#(Yes I know what the Witcher's Keep is called...

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Barter 5

Warnings: dubious and nonconsent, foreplay, I am a dark blog and I write dark things.

Summary: You are bargained to be wife to the witcher if he can slew the beast in the village.

Character: Geralt of Rivia

**note, I am not a Witcher genius or aficionado and so I may get some things wrong.

As usual, I appreciate any and all feedback and enthusiasm. Please reblog and leave a comment. Love! 😍

You bring the cloth to the witcher’s cheek. You wipe gently as you feel his bold eyes on you. You meet them and flinch. You’ve never seen irises like that and his expression is forged in stone. Unbreakable. He doesn’t appear very pleased to have his prize. 

You say your name. His brow tweaks. You swallow and put your focus back to the cut. You wipe it clean as he puffs through his nose. 

“Geralt,” he returns. “You will call me only husband.” 

“Yes, husband,” your voice rises as a wisp. 

He surprises you as he grabs your waist suddenly. You recoil, your hands furled as you hold them loft. He spins you and grips the plain wool at the nape of your neck. He rents it so the laces snap and the dress slackens. You squeak as he pushes the fabric past your shoulders. 

As your dress heaps around your clogs, you shiver beneath the thin sheath of your shift. He stands and clamps your shoulders in his large hands. He guides you from behind and stop you before the tup.  

You stare at the water and shudder. After the day’s ride, its heat is tempting but the presence of this man, a husband you do not know, has you wary. He moves behind you, grunting as he leans on a bed post and rips off one boot then the other. 

He continues to undress around you as you wait for him to direct you. You close your eyes as his last layer falls away. He steps up behind you, nearly flush with you as his thick fingertips brush down your sides. He clutches the side of your shift and raises it up little by little; past your knees, then thighs, then pelvis, up your stomach to your chest. You raise your arms to let him strip it away. 

Naked, quivering, scared, you stand trapped between him and the tub. He pets your head, spreading his long fingers round it as he smooths your hair beneath roughened palms. He angles to drag his knuckles down the back of your neck and traces the length of your spine. He trails from your tailbone to your hips and urges you forward. 

You step into the tub as he acts as your balance. He follows you in, one foot then the other, as you wade through the steaming depth. He turns and lowers himself carefully, drawing you down with him. He sits you between his legs, bending them around you as you brace your knees to keep from crumbling.  

He pulls you to lean against him and sighs. Every bit of fatigue and frustration unwinds in that breath. You stay rigid as you feel all of him. He guides your head to rest on his chest then stretches his burly arms over the brim of the tub.  

You stare at the crux of ceiling and wall, frozen despite the heat roiling over you. You feel him twitch beneath the water. Against you. He is turgid and wanting and you can only wait until he takes what he desires. Until he seals your marriage in that final act of dominance. 

You linger like that for a time. His chest rises and falls. You let the rhythm calm you so much as it can. He groans as he sinks into the soak. 

You wince as he curls and arm forward, his hand dipping beneath the surface. He tickles along your stomach, up over the cushiony flesh and along your sternum. He circles your tits with his thick digit then centers on your nipple. He pinches the beaded bud and swirls his thumb around it. A tingle rolls over you. 

You tense and whimper in fear. You’re not ignorant to what husband and wife do but the gossip of the village women bodes of pain and woe. He hushes you as his other hand crawls over your shoulder and up your throat. He frames your jaw and lifts your head. He nuzzles your crown and plumes hot breath over your scalp. 

His other hand descends and he pokes along your thighs. He grunts and you suck in a sharp gasp. You shake and pry your legs apart. His large body cradles yours as his touch slips along your pelvis and his fingers glide over your cunt. 

He pushes his finger between your folds and pushes on your tender pearl. You squeak at the sensation that blooms inside of you. Unthinking, you latch onto his wrist and moan. 

He tuts and lifts his chin to rest on your head. 

“Be a good wife,” he bids as he rolls his finger, the tendrils creeping up your thighs and stomach with each flick. “Shh, shh, shhh.” 

You close your eyes and melt into him as your chest hammers. He drops his other hand to grope your chest again, as if to feel the tempo of fear and furor growing within. He growls as he plays with you, squeezing your bosom as his finger dances on your clit.  

You clasp onto his knees to keep from slipping down and whine. You might try to enjoy what you may before that last wall is stormed. One last delight before a life of duty begins. 

[thelostgirl21]

AND NOW HE'S THE FAMILY GOAT!!!

The capricorns

I found this interviews [x] and I couldn't help but make a stupid parallel 😅

[navybrat817]

Smartie: would you love me even if I were a gecko?

Stud: I would find a Witcher and make him turn me into a gecko and this would be us: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMMVoXtHD/

BAHAHA. Nonnie, I burst out laughing watching this and reading the comments.

Like Animals

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: You ask Bucky an "important" question and he gives you a thorough answer. Word Count: Over 1.2k Warnings: Humor, fluff, implied explicit sexual content, inner monologue, TikTok video, pet names, established relationship, feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). Apologies to geckos. A/N: Some Stud and Smartie for your Tuesday. Had to do it, @whisperlullaby and @targaryenvampireslayer! ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

A smile pulled at your lips when you saw Bucky relaxed in his chair, engrossed in his newest book. Soot and Alpine cuddled up together nearby, both letting your man have some peace as he read. Naturally, it was the perfect time to interrupt him. Because you had a very important question for him.

One that would shape the future of your relationship.

He’ll understand why I bothered him.

“Hey, Stud?” You asked as you took a seat on the sofa, his steel eyes peering up from the pages to gaze at you. Your heart would always skip a beat from that look. “I have something very important to ask you.”

He put his bookmark in to give you his undivided attention. “What’s up? Is it about the wedding?”

“No,” you smiled. You were aware that some men didn’t care about wedding planning, but Bucky was. He wanted it to be the perfect day for you. “But the question is kind of related to love and our relationship.”

His brows furrowed when you didn’t elaborate. “Okay. What’s the question?”

You inhaled and exhaled slowly. “Would you still love me if I turned into an animal?”

Bucky blinked once. Twice. The corner of his mouth twitched, but he didn’t smile or laugh. “An animal? What kind of animal?”

You huffed when he didn’t immediately say “yes”. That should’ve been his answer. “I don’t know! A gecko! Yeah. A gecko.”

I have to keep a straight face.

Amusement sparkled in his eyes, but he still tried to remain as stoic as he could. “A gecko? Why a gecko?”

“Because geckos are cool!” You replied, close to bursting out laughing at the absurdity of the questioning and logic. But wasn’t part of the fun of having a partner being able to discuss stuff like this? “They can climb walls, can live a long time, they make great pets-”

“You wanna be my pet, Smartie?” Bucky asked, his voice dropping an octave.

Yes.

“You’re…” you sighed when he ran his tongue along his lips. He was a sexy bastard and you would soon call him your husband. “You’re distracting me. Answer the question, please.”

“So, that’s a yes,” he smirked, pushing his hair back and causing you to stare a bit again. “You’re asking me if you were a gecko, would I still love you?”

“Yes,” you said, rolling your eyes to try and play it off as something silly. Which it was. “Would you love me even if I were a gecko?”

Bucky set the book on the table before he moved from his chair to the couch. Your heart raced when he took your left hand and kissed over your engagement ring. “Smartie. Doll. Baby. Love of my life, of course, I would,” he said, your cheeks warm when he smiled at you. “In fact, I would find a Witcher and make him turn me into a gecko so we could be together properly.”

Right answer, Stud.

“You would?”

“I would,” he promised, pressing his forehead to yours. “I don’t want to exist in a world where we can’t be together.”

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

“I don’t either,” you whispered, your heart full. “And no matter what, human, gecko, anything, I’m your Smartie and you’re my Stud.”

You knew if tomorrow you woke up as some different version of you, he’d love you. If someone tried to separate you, he’d find a way to get you back. He was your soulmate. You had the whole world because of him.

“Damn right,” he whispered, brushing his lips against yours before he pulled away. “Besides, if I ever found that Witcher, this would be us.”

…What?

“What would be us? I’m confused,” you said as he took out his phone and pulled up a video, cuddling close to you could both see the screen. “What is this?”

Bucky gently shushed you as he turned up the volume. “Just watch.”

You tilted your head as a rock came into view. “What are you showing me?” You questioned before your eyes went wide. Bucky’s arm over shoulders shook as he started chuckling. “Are those geckos fucking?!”

The decibel of your voice made the cats raise their heads, but they didn’t move since you weren’t in any sort of danger. “Yeah, they are,” your fiancé laughed. “Geckos in their semi-natural habitat.”

This wasn’t on my BINGO card for the year.

“Why do you have this?!” You asked, turning to look at him. “Wait, when did you start using TikTok?! Is this on your FYP? Is this a new kink you haven’t told me about? Because that’s a whole other conversation.”

He threw his head back and you couldn’t help but laugh with him. “You’re missing it.”

“Yeah, because gecko porn was the thing I was missing in my life. Everything makes sense now,” you teased, gesturing to the screen. “And, by the way, that’ll never be us.”

Bucky’s laughter came up short and, for a moment, sadness flickered in his eyes. “I thought you said we’d be together if we were geckos.”

“We would be,” you assured him, seeing happiness all over his face once again. “But look. He’s doing all the work and she looks bored as hell. That’s not me and that’s not our sex life.”

“So, I fuck you better?” He teased you.

Duh.

Whatever kind of sex you had before you met Bucky didn’t even count to you. He ruined you so thoroughly that you didn’t even remember the first guy you kissed. It was as if he erased all other guys from your mind.

Love was a powerful thing and Bucky had it in abundance.

“Yes, so much better. I mean, come on, she looks like she’s thinking, ‘Did I leave the stove on?’”

The brunette burst out laughing all over again.

I love that sound.

“Seriously! I would never just be still like that and you know it. There’s a difference between being a pillow princess and a dead fish,” You smiled, cuddling closer so you could feel his chest rumble beneath your hand. “And just for making me look at that, I want you to try and keep a straight face the next time we have sex.”

“What? That’s not fair,” he groaned, making you shriek when he suddenly laid you out on the sofa, his phone forgotten. “I can’t keep a straight face when I’m inside you. Your pussy feels too good for that.”

He always looks gorgeous when he slides into me.

“So does your cock. I don’t think I could look bored if I tried,” you agreed, raising an eyebrow when he moved on top of you. “But seriously, how is it that you just happened to have that video when I asked about us being geckos? You didn’t know I was going to ask you that.”

He grasped your chin to give you a thorough kiss, the kind that drove every sane thought from your mind. “I guess the two of us are just in sync,” he said.

“I guess we are,” you smiled. “But no more gecko porn today, okay?”

“Okay,” he smirked down at you. “But I will fuck you like an animal.”

True to his word, that was exactly what he did.

Oh, I adore them. 🥰 Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[lycheeloving]

I'm currently re-watching the first season of the Witcher... I forgot how much I love Geralt. So I had to write yandere headcanons for him ofc:

He still has to hunt monsters, but he tries to keep it to a minimum, as to not endanger you

When he does have to do something dangerous, he leaves you at the safest place that's nearby-ish. He doesn't tie you down, so you can still run away if you're in danger. At the beginning, this means he always has to chase you down after he gets back, but he couldn't live with himself if you got hurt because you couldn't get away from some monster.

