#geralt x neutral reader

[bumblesimagines]

“ i like kissing you. “

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

- Geralt

“ i like kissing you. “

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

might butcher his personality

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

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

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

Then it became a routine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[mlm-writer]

Old Friend (Geralt x GN!Reader)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—————

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[cowboygenesis]

౨ৎ MASTERLIST

⤷﹐welcome to the masterlist! navigate my fics with the links below the cut. trigger warnings are listed upon clicking the designated chapter, but expect mature themes in most. please don't interact with my 18+ fics if you're a minor!

★ - author's pick ♡ - fluff ☾ - angst ✴ - smut

geralt of rivia

⤷﹐18+ wild woman | ongoing multi-chapter ♡ ☾ ✴

summary: geralt begrudgingly accepts a monster contract issued to him by a strange girl, thinking it to be an opportunity for some quick coin. nothing goes as planned.

chapter 1: redanian ale

chapter 2: sign from the skies

chapter 3: of thunderstorms ♡

chapter 4: a light in the dark: 17% complete!

↷ to be continued...

⤷﹐polite company | oneshot smut ♡ ✴

summary: years after a chance encounter in skellige, a skilled sorceress and an experienced witcher reunite at an annual aretuzan party, reigniting old flames amidst whispers of courtly intrigue.

din djarin

⤷﹐18+ brown eyes | ongoing multi-chapter ♡ ☾ ✴

summary: din settles on the distant planet of lazure prime while seeking a safe-haven for his son. unbeknownst to him, the choice leads him to unforeseen threats—and a deeper connection he never thought possible.

chapter 1: spice rolls and dew jam

chapter 2: sweet brew ♡

↷ to be continued...

astarion ancunin

⤷﹐18+ knuckle up | oneshot smut ★ ✴

summary: after a drunken night and a dumb bet you're left in an emotional (and physical) chokehold by your favourite vampire companion.

gale dekarios

⤷﹐fatum | two-shot ♡ ☾ ✴

summary: you've loathed each other since the dawn of his first arrival. it never should've worked, but somehow, as you find yourself chest-to-chest within a sunken crypt with no way out, your feelings finally surface— and gods, do they cut deep.

chapter 1: fatum invenit ♡ ☾

chapter 2: fatum signatum (work in progress) ♡ ✴

(all fics listed are my intellectual property and i don't wish for them to be copied or reposted without my explicit consent. thank you for respecting my creativity.)

[leighsartworks216]

The Viper: Rewritten

Chapter Five

Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 6 - Ch 7

Jaskier x gn!Witcher!reader

AO3 - I recommend reading it there

Warnings: canon-typical violence (blood, gore, disturbing ways of killing people), angst, grief mention, swearing

Word Count: 2799

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“Viper!”

You shot up, dagger held out, ready to defend yourself. You were met with wide, blue eyes. Once your mind caught up, you sighed and dropped it back into your lap.

“Hurry up,” he breathed out urgently. “Eyck is missing and Hendrick, he’s… well…”

“He’s what, Jaskier?” You rubbed sleep from your eyes. Where the hell were you? Oh, yeah, that’s right. Jaskier slept in your bed last night and you slept sitting on the floor. No wonder your arse hurt like hell.

The bard sighed. “Someone killed him.”

Your eyes snapped up to meet his. There were no lies to be found in the sympathetic look he held. You pushed yourself up, rushing past him and out of your tent, to see for yourself what had become of your employer.

You burst through the tent flap, eyes wide and wild. Geralt was already there, kneeling by the Temerian man who lay dead in his cot, neck sliced open. The body was hours old - blood no longer poured from his neck, already cooled into a thick, dark ooze. The Wolf’s eyes found yours. They held just as much sympathy as Jaskier’s.

“Oh, fuck.” Yarpen came up by your side, keeping his distance from the pool of blood. It soaked through the soles of your boots. You didn’t care.

“Was bound to happen eventually.” You didn’t have to turn to know it was a Reaver talking. What was their ringleader’s name? Broheni? Bolbolm? Something Redanian, you knew that much. He stood just at the tent opening, peering inside with a forced grimace. His dark gaze turned from the corpse to you. “A Nilfgaardian guiding a Temerian?” He scoffed. “Like a rat fucking a hag.”

You ignored just how Yarpen stepped away from you, as though you were going to slit his throat open next.

-

“Our people used to mine these mountains. We know a shortcut that will take half a day off our journey.” The Reavers were far ahead by now. The rest left behind slowed down to listen to Yarpen. “Let the Reavers take the long way around. We’ll nab the treasure before they even set foot in the cave. We’ll watch each other’s backs until we reach the next peak, then every man for himself.”

Two bodies were found that morning. Yennefer’s escort, Sir Eyck of Denesle, and your employer’s, Hendrick of Temeria. Nobody else suspected Yennefer of killing Eyck. You, on the other hand…

All morning, you had trudged along far behind everyone else. Still, they glanced and peered over their shoulders to make sure you weren’t about to make a move against them. The only few who trusted you - Borch and his guards, Jaskier, and Geralt - could not sway the minds of the Reavers and Dwarves. Yennefer, you suspected, did not trust you for your title as a Nilfgaardian alone.

“What say ye?”

“Let’s go!” Borch answered.

“Only thing: that murderer can’t come,” Yarpen spat, glaring at you as he spoke to Geralt.

The White Wolf’s lips curled into an offended snarl, brow furrowed and eyes burning with a fire reserved only for monsters. But before he could say anything, your hand was on his shoulder, turning him away from the Dwarf to face you. The flaming eyes of the Witcher met with your own, gleaming with the warmth and comfort of an amber mead after a long day.

“I’ll meet you at the top.”

You both just stared at each other, as if speaking with your eyes. You were deadlocked once again, only this time it was not with blades.

If Geralt tried to insist you come along, he could be left behind, as well. It was pertinent to reach the top before the Reavers, who would not think twice about slaying the dragon. But doing nothing left you at a disadvantage. You would be forced to follow the Reavers.

The scowl faded from his lips.

“Fine.” The word was grit out between clenched teeth. Even as the group began moving, he lingered for a moment longer, searching your eyes to make sure this was alright. They gave nothing away.

The Dwarves led the way down a side route, Borch and his guards following close behind. You stood at the crossroads. Your path was to follow the Reavers, the group of arsehole dragon-killers who framed you for murder; there was nothing you could now do to prevent it. If you were lucky, you would be able to sneak ahead while they slept.

Jaskier stopped to stand by your side, watching as Geralt chased after Yennefer to bring her along on the shortcut. He sighed.

“Guess I’ll see you at the top, then? You don’t really have to come now that… Well…”

You scoffed softly. “I wouldn’t wish to pass up the opportunity of seeing a dragon.” You turned to look at him, nodding down the side path. “You best catch up before they leave you behind.”

He glanced over the hill the Reavers crested moments ago. “So should you.”

You lifted your hood. The dark cloth ghosted your face with shadows, hiding your eyes and making you appear more intimidating. The easy, almost playful, grin on your lips ruined the illusion. “Stay safe, Jaskier. I would hate to hear what treachery you encounter without me.”

He chuckled, calling after you as you began the trek down the main road. “I won’t leave anything out!”

“I hold you to that!”

And in moments, you disappeared over the hill, and Geralt returned with the Witch in tow.

-

The dragon was dead when you arrived. Long, slender neck and powerful body curled around her still unborn child. It made your soul ache. To see a creature so magical, so formidable, being protective over a life so small…

When you neared, Téa and Véa appeared from the shadows, weapons armed and prepared to cut you down. You could not even spare them a glance, far too entranced in the ‘monster’ behind them. You mindlessly removed your blades and tossed them to their feet as you whispered a promise not to touch the egg or they could kill you where you stood.

They watched, prepared to do just that, as you carefully rounded the egg and sat by her head. Her scales tingled with magic as you brushed her snout, but she was cold; she had been for a while now. The stench of rot tainted the air around her. You wished you did not know the smell as well as you did.

Your chest was tight with emotion. Not mourning, but a semblance of something like it. She did not just remind you of home, of Stuldweck protecting and caring for you as she did now for her egg, even in death. She reminded you of a home you once had. Of your own mother, and father, and that big old farm horse. Of the frogs, and the well, and stitching by the fire. Of that grand oak on the hill.

Through the haze of a long-lost life, you heard boots scuffing against loose dirt and hard stone. Rushing in, carrying all manner of mismatched weapons, were Reavers. They charged head first into battle. Geralt, the Zerrikanians, and the Witch, all defending the egg.

You could mourn later.

You carefully sidestepped the egg, keeping your eyes up on the fight as your hands reached down and grabbed your abandoned sheaths. Holding the hilts, you flicked your wrists, and the leather casings flew away, revealing curved blades laced with Basilisk venom.

Reavers charged for you, confident they could kill a Witcher trained for killing humans. They were wrong. You cut them down, one after the next. You almost didn’t think about it anymore. Your mind was solely focused on defending the egg and the dragon laying with it; you could not feel the tension against your arms as you plunged your weapons through flesh and muscle, nor their own weapons landing hits on you.

