protection - as disappointed as I am about that. I’m surprised when she puts a hand on my cheek and turns me back to her.

“Skip it,” she says, “I’m on birth control.” Maybe if I hadn’t looked into her eyes, I would have been able to resist her. This is not a good idea.

When she kisses me, I’m lost again. Next thing I know, I’m pushing into her, listening to her moans as she takes me all the way, hissing when she digs her nails into my shoulder. The sprained finger adds another degree of difficulty: it’s incredibly difficult to keep myself up, because - pardon my French - that finger hurts like a bitch.

“Your hand?” she asks kindly as she strokes the side of my face. Her hands are warm and soft against my skin, which makes me sigh. I nod, my face screwed up from the pain. I’m nowhere near drunk enough to ignore the feeling.

“Allow me,” she whispers before gently nudging me onto my back. I’m the last person to complain about a woman on top, especially when the view is so exquisite. As she rides me - with vigour, I must say. It’s greatly appreciated - I almost forget my displeasure regarding her bra. And my own name.

“Do you have this kind of stamina when you’re on top?” she asks after a while. I grin widely - I can’t help myself. It disappears, however, when she climbs off and sits on my bed, my open arms clearly not enough of an invitation for her to join me in a more comfortable position.

“Give my hand some time to heal, I’ll show you,” I say. She doesn’t seem particularly put off by the idea, which is lovely. “Come here for a minute.” Normally I wouldn’t ask. I’m not above a quickie in a bathroom stall, and I have been known to occasionally take off immediately after sex. What I don’t do, is ask the girls I shag in my own bed to leave - and not just because their staying the night exponentially increases my chances of having lazy morning sex, which I might just describe as my favourite pastime. In those cases, after sex cuddling is an inevitability. A nuisance, even. For me to ask for it… It reminds me immediately of just how terrible an idea this was.

“Do you want a drink?” I ask quickly, hoping for an excuse to leave my room and get my head on straight again.

“With alcohol? Yes, please,” Sloane answers.

“I’m sure they won’t miss a bottle of wine.” I put my clothes on as quickly as I can, and make my way downstairs.

At least… I try to, because a spat between Marshall and his best friend Peter prevent me from going into the kitchen. I’m not getting mixed up in this - or rather: I am going to try my very best, but if this guy keeps going the way he’s going, I’m afraid I’ll have no choice. My hand may not be broken now, but it surely will be if I have to assault one more person today. And I wasn’t planning on spending the rest of my night in hospital… Luckily, Ange gets in the middle of it before things really get out of hand. When the dust settles, I make my way into the kitchen to get a bottle of wine. Marshall doesn’t look too good… I might have to ask Sloane to take a look at him in a bit. If he’ll let her. He looks as if he just wants to disappear - and I don’t necessarily blame him. He hasn’t been himself, lately. The bad mood wasn’t unusual, per se, but there was something melancholic to it that didn’t suit him. I doubt this has fixed the issue.

As expected, he won’t let Slo into his room. I’d be sad if it didn’t mean I got to have her back with me quicker. When I got back to my room, I promised myself tonight. Just this one night with her, and then I forget about her. She just wants to know if the stories are true, she won’t mind. If she’s smart, she won’t expect a thing from me - and she’s in medical school. She’s smart. We just finish the bottle, talk about nothing, and laugh.

“Are you up for another round of debauchery?” she asks after she has put the empty bottle on my nightstand. She’s on her knees, straddling my thighs, clothed - unfortunately - because I haven’t had a chance to take her clothes off after she came back to the room. Neither of us are remotely sober now. Chances are that whatever happens next, will be forgotten before morning.

One night. And then I forget about her.

#charles brandon x ofc #charles brandon #179 crescent street #179cs #henrycavill fanfic #henry cavill characters #henry cavill fanfiction #charles brandon smut

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