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moonlitdesertdreams · 27 days ago

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Toss a Coin to Your Witcher

A/N: This blog no longer has a set list of fandoms, I'm just writing about the every big beefy boi i see (this week it happened to be Geralt). I felt like him and Jaskier (and you) deserved an enjoyable night for once.

Relationship: Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Tags: geralt of rivia x reader, geralt x y/n, The Witcher, Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier/Dandelion, the Witcher, fluff

WARNINGS: minor mentions of sex, but nothing graphic

Summary: After slaying a village's flock of monsters, they throw a celebration for Geralt, Jaskier and yourself. Unfortunately for the Witcher, some of the entertainment is at his expense.

Or, you all sing everyone's favorite song, much to Geralt's chagrin.

Word Count: 1.9k+ (GIF credit to @thejingshi)

It’s a night of celebration.

After the slaying of a Harpy flock, the village you rode into just days ago is ripe with excitement. The tavern is full of who you assumed to be everyone in the village and their families, with a crowd spilling into the narrow dirt path outside. Ale flows plentifully, brought in by the barrel when word of the Witcher’s success first broke.

In spite of it being a celebration of his aptitude for monster slaying, Geralt was unsurprisingly difficult to persuade into attending. Jaskier and yourself had spent well over an hour goading him, threatening a journey full of off-key singing and never-ending harassment if he didn’t. You'd like to think his affection for you has some bearing on his decision, but chances are he's far more concerned about being pestered for the foreseeable future.

So along you go- The Witcher, his lover, and his bard.

And no, the setup for a bad joke isn’t lost on you when your odd trio trots into the tavern. Though, jokes aside, the celebration is lively and cheerful. Jaskier finds himself herded to the front of the crowd, playing along with other local musicians. The tunes are upbeat and fast, and an impressive amount of townsfolk dance along.

As usual, Geralt remains in a shadowed corner. His mug is half-full of ale and his lips stay pursed. He speaks softly to villagers as they stop to thank him and waves off frequent offers of livestock as additional payment. You kept him company for some time, but eventually let Jaskier drag you into the crowd for a sorry attempt at dancing. Needless to say, it lasts mere moments before you retreat to a table full of gossiping women who are unafraid to bat away the bard’s hands when he begins the hunt for a new dance partner.

It grows late when you wander back to Geralt’s side and drop into the booth beside him. Your vision is bordered by a golden haze and warmth radiates from your ale-filled belly. Contentedness flourishes deep in your chest, and you’re determined to savor the rare taste of it.

“You’re happy.” Geralt remarks. He lowers the mug and swipes foam from his upper lip.

“Quite.” You drop your head onto his shoulder. “And quite tired, if I’m being honest.”

Quick to take note of your needs, Geralt squeezes your knee.

“We don’t have to wait for the bard,” He rumbles, “he can find his own way back to the inn.”

The idea is tempting; Geralt’s warm body combined with a soft mattress beneath you sounds like heaven after a long couple of days. You nudge the toe of your boot into the floor as you debate it, pausing as the roar of the party quiets and everyone looks to the stage.

Jaskier makes his way up the steps, lute in hand and quirky grin plastered on his face. He winks in Geralt’s direction, eliciting a groan from the Witcher.

“Good ev- yes, yes, quiet down- Good evening, friends.” Jaskier is obviously in his glory with the audience trained on him. “I just wanted to give my friend, your saviour, a proper send off from this lovely celebration.”

You giggle at the exasperation that settles itself onto Geralt’s face.

“I’d like to play a little tune for all of you, one that you may have heard already.”

Jaskier wastes no time plucking away at the opening notes to a familiar song.

“When a humble bard

Graced a ride along

With Geralt of Rivia

Along came this… song”

You can’t help the smile that splits your face. Geralt may hate the tune, but you are a fan.

“...And so cried the Witcher...”

The tavern breaks out into song alongside Jaskier. You cackle as Geralt drains the remainder of his mug. He gently grasps your hand and pulls, maneuvering towards the door.

“He thrust every elf, far back on the shelf…”

“Oh, don’t be a sourpuss, Geralt.”

You dig in your heels, knowing full well that he would continue to drag you if he pleased. The Witcher’s golden eyes sweep over you, pleading for escape in the most comical way possible.

Villagers swarm, and you spot Jaskier picking his way through throngs of bodies to get to you. He’s still singing, strumming the lute and keeping pace with the chaos. Geralt seems to resign himself to his fate, leaning back against the doorframe. You push onto your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. Through all of his hunts for monsters and mayhem, he’s never looked as nervous as he does now.

“I love you.” You chirp as a preemptive apology, taking a step in the bard’s direction. “And this song.”

“That’s my epic tale, our champion prevailed….”

“It’s not a great song.” Geralt quips as Jaskier thrusts a mug of ale into the Witcher’s bear paw of a hand.

“Defeated the villain, now pour him some ale!”

Jaskier keeps the same hand free of his lute as the other string players pick up the beat. He reaches out to take yours, voice rising in volume for the crescendo of the song.