You were snapped back into the fight when a long blade from behind sliced through your armor and traced almost directly over an old scar. You had to grit your teeth to hold back the scream. You turned and caught the man in the temple. Your hilt touched his skull. Someone bodied you, forcing you to abandon the silver dagger in his head.

You stood from the blow, raising your dagger defensively. There, not even ten feet away, was the Reaver that taunted you. His deep, sunken eyes stared at you from within yellowed skin. Crooked teeth malformed into a crooked grin. In his hand was a heavy, two-handed war hammer.

He charged forward, closing the distance, and driving the spike of the hammer in an upward swing. You dodged back sharply. He struck again and again and again. A seemingly endless barrage of attacks.

He got in close, swinging for your chest. You couldn’t block it. The war hammer would shatter your wrists before ever slowing down. All you could do was dodge. He was counting on this.

He swung. The adrenaline in your veins clogged your judgement; you dodged the wrong way. The butt-end of the hammer slammed against your sternum, sending you careening toward the hard floor. You landed hard on your arm. Your ribs bent, a sharp prick shooting through your side. Lightning-hot fire shot up the cut in your back.

“It would be easier to lay down and die, wouldn’t it, Rat?”

You couldn’t stop. You only had a second to look up. His teeth grit together, flames alight in his dark irises. The war hammer was coming down on you, sharp end poised to puncture. You bit back a groan as you rolled out of the way, just in time for the spike to impale the floor instead.

“But you have to get up. You have to fight.”

He ripped the hammer out of the stone. You kicked his knee, forcing him to kneel as he grunted in pain. One handed, the other clutching his knee, he swung again.

“C’mon, Rat. Fight.”

A scream tore from your throat as you reached up to meet his hand with your dagger. It was your bad arm. White, searing hot shocks of pain ran all the way down your shoulder to your wrist. You gripped your dagger with enough force to break the skin of your knuckles as the blade connected with his wrist and sliced through it.

The hammer, still gripped in a disembodied fist, flew past your head and skidded across the cavern. He screamed. You took in a breath, preparing yourself, holding it in your chest. You forced yourself up and jabbed the steel into the hollow of his throat.

His whole body froze. Wide eyes reflected your disheveled state back at you. His tongue moved inside his gaped mouth, forming words without the oxygen to speak them. Blood soon flooded it, pouring from the corners of his down-turned lips and into your lap.

The blade crunched and squished as you pulled it from the hollow. His expression was frozen. His body collapsed toward you, unable to stay upright any longer, before you shoved it to the side.

Waves of agony washed over you as the adrenaline fully left your system. Your hands trembled as you forced yourself to your feet. Nausea settled in your gut as the tight pain in your chest reached the forefront of your mind.

You were covered in blood. Most of it was his, you knew that much. You could taste the distinct, mutated flavor of copper on your tongue. Every breath was agony. But you could breathe, and that was worth something.

You scanned the room. The floor was littered with corpses. One was burnt; the closest to the egg. The egg…

You whipped around, much too quickly. Blood rushed to your head, your vision spinning with your mind. Rough, but surprisingly gentle, hands grabbed you. Their face came into focus before you could slash at them.

“Calm down,” Borch advised. The slight scratchiness of his voice, undertoned with knowledge and age, clicked immediately. He held you upright by your shoulders, waiting patiently as you shut your eyes and let the world catch up to you. “You have fought valiantly.”

You looked at him again. His face no longer blurred or warped. He smiled.

“Thank you for protecting her.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but could find no words. He seemed to understand, though, as he let you go. He turned back to the green dragon. His shoulders hunched, as if a heavy weight rested on his shoulders. You did not stay to watch.

Jaskier was the first one to greet you outside.

“Well, you look like shit.” You forced your eyes to focus on him. He was dirty and unkempt, watching his every step as to not walk on any of the many bodies strewn about. He was a welcome sight. His grin at his little joke fell when you did not react. “What’s wrong? What happened?” His hands floundered around, hovering over your arms and shoulders as he tried to figure out whose blood was where.

“I’ll tell you later.” Your voice was so quiet. You blamed it on exhaustion, but the ache in your chest was not purely from the war hammer.

His brows knit together in concern, but he nodded nonetheless. He made a motion, gesturing as he tried to find the words. “Uh, uhm, potion- Swallow. Do you have any…?”

You nodded. You lifted your arm, drawing his attention to the line of bottles along your belt. Your sheaths and silver blade were still discarded inside. You loathed the thought of having to go back for them, but you would not be leaving without them.

You tried to reach for one of the vials, but he stopped you when you winced. “Here, let me.” He didn’t touch you - as much as he could avoid it, anyway. Nimble fingers slipped it out of its holder, uncorked it, and held it out to you. You tossed back the strange liquid without hesitation.

-

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!”

The words echoed through the mountain valleys. Jaskier’s fingers rubbed together, itching for anything to fiddle with as the insults sank into his chest. His throat felt tight. His eyes burned. Someone he had considered a friend - someone he could trust, depend on - only thought of him as a burden, wreaking havoc on his life.

“You fucking bastard.” Geralt’s piercing gaze shifted from glaring at Jaskier to where you sat up on the hill. You grunted as you forced yourself to your feet. The potion was working - it didn’t hurt as much to breathe, and you could use your arm again, but you hadn’t had time to clean and bandage the cut along your back. For now, the blood was slowed down enough you weren’t immediately concerned about it. Loose pebbles and rocks shifted under your boots as you shuffled down them until you stood protectively in front of the bard. “No one asked you to claim the Law of Surprise, or make that wish with the djinn. You only have yourself to blame.”

The Wolf’s lips curled into a sneer. “If he hadn’t dragged me-”

You scoffed bitterly, stumbling the rest of the way down the hill to stand directly in front of Geralt. “No one forced you to go! Friend or not, you could have declined, you pompous git! You did this to yourself! No one else!” You stepped back. Despite your injuries, you stood with your shoulders squared, ready to fight. Your eyes burned into his own, daring him to test the waters. You would fight at a disadvantage to protect Jaskier, who he saved over and again just to throw away.

But Geralt’s shoulders fell. He averted his eyes, staring pointedly at the distant horizon. He would not be fighting you.

“Congratulations. Your blessing has been granted.” You stepped back, watching the Witcher to see if he would do anything. Instead of gearing up for an attack or trying to argue again, he just huffed and turned to gaze out at the view. The tension in your muscles faded, eyes losing the burning anger.

He was your last opportunity for a family. For brotherhood.

You turned your back to him and clambered back up the hill. Jaskier was speechless for once. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Geralt. You touched his shoulder, and blue eyes, wide and glossy, tore through you like a knife. You offered him a thin-lipped grin.

“C’mon, Jaskier.” You nudged him gently away from his old traveling companion. He glanced back once, before swallowing down his hurt and helping you climb. “If we’re lucky, we’ll be halfway down the mountain by nightfall.”

---

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[shotgunbunny]

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[peyton-warren]

Cavillrine with reader on her period.

Fucking her, not caring if blood gets on the sheets, he’s seen blood, fuck it he’s spilt blood before.

Thank you for the ask hon!! Yours was the first of the Writer's Block Party Prompts that I tackled, so thank you for sending me such an enticing idea! I hope this drabble fits the bill.

Characters: Cavillrine, Reader Fandom: Deadpool and Wolverine Pairings: Cavillrine x Reader Word count: 308 Gender/Ethnicity: Any. Reader menstrates Type: One-shot Warning: discussion of blood, hinting that Reader menstrates, Logan being Logan Author's Note: Thank you to @rosecentury for the prompt, and @ellethespaceunicorn for the beta! And thank you for those of you sticking with me through my horrendous writer's block. Tried to keep reader as Neutral as possible to be inclusive. Summary: You and Cavillrine hit an impasse, or did you? Ask Box: Open Masterlist

Your cheeks flamed as Logan looked at you like you had 27 heads.  “And?” he asked.  

You shook your head and sighed—damn near tears at this point.  “There is no ‘And,’ Wolvie.  It's just that.”

He still looked befuddled, his forehead wrinkled in confusion and his eyes darting between yours as if one would tell him something your lips did not.  Shaking his head with almost a snap, he started to smirk.  “You think a little blood is going to scare me?”

“It squicks some guys,” you tried.    His smile widened into an out and out toothy grin.   “”First of all I’m not ‘some guys’,” he assured you.  “Secondly, what the fuck does ‘squick’ mean?”  His lack of pop culture knowledge always amused you and this was no different.  Now you tried to hide your smile behind your hand but your giggle was unmistakable.  “Oh and now you are laughing at me?!?” he joked before opening his arms to you.  “C’mere, bub,” he stated softly.  

You step into him and wrap your arms around his solid waist, pressing your giggles into his chest.  “You are adorable when you giggle,” he informed you, his rough chin brushing your neck as he hugged you closer.  

