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foodieforthoughts · 4 years

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Dirty Secret

Summary: Henry is promoting his new movie and is in her studio for a talk show. Both of them know it means there's going to be a little bit of fun for him and her behind closed doors.

Pairing: Henry Cavill x OFC

Word count: 2k

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (female receiving), squirting, penetration, sexual intercourse, bodily fluids, exhibition kink (I think hope this counts)

A/N: First Henry smut ya'll! I wanted him to be different this time, a bit mischievous maybe, and not soft!Henry. Thirst away!

Tags: @wanderlustkitkat @michelehansel @stephartrave @yuhsophie @hennerslionhat @henrythickcavill @eldarwen333 @peakygroupie @klaine-92 @thelastsock @indigosaurus @oddsnendsfanfics @viking-raider @cavillliketravel @geralt-of-baevia @achaoticaugust @dancingwendigo @littlefreya @luclittlepond @mansaaay @agniavateira @inlovewithhisblueeyes @henryobsessed @henryfanfics101 @poucinette1333 @ohmygoodie @oolicity @luclittlepond @momowhoo @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @asyverson @singeramg @supersweetstache @demivampirew @cavills-cavalry @raspberrydreamclouds @ramblings-of-a-cavill-lover @fuckoffbard @filmforb @thiccgeralt @the-soot-sprite @hell1129-blog @iloveyouyen

**Let me know if your want to be added/removed from the taglist**

Title: Dirty Secret

I straightened my dress as I walked through the studio halls. My ID laid between my cleavage, the card swinging over my breasts as I took my steps.

I had gotten his text. A simple, "Meet me after it's over." He didn't have to say where, because it was always his changing room. And he looked particularly mischievous today.

I hadn't missed that sly smile and the half wink he had thrown my way. Conviniently so, I had stood behind his hoard of fangirls, who had shrieked thinking it was for them. I shook my head at the thought.

If only they knew.

The concrete floors of the studio reverberated with the clicking of my heels. I had a little surprise for Henry today. I had planned on it for months since we had scheduled him for the talk show. My core was already aching for him and the crotch less panty hose, that he had casually mentioned about last time, making it uncomfortable for me to walk with the wetness between my thighs. I awkwardly smiled at an intern passing by me, headphones in her ears and a notepad in her hand.

With a sharp rapt of my knuckles, I entered Henry's changing room. He always preferred them to be at the far back, probably for all of his secret rendezvous' much like this one.

"Took you long enough," He sat on the couch with his legs wide and his tie loosely hanging from his neck.

I locked the door behind me and walked to where he sat, his eyes following every move of my body like a hunter looking at his prey. "Being the boss around here, takes me sometime before I can excuse myself."

Henry smiled as I covered the distance between us. I looked down at him, his coat thrown to one side hanging by the arm rest, two of his buttons straining on the vastness of his chest to be freed.

Sitting up, he ran a hand up my thigh, making it's way to my center. His eyes widened feeling my folds, naked and ready, surprised to not find my panties.

"Crotchless," I smirked, seeing the effect of my sex on him.

"Perfect." He remarked and lifted the hem of my dress up to reveal my wet pussy.

I shivered looking at him eyeing my aching folds as his prize, lust overtaking his brilliant blue orbs. He licked his lips and ran a finger over my slit making me jump a little. He looked up at me, smirk playing evil on his lips, and grabbed me by my hips towards his mouth.

A sigh escaped my mouth as his warm tongue ran over my cunt. I placed my hands over his shoulders as he began devouring me like he had been hungry for ages.

Henry was a master with his mouth, using his tongue, his lips with expertise. He held my folds open with his hands, running a finger over my hole. He sucked my clit, pulling the hood back, making my thighs tremble with each flick.

"Unnh...," I moaned, careful to not be loud. Even if his room was away from the bustle of the studio, there were people around. The probability of getting caught made me feel more aroused than I expected.

"Sweet as always," he mumbled against me. I felt his fingers teasing my pussy, running up and down and in circles. I moaned, like a sex starved whore, when he inserted two thick fingers inside me.

"So tight, darling. Every fucking time." He kissed the inside of my thighs over my panty hose, leaving a wet trail of my juices. His fingers began pumping in and out, slow but powerful, going deep with each thrust.

My breaths came out short and I groaned as he added another finger, spreading me out. I dug my nails in his shoulders, grabbing a hold of his shirt.

Henry kissed me above my trembling clit, nuzzling the trimmed outline of my hair, breathing in the smell of my arousal. His other hand travelled behind, slapping my buttock hard and squeezing it simultaneously.

When he hooked his fingers inside me, I groaned. Henry bit my clit with his teeth, smiling against my cunt, when I let out a yelp. His digits, long and thick, found the spot inside me, hitting it with each pump. I thrusted my hip against his fingers, the overwhelming feeling of the oncoming orgasm knotting inside me.

This felt different. This felt like I was on a verge of an orgasm and it was building up like a tornado, fast and thunderous. My nails dug into his skin making Henry grunt. He looked up at me, fingering me faster. He was knuckle deep inside me everytime.

My thighs trembled and my belly contracted but with a primal moan, I came so hard, squirting a sheer liquid out with a force. "Ooh!" It befell from my cunt, uncontrollable, wetting Henry's shirt but he kept pumping me until my knees buckled. I had to grab onto him from falling and felt my juices dribbled down my thighs like rivulets.

"I-I'm so s-sorry. I don't-" I blushed, warmth spreading to my ears. I apologized, with trembling voice, to Henry who was looking up at me like he just won the race.

"It's okay, love." He chuckled looking at his wet shirt. "That was a first, wasn't it?"

It was. Never in my thirty-five years of my life had I squirted. But this man, all blue eyed and curly haired, had reduced me to a puddle. He grinned at me, victorious and proud.

Regaining my breath, I pulled him by his tie to stand up. He gladly obliged, standing up tall in front of me. He looked down at me making me feel small even with the five inch heels I had chosen for today.

"Let's get you out of this," I muttered and started unbuckling his belt. His cock felt heavy against the fabric of his pants, ready to be released from it's constraints. He groaned, gruff and loud, when I took him in my hands and gently stroked him.

Henry pulled me to him, taking my lips in his. I could taste myself on him, rolling our tongues together, fighting for dominance. His hand snaked down to my swollen labia, running his finger slowly over my stimulated clit in circles.

Just when we were beginning to pant, getting each other off with our hands, we heard the muffled voices from someone outside the door. Both of us stopped, frozen in place, carefully breathing in and out without making a sound.

"Someone is out there," I whispered. Yes, I owned this place, but I really did not want to show up on the front page of a gossip blog with the headlines showcasing what a wanton whore I was.

Henry looked unperturbed, mischief glinting in his eyes. He slapped my pussy, making me jump and yelp, again. "It just means we'll have to be quiet." With that said he took my lips back in his and kissed me with a renewed fervour.

He pushed me back against the dressing table with the blinding white lights, placing my ass on the cool wood surface. He walked in between my legs, spreading them with his body. Quickly, he took out a condom from his back pocket and dropped his pants down to his ankles, pulling his shirt off as well and throwing it across the room.

I marveled at him. His chest covered with dark hair, travelling down his taut stomach and joining his dense and darker hair above his cock, showcased what a real man should look like. I bit my lip as I took his throbbing dick in my hand. He was thick and long, twitching in my hand.

Henry leaned down to kiss me, pulling the zipper of my dress down from the back. It fell open, my lacy bra covering my mounds. He pulled the cups down, my breasts bouncing with the force. His lips travelled down the side of my neck, making me shivered and moan.

"Guide me in, love." He said against my neck, as he sucked at my skin. Grabbing a handful of my breasts and squeezing it.

I tore open the silver foil and rolled the latex onto his throbbing cock before lining it with my entrance. With the anticipation coiling inside me again, I guided him in, just the tip, letting my juices coat his twitching member. He thrusted his hip shallowly, letting the tip enter my wet pussy. I threw my head back, letting go of his cock as it disappeared inside me. I grabbed onto his back, the muscles tightening under my touch as he sheathed deep within me.

He groaned as my warmth enveloped his pulsating dick. I could feel him teasing the opening to my womb, his entire length not even fitting inside me. He held me close to his warm body, the hair on his skin feeling fuzzy against my breasts, as he began pulling out.

"Uh," A sound akin to mixture of a moan and a grunt excaped his lips. Henry was a loud lover. The last time we were together, I had to cover his mouth with my hands to stop him from scarring the life of the kids running about outside. But this time, I was the one who seemed to be unable to stop myself from moaning and grunting.

The voices outside grew louder and sounded closer than before. And the noise of our love making only got raucous with every passing moment.

Henry covered my mouth with his hand, smirking at me, no doubt remembering the exact same thing I had done to him. With one hand supporting my leg on his waist and the other covering my mouth, he plunged in my welcoming cavern. I moaned against his hand, our eyes glued to each other. He looked majestic in the white light, his face now beginning to be layered with a thin sheen of sweat.

The table rocked underneath us, it hitting the wall with each of Henry's thrust. He began grunting louder, his breaths beginning to come out labored and short. I pulled his face to my neck, muffling his voice as he groaned against my body.

His balls slapped against my bottom with every thrust of his hip. The sound of our muffled moans, the squelching of my folds around him and our bodies slamming together enveloped us. With a carnal roar, loud and guttural, Henry grounded in me with fast thrusts. His voice sounded loud against my ear, making me clench around him. I pushed him over the edge, for his breaths came in fast, emptying himself completely. He panted against my body, my leg falling from his grasp and his hand slipping away from my mouth.

His cock twitched as he rode his high. I ran a hand up and down his back, making him shiver under my touch.

"Oh God," He said, pulling away and taking himself out carefully. "That was something else." He chuckled, regaining his breath and pulling the condom off and throwing it in the waste bin.

I hopped down from the table, my legs feeling wobbly on the ground. My panty hose stuck wet to my thighs, bringing a blush back to my cheeks. We hurriedly pulled on our clothes, Henry changed into completely different ones, and I struggled with the zipper.

"Here, let me." He offered. "How are the kids?"

I laughed out at his question. "You are not asking me about my kids after we went at it like that."

"One friend to another."

I turned around after he was done. He looked dashing even in a simple tshirt and denim. But it was the smile of innocence that took my breath away. "They are with their dad this week."

"So," He began to speak but I interrupted.

"You know the drill, Henry." I said before turning on my heels to walk out the door. Smoothing my hair back in place, I turned around to face him before opening the door. "Should I be expecting your NDA to arrive at my office too?"

Henry rolled his eyes and sat back on the couch. "Can't let the secret out, now can we?"

I nodded before striding back to my side of the world, already anticipating our next meeting three weeks from now.

#Henry Cavill #henry cavill smut #Henry Cavill imagine #Henry Cavill x OFC

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years

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and then I don’t feel so bad

thanks again to @thecomfortofoldstorries for coming through when I whined at her about needing ideas

also shout-out to my older sister for being the coolest and getting this song stuck in my head today (happy birthday, sis. wish we’d been raised together)

---

Geralt holds the package tightly with both hands and glares down at it with icy anxiety building at the center of his chest. The cloak he’d special ordered two weeks ago is wrapped in brown paper, tied closed with a length of dark blue woolen string. The Witcher, who has faced countless monsters and angry villagers and vengeful nobles alike, takes a deep breath in through his nose and shudders at the thought of his next self-chosen contract: giving Jaskier a Solstice present. He hopes the cloak is good enough. He hopes that he chose a fashionable color, one that Jaskier will enjoy wearing no matter where he chooses to go this winter. Geralt hopes that the heavy wool he’d painstakingly decided on is the right kind of material for Jaskier’s tastes. He hopes… he hopes that everything he’s about to say and do goes well and that he doesn’t fuck this all up.

“Jaskier,” he calls, keeping his tone light as he knocks on the door of their shared room. “Are you decent?”