That being said, you quickly realize that Geralt does, in fact, leave you in the safest place possible, whether that's an inn in a town or somewhere in a forest. Running away usually only gets you into trouble that Geralt has to save you from, so at some point you stop running. He always finds you in no time anyways, because of his enhanced senses. You might as well stay where you are, that's less exhausting.

He doesn't punish you for running away. He thinks it's annoying and might grumble and complain a bit while carrying you back, but that's all. He knows that this isn't an ideal situation for you and how could you ever love him, but he just can't live without you.

He does teach you some basic self-defense stuff, and how to act around certain monsters, so you're not totally unprepared if something were to happen. Usually the only thing you should do is run, though. (He teaches you for which monsters you should stand still, so you don't make a horrible mistake)

You'll sleep outside most of the time.

Downside: he insists on cuddling while you sleep. His arms are around you like a vice and you can't go anywhere. Plus the floor is uncomfortable (even if he has started to carry more comfortable sleeping bags etc with him bc you kept complaining) and cold. Really cold.

Upside: At least Geralt runs hot, so he keeps you warm?

Being outside all the time also means you usually have to bathe in various rivers and lakes... Geralt always stands guard with his sword in his hand. Just in case. He has to look at you, to keep you safe! Not because he likes seeing you naked or anything...

If you're ever in a town, don't expect the people there to help you. Nobody wants to enrage a Witcher, especially not the butcher of Blaviken...

Geralt will let you talk to others if you want, as long as you (or they) aren't flirting. He gets jealous easily. So if you don't want them to "mysteriously" disappear, try to be careful about how you talk to others. And who you talk to.

Doesn't care if other people call him names because he's used to it, but if anyone makes a comment about you because you're with him? They're dead.

Lets you ride Roach. of course.

I feel like he would still be friends with Jaskier. Jask would just think you're being silly if you talk about how Geralt kidnapped you and won't let you leave or whatever. "Haha, yeah, I get it, I keep coming back to him as well, his life is just so fascinating! So, what did you think about my new song?". Useless in helping you escape, but at least he's fun to be around. Might try to hit on you once, but immediately realizes that he should never do that again if he wants to live keep being friends with Geralt.

I feel like Yennefer would flirt with you and make demeaning comments like "Can I borrow your little toy?" about you, to piss Geralt off. You don't like when she's there because she always makes him feel like he needs to prove that you're his.

Will probably leave a bite mark on your neck, to mark you as his. So everyone knows not to touch you, even if he's not around.

Yes, he'll take you to Kaer Morhen. The others make fun of him for "acting like a lovesick puppy". He doesn't care, as long as they're not making fun of you. If someone does make fun of you, Geralt will seriously hurt them, unless you convince him not to. In which case he'll have to hear even more comments about how he's totally whipped. But at least it makes the other Witchers like you more, if Geralt hurts them for you that just pisses them off, and in that case nobody has a good time.

[tearsaura]

In the woods, the monster awaits // Eris Vanserra x reader

Based on this comment by @astarionsdurge thank you so much for this prompt! I hope you like it.

picture is from pinterest: tanema3

Word count: 1.2k

The estate was much quieter nowadays. Visiting it served only two purposes: seeing my mother or following up on court business. It always felt cold, which is ironic since our power was quite the opposite.

My father’s office was the furthest away at the highest floor and even that didn’t seem far away enough from us. As I climbed up the stairs and entered his space a few moments later, the familiar smell of his cologne hit me and it made my skin crawl.

“We must check in with y/l/n. The magic on our borders is wearing of. There has been an increase on beasts in the woods and if they get any closer, they’ll feast on the village by noon and on us by the evening.” Beron said without looking up from his papers as I stepped closer to his desk.

Well hello to you too father!

Yes, I am doing alright thank you for asking!

Our army shrinks with every day that passes but you already knew that and you refuse to do anything about it! What will you do when there are none left, even for you?

How are you feeling? Any chance that you step down and free this court from its misery?

My father, the high lord of the autumn court, summoned me at dawn to complain, like he usually did. He did take me by surprise that he decided to do something about it instead of delegating it to someone else. Maybe the thoughts of being a meal for some beasts did worry him.

“Shall I meet up with him today?”

“No, I already scheduled to meet up and I want you to accompany me, I need to have a word with him first but after that it is going to be your problem.” He said, raising from his chair.

With other words, he wanted the people from the village to think that he does care about them. That’s what he usually does: Goes to the poorer villages occasionally, act as if he cares, promises them that he works something out to help them but never actually does it. He wordlessly walked out, his guards trailing after him. I sighed, counted to ten, and went after them.

The horse ride to the boarders went quietly thankfully. I tuned out my fathers talking and took in the lands. The autumn court was beautiful, especially the forest. We reached the said place at the border shortly, and nobody was there. I got off my horse and gave him something to eat before joining my father, who was already seething. It was astonishing, how short his patience ran.

“This is unacceptable. Where is the old man?” Beron complained as he dismounted his horse, walking further into the woods.

Please dear mother, let this man get lost in there and never come back.

“This is a forest, he probably needs some time to find us because it looks all, you know, the same.” I claimed, walking after him whilst keeping my distance.

“I am the high lord of the autumn court! I do not have the time or the nerve to wait on some old Witcher to find his way to the place I ordered him to get to on time. He’s a Witcher don’t they sense people?”

“We don’t. We only sense the magic, or well, the lack of it.” A feminine voice called and as I turned around, I was sure that reality had left me. The unknown woman came towards us, my father taking a few steps back as his guards stepped in front of him.

She nearly made me drop to my knees. There were no words on this world that would do right in describing how beautiful she was. No music could come close to the sound of her voice. Without thinking, I stepped closer to her.

The woman raised up her hands in surrender. “No need to draw weapons. I am not here to harm you, high lord. My father sends me: y/l/n, the old Witcher?” she said, a coy smile graced her red lips. Of course, I personally hadn’t seen her father but her signature light grey, almost white, eyes gave her away as a family member of the witches.

“Why didn’t he come himself? I specifically told him that he should come. One would think that the order of the High lord where to take-” “He went to another weak spot. Sadly, this area isn’t our only problem. It took me a while to find you because the magic is missing in multiple places.”

I swallowed. One leakage was bad, but manageable. Multiple where a bad sign. Something was wrong.

“So, what can we do about it?” I asked, her eyes now fixating on me. They looked just like the sky during autumns stormy afternoons. Very hard to look away from, pulling me deeper into this trance.

“You are?”

“Eris. Eris Vanserra.” She continued to look at me, her head tilting slightly. She had a mole right over her upper lip on the left side.

“My oldest son.” I hadn’t even realised that my father had stepped closer too. “He will take over this matter and you’ll correspond directly to him. Unfortunately, I must go. Court affairs.” He said, before he went to his horse, his guards trailing after him.

She waited for a few moments, watching my father and his guards leaving and as they became a small figure in the distance, her attention turned back to me.

“I feel sorry for lady autumn. It must be tiring to listen to this man for even a second, I fear.”

“You have no idea.” I replied and she gave me another smile. She had dimples.

“So, my father and I are working on resurrecting the old magic that was used. But it is many centuries old and all the tomes we have need to be translated first. We will work with lesser magic until we have it but that would only last days or weeks at most. For the time being I would stay here to make sure that everything is alright.” She said, stemming her hands on her hips as she observed.

She smelled divine. Oranges with a hint of vanilla. He wanted to wrap her scent around him for the rest of his life.

“The Forrest house isn’t far from here. You can stay there.” I blurted, her eyes widening in surprise. “Oh, that is quite all right I thought about bringing a tent-” “A tent? Absolutely not. You are saving your people with your work. The least I can do is make sure that you have an actual roof over your head.” I said, stepping closer to her. She bit her lip, as she looked up to me, the confidence from before replaced with sudden shyness.

“Thank you, Eris.”

Eris. That’s what did it. I suddenly felt the thin golden thread pulling me towards her and my breath hitched.

Mate.

Must protect her, must keep her safe.

I found my mate. I took everything in me not to blurt it right out.

“Of course.” I whispered, before I held out my arm to her hoping that she didn’t notice it trembling.

“I’ll bring you there.”

[shy-urban-hobbit]

"I'm telling you Geralt, my songs are definitely working."

"A few contracts not skimping on payment isn't proof Jaskier. It's coincidence." Geralt replied as he stuffed his newly purchased supplies into Roach's saddlebag. After two years, he didn't need to look to know the bard was probably doing his uncanny impression of a landed trout. His default expression when he thought himself gravely offended.

"Oh hoho. So it's proof you want? Fine, I'll get you proof you old cynic - wait, I'm here calling you old, how old are you? I know Witchers age differently but it's all so contradictory. I remember one text claiming you aged backwards. Backwards!"

Geralt was blessedly distracted from Jaskier's tangent by a small tug on his cloak causing him to look behind him and then down.

A small, tear stained face with huge, liquid brown eyes looked up at him. The hand that wasn't clutching Geralt's cloak fisted in the skirt of a green dress as she shuffled her small, booted feet. Witcher and child stared at one another and even Jaskier had fallen silent.

"Are you the White Wolf?" She asked in a small voice.

Geralt could only nod in response, keeping an eye and both ears out for angry adults about to accuse him of kidnapping.

"I can't find my Papa." She sniffled, voice trembling and eyes welling up.

He felt himself slip into Witcher mode, trying to think what could be snatching people from a crowded town in the middle of the day, "What do you mean you can't find him, has he gone missing or-"

"Sweetheart, do you mean you got separated from your Papa in the market?" Jaskier gently interjected before Geralt could start fully interrogating her. The girl gave a small nod, turning her attention to the bard now kneeling in the dirt next to her.

Geralt felt his face heat up. Right. Just a lost child. That was also a possible (and the most logical) explanation.

"It's ok, we'll help you find him. Won't we Geralt?" Jaskier's tone of voice leaving no room for argument.

It turned out that Jaskier's idea of helping was having the girl perch on Geralt's shoulders and scan the top of the crowd for her father while he stood playing silly little dittys to keep her from crying again. Geralt holding onto her shins lightly and trying to ignore the mess being made on his cloak by muddy feet.

"I see him! Papa! Papa!"

Geralt tightened his grip slightly as her weight shifted with her frantic waving. Waiting until he was clearly making his way over to them before setting her gently back on the ground.

"Mika! Oh thank the God's." He turned his attention to the two men, his eyes widened as he took Geralt in fully.

"You're-"

"Hmmm."

Geralt tried to hide his surprise as the man grasped his hand in a firm if slightly clammy grip. "My thanks Wolf. I swear, if I went home without her my wife would make sure I shared the same fate as that Hag from the song of yours." He said, smiling awkwardly at his own attempt at humour, "Come on Mika, say goodbye. Oh, here."

He reached into his satchel and pulled something out. Geralt could smell warm sugar as he handed it over. "It's not much, but I don't know a single person who doesn't like cake. I could do with cutting down myself." He said, patting his own slight paunch before taking his daughters hand with a final "Thank you." Mika turning back to give a wave which they both returned before the two of them disappeared into the crowd.