“You’re pretty adorable all the time,” you affirmed.    

“I don't know that I’ve ever been called adorable,” he admitted with an amused tone.  “Can I get back to fucking you now?” he asked in the next breath.  

Lifting your head, you found his heated stare moving from your eyes to where you were biting your bottom lip, suddenly wondering why you stopped kissing him in the first place.  Without another word your lips found him in a hard kiss, reigniting the flames that you had briefly tried to douse just a few short minutes ago as his hand slipped under the waistband of your panties.  

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[aphroditelovesu]

can you please write a love letter romantic from yandere geralt of rivia from the Witcher x gender neutral reader and thank you ❤️😊

My beloved,

I loved you from the first moment our eyes crossed, my heart belonged only to you since then. Every thought, every breath, every beat of my heart is dedicated to you, and you alone.

My nights are tormented by the idea of ​​losing you, of seeing you in someone else's arms. I can't bear the thought of anyone else touching what's mine. I promise I will do anything to keep you safe, to keep you by my side.

I know I can be impulsive, that my actions can seem strange at times, but everything I do, I do it out of love. Because I love you so deeply and intensely that I can't imagine my life without you. And I don't want to imagine my life without you.

Remember, my beloved, that this love is a blazing fire, which can burn everything in its path. But it is also a love that will never die. I will always be here, protecting you, looking out for you, even if it means doing things that others would consider crazy.

Because I love you and this all that's matter in the end.

Never doubt my love for you, for you are the most real and true thing in my life. You are my light, my reason for living, my eternal beloved.

With all my love,

Geralt of Rivia.

[charmedimsure]

Silent Nights

pairing: Cahir x reader

summary: After an unexpected battle, you fear that Cahir has grown to resent you

word count: 1.4k

warnings: light swearing, implied smut at the end, canon-typical violence, light spoilers for the books but I tried to keep it vague

A/N: had book Cahir in my head for this one but hopefully it works for the show too. I tried to keep it gender neutral so lmk if I slipped up anywhere A/N part 2: I wrote this so long ago and forgot to post it so i'm just gonna do it now haha

The battle on the bridge over the Yaruga had put a small stop to your mission. Most of the company had obtained injuries in the battle, but thankfully nothing too serious. Milva, however, was going to need at least a week until she could get back into the saddle. She was in good hands with Regis taking care of her, but her body needed to rest.

Everyone spent time doting on Milva, but after a day she got fed up and yelled at everyone, so it was decided that she would be left to just Regis and occasionally Geralt.

You tried to focus on preparing for when Milva could get back in the saddle and your company would be on the move again, but your mind hadn't stopped racing since the battle, one specific moment replaying in your brain over and over.

You rushed through the gap that Cahir had made through the Nilfgaardian attackers, joining the Lyrian guerrillas in defending against the Black Ones. The Lyrians had been surrounded by the Nilfgaardians, but Cahir was able to charge right through them with the horse he had taken from a Nilfgaardian cavalryman at some point during the fight.

You slashed at a soldier when someone ran into you from behind, knocking you to the ground. A Nilfgaardian officer was standing above you. You crawled backwards away from him, but your head was kicked by a heavily armored foot, making your vision spin. The officer had his sword held high, about to strike, and you were in no way ready to dodge or parry, closing your eyes to prepare for the hit.

The blow never came. With his sword still raised in the air, the battle cry on the officer's lips was hushed as he fell to his knees. You looked up to see Cahir standing behind him, his blade covered in blood. He moved to help you up when he looked at the dying officer. You watched the way his eyes widened in recognition.

"Morteisen?" he said, unable to look away from the face of the Nilfgaardian.

You could barely make out the surprised "Cahir?" that came out of the officer's mouth before he slumped over, unmoving.

You could see the emotions on Cahir's face, but before you could say anything, your vision started to turn black and you felt yourself falling into Cahir's body, the last thing you remember seeing is the retreating Nilfgaardian army and the celebrating Lyrian soldiers.

It had been days since the battle and Cahir had barely said anything, often in his own world. Ever since he had joined the group, you and Cahir had been inseparable. You both were the only two who had trouble falling asleep at night, which led to late night conversations under the stars that had become deeper as time went on, telling each other things that you hadn't told anyone before. Over the span of just a few weeks Cahir became someone who you cared for deeply, possibly more than you had ever cared for anyone. But now the nights were filled with silence.

You couldn't help but feel the guilt take over you. Cahir had killed someone he knew because of you, possibly killed a friend because you had let yourself get caught off guard.

That night while everyone helps to make soup for dinner, you sit on a log next to Cahir, helping him peel the vegetables. He looks up at you as you sat down before turning his attention back to the carrot in his hand. The two of you sit in silence for a few minutes before you speak up.

"Were you close with him?" you ask. Cahir gives you a confused look. "The officer. Were you close with him?"

Cahir takes a deep breath and looks down at the food in his hands. "Mortiesen. We joined around the same time. Trained together. He was one of the first people I met in the army."

You can feel tears well up in your eyes as you fix your gaze back on your vegetables.

"I'm sorry," you say quietly, not even sure if Cahir is able to hear you. Out of the corner of your eye you can see Cahir's confused face again. "I'm sorry that you killed one of your friends because of me. And I understand if you don't want to talk to me anymore."

His confused expression changes to one of concern. Cahir shifts closer to you and gently takes the potato and the knife out of you hands, placing them down next to his.

"Why wouldn't I want to talk to you anymore?" he asks, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger to make you look at him.

"You've been really quiet these past few days, I don't know if you're regretting killing him," you say, a tear sliding slowly down your cheek.

Cahir moves his hand to cup your cheek and uses his thumb to wipe away the stray tear. "I never imagined that would happen, but I will never regret what I did."

"You don't?" you ask, searching his stormy blue eyes and finding nothing but sincerity.

"Not at all," he says, leaning in closer so your faces are only a few inches apart. "Because if I hadn't killed him, he would have killed you."

You can see the tears start to form in his eyes. "Then why have you been so distant?"

He closes his eyes and puts his forehead against yours.

"Because I almost lost you," he whispers. "I saw you on the ground, and I saw him raising his sword to strike, and I just couldn't let anything happen to you. I was so scared that he was going to kill you."

You pull back from him a bit to look at him. You search his eyes again, wanting to make sure he means all of this.

"But your friend..." you say, barely above a whisper. Cahir takes your face in both of his hands and looks over your features.

"I would have killed Emperor Emhyr himself to keep you safe."

Your breath catches in your throat. You watch as Cahir's eyes flicker from your eyes to your lips and back up, as if asking for permission. You give him a small nod, and he closes the space between you.

You've kissed people before, but never like this. Your kiss is full of desperation for each other, pouring everything you feel for each other into it. Your hands slide up to his hair while he moves one hand to the back of your neck, angling your head to kiss you even deeper. You disconnect to take a breath before reconnecting again, needing to feel each other, needing to know that this is real.

Cahir takes the hand from your cheek and drags it down the side of your body, letting it slip underneath the fabric of your shirt to roam on your skin. A groan comes out of you at the feeling of his hand on your body, and you lightly tug his hair, Cahir releasing a groan of his own.

"Hey, are you done with the veg- oh shit!"

You jump apart and whip your heads in the direction of the voice, revealing a red-faced Dandelion. You're sure that your own face is not much different from the bard's.

Dandelion opens and closes his mouth a few times as if deciding what to say before he lands on a quick "I'll just grab them later" and runs off, leaving you alone again.

You sit in silence for a few moments, processing what just happened.

"He's going to tell everyone, isn't he?"

"He's definitely already telling them."

"We're never going to hear the end of this, huh?"

"Oh, never."

You turn back to face each other and quickly fall into a mess of laughter, Cahir hugging you close to his chest.

"Well, that just means I can do more of this," he says, pulling you into another kiss. You chuckle against his lips, feeling his smile.

"I'm sorry to stop you because we've all been waiting for this, but we really need those vegetables, Milva's threatening to shoot us if we don't finish the soup soon!"

You and Cahir break apart once again with a sigh.

"We're coming!" you yell, starting to get up. Cahir picks up the skinned vegetables from his cloak on the ground.

"To be continued," he says, pressing one last short kiss to your lips before walking off in the direction of Dandelion's voice, leaving you to follow after him, trying to calm your smile and prepare yourself to be bombarded upon your return to the group.

That night the two of you sneak away from the group, and for the first time in days you don't spend the night in silence, much to the displeasure of Geralt and his sensitive witcher hearing.

[escapism-isgoodinsmalldoses]

Armed with stars

Geralt of rivia x fem!knight!reader

Synopsis: Geralt gets a contract and has to find a mysterious 'angel' hiding in some woods.