“Never!” Jaskier laughs from within. Geralt hears a series of quick, light-soled footsteps crossing the floor before the door is flung open to reveal Jaskier in all his evening glory. The bard is, as usual, painfully correct. He’s not very decent at all; his hair is a mess of brown waves that tumble down to cover his smooth, pale forehead. The apples of his cheeks are flushed fuchsia with a combination of wine and the high of a good show. His frilly white shirt is unlaced at the throat and loosened all the way down to reveal the sharp angles of his collarbones. Geralt gulps air like a man near to drowning and pushes his way inside. Has it gotten hotter, all of a sudden? Jaskier’s eyebrows furrow with worry and he closes the door behind his Witcher. “What’s got you even quieter than usual? Are you sick? Injured? Cursed?”

“Witchers can’t get sick,” Geralt answers, almost automatically. Jaskier rolls his eyes.

“Your version of sick, then?”

Geralt doesn’t know what his version of sick means so he ignores the comment entirely. Instead he shoves the package in his hands towards the bard and huffs. “I got something for you. I thought you might like to wear it to keep you warm, especially since I wanted… I was wondering if you’d like…”

Geralt growls and spins on his heel, running one shaking hand through his hair as if that might calm him down. It doesn’t.

“Fuck! Why can’t I be like you? Why can’t I just… say all the things I’m thinking? I’m no good with words, Jaskier.”

“I actually don’t say most of the things I think,” Jaskier shrugs. He bites the inside of his lip to keep from talking any more and ruining the moment. This is clearly something the Witcher needs to do on his own, whatever it is. He smiles softly and holds the paper-wrapped lump against his chest. “But I’m happy to wait for as long as you need, dear heart. Figuring out the right thing to say is hard.”

Geralt’s heart is pounding in his chest. Each beat rings out like one of Roach’s shoes against unforgiving cobblestone. He can practically see the sparks flying from it, igniting something in his chest that flares and wavers like a candle flame in the high breeze. He wants to protect the wavering warmth with every ounce of strength he has.

“I… I got you this,” he gestures towards the gift Jaskier has yet to open, “Because it’s cold at Kaer Morhen. The pass is treacherous, difficult for a human who isn’t prepared, so I wanted you to- I mean if you wanted to come with me, I would-”

His fumbling proposal is interrupted by a dull thwump as the package Jaskier was just holding suddenly hits the wooden floorboards. When Geralt looks up, terrified of the incoming rejection, he’s met with two watery blue eyes. Every one of his worst fears is being actualized in front of him and there’s nothing he can do to stop it now.

“Fuck. Shit, I- I’m sorry for asking. I didn’t know if you would eve-”

Geralt is interrupted again, this time by Jaskier throwing his arms around the Witcher’s shoulders and starting to sob. Geralt panics and instinctively reaches to pull Jaskier closer against his chest. He tucks the bard’s face against the side of his neck and cups the back of his neck with one broad palm; his fingers scratch up the base of Jaskier’s scalp and into his soft, tousled locks. With his other arm Geralt holds the bard tightly around the waist, rubbing small circles into the meat of his hip as he waits for Jaskier’s breathing to return to normal.

“Do you not want to come with me to the keep?” he asks, voice low and gravelly but somehow smaller and more frightened than Jaskier has ever heard it sound before. His heart cracks wide open and his love for his grumpy White Wolf comes spilling out like water from a burst dam.

“Of course I want to come to Kaer Morhen,” Jaskier chuckles wetly. Sadly. “I just never thought… I thought you didn’t want me there.”

Geralt considers the words for a moment. He really hasn’t been the most welcoming friend, all things considered. He can understand why Jaskier feels a bit lost and a bit confused. Overwhelmed, his brain supplies. Jaskier is overwhelmed.

He slowly releases Jaskier and steps away.

“Here,” he grins, kneeling and offering the package back up to the bard, who accepts it slowly. Now those bright blue eyes are shining with a different emotion, and Geralt envies the mages who can read other peoples’ minds. “Open it.”

Jaskier slowly unties the blue string and pulls two or three layers of plain brown paper aside to reveal a cardinal-red woolen cloak. A cloak that Geralt has bought for him. The hood and the hem are just the right size and shape for the season. The shade of red Geralt has chosen really brings out the pink undertones of Jaskier’s skin and the darker flecks of blue in his eyes. Jaskier knows that this cloak’s design is haute couture and probably cost the Witcher a great deal of coin. “Oh… Oh, my sweet, darling Geralt.”

Hearing his name said like that, with such affection and gentle reverence, throws the Witcher into another frenzy of emotion. He can barely stand it. His fists clench at his sides. It takes Herculean effort not to sweep the bard off his feet and spin him through the air, peppering him with excited, happy kisses. Jaskier is coming to Kaer Morhen with him! Jaskier is coming home with him!

“Geralt?”

“Jaskier,” the Witcher whispers, taking one slow step and closing the distance between them. The bard does not flinch. He does not move away. He does not step back. “Jaskier, if you don’t mind, I’d like to kiss you very badly.”

“Of course,” the bard breathes, his hand floating up to rest against the warm, stubbled skin of Geralt’s cheek, “I’ve been waiting so long…”

When their lips finally meet, time stops. There is only the warmth of their skin where it’s touching and the soft, gentle desperation of two people trying to prove, for once and for all, that they love each other. When they pause for air Jaskier pulls away a fraction. “Let’s go sit by the fire and chat, shall we?”

“Hmm.”

Geralt settles himself before the fire and pulls Jaskier down onto his lap, arranging him until they’re both comfortable. “Will your family mind my coming with you?”

“They’re expecting you. Actually, they demanded your presence this year. Lambert actually threatened me with bodily harm.”

“Did they, now?”

“Aye. Eskel said he’d find you and bring you back himself if I was too cowardly to buck up like a real Witcher and tell you that I-”

He cut himself off with a blush.

“That you what?”

“That I love you.”

“Well that’s good news,” Jaskier giggles, “And quite the relief considering I’ve been head over heels in love with you for years, now. A decade at least!”

“Y-you…?”

“Me, indeed.”

“I’m glad we’ll all get to hear your wonderful stories this winter,” Geralt nuzzles down against the side of his neck and sends Jaskier into another fit of giggles. “And songs.”

“Do you like it when I sing?”

“I like it best when you make up little songs as we travel,” Geralt admits. “They’re sweet... and I feel like- like they’re just for me.”

Jaskier lights up brighter than a well-cast Igni and settles himself into the Witcher’s tender embrace entirely. He begins to hum to himself and then slowly, in a way that always leaves Geralt impressed and entranced, words begin to form into verse:

“Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, Big grumpy Witchers that have me quite smitten, Brown paper packages tied up with strings; These are a few of my favorite things.”

Geralt presses a kiss to Jaskier’s temple and hides his blush in the bard’s warm neck.

“Hair soft as silk that went white in the Trials, Arms that can hold me and heft me for miles, Eyes of warm amber I search for in Spring, These are a few of my favorite things.”

The Witcher swears he can’t fall any more in love. It has to be impossible; but then Jaskier’s voice gets even softer and the words are sung so close to his ear that it makes him shiver.

“When the wolf bites, When the bee stings, When I'm feeling sad, I simply remember my favorite things, And then I don't feel so bad!”

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littoraly-art · 3 years

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Happy Birthday to @wolf-and-bard !!

You always brighten my day and I love listening to all your ideas, you make me feel heard and you're just a really, all around, great friend. And I'm glad I can actually call you a friend.

I hope you don't mind that it's like, super short and a little janky. I wasn't quite sure what I was doing!! (I also wrote it in one sitting because I like just came up with the idea)

Oh, also, happy MerMay!

Pairing: Jaskier/Geralt

Word Count: ~850

Rating: General

A/N: AU set before/around the short story "A Little Sacrifice"

"Your melody is wrong," came an amused voice, spoken in clear common tongue as Geralt stood on the dock, fidgeting about. The witcher raised his brows and then turned his head to see the merman resting at the edge of the pier.

"..What?"

"You have lovely pronunciation, though, I should point out. Our language is a hard one to master and you've done a particularly splendid job," the creature hummed out before giving a tinkling laugh. "You're just getting everything else.. wrong."

The very tips of Geralt's ears burned something fierce and he cleared his throat awkwardly as folded his arms across his chest. He turned more fully towards the other and leveled his attention onto him, slowly, to meet sparkling blue eyes with his own mutated, yellow gaze.

"How do.. what?" He muttered out, taking in a slow breath and then moving forward a couple, tentative, steps.

"How do you sing it correctly?" The merman asked, seemingly wanting to clarify as those curious blue eyes watched the witcher draw closer.

Geralt nodded, not wishing to open his mouth again while the creature looked so very amused at his expense. He wasn't used to being embarrassed but he had already felt a bit of a lack in his confidence when he had called out.

"I can give you a quick lesson, if you would like," the other asked, his head tilting to the side to rest on his arm. The motion was outrageously adorable and Geralt really couldn't help but smile as he moved closer in order to sit himself down, cross legged near the edge.

His own smile seemed to encourage the already excitable creature and the other gave another one of those tinkling laughs that made the water around him shimmer all the brighter, under the afternoon sun.

The witcher was very quickly forgetting why he was out there in the first place. The merman radiated joy and optimistic curiosity, seeming so very sure of himself as he teased the white haired man.

The sun was balmy, seabirds called to each other, and the continuous light level of noise echoed to them from dockworkers, some ways off. The sound of the ocean and the smells were all fairly comforting despite them bordering on overwhelming. And, at some point, Geralt actually found himself taking off his boots in order to dip his feet into the water while the creature explained, at length, the different intonations of his language.

The sun had started to dip towards the horizon by the time that Jaskier–as he had learned the merman's name somewhere along the line–invited Geralt to start repeating melodies after him.

"No, see.. It's the opposite of Common. When you're asking a question, the melody descends towards the end," Jaskier corrected, tone full of patience and lacking the amusement from before as he genuinely tried to help the witcher grasp the concept.

"But I.. didn't," came the frustrated mutter as Geralt leaned forward, hands gripping the edges of the dock. "I went down like you said."

Jaskier gave a soft smile and set his hand on the witcher's knee as he tilted his head again. "You started to, and that was very good! But you still ended it on the rising tone."

"Is this how you ask the? Questions," Geralt responded, using the merfolk's language and Jaskier bit his lip as he tried to stop himself from laughing, not wanting to embarrass the witcher this time. But it was unsuccessful as Geralt realized the mistake this time and his ears went red again as he frowned. "Oh."

"But see? You're so close!" Jaskier encouraged and grinned up at him, moving to rest his arms on Geralt's knees now as he laughed.

A new expression flashed across the witcher's face and the flush extended down his neck as he averted his eyes. "..Will you come back to here, tomorrow?" He asked, slowly, and smiled awkwardly, with a dash of nerves, when Jaskier cheered at his correct intonation.

"Of course, I will. I'll make sure to bring Sh'eenaz with me, too."

"What?" Geralt frowned immediately and looked back to Jaskier as the merman gave him a mischievous little smile.

The realization suddenly hit that… that was what he was supposed to be doing!

Jaskier slipped from his spot on Geralt's knees and moved away some as he sank further into the water. "I'll make sure she comes to talk to you so that you can get all of that figured out between her and the duke," he told him as Geralt stood up, looking embarrassed that he had just wasted an entire day.

"You'll.. come with her, though? For sure?" Geralt asked as he cleared his throat, shaking off his feet enough to be able to pull his boots back on.

"I promise, witcher dear."

With that, and another laugh, the creature disappeared back into the depths, leaving Geralt to wander back to his employer, empty handed.

#witcher #the witcher #my writing #geraskier fanfiction #the witcher fanfiction #witcher fanfiction #geraskier #geralt #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #geralt of rivia #mermay #mer!au #mer!jaskier

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drowningbydegrees · 4 years

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This prompt from the Music Prompt List wouldn’t leave me alone, so have Geralt being awkwardly kind of fluffy. <3

incidental music background music for a play, movie or television show. It sets the mood and illustrates the action for a play~unnoticed

Read on AO3

Does anyone ever mean to fall in love? Geralt doesn’t. It doesn’t happen like the ballads say, with flowers, and sonnets, and grand gestures. It happens in the in between, the quiet moments that Jaskier’s songs never touch on. Love creeps like a vine on a building, sneaking in and sprawling out so slowly that by the time it covers the wall, you can’t remember a time before it was there anymore.