"What?" Geralt asked as they left the town. The bard hadn't stopped grinning at him like the cat who'd got the canary.

"Nothing. It just, the timing and everything. Seems Destiny agreed with me for once. The songs are making a difference."

"Hmm." Geralt fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"Oh don't give me that." Jaskier said, swatting Geralt in the side as he unwrapped the package Mika's father had given them, "You saw as well as I did there were plenty of town guards around but she went to you. She wanted you. Oooh, maybe this would be good for a new song. The Gentle Wolf! Yes I- hey! "

"No cake for you until you stop." Geralt stated, popping a piece into his own mouth to hide his smile.

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

100 Random Dialogue Prompts pt. 2

1. “Was there a ‘please’ in there?” “No” “Then get fucked.”

2. “You don’t scare me. Just let me take care of you, let me make you feel good.”

3. “Oh look, mistletoe.” “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” “Who says I don’t want to?”

4. “Come here, sweet boy.”

5. “Stop being so stubborn! Just let me take care of you.”

6. “Oh, poor baby.”

7. “Hey, I’ve got this show/match/game coming up and just wondered if you’d like come along. You don’t ha-“ “I’d love to. I’ll even make sure to cheer the loudest.”

8. “You know, I’ve never danced for a(n) elf/dwarf/supe/Jedi/Witcher before.”

9. “If you harm even a hair on their head, there will be nowhere you can run or hide where I will not find you.”

10. “Y/N does like you.” “No she doesn’t, she never flirts back.” “She doesn’t know you’re flirting.” “How?!” “Because she’s self conscious and shy.”

11. “Why do you call me ‘sweetheart’?” “Because of that cute smile you give me whenever I do.”

12. “Am I a bad kisser?”

13. “If you were mine, I’d treat you the way you deserve.”

14. “Fuck, baby, you have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.”

15. “I’ll protect you, sweetheart.”

16. “Why the fuck would you not want me to see you naked? You’re fucking stunning.”

17. “Can I braid your hair?”

18. “You’re doing so well for me, sweet boy.” “Yeh? I’m a good boy?” “You’re my good boy.”

19. *rips item of clothing while trying to get you naked* “I’ll buy you more.”

20. “I’ve got you, it’s okay.”

21. “Don’t touch me!”

22. “You just let (character) take good care of you, sweetheart.”

23. “They really don’t realise how gorgeous they are, do they?”

24. “You planning on staring at me all night or are you gonna buy me a drink?”

25. “Are you a good kisser?”

26. “Can I paint your nails?”

27. “Come dance with me”

28. “How dare you raise your hand to a lady!”

29. “Why do you have nail polish on?” “Because I love my daughters, you prick.”

30. “I’m not drunk, you’ve just very swirly and pretty.”

31. “That’s no way to speak to a lady”

32. “Grab me again, and I’ll grab your head and smash it against the table.”

33. “Yeh not so easy to fight someone when they’re not a woman half your size is it?!”

34. “Maybe it’s not them that I want.”

35. “Nice guys like you shouldn’t have bad days.”

36. “No underwear? Naughty little girl.”

37. “No guys worth all that crying.”

38. “Freaky goth chicks are always kinky, man.”

39. *hand on pregnant tummy* “Keep talking, she likes your voice.”

40. “Let mommy/daddy see your pretty pussy, baby.”

41. “In heels you’re taller then me.” “I’m sorry.” “No, it’s hot, I like it”

42. “Porn has lied to you, you’re hot as fuck.”

43. “There you are, darling; I was beginning to worry.”

44. “Are you okay?”

45. “Why do you love me?”

46. “You should see the other guy”

47. “You really don’t see how he looks at you, do you?”

48. “I don’t know what you just said but it sounded pretty. Keep talking.”

49. “Jus-just hold me.. please.”

50. “It’s funny when you take your heels off how much you shrink”

51. “You deserve better then me.” “There is no one better then you.”

52. “Need me to kiss it better?”

53. “I thought I lost you”

54. “Don’t worry, no one can see us out here.”

55. “It’s not a date.” “Yes it is!” “It’s a date?… Oh my god it’s a date!”

56. “Please don’t deny me the pleasure of seeing your gorgeous face”

57. “I might not be exactly ‘boyfriend material’, but I do care for you and I want to look after you.”

58. “Why do you have that ring in your nose?”

59. “Let us take care of you”

60. “Having fun without me?”

61. “It’s my turn to take care of you.”

62. “I made it myself so sorry it’s no-“ “I love it.”

63. “Stop trying to fuck me, you’re unwell!”

64. “I shouldn’t be here actually, because I’m so gorgeous that the police want to put me under arrest”

65. “I’m cold and my muscles hurt” “yes you said that already”

66. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to moan like that, you’re just so warm”

67. “If you want me, if you want me to fuck you, make you feel good, nothing has to change between us. I will still respect you and you will still have a place here. So do you want me to fuck you or not?”

68. “It is not sweet that I’m still a virgin.” “Well it’s cute then.” “That’s worse!”

69. “That’s the first time I’ve ever seen your eyes light up like that. I like it.”

70. “That’s no way to treat a lady”

71. “I need you, baby, I need you so bad!”

72. “So, are you gonna take me on a date or…”

73. “I’m not avoiding you, I’m avoiding everyone; don’t think you’re so special”

74. “Hurry up and cuddle with me!”

75. ”I don’t like your brother! I like you, you idiot!”

76. “Please don’t deny me the pleasure of tasting you, my love”

77. “Why are you always so cheerful?!” “Well it’s better then being miserable like you!”

78. “Did (character) just say ‘please’? And ‘thank you’?!”

79. “Don’t you dare fucking talk to her like that!”

80. “I just want to be everyone’s friend but they don’t want to be my friend and it makes me sad. Why are people mean to me?”

81. “Are we gonna stay here or are you gonna take me back to your room so I can scream your name?”

82. “I kissed (character)…” “You what?!”

83. “Yeh I’m having a good time. I was thinking of heading to my room though, if you wanted to join me”

84. “These damn shoes.” “Please, allow me.” “What a gentleman.”

85. “I’ve got you, it’s okay, it was only a dream. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

86. “Do you have any idea what those Polaroids did to me?”

87. “So did (character) waste his money getting us all those seperate rooms since I’m just gonna sleep with you, baby?”

88. “You want me so bad don’t you?”

89. “Tell me I’m pretty” “You’re pretty fucking annoying”

90. “Did you just moan?”

91. “Don’t get all paranoid; she is genuinely just that sweet to everyone”

92. “I figured someone should get you a cup of tea for a change”

93. “When we get out of this car, I’m gonna hug you, and kiss you, and I’ll never be able to let go”

94. “You’re her father you have to think that way” “Well if I could take out someone else’s eyes and replace them with my own I would, but to be she’s beautiful”

95. “If you want me that badly, you’ll beg”

96. “I’m so hard it hurts. Please, please”

97. “I lost our baby! It’s all my fault! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

98. “Look I love you, babe, but you are being a real dick lately. What’s going on?”

99. “He making you feel good, sweet girl?”

100. “Are you on your period?” “Yes, and if you keep talking, I won’t be the only one bleeding”

[sailorkamino]

sheltered

relatonships: geraskier x magic!reader [tangled au]

word count: 1.8k

summary: your village believed you to be born cursed and would have killed you, if not for stragobor. you've spent your whole life locked away in a tower but now you've got a chance for freedom in the form of a bard, a witcher, and an pretty horse.

warnings: stragobor, emotionally abusive parent, gaslighting, anti witcher prejudice, death/murder, pre relationship, emotional support dogs

a/n: my first time writing for the witcher! what do you think? i might turn this into a series <3

Spring is coming so you’re making new outfits for your beloved hounds. Which isn’t at all depressing no matter what that one judgemental bird thinks. Anyways you’re using golden yellow fabric for Honeysuckle and cool blue for Periwinkle. As is customary.

Then you sense them. Strangers. You become almost dizzy with fear and excitement. A type of desperation only experienced when you live in a forced solitude. You make your way to the window, desperate for a glance. It’s not like they’ll be able to see you. Your entire tower is invisible to outsiders.

“Hey, look at this tower.”

You choke on air. Your dogs leap from your bed to check on you (still in their winter sweaters.) You hold your breath as two people and a horse step into the clearing. Then you meet yellow cat-like eyes and you’re diving to the floor with a startled noise.

“Careful. Magic.”

One of them is mumbling but it’s drowned out by the sound of your rapid heart. Honeysuckle whines in concern, licking your face. Periwinkle takes a protective stance over both of you, growling out the window.

Father has always told you witchers are bloodthirsty savages. They’ll kill any innocent being for a profit. They know no morals, only violence. When you were born under a black sun your religious village wanted you dead. Father hid you away for protection. You’re not looking to relieve the witch hunt experience.

You mentally poke at the witcher, feeling out his aura. He doesn’t seem particularly beastly. Animals tend to be more shallow than people, all instincts and simple emotions. Surprisingly he doesn’t feel that.

A part of you has always questioned your father's prejudice. You stopped voicing it but the concerns remained. Father hates witchers because they kill beasts. If monsters can be good, why can’t witchers? An old argument resurfaces in your memory.

“Have you listened to a word I’ve said, child?” Father asks angrily. “You cry when a rat dies yet defend butchers.” You look away, embarrassed by his mocking tone.

“This is why you stay in this tower. You’re too naïve for the outside world.”

You wonder if that’s the real reason he keeps you locked away. You’re capable of defending yourself now. So is he really protecting you? Or is he protecting the world? All because you were born under a black sun. Why must you be punished for being different? Why must witchers?

You think of the villagers who looked at a crying orphan and saw a threat. Who saw killing an infant as a lesser evil. You don’t want to be like that. Privately you wonder why your mentor sees compassion as a weakness but you’ve learnt it’s better to agree with him. “Yes father. I’m sorry.”

“No need to fear us. I’m Jaskier the bard, master of the seven liberal arts, and this is my companion, Geralt of Rivia! Could you give us directions to the nearest town?” The colorful man calls out.

Your heart races until you feel dizzy. So this is the butcher. The most beastly and cruel of all the witchers. He’s… underwhelming to say the least. Certainly least nightmarish and more dreamy than you imagined. But you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. You take a calming breath, petting your hounds to ground yourself.

The primal fear inside of you is wrestling with your desire for a real life conversation with a stranger. This could be your chance to hear both sides of what happened in Blaviken. Father always says you’re too naïve but only tells you his point of view. You’re almost sick with nerves when you blurt out rather loudly, “I wouldn't know. I’ve never been in the forest before.”

There’s a long pause and you can sense confusion. Have you already messed up? You don't want them to leave. Well the witcher can go, but the colorful one seems nice. You pop your head back into view, “I don’t leave my tower. I’m sorry. I… like your horse.” Compliments make you friends right?

“Don’t leave or can’t?” A much gruffer voice asks. You shiver. (He didn’t even say thank you for the compliment, how rude.)

“I’m safe here.” The words sound unconvincing to your own ears. You tell yourself it's because of fear. Not because you’re beginning to question them.

“Who says?”

“My father.”