“I thought you were tired?” Geralt tries as a last-ditch effort to keep you at his side, but slides down into the closest chair when you elect to go with Jaskier. One big hand scrubs down his face, apparently from embarrassment and vexation with his cohort. You swear there’s a tinge of red on his cheeks.

“Toss a coin to your Witcher, Oh Valley of Plenty.” You join in with Jaskier and the villagers, singing loudly. “Oh Valley of Plenty, Oh…”

Jaskier twirls you around, forcing your feet into a sloppy jig that you’re sure would be much easier if he wasn’t just as inebriated as you. Geralt’s eyes never leave your spinning form, begging you to spare him from this public torture.

As the final verse approaches, you break apart from the bard. Your hands find Geralt’s shoulders, surprise painting your face when he swings you in a lazy circle.

“Geralt, are you…. Dancing?”

It only lasts a moment before his hands slip down from the small of your back, one hooking your opposite hip and giving a firm tug towards the door. Jaskier is out of sight, sucked back into the herd, though his distinct voice stands out amongst the chorus.

“Only to get you to the door.” The Witcher murmurs, close enough to your ear to make you shiver.

A chilly night breeze caresses your skin as he herds you out the door. You stumble on a loose stone, though Geralt’s quick hand captures your upper arm before you can go far. A drunken laugh slips out of your mouth as he playfully pushes you up against the tavern wall. Applause erupts from inside as the song closes out with a familiar flourish.

“I can’t believe you wouldn’t even stay for the song written for you.” You admonish him even as he nuzzles his nose into your hairline. His breath smells of ale, and his feline eyes sweep over your face. “The champion of the village, as I heard the barkeep say.”

“Hm…” Geralt hums and presses his lips to yours. “I don’t want to be the village’s champion, I only wish to be yours.”

Your cheeks flush at his words, but you lean up to continue the kiss anyway. One of his hands anchors itself to the wall beside your head, and the other cups your cheek. Long fingers brush your ear and the sensitive skin of your neck while his tongue traced your bottom lip. You moan against his mouth and stand on your toes to kiss him properly . One hand slides beneath his tunic, massaging warm skin and taut muscles.

“They would disappear while I’m trying to - oh, for Melitele’s sake!”

You startle against the Witcher, head whipping to the side to find Jaskier with one hand covering his eyes. Geralt, usually so attuned to his surroundings, merely grunts his disapproval at the interruption.

“Do you two ever stop? Or just wait until you get to the inn?” Jaskier’s hand falls away, and he gestures inarticulately at a few passing villagers as they exited the tavern as if they had any idea what he was on about. “They do this all the time!”

Geralt’s chest rumbles with agitation, the heat of his body still pressed close. Even with such dear friends, he always exudes dominance. “Have you ever considered that maybe you just interrupt all the time?”

“Oh, well pardon me for just existing,” Jaskier’s voice is all drunken exasperation, and you withhold a giggle. “How I manage to keep my escapades private while you both flaunt it about is beyond me.”

You scoff halfheartedly at your companion. “Jaskier, I’ve accidentally seen you in compromising positions more times than I care to count. With various…conquests. You have no room to talk.”

He opens his mouth to retort before Geralt cuts him off with a single look. “Back to the inn it is, then.”

Once again, his hand cups your hip to pull you along. Torches guide the way, and Jaskier has no choice but to follow since you are all headed in the same direction. He mumbles his thoughts to no one but himself, fiddling around with his lute and bowing dramatically to the passing villagers who compliment his performance.

“At least someone appreciates it.”

So you laugh and poke fun at each other while trekking across town to the inn, tucked into the Witcher’s side. Eventually you join in with the bard’s antics and all is right in the world. You walk arm and arm to placate Jaskier, teasing him about his long list of female partners as Geralt walks behind you both as a silent sentry. A few paces away from your destination, discarded on the dirt pathway, you notice a lost gold coin lying near a flowerbed. Jaskier obliges your pause, dipping down as you bend to grab it. Mischief runs through your veins and mingles with the alcohol.

“Hey, Geralt.” You turn to the Witcher and use your thumb to flick the coin to him. “Found something for you.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth. “Toss a coin-”

“Absolutely not.” The Witcher grits, though he still tucks the coin away. “I’ve had just about enough of bards and song tonight.”

Geralt steals you away from Jaskier, making a beeline to the inn. All of his grumpiness is purely a front, made clear by his request to the innkeep to have a hot bath and a meal ready for both your shared room and Jaskier’s. As soon as you make it behind a closed door, his lips set out to memorize every hill and valley of your body. Rough but attentive, Geralt’s hands grope your sides, and you moan his name when lips trail down your chest and looped back up.

“Maybe I should toss a coin to my Witcher more often.” You tease against his mouth, lips curling up in a coy smirk.

Geralt pauses only a moment before nipping at your bottom lip, hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to draw blood. Pleasure simmers in your chest when he soothes the pain away with his tongue.

“You watch your mouth.”

Between labored breaths, with a hand tangled in locks of bone-white hair, you manage a response.

“I don’t think I will.”

Thanks for reading, much love ♥

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