It starts, at least, in things that make sense. It’s a lopsided little smile Jaskier gifts him with when he catches Geralt listening to him play. It’s the soft hum on the other side of the campfire one night when Jaskier knows Geralt can’t sleep. It’s warm hands patching up Geralt’s torn shoulder with a tenderness he doesn’t really require.

But then the feeling strays so unfairly, into the ridiculous and sometimes thoroughly obnoxious. It’s Jaskier looking hopelessly disheveled, his hair sticking up in strange directions from a hand absently run through it, a splotch of ink on his cheek where he tapped his quill against it, deep in thought. It’s listening to him complain off and on for two miles because he can’t think of a rhyme for bloedzuiger. It’s coming back late from a contract to find Jaskier has fallen asleep curled up in the entirety of the bedding in their room. These aren’t precisely lovable things. They’re messy, irritating even. And yet. And yet. And yet...

For so long, Geralt does not think they are things he loves. They’re just things that are, like the din of conversation at an inn. They’re the suggestion of something distant in a painting, smudges devoid of details that exist all the same.

***

Much like affection, winter sort of ambushes Geralt. Rich green foliage goes red and gold until all the world is ablaze. It’s beautiful in the way that these fleeting moments so often are, a riot of color that withers away even more abruptly than it arrived. There’s a chill in the air that promises snow will soon cover the dead leaves crunching under their feet, a sign Geralt can no longer ignore.

It doesn’t matter. They flit in and out of each other’s lives all the time, and already Jaskier has traveled with him almost nonstop since the spring. Geralt most certainly doesn’t need the company. To go their separate ways is as reasonable in this moment as it has been every other time they’ve done it over the last decade. Somehow this time it leaves Geralt feeling inexplicably hollow.

Geralt has always been at home with silence. It’s a quality that lends itself well to the life of a witcher, this ability to find peace instead of loneliness in the quiet of his own company. But they spend that night in their room’s single bed and Geralt lies awake wondering when the warm press of Jaskier’s face tucked against his neck became such a welcome thing, when his fingers tangling in the bard’s hair got to be so instinctive. When did Jaskier get to be so wrapped up in his life as to leave Geralt dreading the absence?

None of that chases away the sunrise, or the silence that promises to follow in its wake. They break apart the way they always do when their plans take them in different directions. Could be a week, a month, a year even. They’ve done it a hundred times, and they do not belong to one another, so Geralt doesn’t know what to make of the unexpected urge to look back.

He lets the Path carry him away as it always does, and it’s fine, really. A day passes, and then another, and a third. At this pace he’ll easily reach Kaer Morhen before the snow really starts in. It’s fine, as it should be… except when it’s not.

There’s no familiar face smiling at him from the other side of their fire. There’s no strumming of lute strings. There’s no endless, exhausting conversation. What he’s faced with now is everything his life was ordained to be, everything Geralt has been used to for decades, and yet this time it feels all wrong.

Maybe he’s always been lonely, but it’s the first time Geralt recognizes the feeling for what it is. Loneliness is a stone’s throw away from grief, and this is grieving in some strange, subdued way. It’s a hole in the shape of another person’s life and for a strange, fleeting second, he lets himself wonder if he ought to have gone to Oxenfurt with Jaskier.

That’s an absurd thought. He always goes to Kaer Morhen and Jaskier nearly always goes to Oxenfurt, and they’ve never broached the idea of any alternative arrangement. It’s only a few months, probably. Maybe. They always find each other again eventually don’t they?

Geralt sets out for Oxenfurt before the sun comes up.

***

He does not know, Geralt realizes, what Jaskier does in the cold months where they part ways. He knows the bard teaches when he's not entertaining in some court or another, but that's a sorry excuse for an answer. It's as paltry as it would be to sum up Jaskier's life in Geralt's company with the performances he gives in inns along their way. Both of these things are true, but neither of them are whole.

Does he sit in crowded spaces to soak up the atmosphere? Does he luxuriate in having a place that is his own and a roof over his head for a few months? Geralt has no idea, but he wants to.

Oxenfurt turns out to be less straightforward than he had hoped. He tries the college first where a young woman waxes poetic about the bard until Geralt finally manages to interrupt long enough to ask what classroom he’d be in.

“None today, I’m afraid. He’s probably- Oh, you must be the witcher.” The words hold an unexpected warmth. He’s not sure what to make of it, but before Geralt knows it, she’s rattling off Jaskier’s address.

The house is lovely from the outside. A gabled roof sits atop the gray stone exterior, not nearly so ostentatious as Geralt might have expected. It’s also further off the beaten path than he’d anticipated from someone so keen on being the life of the party.

But Geralt doesn’t even get as far as knocking before one of Jaskier’s neighbors spots him, a smartly dressed academic of some sort. “I doubt the professor is home yet.”

It’s so strange to hear anyone call Jaskier that, an uncomfortable reminder that the bard has a whole life beyond the time he spends with Geralt that the witcher doesn’t know about. Likely because it’s never occurred to him to ask, but Geralt finds himself sorely wishing he had now. “Where would I find him?”

“Are you a friend of his?” The man’s eyes narrow a little like he’s waiting for Geralt to slip up and give himself away as a thief or something.

“I’m his…” Geralt sighs. “Yeah.”

“The witcher, then.” The neighbor smiles in that absent, polite way that villagers tend to smile at passersby. It’s not a response that usually applies to him. Geralt has no idea what to make of the shift in demeanor, but the man does point down the road. “There’s an inn down that way. I’d check there this time of day.”

“Right...” It just figures, even in his absence Jaskier manages to be exhausting.

There’s a creak of hinges on Geralt’s left, and the neighbor smiles and waves. “I guess he’s home after all.”

Not entirely exhausting, then. Geralt forces his expression to remain neutral. “Jaskier.”

Jaskier lights up when he meets Geralt’s eye like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him. It’s such a tiny, inconsequential thing, but wonderfully, terribly, the world feels like it’s slid back into its proper place. The warmth that takes up residence behind Geralt’s breastbone is just further confirmation of the ruin he’s courting.

“What are you doing here? Aren’t you… don’t you have some witchery thing to run off to? It may shock you to know, but the Kaedwani mountains are that way.” As Jaskier ushers Geralt inside, he points in… well, it’s definitely a direction.

“No.” Geralt shakes his head. What a pair they make, the both of them completely ridiculous.

“No what? And will you please sit down already?” Jaskier clears some of his papers away, as if what’s on the side table has any bearing at all on Geralt’s ability to sit in the armchair beside it.

Too restless to actually sit down, Geralt leans against the doorframe as he takes in Jaskier’s slightly ruffled appearance. There’s no doublet. Just trousers and a chemise rolled up to his elbows. It shouldn’t be so hard to look away, and yet he has to force himself. “The mountains are that way.”

Jaskier follows the length of Geralt’s arm where it’s pointed north. He purses his lips as he turns back to the witcher. “Okay fine. I got a bit turned around, but nevermind that. They are… wherever they are, but you are here. Why?”

Fuck. Geralt had been so focused on the coming back and finding Jaskier, there wasn’t much consideration to what reason he’d give when he got here. What can he possibly say? That it was too quiet without his endless chatter? That Geralt’s world was somehow less for Jaskier’s absence. It’s too vulnerable, so he gruffly replies, “Didn’t think I could beat the snow.”

“I see.” There’s a sweet, uneven quirk to Jaskier’s lips. The minute Geralt meets Jaskier’s eyes he knows he’s been found out to some extent, but Jaskier responds in the least Jaskier-like way he’s ever seen. There’s no gloating, no teasing. Jaskier doesn’t even acknowledge that they both know he’s lying through his teeth. Most strangely of all, he’s quiet. “Well, it snows here too. You’ll probably want to think about taking a break somewhere until the weather clears up.”

Right. He hadn’t quite gotten that far either. On the road together, it’s just a given that they’ll share a room, but that’s quite a bit different from inviting himself into a space that is Jaskier’s. Not willing to admit that he’d sort of hoped to go back to the normalcy of that, Geralt sticks to answering vaguely. “I’m sorted out.”

“Are you? Because I thought you might just stay with me.” He’s seen this a thousand times. Jaskier has a knack for offering things the other person is too proud or afraid to ask for for themselves. It’s just Geralt usually isn’t the one subjected to that particular talent. “Unless I’ve got this all wrong and you didn’t come back because you missed me. Well, no. You could stay with me either way. It’s just that the appeal probably isn’t the same.”

“I could do that.” Geralt replies quickly to the offer while making every effort to sidestep Jaskier’s more dangerous insinuation. It’s kind of Jaskier to tolerate this thing Geralt can’t quite get to settle, but the witcher harbors no illusions that it’s anything more than tolerance. He tries for nonchalant and has no idea if he succeeds, but Jaskier’s lopsided smile suggests that no, he really doesn’t.

“Perfect.” Jaskier offers Geralt a hand. “Let me show you around.”

***

“Well, I guess there’s no backing out now,” Jaskier says as Geralt walks him to class. Well, no. That’s definitely not what this is. It’s just that he had an errand to run, and the college is in the same direction, so not walking together would be weird and awkward.

“What?” Geralt’s brows knit in confusion, and he watches Jaskier try to catch a snowflake on his tongue as if that will somehow give him the answer.

Jaskier smiles at Geralt, a little toothy. It’s the kind that makes Geralt feel pinned like a butterfly to a board. “It’s snowing.”

Oh right. He had said that. He knows Jaskier hadn’t bought the excuse when Geralt turned up, but the bard hasn’t said anything about it since. It was probably foolish to think that meant he’d gotten away with it. There’s nothing he can that won’t give himself away further, so Geralt opts not to say anything at all. That, at least, is normal.

And for a little while, it seems like it works. Jaskier prattles on about the weather and how beautiful Oxenfurt is at night when it’s snowy and the moon is out, and Geralt just immerses himself in the comfort of how normal this is.

At least until it’s not. The silence that falls between them is abrupt, and draws out so long that Geralt looks over at Jaskier. It’s a terrible mistake though, because Jaskier is looking right back, entirely too expectant. “Sooooooooooo. Are we going to talk about this?”

The question is oddly free of dramatics, but it doesn’t make the subject matter any less terrifying. Clinging to whatever balance they’d found since he got here, Geralt insists, “Nothing to talk about.”

“Okay.” For a second, Jaskier is quiet. His expression is thoughtful, teeth dragging enticingly along his bottom lip. “But just… It sort of seems like there is.”

He could maybe leave, say he forgot something at the house. Jaskier would probably even let him go, but they’d both know it for the retreat that it is, so Geralt doubles down. “There isn’t.”

Geralt doesn’t really know when he learned to recognize Jaskier’s ‘you are being exceedingly difficult right now’ face, but he knows the tightness at the corners of the bard’s eyes and the flat line his mouth pulls into. Yet, there’s no mockery or sign of irritation when Jaskier insists on pressing the issue. “Alright, but see there’s this one thing. Here’s what I know about you on account of traveling with you for a decade. You are generally consistent and you have never once in the entire time I’ve known you passed up an opportunity to tell me when I was wrong, or to poke fun.”

Geralt knows exactly where this is going, but arguing such an obvious truth would just bolster Jaskier’s point, he thinks. Silence isn’t really better, but it’s what Geralt sticks to as Jaskier keeps talking.” So, when you don’t tell me I’m wrong to assume you came back because you missed me… It’s hard not to assume that you came back for more than just a roof over your head.”

“What do you want me to say?” Geralt replies irritably, because if this is Jaskier’s idea of softening a rejection, it’s not helping. If he’s lucky, Jaskier will just laugh it off and Geralt will swallow everything back down, and they can move on to something less embarrassing.

“I don’t know.” Jaskier is biting his lip again, and despite the nervous tumult in his stomach, Geralt has never so badly wanted to kiss anyone in his life. “I just want you to say what’s true.”