(Or Geralt gets a crush)

——————————————

« Help me look for my guardian angel! » It’s been a week already since I’ve been saved from an horrible fate by the most beautiful warrior I’ve ever seen. Some Nilfgaardian guards had me cornered, believing me to be a witch where I am just a simple herbalist. They were ready to hang me from the first tree in sight, when a knight with an armour shinning like a thousand stars on a horse looking like it was carved out of marble came to my rescue. He cut all of their heads in one precise slash of his sword and let me walk free. Before I could express my eternal gratitude to him, he was already galloping off into the woods. Help me prove I haven’t gone insane! No one believes me, I’m ready to pay with everything I have the one that finds me my angel!

Easy coin.

That’s what Geralt first thought when he saw the notice. Even more so when he met the herbalist. She was young, with eyes full of wonder, and extremely excited to have met a « real » witcher.

The supposed « guardian angel » was hiding into the neighbouring woods. They were much too small to be the habitat of a monster. This warrior was probably only a vagabond that had a grudge against Nilfgaard (like most locals).

The witcher left the small village bored but motivated enough by the promise of a reward. Roach was in a good mood that day, she was focused and receptive, and even if she was reactive to the presence of creatures, she stayed relaxed when they entered the woods.

———

The forest was young. The trees quite thin and the sunlight could easily touch the grass. Nothing could be hiding here, it was all so… bright. Suddenly, Gerald heard something heavy. Like stones falling on dirt, or hooves, with light crunching of leaves. An animal. A rather big one, he deduced. He got off his horse, not wanting to make too much noise and scare of his only lead.

He only had to walk a small while before seeing the source of the sounds. It was a horse. Much taller than roach, and more stout. Pure white, with dark eyes. Geralt approached it cautiously, like he knew when he had to keep a horse calm. The animal looked at him, but only bent his neck to feed on the grass below it. Geralt reached out and gently stroked the horse’s muscular neck. Its mane was long, slightly flowing in the breeze. The steed was obviously domesticated, but wasn’t wearing any bridle or saddle, it also looked nothing like the local species.

It was too big, and beautiful.

That’s when geralt noticed something at the corner of his eye. Something blinding, like the reflection of light. He swiftly turned towards it, a hand already on his steel blade, but became immediately unsure of his choice of sword. The figure in front of him was undeniably humanoid. Fully clad in sharp armour, helmet hiding their face completely. The metal of it was so lustrous that it looked like it was emanating light by itself. He noticed designed on the armour, designs that were foreign to him. Astronomical depictions of stars and moons, inscriptions, things weren’t usually put on armour. One gauntlet hand resting on their long sword at their hip.

But it is there that he was questioning their humanity.

Even with all of this metal, Geralt didn’t hear them approach, his hearing was dulled and he had all of his mind set on find them.

So how? And which sword to use?

-« Witcher… »

The voice was muffled, neutral.

He waited for them to speak up again.

And they did.

-« I was letting him rest. He served me well all day. »

It took him a second to understand that they were talking about the horse.

-« What business do you have here? »

-« I am merely travelling. »

-« I heard you killed nilfgaardian guards. »

-« I saw them attacking an innocent woman. »

……

-« And I am not fond of them. »

Geralt slowy let his hand fall from his sword. It was the time to be diplomatic.

-« What are you? »

-« I’m a traveler. »

Frustration started to rise inside his chest. -« Are you human? »

They didn’t respond, rather, they lifted their hands to their helmet, slowly taking it off.

What he saw first was a piercing gaze, then a gentle expression. A woman’s face. And Geralt was feeling disappointed in himself when his heart skipped a beat.

-« I am human enough. »

Her voice was cold, but not aggressive.

-« What is such a skilled warrior doing « travelling »? »

Her lips were slightly upturned.

-« That’s what I always did. »

The woman walked towards Geralt and sat herself on a rock, next to the horse. She was smaller than him, yet she felt imposing, powerful. And while he didn’t trust her yet, Geralt sat next to her, leaving some distance between them.

-« You’ve been noticed by a girl, and I bet those soldiers not coming back to their duties will alert the rest of the guard. If you want to keep « travelling », you should probably leave. »

-« I will, I simply haven’t decided where to go yet. Winter is near, I must choose wisely. »

She patted the snout of her horse softly, looking at it munch happily on grass.

-« Where are you travelling to, Witcher ? »

Geralt was confused by the question, but did not let it phase him.

-« Back to my home. »

-« Ah, the hidden lair of witchers. Kaer Morhen, for the school of wolf, yes? »

He simply hummed in response.

-« Perhaps I’ll go there this winter. »

His brows furrowed.

-« You won’t find it. »

-« But I’ll look for it all the same. »

-« You won’t be given a warm welcome if you do. »

-« I am simply curious, one of the reason I travel. »

He had nothing to say to that. Geralt finally looked over to the knight and was met once again with those eyes. As sharp as daggers, yet so…

She stood up once more, precise in her movement. Her steed seemingly understanding that they were going to leave, rose its head and looked at her. She started to put back her helmet again.

-« Wait. »

She stopped.

-« I have a contract, that’s why I came looking for you. I have to bring back proof that you exist. »

-« For the young woman? »

Geralt nodded.

She put her helmet back on her head.

-« Well, I will try to meet her again before going away. But if I can’t… »

The knight reached into one of the pockets on her belt, and pulled out a dagger. A very artistically crafted one at that. She reached into her helm with it and pulled out a few good strands of hair.

She then put the dagger away, tided them, and presented them to Geralt.

-« People who exist often have hair. »

Geralt reached for it and inspected the strands.

-« I don’t know if that would be enough. »

Some moments passed before she reached back into a pocket and pulled out a silver ring. A really simple one, with only a the shape of a star embossed into it. And gave it to the witcher.

-« That would maybe convince her, if not, you could keep it as payment. »

Geralt nodded with slight uncertainty, as he watched the armoured woman reequip her horse (equipment that was simply hidden in a close by bush). He watched her as she mounted the horse, looking down at him.

What a glorious sight that was.

He stepped back, and nodded at her once again.

-« Goodbye witcher, we might meet again. »

————————

When he got back to the village, the simple mention that, yes, there was in fact a silver warrior in the forest got the woman he had a contract with to pay him handsomely. She was even more ecstatic when Geralt gave her the hair.

Well some of it.

In his pouch, in a small pocket, he kept a part of the strands, as well as the ring.

They smell of the mysterious woman. Like salt and lavender.

And another smell he couldn’t quite place.

indecipherable, like her.

…..

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

I hope you enjoyed this small one shot! I will come back and edit it once I'm a bit rested!

[roguerambles]

By the Fire

The Witcher Fic - Geralt of Rivia x Male Reader

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

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

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

-

Perhaps hiring the Witcher had been unnecessary.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Was it that obvious?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bruxa.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh! I…that isn’t necessary—”

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

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

“You didn’t. I’m offering.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I am sorry.” You murmured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…I’m sorry. Too forward?”

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

You wanted to combust.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[mlm-writer]

The Big Tober 2023

Ok so I got tired of Kinktober, so this year we are doing

The Big Tober™

- a mix of Kink/Whump/Flufftober. The regular rules apply and you can find character options here. Happy requesting!

Removed some since no one made any requests and I could use the free time.

Day 1 - Kinktober : Omegaverse last day of an omega’s heat and their alpha is TIRED (Omega!Dick Grayson x Alpha!Reader)

Day 2 - Flufftober: Love confession (Peter Parker x Gender Neutral Reader)

Day 3 - Whumptober: Inevitable death, we will die, let’s say the things we were always too afraid to say (John Kennex x Gender Neutral Reader)

Day 4 - Kinktober: Alienfucking (Garrus x MShep)

Day 5 - Flufftober: Falling asleep together (John Constantine x Gender Neutral Reader)

Day 9 - Whumptober: Coming out + being hated by a person you did not expect it from (Dorian Pavus x Male Reader)

Day 10 - Kinktober: Robotfucking (Peter Parker x Robot!Reader)

Day 11 - Flufftober : The 5 Love Languages (Peter Parker x GN!Reader)

Day 15 - Whumptober: Last words (Kandros x Reader)

Day 16 - Kinktober: Dacryphilia (Dick Grayson x Male Reader)

Day 17 - Flufftober: Love at first sight (John Constantine x male reader)

Day 19 - Kinktober: Praise kink (Merlin x Reader)

Day 21 - Whumptober : “I did what I had to do to protect those I love… I had no choice!” (Show!Geralt x GN!Reader)

Day 25 - Kinktober: Monsterfucking (John Constantine x reader with two dicks (king shark hybrid style))

Day 28 - Kinktober: Shrek x Deadpool

Day 31 - Whumptober: Folklore (Choi Soobin x GN!Reader)

[atlasthegreatest]

- Atlas Masterlist - [Requests are open]

▪️Male reader

▫️Female reader

🔲 Gender neutral

🔳 Male/ Female Oc

Avatar: The Legend Of Korra:

Asami Sato:

🔳 - War of Hearts- I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, XI, X , XI

Avatar Korra

Lin Beifong

Iron II

Suyin Beifong

Mako

Bolin

Opal

Senna

Kya

Kuvira

Percy Jackson:

Annabeth Chase

Percy Jackson

Jason Grace

Thalia Grace

Piper McLean

Leo Vasquez

Hazel Levesque

Nico DiAngelo

Sally Jackson

Silena Beauregard

Drew Tanaka

Harry Potter :

Hermione Granger

Harry Potter

Narcissa Black

Lily Evans

Bellatrix Black

Narcissa Black

Ginny Weasley

Fleur Delacour

Penny Haywood :

- Baby Problems

James Potter

Cassandra Vole:

▪️- Unexpected Surprises

▪️- Tme Wrap: Bizarrely Adventures!