They share a concerned look. You bite your lip in embarrassment. It sounds quite childish when you say it out loud. But you’ve been persecuted before, you aren’t about to let your guard down around a hired killer. So… why are you still talking to him?

Then you notice the brunet’s instrument. What a lovely change of subject. “Is that a lute?”

“It is!”

You’re practically jumping now. Honeysuckle, picking up on your excitement, smacks you with her wagging tail. “I’ve never heard a bard before! Play me something?”

Jaskier goes impossibly sad. You frown, hating the kicked puppy expression. What did you do wrong? Maybe you should just stick to socializing with animals. At least the rats find you charming.

“You’ve never heard music, my dear?”

Your face goes hot, both at the endearment and the pity in his voice. “I have lots of instruments but I don’t think I’m very good. Being self taught and all.”

“Why don’t I come up and give you a lesson? Free of charge!”

Your stomach twists in knots. You don’t know what’s more terrifying. Your new friend coming inside or leaving you to loneliness. You avoid eye contact when you answer. “My father wouldn’t like that.”

“What would you like?” The witcher asks sternly. You freeze. No one has ever cared what you wanted before. Is that concern you sense from him? Sympathy? From a so-called beast? Your silence seems like an answer enough. “So can’t leave,” he concludes.

“Can others enter?” Jaskier asks curiously.

You don’t know why you answer but you do. “Only with a portal. There’s no door.”

“But there’s a window.”

You frown. Obviously there’s a window, you’re talking out of it right now. Maybe your new friend is a little slow.

“Rope?” he proposes to the witcher.

Your mouth drops open. A rope? That’s it? Years of isolation by a warlock solved with a fucking rope? It can’t be that simple. It just can’t be. “My father is very powerful,” you warn. “And he hates witchers.”

“Him and most of the continent,” the man grumbles dryly. For some reason you feel guilty. Years of indoctrination to hate his kind, forgotten in mere minutes. Maybe you really are naïve.

“Who’s your father, dear? Maybe we know him?”

You sincerely hope not. “Stregobor.”

Dead silence. Then a very empathetic “fuck.”

Your stomach sinks. That’s the most emotion you’ve heard in the witcher’s voice so far and it doesn't sound good. Will they judge you for your fathers deeds? Wait, why are you assuming your father’s in the wrong? Since when did he become the bad guy? (Maybe he always has been but you’ve ignored it.)

“Let me guess, you were born during a black sun?” He asks flatly.

You feel as if a rug has been pulled out from under you. The comfort that’s been growing disappears, replaced with icy fear. You don’t even know this man yet you still feel betrayed. “Are you here to kill me?” You ask, slightly wobbly.

He sighs tiredly. Maybe he gets asked that a lot. “No. You aren’t fucking cursed. You were born during an eclipse. A completely natural phenomenon. A bunch of old bastards made up that curse for power and control.”

Your jaw drops, conflicting emotions raging inside of you. If he’s right you’re not cursed, which is great. But it also means your father has betrayed you. Your whole life can’t be a lie. It just can’t. A sinking part of you knows he’s making sense, even wants to believe him, but you desperately ignore it.

“I hurt people,” you confess abruptly.

“I thought you never left this tower?” Jaskier asks.

“When I was a baby.”

The witcher raises an unimpressed brow. “Did Stregobor tell you that?”

You growl in frustration as a strong wind rustles the trees. Jaskier looks around in bewilderment but the witcher holds your steady gaze. Not easily frightened by your show of power or glowing eyes.

“I’ve met a lot of monsters. You’re not one.”

The words you’ve always longed to hear. Uttered by the man you’ve been taught to hate. You take a moment to collect your flurry of emotions before answering. “Funny,” you smile weakly, “I was gonna say the same thing about you, witcher.”

You steady yourself before asking the next question. Knowing it won’t be easy but needing answers. The more you talk to Geralt the more you question what you’ve been taught about witchers. Maybe you don’t want him to be a monster. Maybe you’re so lonely you don’t care if he is.

“Tell me about Blaviken.”

“What?” His voice is somehow gruffer. Face horribly blank and posture rigid.

“Every story has two sides, yet I’ve only heard my father’s.”

He sighs deeply. Then begins. He tells you about Renfri. A princess born under the black sun. Her step mother was looking for a way to get rid of her and the curse was convenient. Stregobor agreed the girl was an evil mutant that must be isolated but her step mother wanted her dead. Together they ruined her life.

Renfri evaded them. She spent years being hunted, until she became the hunter. Eventually she formed a gang of sorts and tracked Stregobor to Blaviken but couldn’t enter his tower. (Apparently the idea of living in a tower forever was very distressing to your father. You don't know if you should laugh or vomit.)

Both Renfri and Stregobor asked Geralt to kill the other but he refused, not wanting to get involved. Although he hated Stregobor he tried to talk the princess out of revenge. It was too late. She threatened to kill townspeople until the warlock came out.

Your heart sinks at the ultimatum. Your father has never been a compassionate man. By the grim look on the witcher’s face he knew it too. In the end Geralt did what Stregobor wanted him to do. Instead of payment or thanks he was branded a butcher.

The fear-shame-grief rolling off of the witcher (definitely not emotionless by the way) is enough to make your eyes sting. Your gaze settles on Jaskier, who’s gone into full sad puppy mode. You have a feeling he’s never heard the full story either. You clear your choked throat.

“You mentioned a rope, good sir?”

[annmarcus63]

It's a pleasant night. His belly is full, his feet throbbing after dancing all over the tavern like he was the eighteen-year-old bard he used to be. He's no longer that foolish child, not after everything. The only thing left from the eighteen-year-old Jaskier is Geralt. Jaskier smiles at the thought. Speaking of a certain witcher, he's sitting on the chair by the window, the light from the fire coloring his side with an auspicious orange hue. He’s so handsome. 

It's been a while since the last time he traveled with Geralt, quite a while since the last time they were traveling to a big town, Oxenfurt specifically. That's the reason he feels so content, lightheaded in the best of ways and a little bit excited. You see, he's received a letter from the university. He will be named Artist of the Decade in a major award (obviously) as part of the Oxenfurt Music and Arts festival. Artist of the decade, him, Jaskier. Valdo Marx shited in his pants when the results were published, Jaskier imagined.

"I hope he'll be there! I want to see his cherry plump face when I'm called to the stage. ‘Vulgar art’ he said, he called me untalented, the bastard" The bard is beginning to remove his clothes before going to bed, he's undoing the laces of his boots while talking like eighteen-year-old Jaskier used to. "I'm sure he'll be there. That snake. There was a time he told everyone at the music guild that the lyrics of my song were false, that you weren't even my friend!” 

"Most of the lyrics aren’t exactly true" says Geralt in the background, Jaskier ignores him. 

"Oh oh oh I want to see his face when he sees you there"

“Jaskier” Geralt calls

"Take that mister 'i'm better than you' "

“Jaskier” Geralt calls 

"Yes, darling?" Answers Jaskier with fond exasperation. He's having a big monologue here and that's the moment Geralt decides he wants to add to the conversation. He's been quiet lately. 

"I'm not going" Jaskier feels a bold blow on the center of his chest. His heart hunching on itself at registering those words. He understands perfectly well but decides to play dumb anyway. "Where, darling?" and apparently Geralt wants to play dumb too because he stays silent. 

"Can I ask why?" Jaskier crosses his arms in front of his chest, already defensive and Geralt is there, still sitting, with a somber expression. This is going to end in an argument, both of them can tell.

"I can't" 

"Alright..." Geralt hates being prompted to talk when the conversation is tense, but Jaskier can help it, and doesn't want to help him.

"I'm sorry" at least here he looks remorseful. 

"No, no, Geralt. You promised!" 

"I'm sorry, something has come up..." Jaskier takes two steps forward and Geralt stands raising his hands in a placating manner. 

"What has come up...?" And then Jaskier remembers, the black speck against the window in the middle of the night a week ago. "Does this have something to do with that raven?" Geralt growls, sometimes he forgets his bard used to be a Redanian spy. “Is it because of Yennefer?”

"I'm sorry" Geralt nods, giving the truth. "Is important" 

"This is important too!" 

And now the bard is shouting at Geralt, he hates doing that, but the witcher is not helping either.

“It’s an award, you have plenty” 

“It’s NOT an award, is THE award” 

They are standing in front of the other, speaking to the other’s face, up this close Jaskier can see the pattern of tiny scars all over Geralt's face. The bard takes a couple of calming breaths, trying to keep his temper. He hates arguing with the witcher. "Can't she wait?" he asks, but Geralt only denies with his head, already so sure "What is it about?" the witcher doesn't reply "You don't even know!" There goes Jaskier temper again, the bard throws his arms in the air, exasperated and frustrated. This is important to him, and Geralt knew it and it pains him to realize that the witcher would so easily push him aside. A if Jaskier achievements aren't a thing to cherish and celebrate, as if... he's not important. "She didn't tell, she said It's important" Says Geralt followed by a heavy sigh indicating that he thinks  Jaskier is being childish.

"This is important to me, Geralt - "

" - I know..."

" I asked you to come last year, remember? I told you that I might win the award and you promised you’ll come! I know you don't like big cities but..."

“-I’m sorry” And that's it. Jaskier can feel his heart turning into dust and falling heavily to the pit of his stomach. It's not the same as the mountain, but it feels similar in a way. Jaskier is realizing just how much he means to Geralt. Again. Jaskier holds Geralt's eyes from below, at least the witcher looks ashamed. 

And then after a long, resigned sigh the bard murmurs "Whatever" It keeps happening, repeatedly, suddenly and inexplicably he keeps getting hurt with by his own naivety by thinking that someday Geralt would choose him, not over Yennefer, Ciri or the other witchers. Just choose him because he wants to. Because it's fair, because Jaskier wants him to be there. 

He likes Yennefer now, he even catches himself thinking of her with love. The kind of love you have for the one that makes your true love happy. But he also knows that she can fend for herself and that it is possible for Geralt to wait at least a day before responding to her siren song. She gets to have him forever, why does Jaskier can't have him only for a fucking day? And now he's being pitiful, and he hates himself a little bit for that.

Maybe he's overreacting, maybe it's not that important… but it is! He wants Geralt to be there, to share the award with him. But at the end it's not Geralt's fault, he'll not resent the witcher for having priorities, a family to take care of which includes Yennefer and the others but not him. Maybe it's time for Jaskier to find his own. He has already spent enough effort in becoming part of Geralt. Jaskier goes to search his travel bag for his notebook, he needs to rework on his acceptance speech. 

"I'll gather we'll be parting ways at the crossroads tomorrow?" Jaskier turns around briefly, wanting to see the witcher’s expression, to be suddenly confronted with an uncomfortable and unexpected feeling at reading on Geralt's face, a lot more than surely the witcher wants to convey. Shame, uncertainty, fear of not knowing what went wrong and how to prevent it from getting worse. And Jaskier feels sympathy, despite everything that has happened, what is happening, Geralt tries, on his own, albeit slow way.

"Yeah" 

"Good"

Geralt starts fidgeting on the same spot from before, when Jaskier decides he has had enough and turns. The witcher hasn't moved an inch, he's waiting for the other shoe to drop, the bard can tell. But it won’t come to that. Not anymore. Enough of this, enough of scraps. 