What’s true. For the first time since they set out, Geralt pays attention to what’s there beside him. Jaskier’s heartbeat has picked up somewhere along the way, and when Geralt looks over, the bard’s cheeks are flushed from more than just the cold.

What’s true is that there are a thousand ways to tell a person you love them. Sometimes it’s a fond smile or a gentle touch or… oh. Geralt swallows and does not look at Jaskier anymore as he says, “Life is… quiet when you’re not in it.”

He knows that self-deprecating laugh he gets from Jaskier and regrets being the one to cause it. “I thought you preferred the quiet.”

“Me too.” It’s hardly more than a whisper. “But it’s not the right kind of quiet.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what that means,” Jaskier says and Geralt sort of hates that he’s the one struggling to say what he means and yet Jaskier is the one being apologetic over it.

“It’s like… fuck. I don’t know. When you think about the woods being quiet, it doesn’t mean silence. You still hear the wind and the birds and all that, but it belongs there, so it’s not noise.” Somehow, this doesn’t feel like what he meant to be saying at all either, but he’s committed to this ill advised analogy, so that’s a thing. “If those things stop, it’s not a good kind of quiet. It just means something’s wrong.”

“Geralt. Are you suggesting my company provides some sort of ambiance to your travels?” Jaskier’s eyes light up with some sort of mischief and Geralt scowls because he can’t decide if he’s being encouraged or teased.

Actually, Geralt supposes that is what he’s suggesting, but it doesn’t feel like a clear enough conveyance of what he means. Geralt might not need words, but Jaskier does. Sometimes ‘I love you’ is digging up the courage to admit, “The world around me feels wrong when you’re not in it.”

“So your solution was to drop the routine you’ve kept to for, actually I don’t even know how long to come back to me?”

“Obviously not. I-” With no small amount of horror, Geralt realizes that’s actually exactly what he’s done. He’s honestly very relieved that it’s still quite early and the streets are still largely empty, because Jaskier stops in the middle of the street and the witcher strongly suspects he’s about to make a very embarrassing scene. “Is that a problem?”

“Why would it be a problem? It’s absurdly romantic. I didn’t even know you were capable of that.” Sure enough, Jaskier is suddenly very close, a hand lifting to cradle Geralt’s cheek. Jaskier doesn’t say anything, but he signals his intent, giving the witcher plenty of time to pull away. As if he possibly could.

Geralt’s throat is suddenly dry, and when he finally manages to say something, it’s quiet. “What are you doing?”

“Well, you came all this way to get back to me.” Jaskier presses his forehead to Geralt’s. “I figured I could meet you partway.”

Geralt isn’t actually sure which of them closes the last couple of inches between his mouth and Jaskier’s. It’s just warm, liking what he imagines coming home would be like. Jaskier’s arms wind around Geralt’s back between his shirt and his cloak, and Geralt’s fingers tangle in Jaskier’s hair, and actually it turns out that he doesn’t care in the slightest if they’re making a scene.

Everything runs a little bit together after that. There is only the solid presence of Jaskier pressed against him and the snow coming down around them in fat, fluffy flakes that are just beginning to stick to the ground. Distantly, he thinks maybe they could just go home. It’s not as if there’s any reason to be out in the cold, except… With a disappointed groan, Geralt mumbles between kisses. “Don’t you have class?”

“Class… oh bollocks.” Jaskier pulls back, flushed and glassy eyed and Geralt wants nothing more than to pull him right back in. But there will be time for that later and the flustered way Jaskier stumbles back and looks around like he’s only just remembered they’re in public is terribly endearing. “Yes, well just… we’ll come back to this.”

Geralt laughs with unexpected ease at Jaskier’s reluctant efforts to get moving again. It’s another minute or two before Geralt remembers the one other thing that keeps crossing his mind. “When I was trying to track you down, people knew who I was.”

Jaskier’s mouth turns up, and it’s clear from the sheepish way he ducks his head that he hears the question Geralt isn’t asking. “You’re not the only one who prefers life when we’re both in it together.”

“You talk about me?” And sure, Jaskier talks about him all the time in songs and stories, but this is different.

Jaskier shrugs like it doesn’t mean anything, but they both know better. “It’s what I get to hold onto, what I get to keep when you’re not here.”

“Well, I’m here now.” Their fingers thread between each other’s and Jaskier hums the song he’s been working on. Geralt allows himself the faintest of smiles. Sometimes, love is choosing to share your existence with someone else and taking unexpected refuge in the background noise.

You can find the rest of my Witcher fanworks here. <3

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher #my fic #pining #and fluff

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eratobard · 3 years

Text

To Break a Curse

I could not help myself. I was so inspired by this fanart by @scalesnart that my fingers go to writing right away. It’s not done, but I wanted to share what I had so far. It ended up being longer than I intended. ^^;

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Geraskier

Rating: T (for now)

Summary: Geralt gets transformed into a female due to an unfortunate encounter with a mage. Jaskier and Geralt work to find help breaking the curse.

Tag Warning: Sexist comments, swearing, suggestive language

~~~

“Stop it,” Geralt growled. His voice was still fairly deep, but a little less gruff sounding than usual.

Jaskier groaned as he covered his face with his hands, “I can’t help it.”

“Try harder,” Geralt gripped Roach’s reins tightly as he continued to trudge down the path.

Jaskier sighed and jogged to keep up pace with him, “It doesn’t help that your clothes… don’t fit anymore.” Jaskier’s eyes scanned the length of Geralt’s body. After their encounter with a mage, Geralt’s hips were fuller, his chest was larger, and his body… curvier. To put it simply, Geralt was now female in the biological and physical sense. He was also a head shorter than Jaskier, which was endearing.

Geralt huffed as he ran his hand through his hair, “Not much I can do about that at the moment.”

“Well… maybe I can help--”

“No,” Geralt growled, more fiercely this time.

“Just- hear me out!” Jaskier reached out, grabbing Geralt’s shoulder. He spun around on his heel, bearing his teeth. Jaskier quickly raised his hands, “I get it! You’re… unhappy about the situation, but I promise I’ll be a complete gentleman.”

Geralt eyed him warily as he shifted his shirt. The fit wasn’t too bad, but it was baggy around his shoulders now that they weren’t as broad. His pants were… tight because of his bigger hips, but loose in other areas. Not quite right for his new shapely form. He didn’t know why the mage chose to transform him into the most curvaceous woman. As Jaskier put it earlier after it first happened, ‘His looks matched those of Yennefer’s.’ That’s all he needed as a Witcher.

Jaskier tilted his head, “So? Can I help? Please?”

“Fine, but!” He pointed a finger at him warningly, “You try anything-”

“Please Geralt, I’m not in the habit of taking advantage of women, especially those who are my friends,” Jaskier placed his hands on his hips.

Geralt nodded, “I know… but, the way you’ve been looking at me since… since the mage changed me… what if part of it was some kind of seduction spell?”

Jaskier’s face reddened. He averted his gaze, “Sorry… I just…” He cleared his throat, “You make a gorgeous woman Geralt. It’s hard not to look.”

Geralt would have blushed if he was able. He cleared his own throat as he looked away. He held his arms out to the side, “Just… get it over with.”

“Wh-what?” Jaskier squeaked as he stared in shock at Geralt.

Geralt frowned, “My clothes?”

“Right!” Jaskier forced a laugh. He ran his fingers through his hair to calm his heart. It had almost leaped out of his chest from where his mind had gone.

Geralt tried to calm his own heart as Jaskier reached out, gently adjusting his shirt so it was more centered on his body. Jaskier’s tongue instinctively stuck out as he concentrated on tightening the shirt. He circled around behind Geralt, and pulled the extra cloth back toward his waist. Geralt bit his lip to suppress a moan. His skin felt more sensitive since the change, and the gentle way Jaskier touched him combined with the soft cotton against his… breasts was stirring something in his unfamiliar groin.

Jaskier tied the extra cloth back then moved to grip Geralt’s pants. Geralt quickly reached back and gripped his wrist, “What are you--”

“I was just going to… sorry, I should have warned you, I was only tightening it around the waist so your pants didn’t fall while you were fighting,” Jaskier explained calmly.

Geralt released his grip and nodded, “...sorry, this whole thing is putting me on edge. We need to find Yen as soon as possible.”

A sharp pain dug into Jaskier’s chest. He forced himself to focus on the task, ignoring the feeling of jealousy. The mage had cackled about Geralt finding ‘True Love’s Kiss’ to break the curse. Afterward Geralt insisted they find Yennefer. Of course if anyone could break the spell it would be her. The fact that Geralt suggested her so quickly hurt, but what could Jaskier say?

Hey Geralt, why don’t we try kissing? I’ve only been yearning after you for the past decade. He sighed. It didn’t matter what his feelings were. It only mattered who Geralt loved. He pulled back from Geralt, “Done.”

Geralt moved a bit, testing out the limits of the adjustments Jaskier made. The clothing definitely fit better. “It’ll do for now.”

Jaskier smiled, admiring his work, “I don’t think I did too bad a job. Going clothes shopping with Priscilla and Essi during my time at Oxenfurt had it’s benefits.”

Geralt grunted in agreement, “You’ll have to help me pick out something in the next town. Who knows how long it will be till we find Yennefer.”

Jaskier’s smile faltered as he nodded, “I’d be more than happy to help you Geralt.” He resumed walking next to Geralt. He fidgeted with the strap on his lute as he tried to look anywhere but at Geralt.

Geralt rolled his eyes, “Jaskier…”

“Y-yes?” Jaskier’s gaze magnetized to Geralt. His face was flush as he quickly glanced over his body.

“I can feel you… not staring.”

Jaskier huffed, crossing his arms over his chest, “What do you expect me to do Geralt?! A goddess stands next to me. One worthy of writing ballads about, but I’m not allowed to take in her beauty.”

Geralt scoffed, “A goddess? Don’t be ridiculous. It’s still me under all this.”

‘That’s the problem,’ Jaskier thought bitterly.

After a few more painstaking miles they finally reached the next town. Jaskier went to rent them a room while Geralt procured them a table and food. Despite being a woman now, Jaskier was still notoriously better at getting a deal than Geralt so they fell into their normal tasks. Geralt hadn’t been sitting long before a drunk nearby leered at him.

“Hey gorgeous,” he slurred as he leaned out of his chair across the space between their tables, “I’ve got a seat for you right here.” He patted his lap, and crudely gestured at his groin.

Geralt growled menacingly at the man, but it didn’t seem to have his usual affect, “Fuck off.”

The man snorted as he stood up and stumbled over, “Playing hard to get eh?”

“No, no, she really isn’t,” Jaskier said from behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder, “She’s with me.”

The man glanced at Jaskier and scoffed, “Her? With you?”

Jaskier laughed, “Yes, I know. Hard to believe a woman such as her would want to be with me, but it’s quite true. Right darling?”

Geralt glared at Jaskier, but understood what he was doing. Some men were willing to back off if there was competition. “Yes,” he grit out.”

Jaskier beamed, “See? Now why don’t you head back to your table.”

Some men. They weren’t so fortunate this time.

“He your brother?” the man pointed at Jaskier, “‘dat why he tryin’ ta protect you?”

Maybe it was the mage, maybe it was the long walk, or maybe it was the fact they were looking for Yennefer, whatever it was, something in Jaskier snapped. He gripped the man’s collar and yanked him back. He pulled him face to face to ensure he got the message as he spoke to him menacingly, “If you don’t back off you’ll find your dick separated from your body.”

The man’s eyes widened and he stumbled back, “Apologies s-sir…” Jaskier was pretty sure he had made him piss his pants as the drunk made a fast retreat.

Geralt gazed at Jaskier in amazement. A shiver ran down his spine. Not of fear, but arousal. He clenched his fist to hold back the emotion. He wasn’t used to how this body dealt with arousal. He also wasn’t used to Jaskier acting that way. Usually Geralt had to step in and be the menacing one when drunks hit on a disinterested Jaskier. He was also used to finding the bard attractive, and ignoring it. This time had been different and taken him completely off guard.

Jaskier grinned as he sat next to Geralt, “Sorry, I know you can take care of yourself, but men don’t seem to be able to take the hint. Especially when it comes to gorgeous women such as yourself.”

Geralt’s heart beat rapidly in his chest. He looked away, “I can see that.”

Jaskier raised his hands, “I get it. I’m sorry. I’ll stop mentioning it. I know it makes you uncomfortable.” He grabbed his bowl of stew and started eating it.

Geralt shook his head, “...I… it doesn’t bother me when you say it.” He took a swig of ale before partaking of his own stew.

Jaskier smirked, “Oh really? Well, honestly, you should be used to it. You are a gorgeous man too. I’m surprised you don’t beat off women with a broom.”

Geralt scoffed, “Because I’m a Witcher.”

Jaskier quirked an eyebrow, “Right… well, that didn’t seem to stop that drunk from trying.”

“He was too distracted by my breasts to notice the medallion,” Geralt laughed.

Jaskier glanced at the medallion that was currently resting between Geralt’s breasts. “Ah, yes,” he laughed with him, “I supposed he would be.”

Geralt’s face warmed, but he smiled as he continued to joke about other topics with Jaskier. This was the most normal he had felt with him since the transformation.

Then it was awkward again.

Jaskier stared at the single bed in the room, “I um… didn’t think to ask. Sorry. They usually give us two beds… I guess they assumed…”

Geralt waved him off, “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Jaskier scowled, “Nonsense Geralt. We don’t know what sleeping on the floor in your new body would do to your back. If anyone needs to be in tip top shape it’s you. I’ll take the floor.”

Geralt sighed, “Fine.”

Jaskier smiled and nodded as he started to unpack some of his things, “Then it’s settled.”

“We’ll share the bed.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened and he stared at Geralt in shock, “I-- wha- I’m sorry?”

Geralt crossed his arms over his chest then decided against it when they pressed against his breasts. He placed his hand on his hip instead, “We’ve shared before. It shouldn’t be any different now, right?”

Jaskier’s eyes roamed over Geralt, his cocked hip, his pink pillowy lips, his perfectly curved body. His voice cracked, “E-exactly… no problem.” He ran his hands over his face in an attempt to quiet his rapid heart. ‘Melitele help me…’ Jaskier groaned internally.