Sirius Black

Scream:

Sidney Prescott :

- ▪️ Flight or Figth

Tara Carpenter

Gale Weathers

Sam Carpenter

Fairy Tail:

Erza Scarlet

Natsu Dragneel

Grey Fullbuster

Lucy Heartfilia :

🔲 - Friends…? Friends.

Mirajane Strauss

Laxus Dreyar

Juvia Lockser

Irene Belserion

Attack On Titan:

Mikasa Ackerman:

-▫️ Fake It ‘Till You Break It - I

Eren Yeager

Historia Reiss

Annie Leonheart

Pieck Finger

Jean Kriestean

Sasha Broast

Hange Zoe

Marvel Universe:

Natasha Romanoff

Laura Kinney

Jean Grey

Emma Frost

Wanda Maximoff

Maria Hill

Cindy Moon:

▪️ The Bat, The Spider, and The Mutant

Gwen Stacy

Felicia Hardy

DC Universe:

Cassandra Cain:

▪️The Bat, The Spider, and The Mutant

▪️The Super’s Bats

🔲- Silent Glances and Secret Smiles

🔲- Shadows of the Past — Birds of a Feather pt.2

Helena Bertinelli

Barbara Gordon

Dick Grayson

Poison Ivy

Kara Zor-El

Wonder Woman

Cassandra Sandsmark

The Vampire Diaries/ The Originals:

Caroline Forbes

Katherine Pierce

Rebekah Mikaelson

Hayley Marshal

Bonnie Bennett

Hope Mikaelson

Davina Clare

Freya Mikaelson

The Witcher:

Cirilla of Cintra

Geralt of Rivia

Yennefer of Vengerberg

Acotar:

Feyre Archeron

Nesta Archeron

Morrigan

Elain Archeron

Throne of Glass:

Aelin Galathynius :

- 🔳 In Each Others Arms

Rowan Whitethorne

Manon Blackbeack

Elide Lorchan

Others:

Navier Trovi :

- 🔳 Honor me of this dance

Penelope Eckart

Samantha Wilkins/ Atom Eve

Mark Grayson /Invincible

Fate: The Winx Saga

Choi Namra

Daphne Blake

Iori Utahime

Laura Croft

Haley Carter (Stadew Valley):

🔲- Daylight

[leighsartworks216]

The Viper: Rewritten

Chapter 6

Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 7

Jaskier x gn!Witcher!reader

AO3 - I recommend reading it there

Warnings: swearing, struggling with emotions

Word Count: 4872

Masterlist

Tag List Form

Jaskier was quiet. He’d hardly said a word since Geralt blew up on him. His fingers would rub against each other every now and again, as if he wished to pluck the strings on his lute, but he did not reach for his instrument. The whole time you set up camp, laying out bedrolls and blankets, setting up a campfire, and so on, he sat silently on a rock you dragged over. He was completely zoned out - not even offering to help when you grunted from the labor or winced from your injuries. He only came back to his senses when you held a strip of dried meat under his nose. He’d startled slightly at the sudden smokey scent of seasoned meat, but he took it with a brief, weak smile nonetheless. But even then, he just looked at the food with a frown.

“You need to eat something,” you urged, as he’d once done for you. “You won’t have the strength to make it down the mountain if you don’t.”

“I didn’t even have the strength to stand up for myself!” he cried. As quickly as it was there, the energy and frustration was gone, swallowed up by the night. “Sorry.” His nimble fingers picked apart the jerky. You watched attentively as he pulled off a bit and ate it.

Once he began eating, you did, too. Your eyes never left the bard, watching him sulk all too knowingly. You were just the same way growing up. You could so easily imagine yourself in Jaskier’s place, sat across from Stuldweck. He would have been comforting you after a failed test on alchemy or monsters, or telling you exactly how to get back at Oalvir for a prank or for some taunting remark from the others, or encouraging you to keep trying on the obstacle course. “So you learn how to.”

He looked up. “What?”

“You learn how to stand up for yourself, for next time.”

He sighed. His whole body hunched forward, closing himself away from the harsh world he found himself in. “Next time…” He stared back at the fire; you’d carefully avoided staring too deep into its cruel flickering. Within the embers, he could see those long, dreary nights spent out in the wild with Geralt, chasing after some creature or another. He continued to long for those adventures. He craved stories and tales and wild escapades. “Next time, I’ll tell him to shove it up his arse.”

You chuckled. He lightened up a bit at the sound. “That’s a good start.”

The higher up you went, the less wildlife that seemed to be around. Now that you were descending the mountain, the crickets seemed more abundant. Their incessant chirping mingled with owls’ cries as they searched alongside bats for food. The high-pitched clicks and chirps of echolocation didn’t bother Jaskier, but they were easily picked up by your sensitive ears. Occasionally something would swoop down to catch its prey.

You couldn’t revel in the harmony of nature for long - you had put off tending to your injuries for long enough as it was. With a sigh and the rest of your jerky gone, you began undoing the straps of your leather armor as easily as the last thousand times before. Half of the buckles undone, you reached inside the chestpiece to feel your ribs. They were tender, but you couldn’t find any signs of fractures.

You undid the other half and tugged it all off. The armor itself was lighter and more flexible compared to Geralt’s. It also had less tears. The only noticeable damage was the long cut down the back. You sighed just thinking about having to stitch it back together; you were never very good at sewing.

Reaching behind you, you ran a hand slowly along your back until you felt the tear in your black tunic. You’d have to fix that, too. A little further, and your fingers brushed against the open, scarred tissue. It stung, and the blood around it was dry and crusted. But it felt clean enough. Your armor must have protected it from dust and dirt when you rolled along the cave floor.

“Are you alright?”

You’d nearly forgotten Jaskier was there, watching as you doffed your armor. You weren’t uncomfortable getting rid of that barrier, of removing that protection; so much so you didn’t even realize you were doing it.

You hummed, wincing as your fingers brushed a tender spot. “From the fight,” you explained. “One of them cut through my armor. Got me pretty good.”

He floundered for a moment. “Do you want some help? I mean, I could- Well, I know how to wrap a bandage or-”

“I’d appreciate it.”

You met his eye across the fire. His eyes did not shine and gleam at every new thing. Self-doubt clouded them, dulling them to a soft cornflower blue. He cleared his throat and jumped up. “Supplies?”

You nodded over to your bag, laying by your bedroll. He reached inside, shifting vials and jars of monster parts and ground herbs aside to find bandages. They weren’t really bandages, per se, but long strips of cloth torn from clothes or bedding, wrapped up into a ball. You also instructed him to find a small container of salve, which looked greenish-yellow in the light. As he brought over the items, you shifted to sit with your back to him, and pulled your shirt over your head. He sat awkwardly beside you on the rock, trying not to stare at your back, as you studied the tear in your tunic.

“U-Uhm, this one?” he asked about the container, holding it over your shoulder so you could see. You glanced at it briefly and nodded.

“You’ll need to gather some and spread it on the cut.” You listened to the clinking of the jar as it was opened. You almost grinned at the thought of Jaskier scrunching his nose up in disgust. “Don’t worry about hurting me.”

He scoffed and began dabbing the salve onto the long, inflamed slash, all the while mumbling to himself. “‘Don’t worry about hurting me.’ Yeah right.” The talking helped him gather his nerves. “What is this stuff anyway?” He took an experimental sniff of the jar’s contents, and found the smell actually not unpleasant.

“That same mixture from before; when I fought Geralt at your camp,” you reminded him. He’d remembered the small amount you’d spread on your cheek, then. He glanced over your shoulder to see the mini scar that ran along your cheek. It distracted him from the mention of his former adventuring buddy. “Celandine and white myrtle - helps with the pain and the infection, to some extent.”

“Smells nice.”

You chuckled. “I always found them to have a bitter smell,” you admitted.

He smelled it again, pausing for a moment to try and smell the bitterness. It was faint, on the edge of his senses. In his next breath of the cool night air, it was gone. He shook his head and gathered up more, gently guiding it within the cut. He tried not to think about how he could see the muscle-y tissue just right there, at his fingertips.

It was quiet as he continued to work. He kept trying to think of ways to fill the silence - what questions he could ask, or if he should hum or whistle a tune. You enjoyed it. You traced your fingers over the fabric in your hands, listening to the wind as it moved through the scattered foliage. After a little while, he finished coating the cut with salve and wiped the excess from his fingers onto his pants (they were dirty, anyway).