"I'm going out, don't wait for me" Jaskier murmurs  when he's at the door. Geralt calls for him, but Jaskier pretends to have not heard. 

In the morning Geralt arrives at the stables to find Jaskier already waiting for him by Roach. They travel side by side all morning, Jaskier holding his notebook in front of his face, he seems to be reading and rereading the speech, which is weird because he said he's already memorized it. They haven't spoken much, and Geralt hates it. He should be saying something, anything! Something along the lines of "I'll go with you" but Yenn... what if? 

Jaskier stops and turns around to face him from below, one hand scratching Roach's neck. They are at the crossroads; it's almost noon and Geralt doesn't know what to say. Their gazes lock for a long time, the wind singing softly around them, the leaves of the trees falling like orange rain. It's so calm. "Take care, Geralt"  Jaskier says in the softest of voices and turns right. Geralt watches marching away, wondering why it feels like a goodbye.

It's funny how loneliness comes in the strangest of forms. Surrounded by dozens of people shouting his name from the square in front of the stage. Wasn't this what you wanted? his mind supplies unhelpfully. Yes, he did want this, the love and admiration of the masses. He is, after all, the artist of the decade. But, well, in retrospect he was young with little knowledge of life. It's only natural that your aspirations may change through the years. Don't get him wrong, older Jaskier wants the same as younger Jaskier, but now, he understands that the love of the masses can't fill the void of being unloved and unwanted by people close to him, or people he thought were close to him. So, he accepts the award with the biggest smile on his repertoire, mocks Valdo Marx and goes to the tavern with a bunch of scholars like him. He drinks, he laughs, he sings a lot of his songs, flirts and plays gwent.  And with every sip of wine and ale he peels a little bit of his sorrow, his wounded self-esteem, his beaten heart, and self-pity. He wished Geralt was here, with him, but he's not here, so be it. Enough of wanting, enough of this ever-present loneliness. He's resolute. He'll find a place to call home, and he won't resent Geralt. Ok maybe a little. 

The celebration has reached the part where everyone is drunk enough to dance and sing at the top of their lungs. Jaskier is standing on top of a table surrounded by the taverns, he's leading the song. He's sweating all over, his hair a brown wet mess. He's happy. When the front door swings open, it's Geralt. The witcher removes his hood and instantly locks eyes with the bard. Like a hunter finding his prey. Jaskier stops singing, right there and then, hopefully no one notices because the song continues its course. 

No, no, it's too late. Jaskier thinks. I've already made up my mind. The bard climbs down from the table and pushes through the crowd. His mind it's a volatile compass, pointing at his resolution and to Geralt. It tries to decide how to proceed. It tries to decide which path will hurt more or less. 

"What are you doing here?" Jaskier is proud of his steady voice. Not even the ale could break him.

"I thought I'd make it on time, ''Geralt replies , his eyes trying to find Jaskier's, but the bard is looking at a spot on the witcher's shoulder. 

"You're late" In that moment the blue eyes look up to meet yellow ones, defying Geralt to name the issue. To name the hurt on Jaskier’s eyes the night before. To name the emotion that is now on the bard's eyes.

They both know this isn't about the ceremony, not anymore.

"I'm here now" Geralt says heavily and Jaskier laughs cause it's funny really. i'm here now so it must be enough. 

And this is the thing, he forgave Geralt many times thanks to sporadic care and attention that would be forgotten later. His heart is screaming within his chest, the poor thing wants to take Geralt back. But no, Jaskier won't listen to it anymore. 

"And you are late" 

A girl walks past them holding a tray of beers, Jaskier takes one and drinks half of it in one go.

Geralt watches him, anxiety sewing itself on his veins. He can feel that is it. He fucked up, again, but this time for good.

"I thought Yen’s message was important" Jaskier wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, cursing internally, his tongue loosened by the alcohol. He sounds bitter and resentful. He hates it.

"It is, but this is too" and oh the witcher is trying but instead of being charmed Jaskier gets angry.

"Oh, now it's important, I see. Well, maybe if you have arrived on time for the actual ceremony..."

“…I tried”

"Maybe it wouldn't be too fucking late" A young couple turn to look at them. Feeling embarrassed, Jaskier lowers his voice and continues. "I appreciate the effort, Geralt, but it is an unnecessary one. I’m sorry my friend” says Jaskier, reaching out to place a hand on the Witcher’s muscular arm, trying to convey comradery, an olive branch if you will, for Geralt to take and be gone without blame. If Jaskier dared to look at Geralt's face one more time, he would find sadness, grief, shame, and fear. Every emotion that the witcher always tried to conceal from everyone, especially Jaskier.  “There's an open bar, enjoy the celebration. Rest. I'm going to sleep" In that instant Jaskier's heart broke even more. Oh, how he wanted this man, how he longs for him, decades on end. Even in his resolution he still wants him. 

He needs to rest too. He's not young anymore, his feet hurt, and his thighs are trembling from the exertion. So, he turns around up the stairs to his room, closes the door behind and with clothes and all, he gets into bed and sleeps like death.

---

I'm posting this fic again because I just realized that I never posted the ending. I'm stupid. I'm sorry.

[ellieslittleburrow]

Summary : Geralt wants to help you. You don't want his help.

Warnings : A father caring for his child.

A/N : Your name is Rivvie/Raven. It's genderneutral and i chose it for you!!!!! Took me a while to come up with it so shush

----

Steps pierced your ears as they stormed closer to your aching stiff body.. You shrunk in fear, retreating into yourself, unsure of who it was or what they were going to do to you. But when a familiar silhouette emerged from the trees-

"Geralt..." Your body unconsciously jolted up to a sitting position. It hurt, but you lifted your head up anyway. "I'm..I'm okay." You huffed, swallowing the pool of blood that coated the borders of your lips. You straightened your back, attempting to look as composed as you could. But the browns and reds smeared across your face proved otherwise.

The man who stood before you extended his hand out to you, his eyes piercing through to your soul. But when you didn't comply, anger contorted his features and he sucked his lips inwards in a refraining manner. "Get up."

You hesistantly took his hand, wincing as he pulled you up to your feet, but you didn't have to react before the latters betrayed you, ending up in a loss of balance and a striking pain starting at your knees and traveling all the way up to the rest of your body. Thankfully, Geralt's quick reflexes saved you from fully hitting the ground. As you were falling, he crouched and wrapped his hands around your waist., holding your upper body close to him before forcing you up again.

"No!" You yanked yourself from your father figure, a confident frown on your face. "I can walk on my own..." The words struggle to leave your throat. Geralt sighed.

"Come on, chil-"

"I'm not a fucking child Geralt." You instinctively pressed your hand against the tree your back has been hugging throughout the whole ordeal. "i can take care of myself. I don't n-"

"Yes you do."

You winced at the sudden rage that filled his voice. Through gritted teeth, he continued. "You do need me- Look at you, you can barely stand-"

"Don't yell at me." But despite the fear that washed your body cold, you yelled back in response. You don't need his help. You can defend yourself. He reached for your hand but you slapped it away with more force than intended. You are not a child.

Or maybe...You are because the witcher's features contorted even more, his eyes darkening subsequently-You discreetly leaned away, shrinking slightly more.

"Then you shall stop acting like one..." The words raged out of his lips. "Look at you, all bruised up and refusing help. You know i don't mean you any harm, i just don't want you to get hurt." The veins on his neck growing more prominent.

You....You did know that, but you didn't care. He won't be there forever. "I can take care of myself." You insisted, turning on your heels.

You head for the forest, the direction home may have been unknown to you, but senses work in a magical way, making it so that you never needed to know. You just felt.

You limped through the forest, passing by clusters of fallen logs and traps, steadying yourself whenever you could reach a tree. You'd gladly rather die there than ask for help from Geralt, who lazily but firmly marched behind you.

He called your name a few times. Even yelled. But you were persistant this time. He will not make you apologize. You weren't sorry. You needed to prove to him-that you did not need his help.

"Are you going to keep ignoring me?" The witcher spoke again and unconsciously, your head almost twisted over your shoulder.

Aren't you allowed to be angry?

"That's not the behaviour of a grown individual, Rivvie." Geralt's voice dripped with provocation, firing up your aching body into a hot boil. But you still didn't ans-

"That's enough, Raven." A sudden authoritary growl thundered through the forest. "I just want to help you. And i'm not asking." Before you had the time to protest, your feet were swept off the ground and you found yourself nailed to Geralt's chest.

An awkward position for you to jerk your body, he wouldn't have dropped you, you'd just jolted and thrown your body up and down in vain. Geralt's strong. His arms alone wrapped around you so tightly you'd actually feel claustophobic. You would if it were somebody else's arms. But...Geralt's your...safe haven. You just don't want him to know that.

You huffed, growling as you turn your head away from him, burying your chin into the acromion shaping his shoulders. "I don't need your help." You groaned, stressing your words in an attempt to sound...more stern.

But Geralt simply grunted a cold and blank "Okay." causing you to uncomfortably shift in his embrace. He lifted you up a bit to adjust your body, causing a ached whimper to leave your lips. "Sorry.."

"I..." You start but....maybe you shouldnt push it? After all, he really just wants you to be okay. "It's okay..." You readjust your head back to your frontal view, eyeing Geralt, whose face was only inches away from your own.

"T-thank you.." You hide your face into your chest, unable to furthur embarass yourself.

Geralt stayed quiet for a moment, but then he grunted, a silent "you're welcome" you're familiar enough with.

With that, you rested your head on his chest, finally accepting the situation. You gripped his shirt as softly as you could and closed your eyes. Maybe having them there wasns't so bad after all.

-----

I read somewhere that most *readers* are white-fied. And it just opened my eyes. I hope this does indeed include all and everyone. I hope this was pleasant to read for all of you guys, comments are much appreciated. See ya in the next one! ❤️❤️❤️🥀🥀🥀

[tinyficbot]

Five Times Jaskier Bit Geralt, and One Time Geralt Bit Back

---

1. The Argument in Oxenfurt

The fight had started over something trivial—Geralt's refusal to let Jaskier tag along on a dangerous contract. As always, Jaskier was determined to argue his case.

"I'm not a child, Geralt!" he snapped, pacing furiously around the small room. "I can handle myself!"

"You nearly died last time," Geralt retorted, his voice low and controlled.

"And I learned from it!"

Geralt sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before pointing a finger at Jaskier. "Stop being so damn stubborn—"

Before he could finish, Jaskier lunged forward and bit the offending finger.

"Did you just—"

"Yes, I did!" Jaskier barked, glaring up at him. "And I’ll do it again if you keep waving your big, stupid Witcher finger in my face!"

Geralt stared at him, utterly baffled. He slowly withdrew his hand, rubbing the faint indentations left by Jaskier’s teeth.

"Noted," he said dryly, watching as Jaskier huffed.

---

2. The Festival at Toussaint

Toussaint was a land of indulgence, and Jaskier thrived in its opulence. The wine flowed freely, and the bard's cheeks were flushed as he danced through the crowd. Geralt stayed on the outskirts, arms crossed, watching the revelry with a mix of amusement and weariness.