~~~

Jaskier stared at the ceiling as he laid stock still in bed next to Geralt. It had been difficult already for him to sleep next to Geralt with his feelings, but he got used to it. Now though, there was something different about Geralt being a gorgeous woman instead of a gorgeous man that set his body aflame. He wanted to reach over and stroke his soft skin. Trace his fingers over his supple breasts. Maybe even wrap his lips around his nipples as he listened to Geralt’s sweet moans of pleasure while he fingered him open.

Jaskier bit his lip and swore internally. He needed to stop thinking this way. It was only making it worse. He tried singing a ballad in his head to distract himself, listing facts about old musicians he learned at Oxenfurt, the various styles of music. He huffed. It was going to be a long night.

Geralt could hear Jaskier’s heart beating rapidly. The scent of arousal coming off of him wasn’t anything new. His feeling of arousal at smelling his arousal was new. Well, not new, but it had been awhile. When he first started traveling with Jaskier, the constant scent of arousal had been hard for him to handle. Especially with his own attraction for Jaskier. He had become accustomed to ignoring it. Now his arousal felt different. It was still a burning heat in the pit of his stomach, but there was a desire. An itch between his legs he wanted to scratch.

He couldn’t help but picture Jaskier between his thighs, licking at his wet folds before his tongue pushed deep inside him. He could almost feel Jaskier’s calloused fingers on his skin, tweaking his hard nipples before roaming over the expanse of his body. Geralt grit his teeth and pushed the thoughts out of his head. He listed the monsters in his bestiary and how to effectively kill them, the plants needed for his potions, and other random information. Fuck, it was going to be a long night.

~~~

Jaskier hummed as he awoke to the feeling of a soft body pressed against him. He smiled as he ran his hands down their back, nosing at the top of their head and inhaling the sweet scent of-- “Geralt!” Jaskier’s eyes snapped open and he quickly pulled away.

Geralt woke shortly after Jaskier and also moved back, staring at Jaskier in shock. Mostly because of his own actions. He had seeked Jaskier out unconsciously in the night. It had felt nice, but it was wrong. Especially while he was in this form. “S-sorry I didn’t…”

Jaskier waved him off, “I’m a cuddler, I’m sure it’s my fault.” He shifted his pants awkwardly. The action drew Geralt’s attention to the bulge in his pants. Jaskier’s face was bright red, “I… you know how it is… in the morning…”

Geralt nodded quickly and turned away. “I’ll get breakfast,” he grunted, “while you… sort yourself out.”

“Thanks,” Jaskier meekly replied, biting his lower lip in embarrassment.

Geralt made his way down the stairs toward the dining area, and tried extremely hard not to think about what Jaskier was doing in their room, on the bed where they slept. Why did everything have to feel so fucking awkward between them? Stupid mage.

TBC

#the witcher #fem!geralt due to spell #fem!geralt #jaskier #geralt #geraskier #panerato writing

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geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde · 3 years

Text

Sun Shines Bright

I had the honor of co-writing a fic with my most dearest of soulmates @jaskierswolf for @lindianaj0nes birthday! Happy birthday Linda!!!!!!

All the good parts of this fic were written by Wolfie and the rest was me 😂

Lambden

Warnings: self image/body insecurities, mentions of past bullying

Lambert wasn’t sure what was brighter, the sun shining through the windshield of their car or the smile lighting up Aiden’s face as he made another joke. He practically radiated the sun’s rays back with how vibrant he was. Aiden’s personality was everything Lambert’s had never been, bright, optimistic, joyous. He loved the man more than words could possibly say.

A speedbump brought Lambert back to reality, grimacing as Aiden pulled into a parking spot at the beach. They wasted no time getting out of the car, already pulling off his shirt to soak in the warmth from the sun. He had been thrilled by the idea of a beach trip and the second it had become warm enough he had begun begging Lambert to join him. It had taken a lot of convincing on Aiden’s part and Lambert had really only conceded because he knew it would make his boyfriend happy. He honestly hated the beach.

The last time he actually remembered being at the beach, he had probably been thirteen or fourteen and he had been laughed at until he had retreated to Vesemir’s side to hide in the shade of an umbrella. Lambert had always been incredibly pale. His black hair and dark brown eyes stood in a stark contrast to how pale he always was. Even when he did spend time out in the sun he never really seemed to tan, he simply burned.

And sure, he and Aiden had been together for going on six months, and he had certainly seen Lambert in all states of undress, but he had never seen Lambert out in the sun like this. Lambert had been called ghostly before, complaints had been made that he reflected the light back, blinding everyone around him with his unnaturally pale skin. Until he began to grow redder and redder, of course and then the insults changed. His pink tinged skin had been compared to that of a hot dog and, when he really reddened, he had been compared to a lobster.

He wasn’t ready for Aiden to see him like this.

They were polar opposites in this regard, Lambert’s pale complexion was incredibly different from the deep olive tone that Aiden sported in the winter months which easily darkened a few shades when he was finally able to get out in the sunlight.

Aiden was just… beautiful.

A knock to the window beside him jolted him from his reverie. Aiden was standing outside the car, staring curiously at Lambert.

Lambert pushed open the door slowly and slid out of the car, shooting a hesitant smile at Aiden, “Sorry, got lost in my own thoughts.”

Drawing Lambert in close, Aiden tilted his head to the side as he studied his boyfriend closely, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Lambert responded, trying and failing to sound unbothered.

Aiden reached up, framing Lambert’s face with his hands, “Hey, what’s going on? Talk to me, Lamb.”

“I just… don’t have the best memories of the beach.” Lambert turned his head, knocking away Aiden’s hands.

Aiden sighed, running a hand through his hair, but he didn’t make any attempt to push the matter. Lambert was grateful for that. He never reacted well when he was backed into a corner, having a tendency to lash out at the ones he loved. That was why he’d been alone for so long, to the point where he’d begun to feel unlovable.

Aiden had changed that.

Aiden had been the one to thaw out his heart, to carefully take down the walls that Lambert had spent years building up with every insult that was thrown his way. If he could trust anyone with this, it was him, but that didn’t stop the nerves from crawling over his skin. It didn’t stop his heart from fluttering in his chest like a damn hummingbird.

He sighed, reaching up to run a hand through his hair only to realise his boyfriend had done exactly that just moments ago. He snorted. They’d just been berating Geralt and Jaskier for acting like an old married couple just the week before, and now he was doing the same thing with Aiden, mirroring his boyfriend without even realizing.

Fucking hell, he was smitten.

He took a deep breath as he tried to gather his thoughts, tried to find a way to explain the storm of emotions brewing inside him. It wasn’t easy, but then neither were relationships. That’s what everyone kept telling him, but Aiden was worth the effort.

Aiden was worth everything that Lambert could give him.

He reached for Aiden’s hand without words, lacing their fingers together. Aiden’s other hand cupped his cheek and he leaned into the touch, letting it ground him. The warmth of Aiden’s palm against his skin calmed the storm, gave him strength to be vulnerable.

“Kids are cruel,” he started, squeezing Aiden’s hand and pressing his forehead against his boyfriend’s. “I was different, pale… too pale, a ghost.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Aiden whispered, looking at Lambert with such adoration that he almost wanted to run. It was too much, too overwhelming, but his gaze didn’t waver. He was stronger than his past. He could learn to take the affection that his boyfriend was so determined to lavish upon him.

“Then I’d start to burn,” he continued before Aiden could distract him, he needed to finish. Perhaps he could get that closure that his therapist was always telling him about. “Fucking lobster!” he spat out, the word bitter in his mouth.

Aiden’s eyes were a burning fire. He was Lambert’s sun, but right now he was a blazing inferno of rage. “I wish I could murder every bastard who made you feel anything less than perfect,” his boyfriend hissed, gritting his teeth and tensing up his jaw.

Lambert rolled his eyes and pressed a kiss to Aiden’s forehead. “No one is perfect, love.”

“You are.”

“No, I’m not, and neither are you,” Lambert teased, “but imperfect is beautiful.”

Aiden snorted, shaking his head as he pulled Lambert in for a chaste kiss. “You’ve been hanging out with Jask too much.” Lambert shrugged. He wasn’t going to admit that he’d stolen the line from their friend. He was quite content to plagiarize. No one needed to know. “You’re a bastard, Lamb.”

Lambert grinned. “And you love me.”

Aiden’s own smile turned coy, and Lambert recognized the mischievous glint in his boyfriend’s eyes. His hands slid up the inside of Lambert’s shirt, and he placed a kiss to the corner of Lambert’s mouth. “I promise that I won’t laugh, sweetheart. I just want to enjoy a day in the sun with my boyfriend, and that includes rubbing sunscreen on your back, maybe even your front… anywhere I’m allowed.”

Lambert scoffed, rolling his eyes as he captured Aiden’s lips in a kiss, mostly to shut him up. Not only did Lambert burn easily, but he also blushed brighter than a tomato. It was embarrassing and Aiden loved it. “I’ll still burn,” he mumbled against his boyfriend’s lips.

“Even more reason to make sure I don’t miss a single spot,” Aiden practically purred.

“Can’t believe you’re trying to seduce me with sunscreen,” Lambert groaned, pressing his face into Aiden’s shoulder.

Aiden laughed, and just like that all the tension eased from Lambert’s body. Lambert hated how much the bastard could affect him, he wasn’t used to it. He wasn’t used to letting someone into his heart, but somehow Aiden had managed it. “Is it working?” Aiden asked, his fingers running up the length of Lambert’s spine.

“Maybe.”

“That’s a yes.”

“That’s a maybe, cocky little shit,” Lambert growled.

Aiden cupped Lambert’s cheek, pulling his face up so they were gazing into each other’s eyes. “I love you.”

Lambert smiled, a warmth glowing in his chest. “I love you too,” he mumbled back, his cheeks undoubtedly burning a bright red.

Aiden’s laughter was sweet, a balm against the hurt from his childhood, and Lambert knew that his boyfriend was laughing with him, not at him. He was just happy.

Happy.

That was a thought, Lambert smiled and ducked his head to hide his blush. He rather liked happiness, and happiness was found in Aiden.

“So,” Aiden began, “will you join me on the beach? If you don’t want to we can go home.”

Lambert shook his head, unable to stop smiling, “I’ll join you, but you better make good on that sunscreen promise.”

“You won’t be able to keep my hands off of you.” Aiden responded, leading the way toward the beach.

Lambert looked around him, taking in the brilliantly blue sky and the sun's reflection off the waves of the ocean and felt peace. It was long past time for him to make some good associations with the beach and with Aiden by his side, this would undoubtedly be the best association he could make.

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rallamajoop · 4 years

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The Witcher: The Games vs the Books part 2 – Characters and Accents

So, I've already talked at length about the relationship between the Witcher books and games, but how well they captured individual characters is its whole own subject – and you’d better believe I have enough thoughts on it for a whole extra post.

Andrej Sapkowski's skill for creating vivid and engaging characters really is so much of what brings the books to life, and no matter how much work an adaptation might put into worldbuilding and plot, it's the characters you've really got to nail to get the long-time fans on board. Especially when you’ve done what the games have, framing themselves as a direct continuation of Sapkowski's story. Nothing invites comparison to your source material like basically forcing fans to read the original novels to understand even half the backstory alluded to in-game.

So how did they do? I can only offer my opinion – characterisation is necessarily going to be a lot more subjective than just telling you what plot points the games contradicted outright – but like any fan, I have opinions in plenty.

Of the main cast, I feel Yennefer is the character they've captured the best. They've done just as well with some supporting players – I have no real complaints about Dijkstra or Phillipa, for example, who are favourites of mine in both games and books. For the main players though, Geralt and Regis seem to be the ones who's differences I'm most inclined to forgive, whereas I don't feel like they've done Ciri justice at all. Book!Geralt is much less of a smartarse, for one thing, whereas Book!Ciri is much more of one. But if we're talking about the differences, I’m afraid we really need to start with Dandelion.