“Alright, so just, uhm.” He unraveled a bit of the bandage cloth and tried to figure out how to start wrapping it around. You held out a hand for one end of the roll, and held it to your chest so you could tie the ends together when it was all done. He would pass it around your back, and you’d wrap it around your front, until almost your entire back was safely wrapped up in the cloth. You tied the ends together and threw your shirt back on - you could fix it later.

“Is that alright?” he asked. He’d never actually helped anyone patch themselves up before. Geralt would barely let him know when he’d been hurt; Jaskier usually had to guess from the Witcher’s body language.

You turned your body to once again face the fire. “It’s not the worst I’ve ever had,” you teased, but you were sincere as you thanked him.

He fiddled with his fingers. “Thank you, too, by the way,” he rushed out, as if he would never be able to say it again if he didn’t say it now. You looked at him with those sharp snake eyes, and he floundered a little more. “For, erm, yelling at Geralt, like that.” The gratitude came from him stiff and stumbled, but it was genuine.

You smiled. “It was my pleasure.”

He grinned, too, and eased into the silence that came after.

-

The sound of Jaskier’s boots skidding on uneven gravel followed you down the mountain. You took the lead, eyes and ears constantly looking out for monsters or wild animals. It was hard to hear anything over the crunching-sliding sounds of his boots - a cougar with soft paw pads could easily walk right next to you and you’d not notice. You looked over your shoulder and watched as the bard slid down a steep incline, holding an arm out to balance himself while clutching the strap of his lute. Some steps he took were accentuated with grumbles and winces, undoubtedly from the sharp points of rocks poking through the thin soles.

“After all this time traveling,” you called back, waiting for him to catch up, “you never thought to get better boots?”

“Ah, well, I thought about it.” He reached even ground and trudged his way to your side. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths from the exertion. “Never had the extra coin to actually get any.”

He turned to the path ahead, shoulders falling with a sigh as he saw the next slope and the one after that. You had managed to get halfway down yesterday, but there was still much farther to go. Before he could start the long descent down the mountain, you placed a hand on his chest and stopped him.

“What?”

You looked around, eyes scanning the rocky terrain. Nervously, he did the same. You could feel his heart against your hand, beating wildly.

“What is it? Did you hear something?”

Shaking your head, you make your way over to a bolder. It fell decades ago, eroded by time to be smooth. You sat down. Jaskier watched, astonished, as you began removing your boots.

“Now, wait- Hang on!” His boots scraped along as he rushed to stand in front of you. His hands waved all over, trying to stop you without actually touching you. “You’re going to need those! Viper, wh- You don’t even know what size I am! Your boots might not fit! Or my boots might not fit you!”

You paused for a moment, stopped in the middle of unlacing your travel-worn footwear. He watched as you slid one foot to be next to his. Then, you continued unlacing. “They’ll fit well enough.”

He scoffed and paced around, unable to grasp that you would want to do anything so… chivalrous for him. Saving his life on a whim was one thing - it was probably just instinct that made you throw yourself over him - but to fully go out of your way to ease his (dare he say) suffering just because you could?

In no time at all, you were left barefoot on rough gravel. Unlike him, you did not wince or even flinch as the sharp points dug into your heels. He could only imagine it was because they were so calloused after who-knows-how-long of adventuring. You pressed your boots to his chest, giving him no choice but to hold onto them and accept the gesture.

“Put them on. We’ll worry about new boots when we get into town.” You stepped away from the boulder, waving a hand for him to sit down. He hesitated, staring at the worn down, well-loved boots. You nudged him. “C’mon, jaskier, my feet are hurting.”

He glanced down, realizing fully that you were actually barefoot on a rocky mountain. He rushed to sit down and take off his boots so you’d have something to walk in. All the while, his mind ran rampant.

Had Geralt ever done anything this nice? Had Geralt ever done anything to help Jaskier? Anything that didn’t involve the bard’s near death, that is. The White Wolf never even let him touch his steed, no matter how long he had been walking or how badly his feet ached. But you! You just took off your boots and gave them to him like it was such a simple thing, no more important than passing the salt at a meal. You didn’t even think twice about it, no matter how many complaints he brought up. Hell, he hadn’t even complained about his feet aching or his boots doing very little to protect him with their thin soles; you just noticed!

Another voice, less astonished but just as bitter toward his past companion spoke up: They are not Geralt.

He handed over his boots, still dazed by your altruism and perhaps slightly embarrassed over the act of trading shoes, and watched as you slipped them on without sitting back down. You kicked the toe onto the ground, measuring how much space you were left with, before giving him a nod.

“Better?”

He stepped a couple times. The boots felt odd on his feet, but he could already tell they were built for traveling. His, well, they were mostly for appearance.

“Good. Let’s keep going.”

-

Your feet were hurting by the time you reached the base of the mountain, but sweet relief was found in Bayard. The speckled horse greeted you both with loud whinnies and dramatic head bobbing. You wasted no time in stroking his neck and head, pressing your forehead to his nose.

Jaskier looked between your horse and the one tied up next to it, a mare with a light grey coat and dark hair. “So, is your horse named after a fish, too?” he asked, a teasing lilt to his voice.

You snorted. “No, absolutely not.” You walked around the side, running your hand along his coat all the way. “No, his name’s Bayard.”

Jaskier watched with twiddling fingers as you prepared your trusty steed for a ride. “Why Bayard? Isn’t that a bit of a mouth full?” He glanced around at the other hitching posts. Some had horses that no longer had owners. One of them was definitely Roach, but he had a feeling she didn’t really want anything to do with him either. The one hitched up next to yours tried reaching out to nudge his arm. He jumped back, unsure how to really act around such a large, terrifying creature.

You shrugged from underneath Bayard, working on a stubborn buckle. “It was just sort of the first name that came to mind. I think it suits him.” You stood and Bayard nudged his side against you. He was excited to finally stretch his legs. You watched as Jaskier nervously patted the top of the mare’s head. “Can you ride?”

He chuckled, shaking his head and stepping away from Hendrick’s horse as she tried nibbling on his doublet. “No, not at all. Geralt usually rode and I’d just sort of,” he gestured his hand moving along a path, “walk alongside.”

“Well, if you’re going to travel with me, you’ll need to move a bit quicker than that.”

He frowned, almost scoffing as he watched you saddle up the mare with some spare tack laying around. “What, like, run? Cuz these legs aren’t really good for sprints or- or jogging.” You looked around for a moment, searching the ground. You set a log on one end and tested it with your foot. Jaskier watched with a sinking feeling in his gut. “What are you doing?”

“You,” you began, grabbing his arm to drag him to the horse’s side, “are going to learn how to ride.”

“What?!” He flinched away when he accidentally ran into her flank, apologizing on impulse.

You patted his shoulder. “Relax, Jaskier, you’ll do fine. So, what you want to do is hold onto the saddle, right here and here, put your foot in the stirrup like this, and pull yourself up. Okay, good, now swing your leg over the back- careful.” You moved the stump away once he was on, but you kept careful watch. It would be unfortunate if he fell off. Or if the horse bucked him off.

He watched you too, but less in a ‘watching a child so they don’t injure themselves’ way and more of a ‘dear god I’m going to die’ way. His blue eyes practically bulged out of his skull in fright. His hands held onto the horn of the saddle for dear life, afraid to even actually touch the horse. “What do I do now?”

“Name her.” Bayard nudged his nose under your arm as you worked to undo the knot in her lead. You had to shove him away before he panicked Jaskier any more.

“Name her?” he parroted. You could hear his panicked breathlessness. “Like what? Doesn’t somebody own it? Am I stealing a horse right now?”

You chuckled under your breath. It was interesting trying to give the bard a crash course in horses when you worked with them for almost a decade of your life. “No, we aren’t stealing; nobody owns her anymore. And it can be anything.” You handed the lead for him to hold as you untied Bayard’s. “You’re poetic - you’ll think of something.”

“Some-thiing!” Jaskier nearly fell forward in panic as you guided both horses onto the road.

“Calm down.” You slung the lead over the mare’s head. He caught it and held onto it like a lifeline while watching you hoist yourself into Bayard’s saddle like it was nothing. He couldn’t picture himself as at-ease with a horse. “Don’t pull the lead too tight, make sure she has room to move.”

“Are you absolutely sure about this?”

“Bayard can’t carry two people for very long, and I’m not going to wait up for you if I’m on the tail of a contract. So, it’s either this, or I’ll wait for you to walk 2 hours to Hengfors by yourself.”

He sighed, pouting as he worried the leather in his hands. “Fine! But if I fall off, I’m blaming you. Now how do we move these things?”

-

The entire ride was spent teaching Jaskier how to ride. He was a surprisingly fast learner, but he also almost slid off the saddle several times. He also spent a grand majority of the trip brainstorming names for his new steed. Due to her silvery grey coat, he tried some names like ‘Silver’ and ‘Snowflake’. That trailed off into names like ‘Furt’, ‘Furtie’, and ‘Hove’ after his memories of home. (Oxenfurt and Lettenhove, respectfully.) Deeply dissatisfied by any variation of those names, he did a full 180 and decided randomly naming things he saw or thought about would be the best way to name her.