"Geralt!" Jaskier called, staggering toward him with a bottle in hand. "You need to lighten up!"

"I'm fine here."

"Oh, don’t be boring," Jaskier said, grabbing Geralt’s arm and leaning heavily against him. He tilted his head to rest on Geralt’s shoulder, his warm breath brushing against the Witcher’s neck.

Without warning, Jaskier bit down on Geralt’s shoulder—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to surprise him.

"Jaskier," Geralt growled, pulling back.

"Consider that payback for being such a sour-faced grump," Jaskier replied, grinning lazily.

Geralt rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath about drunk bards and their terrible ideas.

---

3. The Ambush in Kaedwen

The bandits had come out of nowhere, but Geralt was quick to dispatch them. Jaskier, however, had been grabbed and held at knifepoint until Geralt's blade found its mark.

Once the danger passed, Geralt knelt beside Jaskier, his golden eyes scanning the bard for injuries.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice calm but firm.

Jaskier didn’t answer. His breath was shallow, his eyes wide and unfocused.

"Jaskier," Geralt said again, cupping the bard's face gently to check for any unseen wounds.

Suddenly, Jaskier flinched and bit down on Geralt's thumb—a reflexive, fear-driven action.

Geralt didn’t pull back, though the sharp pain surprised him. "Jaskier," he said softly, his hand still cradling the bard's face.

Realizing what he'd done, Jaskier immediately let go, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I—sorry. I didn’t mean to—"

"It’s alright," Geralt reassured him, his voice soothing. "You're safe now."

---

4. The Winter at Kaer Morhen

Kaer Morhen’s winters were unforgiving, and Jaskier was wholly unprepared. Wrapped in every blanket he could find, he still shivered miserably.

When Geralt returned from a hunt, Jaskier wasted no time throwing himself at the Witcher, pressing his cold nose against Geralt's warm cheek.

"You’re freezing," Geralt muttered, peeling Jaskier off him.

"I know. That’s why I need you to stay right here," Jaskier replied, refusing to let go.

As Geralt tried to push him away, Jaskier leaned in and bit his cheek—not hard, just enough to get his attention.

"Really?" Geralt asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," Jaskier replied, his teeth still grazing the Witcher’s skin.

With a resigned sigh, Geralt let the bard cling to him. "You’re insufferable."

"And yet, here I am," Jaskier said, grinning smugly.

---

5. The Intimate Moment

Their breaths were uneven, bodies entwined in the moonlight. Jaskier’s hands roamed across Geralt’s scarred chest, his lips following in their wake.

Geralt's golden eyes watched him, his hand tracing slow, deliberate lines down Jaskier’s body.

When Geralt leaned forward to kiss him, Jaskier caught his neck in his teeth, biting just enough to leave a mark.

Geralt groaned, his voice low and rough. "You’ve been wanting to do that all night, haven’t you?"

"Maybe," Jaskier replied, his grin wicked.

Geralt kissed him fiercely, his hands tightening on Jaskier’s hips as the tension between them melted into something more.

---

+1 .When Geralt Bit Back

Geralt had always been careful with his strength, his instincts tightly controlled. His sharp teeth, a result of mutations, were not meant for human skin, no matter how much his instincts screamed at him to claim Jaskier as his.

But this time was different.

The intimacy between them had deepened, their bond unshakable. Geralt trusted Jaskier with everything—his life, his heart, and now, his control.

As their passion grew, Geralt’s instincts flared. His fingers gripped Jaskier’s hips as he leaned down, his lips brushing against the bard’s neck. For a moment, he hesitated, the sharp edge of his teeth just grazing Jaskier’s skin.

“Geralt,” Jaskier whispered, his voice steady despite the tension in his body. “It’s okay. I trust you.”

The words broke something in Geralt. Slowly, carefully, he bit down—not enough to draw blood, but enough to leave a mark, a sign of the love and trust they shared.

Jaskier gasped, his fingers tangling in Geralt’s hair. “Finally,” he said, his voice trembling but filled with affection. “Took you long enough.”

Geralt pressed a kiss to the mark, his lips soft against the indentations. When their eyes met, there was no fear, only understanding.

“You’re mine,” Geralt murmured, his voice low and rough.

“And you’re mine,” Jaskier replied, pulling him down into another kiss.

For the first time, Geralt allowed himself to follow his instincts—not because he had to, but because he wanted to, and because Jaskier had given him the freedom to do so.

[caffieneaddictt18]

Moment of Peace

sorceress!reader travels with geralt and ciri as their healer and ciris mother figure as geralts wife. one relaxing day, reader shows ciri a little party trick that geralt doesnt know yet. ends with geralt and reader play fighting about why she didnt show him but showed ciri; and them all acting like a family

WARNING: a couple uses of 'y/n'

(not my image)

As we finally settle in a meadow, surrounded by forest, you let out a sigh of relief. The feeling of sun against your face and the soft soil beneath you feels amazing.

"Ciri! Y/N! Go collect water. I'll be right back." Geralt commands, but before he can leave to collect wood and sustenance for the night, you stop him and give him a quick kiss.

"Be safe."

"Always am."

Those simple two words are all you need before you walk off into the forest for a few yards, before you come upon a clear water stream. You see Ciri standing in the water and feeling the sun while collecting water. As you join her in the water, she looks up.

"So... why do you allow him to order you around if you're his wife?" Ciri, blunt as ever, asks, not understanding that this is Geralt's way of showing his love.

"He doesn't 'order' me around. It's his way of keeping us safe. I'm a mage and can keep you safe. You're training and can keep me safe. Plus, he goes off and does the dangerous hunting, so we don't have to. It's his way of showing love." I explain his actions and why I react without losing my patience with the way Geralt talks to me.

"Oh. I didn't think about it like that." Ciri ticks her head to the side and continues to collect water.

"Geralt isn't conventional. But he is exactly how I want him. I wouldn't want it any other way." You start towards the bank of the river and continue walking along the greenery of the forest.

As Ciri looked on as you walked, she watched in mystery. The forest seemed to bend to your will. The trees would part to make a path for you and the stones would roll out of the way, leaving only soft soil for you to walk on.

As you both reached your camp site, Geralt was dragging a large deer, and a cloth behind him that was filled. Probably with wood.

You and Ciri both put your jugs down as Geralt drops the sack of wood off near you and walks to the trees to skin the animal for food & it's hide.

You have the sense to build the fire and let Ciri light it later. She's normally sleepy when you build the fire. Makes it easier.

As you both run around, you find a good size patch of daisies.

"Ciri!" You call over the girl, "Come here!"

The blonde girl runs over to see what you're looking at.

"Would you like to learn how to make a daisy chain? You can even put one on Geralt, if you'd like." You throw out the tempting offer to make the Witcher seem silly.

And Ciri quickly agrees. You sit down, careful to avoid the daisies, and show her how to make a daisy chain/flower crown.

As the sun is no longer at its nice, warm heat and enters the baking heat, you take Ciri down to the stream again to clean up. 'The sun will dry us faster' was your reasoning to drag the girl with you.

As you are cleaning your clothes and yourself off, you see Ciri doing the same. Perfect.

"Hey, Ciri! Would you like to see something?"

"Um... What is it?"

"I promise, no harm will come unto you from me. It's just a little party trick."

"Ok..." She waded closer to you as you met her in the middle of the stream.

You magically gathered the sweat and water from Ciri and yourself, throwing it into the air and condensing the clouds around the sun to have more water, allowing the clouds to form a sort of circle around the sun. As the sun continues to shine, the clouds begin turn colors... briefly pink, then a light green, and there's a light blue! (Refer to the picture at the top)

Ciri looks at the sky in awe. "You can do this?" She points to the clouds.

"Yes. When I was at Aretuza, they taught not just politics and magic. They taught basic sciences. This was one of those. I had asked my teacher why there as a rainbow after every rainfall. She explained it to me. Since then, I had been practicing it until I was able to perfect it. Took a couple tries, but it came one day, and it stayed."

"And you never showed me?" A deep, hulking voice inquired from the shadows. Of course, the yellow cat-like eyes gave him away.

"I'm sorry, Geralt. I thought of it as a mere party trick. And it's not like it is helpful when we are off on adventures." I laugh and 'apologize' for not showing my husband sooner.

"You better be sorry!" He charges out of the woods and into the stream, getting both you and Ciri wet again, before lifting you by the waist and carrying you back to camp on his shoulder. Everyone was laughing and peace was covering the three of them.

Just a moment of peace.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Author's Cup of Tea:

I am so sorry the ending was bad. I didn't know what to put for the ending so I winged it. Thank you all so much for your love and support of my work! I love to see everyone enjoying it.

Edit: finally got around to editing it! Thank you for your patience!

[iambutmortal]

Watch Me Burn

Chapter 1

Summary: Lucien Vanserra, Godkiller and disgraced prince, is more than content on his own. He doesn't need his family, or his wife, or his former friend. Hasn't needed them in years. But when villages start being attacked by a force he thought he'd destroyed years ago, he's forced back into their company to retrieve the mysterious firebird and save his kingdom from ruin.

Pairing: Elucien

Word Count: 3k

Content Warning: Gore, brief mention of infertility

Authors Note: Happiest of holidays to @labellefleur-sauvage! You mentioned you were a fan of the Witcher video games so I wrote this kind of sort of Witcher AU! It was originally a one shot but has ballooned into a 9 part monstrosity, so I hope that's okay, and also sorry about the delay. You were such a lovely match, thank you for putting up with me. Also the biggest thanks to @witch-and-her-witcher for letting me have a meltdown in her dms, and also to @acotargiftexchange for making this happen.

Read on Ao3

The god sitting in the remains of the temple seemed completely unconcerned with the swarm of bees circling his head. He seemed equally unconcerned by the man approaching him, if his closed eyes were any indication.

Lucien carefully picked his way around the hunks of stone, trying not to twist his ankle as he climbed his way up the half crumbled steps. He scanned for any sort of trick, but aside from the bees there was nothing unusual. Even the god even looked human, if not for the antlers growing out of his head, long and curved like a ram’s.

“You have a choice,” Lucien called once he was on the mostly-level temple floor, unsheathing the sword strapped to his back.

The god didn’t bother to look at him, although Lucien half wondered if he could hear over the sound of buzzing. This close, the swarm was loud enough Lucien’s ear’s were starting to ache.

“Hey,” Lucien yelled, louder this time. A stray bee landed on his nose, and Lucien swiped at it.

Still no response.

Lucien sighed, picked up a piece of marble next to his boot, and threw it at the god. It bounced harmlessly off an antler. That got his attention, and the god swung his head to glare at Lucien with golden eyes.

“The god-butchers really have fallen if they’re resorting to rocks.”

Lucien lifted the sword in his hand, the metal flashing in the sun. “I’ve come to offer a choice.”

“Yes, yes, leave or be killed, I know,” the god signed, sounding bored by the options. “You’re not the first of the butchers to come here and you won’t be the last.”

“You think I’m like most Godkillers?” Lucien asked.

The god looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time, taking in the left eye made of metal, almost the same shade as the god’s own, the long red hair carefully braided back. Recognition danced across his face, at last garnering a response. The god slowly rose to his feet. 