Dandelion

For all the genuinely good work the games do with characters, old and new, I don't think I can overstate what a disservice the they've done Dandelion, who I could not stand in TW3, but is now one of my favourite book!verse characters. Alas, Dandelion is a prime example of something the Witcher games really don't do well: camp. Being the archtypical bard, Dandelion is about as flamboyant as any enthusiastically-heterosexual man can be: you should be able to spot this guy by body language alone, he should be flouncing around and he should talk like a spoiled noble auditioning for Shakespeare. Book!Dandelion is over-the-top and ridiculous and just so much fun, and I loved him well before I'd even really gotten into the rest of the books around him.

Here's just a bit of dialogue from one of his first appearances, to give you a sense of how he and Geralt play off each other.

The bard seized the fingerboard of his lute and plucked the strings vigorously. ‘How would you prefer it, in verse or in normal speech?’ ‘Normal speech.’ ‘As you please,’ Dandelion said, not putting his lute down. ‘Listen then, noble gentlemen, to what occurred a week ago near the free town of Barefield. ‘Twas thus, that at the crack of dawn, when the rising sun had barely tinged pink the shrouds of mist hanging pendent above the meadows—’ ‘It was supposed to be normal speech,’ Geralt reminded him. ‘Isn’t it? Very well, very well. I understand. Concise, without metaphors. A dragon alighted on the pastures outside Barefield.’

Though TW3's Dandelion certainly looks the part, you have to go hunting through art from the Gwent cards to find much that comes close to really capturing his personality (see left pic below – though even there, a Dandelion who'd voluntarily break his treasured lute is a very hard sell). Though a lot of fanart does better (right-below – credit goes to Tatiana Ortaliz).

But as poorly as the games capture his flamboyance, they're not that much better when it comes to taking him seriously. TW3 left me thinking he was all talk and no substance; the books make abundantly clear that he really is renowned enough to be welcome in courts across the continent. Though he often overestimates what he can talk himself out of, he isn’t stupid either: he's lectured at Oxenfurt, spied for Dijkstra, and then there are the moments where the frivolous playboy mask slips and you realise he's sometimes much better at understanding people and relationships than Geralt will ever be (which is honestly kind of funny considering how many of Dandelion’s relationships end with plates being thrown at him from an upper story). He's not at all above mocking Geralt when he deserves it either (and especially his personal and relationship issues) – Geralt will happily mock him right back.

We never do learn how they became friends (I'm pretty sure the incident listed in the wiki is just the date of their first expedition together, not their first meeting), but Geralt just doesn't form lasting friendships or romances with anyone he can't have an intelligent conversation with. And Dandelion is a damn good friend to Geralt – one who, despite being a helpless, squishy little bard, will keep Geralt's secrets under torture, or will follow him into Nilfgaard in the middle of a war simply because you don't let a friend make a trip like that alone. (Seriously, I don’t ship it nearly as much as some, but hot damn there is some material in here if you do.) In short, it's basically inconceivable that he'd leave an amnesic Geralt wandering around Vizima alone, as he does in the first Witcher game – which is the kind of thing I can mostly forgive as a gameplay conceit, only it doesn’t really get better from there.

He’s also supposed to be blond, something I don’t think is technically specified until fairly late in the novels, but 100% what I’d been picturing since his first description as a man in a colourful bonnet with cornflower-blue eyes (let’s face it: Dandelion’s hair isn’t the only thing about him that screams ‘blond’). It’s a shame no-one from the games to the show to the novels’ cover artists seem to have noticed – but at least there are some fanartists out there who were paying attention (credit for these goes to Asphaloth, Ghostcupdraws, Hvit-ravn (tumblr deleted), 94355 and itsmespicaa).

As for the games? Well, I cannot speak to how Dandelion came across in the original Polish, but I think it speaks worlds about the priorities of the English version that they didn’t even bother to cast someone with a halfway-decent singing voice as their master bard. There are isolated moments of dialogue that come close to sounding like book!Dandelion– mostly in Witcher 2, which comes closer to capturing the spirit of the books than either 1 or 3, or his attempts to convince his captor he's a disguised noble when you rescue him TW3 – but his voice actor is just painfully ill-suited to the role.

Geralt

Geralt fares much better than Dandelion, though he’s still a little hard to square with the Geralt of the books. Book!Geralt spends a lot more time sulking, just to begin with: he sulks because his job is complicated and gets him no respect, and because the world is unjust and unfair – and, most of all, he sulks because Yennefer has dumped him again. He also gets mocked for sulking, and usually deserves it. Book!Geralt is generally a lot more taciturn and a less prone to making smart comments just to have something to say – arguably because in book!Geralt's world, making smart comments often ends at the gallows, or at least with some corrupt official making your life much harder. Book!Geralt's world kind of sucks, and he's just got to put up with it.

As much as he often plays into the expectations of being an uneducated monster hunter, he's also got a more of an intellectual streak than you’d guess. He may prefer to stay out of politics (because damnit, his job is to save people from monsters, not people who are monsters), but he attended school at Nenneke's temple and has even taken classes at Oxenfurt academy, and there's a lot of thoughtful nuance to his opinions – his speech to Ciri about why he can't in good conscience take a stronger stance against the Scoiata'el contains a wealth of historical perspective, just for one example. Even his smart comments tend to be, well, somewhat smarter in the books.

Book!Geralt’s explicitly a lot younger than Yennefer – around 50 is the usual estimate, falling far short of the 100-ish the games suggest (the scandal of having a man fall for – gasp! – an older woman clearly didn’t bother Sapkowski one bit). You don’t see nearly as much "I'm getting too old for this" from book!Geralt, who's really not that old by witcher standards, and is apparently still hunting monsters long into his future. I'm also a little annoyed by the way they play off his hatred of portals like he's a grumpy old man who doesn't like mobile phones, when his distrust originally came from having seen the gruesome deaths that result when portals go wrong. This is not to say Book!Geralt lacks other ordinary human flaws, however – twice in the last two books of the main saga, he gets severely sidetracked after his ego gets the better of him (in the adulation he receives after being knighted, then after arriving in Toussaint), and it's quite some time before he properly gets back on track for that whole rescuing-Ciri thing again. He’s also pretty hopeless when it comes to romance and relationships – breaking things off gracefully is really not in his skillset.

So why does game!Geralt not bother me more? Well, he's the main player character of a game franchise, and one who has to carry the experience largely solo. Some adjustments for genre are pretty much inevitable in that position. He's certainly fared better than Meve, for example, who's been softened far more from her book characterisation for her PC role in Thronebreaker. Then there's the whole amnesia thing – it's easy to believe that sort of experience would change a man – and if he doesn't sulk so much as he used to, maybe he's grown up a bit. Geralt's also in many ways the straight-man of Sapkowski's Witcher universe – there largely as the reliable centre for other, louder personalities to play off. But I expect the real bottom line here is that I do still like game!Geralt enough to forgive him a lot of what he lacks.

The books never do describe Geralt as being very attractive – something book-based fanart often tries to reflect. The point has been made before that the rather-alien-looking Geralt of the first game (left pic above) is probably a lot closer to his book-description. However, the main distinguishing factor you’ll see in book-based fanart is probably the ubiquitous headband, which genuinely is what book!Geralt wears to make his hair behave (the example on the right above comes from Diana Novich).

All that said, if Sapkowski really wants me to believe that nearly so many women are eager to jump into bed with him, I’m going to have to shallowly assume our witnesses are unreliable on this front, and Geralt is at least as attractive as Witcher 3′s take on him. Nothing else makes sense. *g*

Regis

Regis varies mostly in that book!Regis is a lot more smug, sometimes verging on obnoxious – and a lot keener to make fun of Geralt (who generally deserves it). But then, Regis is old and wise and superpowered enough to dance rings around most everyone else – can you blame him? By Blood and Wine, Regis' overconfidence has been recently smacked down hard after his near-death-experience at the hands of Vilgefortz, and that kind of thing could knock some chips off anyone's shoulder. Throw in the fact that with Dettlaff, we have a situation not even Regis could make light of, and the changes to game!Regis make a certain amount of sense.

I do feel it's a bit of a shame that the vocal direction didn't work just a little bit harder to capture some of Regis' smugger side, or emphasise that his long-winded philosophising on human behaviour is supposed to sound a bit pretentious. This is actually something I suspect they were going for a few times in the script, but which didn't come through in the dialogue quite the way it was meant to. Still, again, I'm sure I'm biased by the fact that I like game!Regis far too much to find much fault in what they've done with him. They've done a lovely job capturing his friendship with Geralt too.

Looks-wise, there's a tendency in book-based art to portray Regis with long hair (even some pre-Blood-and-Wine Gwent art did so – see the two pics on the left above, from Gwent and early B&W concepts. The right-most pic is cover art from the books). I couldn't rightly tell you where long-haired-Regis comes from, though – perhaps it's described more explicitly in the original Polish, or perhaps it comes up in passing in some passage I've forgotten, though it may just as well just be a fannish meme.

The books do describe him as looking rather like a tax collector, slim, middle-aged, with an aquiline nose, prone to wearing black, and his hair as 'greying' or 'grey streaked', so presumably somewhat younger-looking than the game would have it. The hammer-horror-esque sideburns are likewise a game-verse addition, though I do like the look they went with – it's distinct from Geralt in a way that making him another long-grey-haired man wouldn't have been, and that's probably the point.

Being the hopeless Regis fan I am, I have quite the folder full of different fanart takes on book!Regis, so have a selection – art here is by gellihana-art, justanor, greysmartwolf, Nastyaskaya, NatalyLanier, beidak, natalliel, ellaine and afternoon63. For what it’s worth, I feel beidak’s (bottom pic, second from the left) comes the closest to what I’d have pictured personally, based on how he’s first described.

Ciri

I find it much harder to rationalise the changes to game!Ciri, who I didn't exactly dislike, but found stuck too close to the role of generic-macguffin-girl-who-just-wants-to-be-normal to be very interesting. Having read the books, not only do I much prefer book!Ciri, I'm not sure I can emphasize enough how much the game did NOT prepare me for utter gauntlet of whump and misery that girl survives in the last four titles. Book!Ciri is a character who works for me mostly because of the same flaws the game mostly strips her free of – TW3 makes some token noise about how you can't tell her what to do, but she’s an utter little royal brat when we first meet book!Ciri, and it’s so much of what brings her to life. She throws herself into her witcher training with the enthusiasm of a kid going completely native, but still revels in getting to be girly for a change when Triss first arrives at Kaer Morhen. She hates Yennefer at first, but soon bonds with her just as strongly as she ever did with Geralt, picking up some of Yennfer’s haughty mannerisms along the way. And then she gets thrown through a portal and lost in the distant wilderness, and the whole world comes down on her head.

The build up to the first time Ciri actually has to kill someone is intense... and things only get worse from there. Steadily. For another couple of novels at a stretch. Seriously, a major caveat that pretty much has to go into any rec for these books (and I will absolutely rec these books) is that Ciri's story gets heavy. So heavy one finds oneself using phrases like, "that time that one guy died of his wounds on top of her while semi-consensually feeling her up was honestly one of the less traumatic incidents in the period."