By the time you reached the town and zoned back into his random mutterings, he decided to call her Adhara, after a star he read about as a child.

The first stop in town was to the first armorsmith you saw. You almost slid off the saddle before Bayard even had a chance to stop, eager to get Jaskier some proper boots and get yours back. It cost a mite more than you expected, but you saw the glint in the smith’s eye when he told you the price; he was no doubt asking for more due to your profession. So while Jaskier muttered about how unreasonable that was and tried insisting on paying for it himself, you just handed over the coin and left without another word to the craftsman.

Jaskier noticed during this time how you were different. It was hard to notice the change in Geralt - the Wolf was always moody and miserable; but from the moment you stepped into Hengfors, your face was unreadable, even stern. Your eyes shifted around constantly, and when Jaskier cracked a joke or offered a witty remark, you did not even grace him with a soft grin or huff of laughter. It was all part of the job, he supposed.

Once he was settled with his brand new boots and yours were safely returned to your feet (his old boots only fetched a few crowns from the craftsman), you led your steeds to the nearest inn and showed Jaskier how to properly tie up Adhara and remove her tack. Watching him try to lift the saddle and hang it on the wall hook, you’d never suspect he ever set a foot out into the real world.

He insisted on buying the room since you bought the boots, but you insisted he only get one room. There was no point in spending more coin than necessary and you were accustomed to sleeping on hard floors. Perhaps Melitele decided to show you some grace, though, as the bed in the room was plenty large enough to fit two people.

You both trudged into the room and dropped (or carefully set down, in the case of Jaskier’s lute) everything you carried to the floor. The floors creaked and groaned, and the walls were thin enough to hear somebody breathing on the other side, but a warm place to lay your head was enough reason to relax.

“Oh ho ho ho! You beauty!” Jaskier’s voice came from the corner of the room. You paused in the middle of removing your leather armor, watching with quiet amusement as he moved around behind a screen divider. If you cocked your head just enough, you could see the large bathtub, steam wafting from the basin already filled to the brim with hot water. “I have not bathed in days,” he bemoaned. He rushed to his bags, tugging off his doublet all the while, and pulled out various bottles of oils. He practically dumped all of their strongly perfumed contents in.

You huffed a laugh at his enthusiasm (He silently praised the gods that you felt comfortable enough in here to do so.) and pulled off your chestplate. It would be best to patch it up now. With Jaskier safely behind the screen, cursing to himself as he undressed, you pulled your own shirt off and dropped it to the bed with the armor. You would have plenty of time to fix your gear as the bard allowed himself the comfort of a long, hot soak.

The water shifted and sloshed as Jaskier lowered himself in, all content hums and satisfied groans. He always expressed his emotions so plainly. You envied him for it. Even as a child, emotions were scolded or punished; crying in dark corners was not uncommon in the Viper Keep. It was hard to shake off those grueling years when humans looked at you with such open disdain. A Witcher seen laughing would surely bring more ridicule than one that stayed silent.

As you dug through your stuff, you allowed yourself to breathe in the strong smells. They were overwhelming at first, especially with senses as sensitive as yours, but they soon became bearable. “Is that sandalwood?” you called across the room.

“Mhm.” He sighed, spreading out in the water and resting his head on the edge of the tub. He wondered behind closed eyes and private screens what you were moving around the room for, what you were doing. Did Witchers ever rest? “And vanilla.”

With the sewing kit in hand, you gracelessly plopped onto the mattress. It was soft and springy. Your muscles relaxed instantly against the clean fabrics. You readied a thick needle with leather thread and pulled the chestplate into your lap. The cut was clean, which meant it would be easy to fix. And while you’d never been the best at sewing, you were plenty good enough now not to poke your fingers or misalign the edges. “It smells nice.”

He sat up in the tub, water shifting around him as he moved to see what you were doing. His eyes glanced over the bandages around your torso only briefly. “You think so?”

You hummed, nodding as you pulled the thread through. “I don’t get many opportunities to smell something sweet on my travels.”

“Don’t pass by many bakeries, then?”

“No,” you chuckled. “I try to avoid towns whenever possible.”

“How come?” he asked before he could stop himself. Your pointed glance was all the answer he needed. He forgot how unwelcome Witchers were, when the couple he knew were so… Well, he couldn’t say normal, but when you’re around oddities and strangeness all the time, it becomes normal. To him, they were just people. Strange, brave people. “Feel free to use it then, if you’d like,” he offered. The water announced his gestures. “Wash away all that Witchery-ness.”

You pulled taught another thread, leaning in closer to focus on what you were doing. It was a bad habit. Stuldweck always grabbed you by your collar and sat you up straight when he caught you doing it. You sat up a little straighter.

“I wouldn’t wish to waste your expensive oils. Monster guts have a difficult stench to cover,” you dismissed. You tied a knot at the end of your repair, cutting off the excess with a knife. As you worked to thread a smaller needle with cotton thread, you added, “Besides, I think it smells much nicer on you.”

Jaskier stared at you for a minute, trying to think. When he could not cobble together the words, despite how fast his mind raced with a mixed bag of teasing remarks, self-deprecating put-downs, and ways to assure that you surely would also smell nice if you bathed in sandalwood and vanilla, he leaned back into his bath, rested his head against the rim, and stared at the ceiling.

-

You woke up to a dark, empty room. It was disorienting at first; you pulled your knife from under your pillow on reflex. Jaskier and his lute were nowhere to be found, but the smell of sandalwood and vanilla lingered in the air. All his other belongings were still dropped to the floor with your own.

Sharp spikes of pain shot up your spine as you sat up. You carefully prodded at your back, now covered by the patched up shirt. The cut was sensitive, but it would heal well enough. Another scar for the collection, atop an old training injury no less.

The door creaked slowly open on its rusty hinges. Your hand tightened around your blade, prepared to fend off intruders even in your post-nap drowsiness. You sighed when you saw Jaskier poke his head in. He stopped trying to be sneaky once he saw you were awake.

“Ah, good! You’re up.” He sauntered inside with an easy confidence, a slight pep in his step. He dropped his lute onto the bed by your feet and a small pouch full of coins in your lap. “I have just earned enough money for dinner,” he sang proudly.

As you tugged open the bag, he struck a match to light the lamp by the bed. Coins were packed so tightly inside that they didn’t have room to shift or clink together. You raised an eyebrow at the amount. “And drinks.”

He waved his hands about. “Yes, well, I may have stopped by a few of the taverns around town.”

You looked up at him. He cracked under the pressure.

“Or, maybe, all of them.” He sighed, dropping to sit next to you on the bed. He gestured to his shoes. “You spent a lot on these boots! I felt bad!”

You cinched up the purse and tossed it into his lap. “You bought the room,” you reminded him.

“And it definitely didn’t cost as much.” He nudged your arm, jumping up excitedly. “C’mon, Viper! Meat and mead on me!”

Part of you wanted to decline. It wanted to remain completely self-reliant. It wanted to keep some distance between you and the bard, especially when you let your guard down around him so easily. It wanted you to build your walls taller and stronger.

But then he looked at you with those bright, hopeful eyes, and that little part of you fizzled out. You sighed, but you pushed the blankets aside and pulled on your boots. He rambled about his concerts while you pulled your armor back on and holstered your daggers, telling you about drunk patrons who fell over themselves singing along or women who waited until he finished singing to flirt with him. You offered your own input when he took a breath.

You ate and drank more that night than you had in months.

---

Tag List:

@writeawaythepain

@sleepyqueerenergy

@lastwandastan

@adozenforks

@plaguedoctorsnake

@solomonsimp

@cool-ontherun-world

[writerscafehub]

𝙸𝙽𝚃𝚁𝙾𝙳𝚄𝙲𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙱𝙰𝚁𝙸𝚂𝚃𝙰 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙳𝙰𝚈: @fushic0re

ೀ ㅤ۫ ㅤ۪ㅤ۫ ㅤ ♡ ㅤ . 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐀:

From one to five stars, how would you rate your writing? (No downplaying yourself!)

        I’d say a 3.5. I’m proud of my work, but there’s always room to grow and improve. 

2. What do you think makes your writing stand out from other works?

        I think my writing style focuses a lot on the complexity of the inner emotions the characters feel. I like to take a lot of time fleshing out their inner selves that way when there’s dialogue or they commit a specific act, readers are able to say to themselves “yea, this is very them”. All in all, I like a lot of emotion. 

3. Are there any writers that inspire you?

        My fellow writers café members inspire me! Everyone has such different styles and ideas, it really makes me want to be more innovative. I don’t really have any specific muses, to be honest–the fanfiction fandom in general makes me want to write and see my ideas developed.

4. What’s the fic you’re most proud of?

        “Take Me Into Your Arms, Siren’s Call” and “Dance In The Dark”. 