Lucien ran through his memory of the remaining gods, the long list of names and descriptions he’d been forced to memorize during his years of training at the keep. He’d spent hours on that list, staying up until the early hours of the morning with nothing but a candle pouring over the pages.

“Hello Aristaeus.”

If it was possible for an immortal being to look surprised, Aristaeus did. “I thought your kind destroyed the old records.”

“The keep has a record for our own usage.” The master, Azriel, insisted it was so the Godkillers would know what they were up against, the monstrous gods they faced. Lucien thought it was bullshit. All the gods who’d proved any real danger had long since been driven out, either killed or sent so deep into the wilderness they’d never be found. Which left Lucien fighting those who were too stupid or weak to leave.

No, Lucien thought they kept the records, made novices memorize every single name on them, because there was something profoundly sad about killing a creature who no one remembered. Who would be wiped completely from existence after they died. And even the Godkillers, for all their zeal and devotion, felt enough pity to do that one act of kindness.

Aristaeus spread his arms widely. “Then you know to fear me.”

Lucien choked down his snort. As if anything he was sent to face made him fear. The minor gods were as dangerous as mosquitos, and twice as irritating.

And they were especially irritating to the villages that paid Lucien to dispatch of them, gathering the little spare change they have left over after market day in a communal cup in the tavern until they had enough saved to pay a Godkiller to get rid of the god who took delight in wrecking their harvest or killed one too many of their herd.

Aristaeus apparently had a propensity for sending bees at all hours of the day, attacking festivals, harvests, or children in the little time they were given to play.

Which unfortunately meant he had to die. So Lucien brandished his sword threateningly and advanced a step.

“I’m going to send your pretty head to your brother,” Aristaeus said. “Remind him of how far the prince can fall.”

Lucien arched an eyebrow, the one that wasn’t cut through with the scar that ran down his face from brow to cheek He’d been described as many things in his life, but pretty was not one he’d heard. Not when the metal eye took so much of people’s focus. 

“Eris would probably thank you,” Lucien grumbled.

“Family troubles?” Aristaeus asked, advancing on him, the bees around his head forming a clump. Lucien sensed what was coming a second before, and held up his free hand. Fire flicked at his fingers, smoke trailing from them.

The cloud of bees started to swarm, and Lucien willed the flames higher, the smoke growing thicker. It burned at his eyes and nose, but he kept the flames alight. The bees slowed, circling Lucien but not attacking.

“That’s not fair,” Aristaeus pouted. “Your kind isn’t supposed to have magic.”

“Special allowances were made,” Lucien said, hoisting the sword up and advancing. Understatement of the millennium. “Now yield and leave this place.”

“They used to worship me,” Aristaeus whined. “They would crowd at this temple, pray for their crops to bear fruit, for their fertility.” The bees were fleeing now, trying to escape the heavy smoke still filling the air. “And then they all left me alone, all alone here, and they’re unhappy? The bees are the least of their issues, I should be slaughtering them in their beds.”

“Times change.” Lucien swung the sword, the sharp blade meeting Aristaeus’ neck. The edge that Lucien had so carefully honed that morning sliced through flesh and sinew, severing his head cleanly.

The God didn’t even bleed, just collapsed to the ground before breaking apart into dust. As if he’d never existed at all. Lucien huffed, extinguishing the flames still licking at his fingerprints, and bent down to claim his spoils.

-

The tavern was unusually crowded when Lucien arrived. He was used to a few sad souls, men with nothing better to do than drink the day away, maybe a bar maiden if he was lucky, but today it was teeming. Like the whole town had gathered to see if he’d actually come back.

Lucien lifted the sack he held at his side, dumping its contents on one of the long tables. The head of Aristaeus, the only thing left of the god, tumbled out. The men nearest leapt back, a few retching at the sight.

Lucien snorted. It always surprised him how squeamish farmers could be, seeing what they did to their own animals. Not that presenting heads was his preferred method, but he needed to prove the job was done somehow, and physical evidence was required more often than not.

“I’m owed three talons,” Lucien said, sliding onto the bench in front of the table. “And a cask of ale.”

A mug was placed in front of him, foam nearly flowing over the rim. The deliverer, a man whose hair was more gray than brown slid into the seat across from him. His tunic was slightly finer than those of the rest of the men, his posture straightener. Signs he wore with pride of his town leadership.

Lucien searched his memory trying to find his name. “Grogov,” he said after a second. “I take it you have my coins.”

Grogov’s dark eyes darted around the room, marking a few of the men out. The largest ones. “A few of us were discussing,” he said, “and three talents is a steep price to pay for a day of work.”

“Yet three talons were what you offered, and agreed to.”

Grogov forced out a laugh, the sound strained. “An offer made under duress. Our children were being attacked.”

“They were stung by bees,” Lucien corrected.

“Mothers were hysterical. We felt like we had no other option but to offer something we couldn’t afford to pay.”

“Yet you had the money to print posters,” Lucien said, leaning back in his seat. His hand, the one not wrapped around the handle of the beer mug he had yet to drink from, drifted down to his waist band, and the knife tucked there. “And enough coins to show me when I arrived.”

“Circumstances change,” Grogov said. The men he’d given such significant glances to seemed to advance, forming a loose ring around them. “And I’m sure we could come to an arrangement.”

Lucien’s fingers wrapped around the knife hilt. “An arrangement where you pay me three talents?” 

Another strangled laugh from Grogov. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“One where I’m paid what I’m owed?”

Grogov leaned closer. “There’s always room for debate.” Behind him, one of the men, no doubt the largest in the village, pulled out a sword. The blade was dull, rusted in parts, and Lucien had to keep from snorting at the lack of threat it posed.

“Threatening a Godkiller then?”

“Merely opening the conversation. After all, you’re alone. No companions, no family.”

Lucien hummed, understanding the threat in the words. No one would notice if you were missing, not for a long while anyway. He made a show of debating the idea, furrowing his brow, before leaping out of his seat with speed no human man could hope to match. He threw Grogov against the wall of the tavern, sliding the small knife out of his pocket and holding it against the man’s throat.

“Talk away.”

Grogov swallowed, the movement of his throat pressing the blade into his skin. Blood welled, and his eyes slid to the head still on the table. The village lads, picked for their size, not their bravery, seemed frozen in place.

“I—”

He was saved from talking himself into further danger by the tavern door flying open. Trumpets sounded, the ridiculous jaunt of the Lord of Kouemos. A song far too chipper for a ruler who was, by all accounts, a terror.

Lucien didn’t drop the blade, but did turn his head towards the sound. The messenger lowered the trumpet, looking entirely too pleased with himself. The colors of his costume, the bright red and yellow stripes, were comically amidst the dirt and grime of the tavern. As were the shoulder pads that ballooned around his upper arms, and the tight, short breeches.

 Musicians, Lucien thought to himself.

“I have a message for Lucien Vanserra.”

“Present,” Lucien growled, not moving. He watched the tavern still as they stared at him, tried to square the rough Godkiller threatening the town’s reeve with the stories they’d no doubt heard. Of the gentle noble, his mother’s favorite for his kind heart, so different than that of his brothers.

“I hail from Kousemos,” he said, with a flourishing bow. Lucien tried not to roll his eyes. As if anyone would be able to miss that, based on his, well, everything. A bunch of ostentatious self righteous pricks they were. “You’ve been summoned by our fearless, magnanimous, kind—”

“Get one with it,” Lucien interrupted.

The messenger cleared his throat. “Our leader requests your presence.”

“Will he pay?”

“Most assuredly, anything you may ask for. Our leader is well known for being generous, the most generous—”

“Yes fine,” Lucien sighed. He pressed Grogov closer to the wall. “Just as soon as this one pays up.”

Grogov reached a trembling hand into his pocket, pulling out the three gold coins Lucien was after. Apparently matters were much less up for debate now. Lucien snatched the coins, before lowering the knife. He cast a mournful glance at his ale, still untouched and gestured for the messenger to lead the way out of the tavern.

Shockingly, his horse was still where he’d left it, tied to the post in front of the stable. “Sorry for the delay, Tam,” Lucien said, stroking his roan mane once before pulling himself up into the saddle.

“My lord,” the messenger said, running after him. The shoulder pads flapped dramatically up and down, and Lucien bit down on his tongue to hold in his laughter. “I insist upon accompanying you.”

“It’s Lucien.” He hadn’t been called Lord in a long, long time. “And you’ll just slow me down.”

“I insist,” the messenger said. “My orders demand it.”

Lucien nodded. “And what’s your name?”

“Hart, sir.” He gave another little bow of flourish.

“Hart, who gave you this order?”

“The reeve of Kousemos,” he said proudly.

Lucien smiled, one of the slow, sarcastic ones he’d all but mastered. “Then I, Lord Lucien, outrank him, yes.”

Hart blinked. “Well, I—”

“So I order that I ride alone.” And with that, Lucien nudged Tamlin on, the horse starting off at a brisk trot, leaving Hart standing in front of the stable, a bright spot against the dusty ground.

-

Kouemos had changed since he’d last come. Sure, the buildings were the same, small shacks lining the one street leading up to the large manor house. But it was like the air was different, hung thick with the raw, almost bitter, taste of power. The town seemed to hum, getting fuzzy around the edges. The colors were too bright, the green of the plants a brilliant emerald that he’d only seen on the tapestries his mother liked to sew with her ladies.

Lucien shifted uneasily in the saddle. Even Tamlin seemed uncomfortable, his ears held back, muscles tensed.

“It’s fine,” Lucien said, not sure if he was talking to himself or the horse. His voice seemed to echo, the world far too quiet. Tam’s hooves drummed against the cobblestones in the silence, alerting anyone who was waiting for them. Here we are. Lucien peered at the small houses, expecting to see dirty faces pressed against the windows, but there were none.

In fact, there were no people anywhere, not in the streets, not manning the few carts that dotted the side of the road. They looked haphazard in their placement, as if the owner had just dumped them wherever he stood and walked away.

The magic in the air only seemed to grow stronger as he got closer to the manor house, the colors around him brighter. Flowers bloomed from window boxes, overflowing their containers and spilling onto the ground. The hue almost burned at his eye, too bright for any human to take in.

The gates to the house were left wide open and unguarded, inviting anyone who wanted to to enter. Lucien swung himself off Tamlin’s back. A trap, certainly, but one he was too curious not to enter. “Stay here,” he told the horse. Tamlin shuffled his hooves uncomfortably.

Lucien pulled out one of the twin blades he’d strapped on his back, brandishing it high as he walked through the entrance.

If Lucien thought the town had been bright, it was nothing compared to inside the gates. Vines crawled over the ground, blossoms peeking through anywhere they could get sunlight, crowding against one another. Fruit hung from branches, apples in the same bunches as oranges, pressed next to plums.

Lucien plucked one, biting into it. Juice gushed down his chin, too much to be contained in any normal fruit. He spat it out quickly, throwing the plum away from him. Where it hit the ground, it instantly started sprouting, green pushing through the pit and reaching up towards the sky.

He shoved through the vines, trying to wade towards the house’s entrance. He slashed at the growth, but it seemed to grow back faster than he could beat it back.