By the end of the novels, Ciri has nearly died of thirst, been beaten, tied up, dragged around the country as a prisoner, run with bandits and killed innocent people for the fun of it, done fantasy-cocaine and got a tattoo, fought off more than one attempted rape, been drugged, lain for multiple nights next to an impotent elf who completely fails to impregnate her, watched the bodies of her friends and girlfriend being mutilated in front of her, and did I mention where she got that scar? She has survived hell, and it is absolutely a testament to her own strength that she somehow comes through it and puts herself back together at the end. When Geralt finally arrives to rescue her, what matters most isn't that her ordeal is over, but that she finally knows she hasn’t been abandoned by everyone who’d ever loved her after all.

The Ciri of the books is fierce and wild and arrogant, but she's learned her morals from the best, and she holds onto them until she can't, then picks them back up again when she can, and above all she survives. For all that her story turns arguably too much of the last two books into a slog of misery, oh boy does it pay off at the end. And that's probably about as much as I can say about her Big Moment in the last book without spoiling too much, so suffice to say that by the end of the saga, Geralt has pretty much become a supporting character in Ciri's story, not the other way around. (Seriously, you’d be surprised how few chapters of the last two books he’s actually in.)

Finding art which captures the aspects of Ciri’s character and history which are missing from the game has turned out to be pretty hard, though the fanart above from her bandit phase takes a decent crack at it (credit to Loles Romero and NastyaSkaya). I do rather like that one shot of her on horseback beside her girlfriend too, which comes from Denis Gordeev’s illustrations for the novels (below).

How much of this does TW3 get across with her portrayal in the game? Well, she's still pretty headstrong, I guess. And they let you give a 'sorry, I like girls' answer in one bit of dialogue, so they remembered her girlfriend existed. That's nice. But game!Ciri still has a kind of wide-eyed innocence that book!Ciri lost years ago, while book!Ciri is a little force of nature in ways the games hardly even hint at, and that's a really shameful loss.

You'd think, with a character so young, it ought to be easier to imagine she's simply grown up since we saw her last, but so much of what's changed about Ciri feels like a step back rather than forwards. I can shrug off Geralt and Regis' differences and still enjoy their game-verse-selves, but Ciri leaves me genuinely disappointed.

I’d say the official art that comes closest to capturing book!Ciri is that one portrait of her as a very grumpy young child (right above). Some of the early concept art (left above) feels a little more like it has her attitude, though she’s rather too yellow-blonde – not to mention too pretty. I think it also bears pointing out that Ciri isn’t really supposed to be the kind of beauty she is in the game – even before she gets what’s meant to be a seriously ugly and disfiguring scar. (Fanart below by justanor and bobolip)

But of course, the male gamer fanbase can’t be expected to give a fuck about a girl they wouldn’t want to fuck, so game!Ciri must be generically gorgeous. Le sigh.

Triss

I suppose I should at least touch on Triss, too, though she's a very odd case. She's so out of character in the first Witcher game that I am wryly amused that the biggest thing they arguably do get right is that taking advantage of Geralt the moment he showed up with amnesia is... pretty well in-character for her (look, I gotta be honest here, I'm not much of a fan of Triss in any of her incarnations).

The second game does a much better job with her – she actually feels like book!Triss, she has some good dialogue, we're finally dealing with some of her conflicted loyalties to the Lodge and to Geralt – though by the third, her characterisation has been so softened into “the nice one” that none of that potentially meaty conflict is ever resolved, or even really mentioned. Perhaps there's more buried in the Triss-romance path, which I've never bothered with, but the writers seem to have just given up on dealing with anything that might make her look less than wholly sympathetic. Heck, we hardly even get a clear statement about why she and Geralt broke up between Witchers 2 and 3.

Even speaking as such a not-a-fan of Triss, I promise there is more they could've done with the character the books give us. There's her ongoing trauma in from the Battle of Sodden, where she was injured so badly she was memorialised as one the dead: the 14th of the hill. There's her furious impatience with the neutrality of both the witchers and the Lodge: Triss has fought and died for a cause, and is ready to do so again. The second game sort of gets into this, but by and large, the games really aren't up to tackling the moral complexity of having such a theoretically-sympathetic character as Triss, who was still broadly willing to go along with the Lodge's plans to pair Ciri off and get her pregnant as soon as possible – her own wishes be damned. No, instead, Triss has conveniently left the Lodge before the rest of them go spiraling into abject villainy in the second game, clearing all that messy grey stuff out of the conflict.

Of course, the really big unresolved plot point still hanging over book!Triss is how badly she needs to terms with the fact Geralt's just Not That Into Her, and never has been – but since the games want Triss to be a serious romantic option, that's definitely not getting the resolution it could've used.

Book!Triss also pointedly avoids any outfit with a plunging neckline because her chest is covered with the ugly scars she received in the Battle of Sodden, something the games did not have the guts to reproduce. In a more confusing note, the books do consistently describe her hair as 'chestnut', which we'd usually think of as meaning 'brown' – though it turns out the games actually may not have been wrong to make her a redhead, since in Poland 'chestnut hair' apparently mean dark red hair (google some pictures of actual chestnuts, and you'll see why). Still, the firy-red-haired Triss of TW3 who wears nothing but plunging necklines remains a bit of a stretch, however you slice it. Once again, TW2 gets her best (and I must say, gave her the nicest outfit) – though even here she's conspicuously unscarred in all her sex scenes.

(Leftmost pic above is official Witcher 2 art, whereas Triss-with-scars fanart comes to us – once again – from nastyaskaya)

Shani

Shani sort of falls into a similar category as Triss as someone who isn't terribly well-served by any of her appearances, given that both exist in the first game largely to compete for Geralt's attentions. But I can't honestly say I find Shani’s portrayal in the Hearts of Stone expansion to be much better – the degree to which either version exists solely to fall all over Geralt is a bit painful, especially given that their relationship in the books is limited to a single, undramatic hook-up. Book!Shani really only appears in a couple of chapters: we meet her as a medical student friend of Dandelion's, who's been surreptitiously selling pilfered university supplies to fund her degree, then later see her again in the final book, where she proves herself as a battlefield medic during the climactic Battle of Brenna. She's pragmatic to a fault, and I really can't see her as the type who needs Geralt to point out to her that her patient is dead, for example, or who'd subject a guy with Geralt's problems to such an extended feelings-dump as you'll get out of her during the wedding.

Shani is a reasonably logical book-character to bring back, if only because she’s one of those who explicitly survives the ending, but for my money, "serious contender for Geralt's affections" is just not a role she works in.

Anna Henrietta

The duchess of Toussaint, Anna Henrietta, is another case who differs more from her book counterpart than you might think. In the books, the duchess is by far the least competent of the (pleasantly many and) various female leaders and rulers we meet – she comes across as rather young and naive, and every bit as absurd as everyone else in the ridiculous fairy-tale duchy she rules. She is, for example, most displeased to learn that Nilfgaard's war against the north is ongoing (something her courtiers have carefully avoided mentioning in her presence), because she'd long since sent the Emperor a stern note demanding he brought it to an end. She promptly has one of her ministers sent to the tower for misinforming her, and demands the others prepare an even sterner note for the emperor, which will surely do the job.

After Dandelion (inevitably) cheats on her, she has him repeatedly sent to the gallows, only to change her mind and send him a reprieve at the very last minute each time. Picture yourself a much younger and prettier version of the Queen of Hearts from Alice in Wonderland, and you've about got her general vibe.

Blood and Wine sort of waves at this part of her character when she first speaks about Dandelion, and again in suggesting there's a widespread feeling she lacks compassion, and once more as she proves utterly immovable on the subject of her sister. But the generally sensible and insightful woman you deal with for most of the main story is a far cry from her book-verse characterisation. That’s a bit of a shame, because I feel like there's a lot more they could have done to blend the two versions of her. Still, it’s hard to argue the duchess we get suits the story being told around her.

Other characters

Much as I love Yennefer, Dijkstra and Phillipa, I don't really have much more to say about them because I feel the games have done such a good job. The Yennefer of the books gets to show a lot more depth and complexity simply because she has more scenes and more space in which to do so, but when ‘there isn’t more of her’ is your biggest complaint, the game is officially doing pretty well. I could certainly gripe her about how “dresses in black and white” seems to have been taken as “dresses in black with maybe a trace of white trim”, or how Yennefer and Triss seem to be the only sorceresses in the world capable of wearing pants, when Phillipa (just for one) is in sensible men’s clothing the very first time we meet her, but that’s getting into serious nitpicking territory.

(Not that Yen can’t look amazing in outfits with more white – art by Emily Caroll, theclashofqueens, BarbaraRosiak, and cosplay by greatqueenlina)

Vesimir, Lambert and Eskel, Geralt's fellow witchers from the School of the Wolf, fall into a similar category for me – though we spend far less time with them in the books, everything we see of them in the games feels like a fairly logical extension of their book-roles. Vesimir is somewhat over-played as the old fogey, and his death is painfully cliched, but the impact on the characters and Kaer Morhen still hits home – and the games do some especially great work expanding Lambert into a much more complex character. To my mind, the only shame is that more of the book-original characters didn't get the same treatment.

Who have I missed? There's Avallac'h, of course, but I think I've got him pretty well covered by that last post. Zoltan, perhaps inevitably, has had his personality largely flattened into 'generic dwarf', with nothing better to do than hang around Geralt and Dandelion. You wouldn't know Book!Zoltan was apparently incapable of turning away women and children in need, for example – even human women and children with the chronic inability to say thankyou for his help. Or that he eventually admits to Geralt that the luggage he and his friends are carrying comes from a decidedly unsavoury source for such a supposedly charitable, upstanding guy. Yes, even Zoltan gets to be a morally complicated character in the books – who knew?

Speaking of dwarves, pleased as I am that Yarpen Zigren gets remembered in TW2, he's an odd one to talk about, since even in the books, he appears to have had a substantial personality transplant between his two main appearances. Yarpen’s a largely comedic figure in The Bounds of Reason short story, where he cheerfully admits to having considered letting his men knock down a particularly pompous aristocrat and piss all over him to teach him a lesson, but he’s evolved into a studious voice of reason against the scoiata'el by Blood of Elves. TW2 doesn't do a particularly good job of capturing either version, which I suspect probably bothered me more than most people – I liked the later book-incarnation of Yarpen immensely (and not even just because he's one of few ever to really call Triss out on just how much she needs to stop misreading Geralt's friendship as anything more than it is). His chapter in Blood of Elves packs a hell of a punch.

On the subject of accents

I do have to wonder if I'd have warmed up to characters like Triss, Shani and Dandelion (or even Letho) more if they'd only had halfway decent voice actors. It's not just that none are exactly leading the talent at the acting part of the job, it's that their American accents stick out in TW3 like a sore thumb.

Geralt mostly gets away his own US accent by dint of being the very first character we meet, so we've gotten used to the way he talks long before we notice how he stands out – hell, maybe that's just how they talk down in Rivia (hilariously, book!Geralt eventually reveals he's not even from Rivia, but simply picked the place and taught himself the accent so he could feel a bit less like the abandoned foundling he is, which only gives us yet more excuse for why his accent might sound a bit weird). More importantly, Geralt is meant to stand out, to be the outsider wherever he goes, so having him sound like no-one else fits the character.