5. Which character(s) do you find easiest to write and which do you find most difficult to write?

        Steve Rogers for sure is my easiest. I love that man with my entire being and have dissected him and my interpretation of him so many times. I find Geralt of Rivia a bit difficult to write, hence why there’s no work for him.

6. Who or what do you find yourself writing about most?

        There’s not really a who, more like a what–my emotional wounds. Writing is used as a tool for me to not only bring my ideas to life, but use them as vessels to work out these emotions and proverbially close that chapter of my life by turning them into something positive. 

7. Tell us about a WIP you’re excited about!

        I have a very cute “Spy x Family” meets “The Incredibles” one shot for Miguel O’Hara in the works featuring Filipina!Reader, Gabriella O’Hara, and reader’s daughter hehe 

8. First fandom you ever wrote for?

        I’m really gonna expose myself here…it was for Black Veil Brides LMAOOOO 

9. Any guilty pleasure trope(s)?

        GIRL (gender neutral); black cat gf x golden retriever bf, the mean one being soft for the sunshine one, enemies to lovers, reincarnation. 

10. A trope you’ll never, ever write for.

        Mafia/mob boss. I have one singular wip with that trope and after that, I’m retiring it. Cannot stand it, no offense. 

11. Wildest fic you’ve ever written?

        Definitely my demon! Lee Bodecker and ghost!Steve Rogers fics. Those were RIDES.

12. Favorite pairing to write for? (platonic or romantic!)

ENEMIES TO LOVERS, BLACK CAT GF x GOLDEN RETRIEVER BF, and THE GRUMPY ONE BEING SOFT FOR THE SUNSHINE ONE. I clearly have a preference. 

13. Do you listen to anything while you write?

        Either bossanova, classical music, jazz, lo-fi, or a playlist I made specifically for whatever I’m writing.

14. One-shots or multi-chaptered works?

I don’t have a preference tbh. they’re both very impactful, it just depends on the plot in question. 

15. Have you ever daydreamed about side adventures/spin-offs from your fic? Tell us about them!

yES ALL THE TIME. especially for fluff pieces with family dynamics, I always wanna create little side drabbles in the style of “modern family” like they have their very own sitcom. 

16. Is there anything you’ve wanted to write, but you’ve been too scared to try?

writing for Geralt of Rivia. The deep lore for The Witcher seems like a lot of ground to cover. 

17. What’s the nicest comment you’ve ever received?

I can’t remember anything specific, but my fic “Take Me Into Your Arms, Siren’s Call” received a good amount of super meaningful feedback from Filipino readers that meant a lot to me. They expressed how much it meant for them to be seen, especially in a fantasy-fairy tale like story that incorporated our culture.

18. Have you ever gone outside of your comfort zone for a fic? How did it turn out?

Yes, lore building for “Take Me Into Your Arms, Siren’s Call”! I’ve never written anything in the fantasy genre, so that was definitely a challenge. It turned out amazing. I loved writing it and that fic is one that is near and dear to my heart. 

19. Tooth-rotting fluff or merciless angst?

I’m a fucking baby and I can only have angst if it’s followed with fluff…..but I do love angst.

20. Do you have any OCs? Tell us about them!

EEEEEE I currently have one OC for a re-write of my series called “Keeping Up With The Starks”. Her name is Camila Santos Stark, a Filipina-American who is the only daughter of Tony Stark. She’s a spoiled heiress but is definitely a no-nonsense woman who you do not want to underestimate. She’s described by others around her as the rational version of Tony–the snark is there, but so are a bunch of other characteristics that Tony doesn’t possess. Steve Rogers is her love interest. He thought she was a spoiled brat, but look who fell in love!

21. If you could enter the universe of any one of your fics, which would it be and why?

Definitely “Take Me Into Your Arms, Siren’s Call” – it’s pure fantasy which sounds amazing. Plus, Namor! 

22. Is there anything you wish your audience knew about your writing or writing process?

Eh, there’s nothing really interesting going on behind the scenes–I just write at night with a candle lit. 

23. Copy and paste an excerpt you’re particularly fond of.

        “I’m a beauty, I’m a beast, it defends on the feast” – “So Cool” by Dounia

24. Ramble about any fic-related thing you want!

        If writing frustrates you, that’s a sign for you to step away and take a break. If you initially started writing because you love it, continue to lead with love–don’t kill the joy.

[finch-the-fox]

Geralt x injured Reader

EDITED PLEAE LET ME KNOW IF YOU NOTICE ANY MISTAKES

Summary- while traveling Geralt discovers that you have been hiding an injury once you faint .

Warning- gender neutral pronouns , depictions of blood gore and injury , possible angst prob if you squint .

—————————

The wind blew lightly as both Geralt and y/n walked through the forest . The only sounds that followed the the two as they walked was the crunch of leaves as well as the sounds of casual wildlife . Geralt walked while leading Roach . Y/n walked partially behind clutching their stomach in a way that was nearly unnoticeable . The two had beaten a monster in battle . Unknown to Geralt y/n had been punctured through the middle .slowly they bled out .

Their vision began to fuzz and their steps became uneven and they stumbled .

“Hey Geralt? “ they questions

He hummed softly in acknowledgment before turning his head . As his yellow eyes landed upon his partner , his brows creased in worry .

“ what happened ?” His monotone voice rang out .

Y/n dropped their arms , revealing the growing stain upon their tunic .

“ I - I may have gotten a wound from the battle “ they stuttered out with heavy breathes .

They continued to stumble towards him . Suddenly they dropped to the ground . Quickly Geralt rummaged through the bags that laid across Roaches lower back . He took out a bottle and uncapped it with his teeth and he rushed to y/n unconscious body . He gently laid his hand against the upper part of their stomach as he poured the unnatural colored liquid over the wound .

He was aware of the burning that came with the effects of the liquid . He grasped y/n hand tightly . Slowly the wound closed . Geralt then shuffled y/n to a near by tree and sat then against it . Slowly they came to .

“ I feel like shit “ y/n roughly laughed .

“Why did you not tell me you were wounded “ he groaned out .

“ eh , I didn’t know how to bring it up “ they replied as they laid their head back against the tree .

Geralt sighed before sitting down beside them .

“ we can stay here for a while until the effects fully heal you .”

Together the two of them sat in peace for just a while . However both knew before long they would have to continue their journey .

[asmrtist-brainrot]

Pet Names

Pairing(s): Yandere! Villain Husband X Gender Neutral! Royalty! Reader

Summary: Everytime he thinks he’s getting used to hearing such endearing terms, you prove him wrong time and time again.

A/N: I miss him and we haven’t seen him in a hot minute so here I am, writing a little something. (Also, I imagine him as Geralt of Rivia but with longer, black, hair so... Some light descriptors are used.)

“Honey?”

The first time he heard it, he’d thought he’d misheard you. But oh, did the chills race down his spine, warming tingled set across his skin as your lips spilled so sweetly.

A siren’s call.

“... Love??”

Another flutter, heart thumping a dent in his ribs.

His dilated gaze shifted over to you.

Taking in your warmly smiling face, radiant and bright even under dim candle light. Delicate fingers curl against your mouth, trying to hide how utterly pleased you were at his state of expression.

Adorable.

A little infuriating, but adorable.

“B - beloved,” he almost struggled to speak, cursing the stutter that forced itself from his blustering throat “what are you doing?”

You only tilt your head and approach, sleeves flowing with the gentle opening of your arms. Limbs sliding around his waist as you continue to show him the smile that he loved so much.

One he’d happily rip the world to pieces to see forever.

“I’m trying to see which you’d like me to call you the most.” Humming low, curled lips meeting his stubbled cheeks in sweet kisses “It’s a clear tell how pleased you are, your ears turn such a darling shade of red.”

He scoffed, but is quite conscious of how his ears were in fact, feeling hot. He didn’t argue though, almost greedy in how he leans in to get more affection. Soaking in the warmth of your body as he held you in his thick arms.

"Do be careful, don't tease me too much." His eyes were dark and he tried to scowl but you only giggle at his pinked face.

You squeeze him in your embrace, eyes settling on his with a smile so saccharine it sends his sweet tooth abuzz.

Softly, your hand slip from his torso, gliding up to his neck - sending goosebumps racing over him as your other hand touched his cheek.

Gently, you pouted.

"Do you not like the nicknames?"

His face still burned as he rolled his eyes and grumbled, " I didn't say that."

Your gaze flickered with mirth as you cheekily inquired, "So I can continue then, my king?"

Even the mere call of his title had him melting into your embrace, gods, he was so horribly infatuated.

"Ridiculous," He groused before affording a small pause and quietly added "you can call me whatever suits your fancy."

With the most serious expression you can muster, you nod. But crack a smile before too long, in thought as his hand cradled the small of your back and you both swayed to a silent tune. Leaning in, resting your forehead to his.

"I think I know what best suits you."

His brows raise at your comment and lowly hummed as soft lips lay claim to his, orbiting towards you almost instinctively.

Warm tingles wash over him as you just grin and chirp, "My dearest husband."