By the time he made it to the entrance he was dripping in sweat, thick rivulets streaming down his forehead. His tunic stuck to his skin, the white linen practically see through it was so damp.

Lucien pounded on the door with his fist, and it flew open.

“Greetings, Lord Lucien,” the man said brightly, utterly unfazed by Lucien’s dishevelment. Or the sharp blades in his hands. He wore the same garish costume as the messenger, the colors making his features look washed out, plain. “The town reeve is waiting for you.”

“I heard.”

“Good, good,” the man said, stepping back. His eyes were unfocused, looking through Lucien. “I’ll take you right there.” He turned mechanically, leading  Lucien through the halls. His motions were jerky, slow, like he wasn’t in control of his own body.

The rest of the house seemed to be in a similar daze. Lucien cocked his head as a maid carrying a bucket full of flowers almost slammed into him. Like she didn’t even notice he was there. Her dress was far too nice for her station, a tick velvet brocade that would be more fitting among a lady’s ball gowns. And far nicer than anything anyone in Kouemos had ever owned.

Lucien followed the man through the lower floor and up a side staircase, although he had a sinking suspicion he knew exactly where they were going. Sure enough, they came to a stop in the middle of a long hallway, facing the middle of three doors in it.

“The reeve will be so excited to see you.”

Lucien smiled wryly. “Of that I’m sure.”

The door flew open without either of them touching it, opening up to a darkly lit chamber. Lucien strode in, a rough smile still on his face.

The room was utterly barren except for a single bed in the middle of the room, and the woman lounging on it.

She was stunning, gold hair floating around her shoulders in soft curls. Same soft pink dresses she always seemed to wear, same heart shaped face peering up at him. Lucien wracked his brain trying to remember the last time he’d seen her. Two years ago? Three? Big brown eyes met his, and Lucien saw the amusement flickering in their depths, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking.

“Godkiller,” she said, the single word somehow managing to sound melodic on her tongue.

“Hello wife.”

[tigerlyla-of-metinna]

Emhyr Wintering With The Witchers (Finale)

Previous entry here

Emhyr's time with the witchers is coming to an end. One day, at the insistence of Cirilla, Emhyr agreed to meet her on the cliffs overlooking the fortress.

Cirilla: So... two days from now, you'll return to Nilfgaard.

Emhyr: Yes. Geralt and Eskel will escort me down the mountains and at the agreed location where a retinue of soldiers will take me back to the capital. And you?

Cirilla:... Back on the Path for me. Maybe Ard Skellig to help them cull the monster resurgence in Undvik. The pay is still good there.

Emhyr: Cirilla, you didn't ask me to climb all the way up here to admire the fortress or discuss our travel plans. Something clearly troubles you.

Cirilla: I... I wanted to apologize.

Emhyr:... What for?

Cirilla: For assuming the worse of you during your stay here. I expected you to be overbearing, trying too hard to be a father to make up for your neglect.

Ciri: Worse, I expected you to try to convince me I should abandon The Path and become empress. Failing that, you'd take me to Nilfgaard by force. Had you done any of those, I wouldn't hesitate to draw my sword on you.

Ciri: But instead, you hunted with us, broke bread and wine with us. Tried to live as we do. Not once you acted as an emperor. And I admit, I enjoyed having you around the keep. I expected... even wished that you'd falter and be the rotter that I always though you were.

I... I was wrong... and I apologize.

Emhyr: Cirilla... I know you have just cause to doubt my sincerity. When you had Geralt deliver the news of your death, despite knowing it was a bold-faced lie, I accepted it. I lost an heir, but I don't want to lose my daughter any more than I already have. If I am no longer a father in your eyes, then at least as a friend.

I hoped that when Geralt told me back in Vizima that you regret we did not part on good terms, that it was the truth.

Ciri: Honestly, had it been me there, I'd tell you straight off to get the fuck out of my life-

Emhyr:...

Ciri: It looks like Geralt knew what I truly feel. I was a coward for not telling you off myself. Geralt was insistent he'd tell you himself what I feel. And he did, not what my mouth wanted to say, but what is inside my heart.

Ciri: (leans on Emhyrs' shoulder) I am glad, you decided to winter here. Wish the weather would fuck up and bury the mountain pass with snow so that you'd extend your vacation.

Emhyr: (chuckle)We cant always have what we want.

I am glad too, Cirilla. I must admit, wintering with you witchers does wonders for my health.

Ciri: You will stay with us again next winter, won't you Papa?"

Emhyr: ... Did you just called me P-

Ciri: Don't change the subject. Will you or won't you?

Emhyr: I will. Looking forward to it already.... my daughter.

THE END.

Hope you guys enjoyed my little story! Thank you for following along!

Emhyr and Ciri pics provided by @eycsnow666, Kaer Morhen pics from my PS5 gameplay. Story and photo edits by me.

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Hello! Are you still doing the 24 touch prompts? If yes, can I request 15 with Eskel and Jaskier, please?

Sorry for the wait!!! ❤️

Jaskier and Eskel 15 - gently kissing the others knuckles 😊.

“Just so you know, it feels really bizarre being on the other side of this particular scenario.” Jaskier commented as he gently manipulated a hand much larger than his own to better assess the damage.

One of the inn patrons had recognised Jaskier even without his usual, grumpy travel companion present. Usually this would be something to make the bard preen like the bird Geralt often compared him to but unfortunately, this same prick chose to heckle him throughout his entire set and then decided to start with the “Witcher’s whore” comments when he’d finished, which had Jaskier ready to give this already rather unbecoming fellow a broken nose to go with his sallow complexion (it wasn’t the insult itself per se, but Jaskier was no Saint and a man could only turn the other cheek so many times in one night). Until a semi familiar blur of black and red beat him to it, and that was apparently how Eskel decided to let the bard know that he was in town.

Luckily for them, the innkeeper saw the sense in not even trying to throw Jaskier out now that one of his non-human companions had made an appearance and hastily agreed that the other had bought it on himself, making no move to try and aid the now unconscious and bleeding man as Jaskier pulled Eskel up the stairs behind him, the Witcher stammering out half an apology although who exactly it was directed to, Jaskier couldn’t say.

That’s how they ended up in their current position in Jaskier’s room, both of them perched on the edge of the bed with Jaskier still keeping hold of Eskel’s hand as he leaned over to grab the small bottle of spirit he used as a disinfectant after proclaiming the others knuckles to be just grazed from the force of his punch.

“I could have told you that about ten minutes ago, Jaskier. It’ll be healed in a couple of hours.” Eskel stated.

“Oh, hush you. What would Geralt say if he found out I left his brother all hurt and bloody? Especially when it happened because he was defending my honour.” Jaskier proceeded to gently dab at the split skin across Eskel’s knuckles, seemingly unaware of how much effort it was taking his patient to not give into temptation and wrap his fingers around the smaller, softer hand in response.

“Like he’s never punched anyone for you before.”

Jaskier gave a huff of a laugh, “He doesn’t have to fight all my battles for me, and neither do you.” He paused to boop the end of Eskel’s nose, “I’m a big boy. I can deal with a few town assholes throwing insults at me. You didn’t have to get involved.”

“Hello Pot, have you met Kettle?” Eskel asked dryly, causing Jaskier to bluster slightly at being called out, “Just because you can doesn’t mean you have to.”

“Oh, I see how it is. It’s fine when you lot say that.” Jaskier smirked, “Done! And...you didn’t have to, but it doesn’t mean I’m not grateful that you did. Thank you for being so gallant, dear Witcher.”

 Eskel felt his face heat up as Jaskier pressed a kiss to his now treated knuckles like he was the love interest in one of those romance stories and not some huge, scarred Witcher,  “Seriously though. Can we get back to the usual dynamic between myself and Witchers? I’m not sure I’m entirely liking this role reversal.”

 

Eskel knocked on the doorframe after purposely making his footsteps louder to give ample warning but even so, Jaskier still flinched where he was sat on the examination table. Curling his now bandaged hands against his chest as best as he could seemingly on reflex.

“Ah, Eskel! Everything alright?” He asked with forced brightness.

“Something we should have asked you much sooner.”  He said gently as he came further into the room, trying to make himself look as small as he could and keeping his movements slow and deliberate. Between the torture and the imprisonment, the last thing he wanted was to make the bard feel trapped again, “May I?” He held a hand out palm upwards between them, leaving Jaskier the choice of whether to close the distance or not.

Jaskier hesitated before reaching out and placing one hand into Eskel’s, the Witcher running the ends of his fingers over skin and linen as delicately as if he were stroking a birds wing. He didn’t know every single detail but he knew enough from the very loud, very animated ‘discussion’ that had occurred between wolf, witch and bard earlier that day and has ended in Jaskier being dragged by the elbow to the infirmary.

“You didn’t tell him anything.”

The wonder in Eskel’s voice must have sounded too much like disbelief, as Jaskier shook his head rapidly in response, “Nothing. I promise I didn’t tell him anything about here, or Geralt, or Ciri. I-”

Eskel gently shushed him, feeling Jaskier's pulse jumping rabbit quick in his wrist underneath his fingers. He was suddenly struck by the desire to press a kiss to the tips of those poor, talented fingers but considering they were currently hidden away under layers of salve and bandage....

He brushed his lips against Jaskier’s knuckles, holding the gaze of wide, blue eyes as he did so and wondering briefly if the hitch in Jaskier’s breathing was a product of his imagination.

“Thank you for being so brave, dear bard.”

[itsaspectrumcomic]

hi! i wonder if you or anyone else really struggles with this. i’m not too sure what to call it but whenever i have an important exam coming up, i just tend to shut down. even just thinking about revising makes me panic so i try to plan my revision thinking that laying it all out will calm me down but then something will happen and i don’t need up sticking to the revision plan and so i miss all the following days of revision until it’s the day before the exam and i haven’t done any work for it. unfortunately this has caused me to mess up some pretty major exams recently (i sat my A-levels last year and missed out on a top university because my grades weren’t good enough even though i made it through the interview stage). now i’m in university and i’ve fallen into this routine again and i’m scared that i’ll keep self-sabotaging and not reaching my full potential :(

sorry for such a long ask, i adore your artwork by the way. i feel incredibly seen!

Yes I always struggled with exams 😔 I actually chose my university course based on that and picked one that was 100% coursework so I never had to do an exam again 😅

Would it help to plan to revise with someone so you can be held accountable? They don't even have to be doing the same exam, they can just test you with questions or read and give you feedback on practice papers you do. Or a parallel play situation where you're both in the room but you're doing your work and they're just hanging out - that can be really helpful for neurodivergent people.

I also tried the pomodoro technique which is where you set a 30 minute timer and focus on your revision until it goes off, then set another timer for 5 minutes and have a break (a proper one, actually leaving your desk). And then when that goes off you set another 30 minutes and then the cycle continues. It doesn't work for me all the time, but I have had some success with it so it's worth a try.

I also find instrumental music can help me focus, especially video game soundtracks (it's literally written to make you focus on the game you're playing!). I'm partial to the music from the Witcher 3, but anything works as long as it doesn't have lyrics your brain will try to focus on.

I hope some of these are helpful - I know exactly how difficult it can be to force yourself to follow a revision plan, especially when the panic sets in. Good luck in your exam and any future ones!