But neither Triss or Dandelion are "of Rivia", and by the time they show up we've had dozens of hours in a game where literally everyone else sounds British, or Scottish, or Irish, or vaguely-eastern-European in the case of the Nilfgaardians. So why do these weirdos sound like no-one else on the continent?

The short answer seems to be that every character with an American accent in TW3 is someone who had an American accent in at least one of the previous games, which were way looser with their casting and had enough incidental American accents around that they didn't stand out. Clearly, by TW3, consistency with prior games has been prioritised over consistency with literally anything else we’re hearing.

Gaetan is an exception to the rule as the only new character (at least that I caught) with an American accent – presumably because between Geralt, Eskel, Lambert, Berengar, and Letho (and cohorts), some sort of 'witchers have American accents' rule has been pretty well established (another random American-accented witcher shows up in Thronebreaker, just to underline the point). We're going to mostly ignore Jad Karadin here, since his British accent is presumably a recent affectation to go with his new identity, and so makes sense.

This still doesn't really work though, since Letho’s school is all the way down in Nilfgaard (land of the Eastern European accents), while the oldest witcher from Kaer Morhen (Vesimir) is the one guy with a British accent. He sounds nothing like any of his students, despite the fact he's logically the guy they ought to have learned their accents from. So the logic falls in a heap however you slice it, and I'm thrown right out of the game.

With TW3 as your intro to the series, it feels almost as if characters like Triss and Dandelion have been assigned American accents because they're just too important to be saddled with the same pedestrian British accents as everyone else, which did nothing to endear them to me. The only one I eventually warmed up to was Lambert, and then only because he's just such a bitter asshole that he eventually goes full circle and comes out the other side (somewhere around when you've heard his miserable backstory, then gotten drunk together and told him how much you love him, man). Gaetan similarly snuck in under the same clause – American accents clearly work better for me in this series when attached to characters you're supposed to find pretty insufferable on first impressions.

Some final notes

To conclude, it seems only fair to throw in a quick nod to some of the more memorable book-characters who don't appear in the games. Neither Mother Nenneke (Geralt's sort-of-surrogate mother) or Vissena (Geralt's biological mother) ever appear either, alas – Vissena doesn't even merit so much as a Gwent card, which seems quite the wasted opportunity.

Milva, Cahir and Angouleme – the three remaining companions of Geralt’s who died alongside Regis but who were not so easily resurrected – naturally don’t appear. But nor are even really mentioned in all the games, which seems rather less than they deserve after giving their lives to Geralt's cause.

Cahir and Angouleme do at least have pretty badass Gwent cards to their names, though I am properly offended that Milva (who has the dubious honour of being my very favourite book character who doesn't ever appear in the games) is stuck with a card of her freaking death scene – which not only gets the scene wrong (believe me, there was no grimacing and gripping the arrow buried shallowly in her chest for poor Milva), but doesn't even bother to get her hair the right colour, for fuck’s sake. Basically, Milva was a stone cold badass and absolutely deserves better. #justice4milva

One can only guess how I'd have felt about some of these characters had I read the books before playing the games – I am obviously biased towards forgiving changes to characters whom I liked in their game incarnations, regardless of how they compare. Still, I think it does speak wonders that there still all these characters who suddenly made sense only after I'd met them in the books.

Even if only for Dandelion and Ciri, I can only dream of seeing a bit more of the book-original characterisations make it into the collective fannish consciousness. There's nothing wrong with getting into the canon purely based on the show or the games, but having read Sapkowski's novels, it's no longer any mystery how they spawned this massive franchise. That the saga wasn’t even fully available in English until well after Witcher 3 was released – a solid couple of decades late, and long after it had already been translated into Russian, French, German, Spanish and more – is a real shame. For once, it’s us in the anglophone world who’ve been missing out: these books deserve so much more than to be thought of as a footnote to the games or the show.

#Dandelion #Witcher novels #Jaskier #Ciri #Regis #Geralt of Rivia #meta #The Witcher #long post is even longer this time #I blame everyone who gave me such lovely feedback on that last post *g*

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dandelion-vines · 4 years

Note

Hello! I love the public bus scene so much, so here's another prompt for it: either Geralt or Jaskier is filming a porn with his people inside the bus while the remaining one of the two just entered the bus and gets pulled in to join them (can have him be unwilling or not)

Something insanely hot about slutty Geralt. Virgin kink, age difference, transmasc jaskier, genitals referred to as clit and cunt, exhibition kink, cunnilingus, handjobs

Cold bites at Geralt’s skin as he holds onto the pole of the bus. It’s stupid cold, and his shorts barely cover his ass, much less the length of his legs. It’s a simple enough scene, though, he has to jack off on a bus; he’s done a lot worse, and besides, they’ve rented out the bus entirely.

Or at least, he thought they had till a kid walks up the two steps, confusion written on his face before his eyes train on Geralt with his legs spread widely and a hand shoved down the front of his pants. “Fuck,” he whispers, shock in his eyes as he looks away, “I’ve obviously got the wrong bus, sorry,” he laughs nervously and begins to walk away.

Geralt’s already on his feet. He can feel eyes bore into his back as he walks towards Jaskier, shorts unbuttoned, torso bare. He cups his cheeks as blue eyes stare up at him, and draws him into a kiss. He doesn’t know why, just that this boy is insanely adorable, with his wind-tousled brown hair and silken button down and bashfulness. “Do you wanna stay?” Geralt asks, wrapping an arm around the boy’s face— because he really is a boy, isn’t he? Barely seventeen, probably while Geralt’s nearing thirty eight. It only spurs to turn him on more.

The kid’s lips hinge open and close, and Geralt chuckles at how adorable he is before he draws him into another messy, filthy kiss and begins to unbutton his shirt.

He can hear shuffling behind them, likely lighting and cameras being re-positioned now that he’s towards the front of the bus. “Who are you?” Jaskier asks, letting Geralt rub warm palms up his side and down his front.

“You can call me Wolf, pup. I do porn.” Jaskier blinks up at him and fucking whimpers.

“Yes, Wolf,” the pup replies dutifully. Geralt’s hands go to Jaskier’s jeans, palming between his legs. “I—” he squeezes his thighs together around Geralt’s hand, knees turning inward as his hands slip down to hold Geralt’s wrist. “I’ve never been touched,” he whispers, blushing bright red as Geralt gently thumbs over his clit. “What the fuck am I doing here,” he mutters, nose scrunching up. Geralt can tell that he’s melting into doubt and quickly finishes unbuttoning his pants.

His cunt’s dripping, swollen and flushed and from where Geralt’s been rubbing him through his pants. Geralt falls to his knees in front of him, gently guiding away the boy’s hands when they come to cover himself up. “Wolf— are they recording us?”

“Yeah,” Geralt mutters. He makes sure to arch his back before he leans forward, presses kisses up the kid’s thighs, closer and closer to his weeping cunt. Geralt doesn’t know the last time he’s had a virgin and the thought that the pup’s untouched, all for him, makes him feel heady. A hesitant hand gently settles sweetly in Geralt’s hair, and he smiles into the kid’s inner thigh. He generally hates having his hair pulled, and the gentle patting has him melting into the kid’s touch.

He uses the tip of his tongue trace the lips of the boy’s pussy, listening to his breath hitch. “Wolf,” he sighs, looking ahead of him and at the cameras. The kid looks fucking debauched, flushed and pink, his shirt’s half unbuttoned to show off the thick hair on his chest and the way his pants and boxers are shoved down to his knees. He makes such a pretty sight that Geralt knows he’ll be jacking off to this for fucking months.

Geralt licks up the pup’s pussy, tongue broad as Jaskier moans when his tongue catches on his clit. Fingers keep petting through Geralt’s hair as if comforting him; he smiles into the kid’s skin. Truly, he’s just too sweet, Geralt almost can’t take it.

He picks up his pace, flicking his tongue and lapping between folds as Jaskier’s legs shake and he simply holds on. The boy sobs as Geralt’s tongue circles his clit, on the brink of overstimulation as he works in a single finger into his cunt.

“Wolf, please,” he whines, inanely cute as he tries to squeeze his legs together. He’s close, Geralt can tell. He stops before the kid cums and gets back to his feet.

“What’s your name?” Geralt’s voice is rough, as if he’s been the one licked senseless— gods, what’s this kid doing to him?

“Jaskier. Will— will you—”

“Jaskier.” Geralt smiles, looking at the stuttering mess of a boy in front of him. “Do you want to cum, boy?” Geralt towers over him despite them being nearly the same height. Jaskier nods, licking his lip. And Geralt grins, wolfish. He takes the boy’s hand and places it on his own dick, sighing at the warmth of his skin. “Care to get me off, then?”

The boy’s hand is hesitant, exploring and curious as his fingers brush up the side of his cock and thumb over his pink, dripping cockhead that peeks up the waistband of his shorts. “That’s good,” Geralt praises, “my good boy, aren’t you?” Jaskier sinks to his knees, blue eyes peering up at Geralt.

“Your good boy,” he echoes, nervously biting his lip. He eases Geralt’s cock out of its confines, eyes widening marginally at the size of it before he grows adorably determined. His hand barely fits over the width of his dick as he smooths down the ridiculous amount of precum that’s dripped.

Geralt groans at the tight, wet heat of his hand as Jaskier explores, tracing veins with the pads of his fingers and trails a light brush all the way down to his balls. He starts stroking then, looking back up at Geralt to gauge his reaction, and grins so fucking brightly when he sees Geralt’s face twisted in pleasure. Geralt finds himself wanting to see that smile till the end of time.

His hand slips between his own legs, playing with his cunt as he builds up rhythm with Geralt’s cock. It’s the hottest fucking thing Geralt’s ever seen. He’s so fucking close, hasn’t been on edge since he was a decade younger and when Jaskier presses a shy kiss to his cockhead, Geralt cums with a shout.

Jaskier gasps as cum lands on his face, and Geralt uses the half a mind he’s got left to grunt at him to close his eyes before he’s fisting his cock desperately and squeezing out every bit of cum from himself and dripping it over the boy’s face.

“Fuck, he grunts. When’s the last time he’d cum so hard he couldn’t breathe. A quiet tug to his shorts pulls him out of his thoughts; Jaskier holds the fabric in a loose grip, one eye squinting up at him as cum drips down his face. Geralt swears again, and sees to getting he face cleaned up with a cloth. As hot as it is to see the boy wearing his cum, he knows that this is the kid’s first time and wants to make it as pleasant as he can for him. By personal experience, Geralt knows that getting semen into your eyes is absolutely no fun.

“You did so good, kid,” Geralt mutters, pressing a kiss to Jaskier’s head when he’s all clean. “Do you want your reward now? For being such a good boy for me?” Jaskier blushes red as he looks past Geralt’s shoulder and at the camera and directing crew, as if he’s really realizing for the first time that he’s having his virginity taken in front of other people by a fucking porn star. He turns back to Geralt, so adorably embarrassed but nods yes anyway.

His knees are pink when he stands, and Geralt’s palms return to his sides as backs him up against a wall of the bus. “I’m going to get you off with my fingers, is that alright?” Jaskier nods, too far gone for words.

It’s stupid easy to get him off; he cries out when Geralt touches him again, fingers digging into Geralt’s arm. One of his hands trails to grip Geralt’s wrist again, to keep it in place as Geralt fingers his weeping cunt and plays with is clit. He squeezes his knees together as he cums, eyes squeezing shut as he tenses and shakes through his orgasm— Geralt works him through it until his little clit is too sensitive to the touch.

“Wolf,” he stutters out, and falls into Geralt’s arms when he tries to take a step. The cameras cut from behind them, the crew beginning to pack up.

“Where were you going, Jaskier?” Geralt asks him, sitting them both down on a seat. The boy’s still shaking slightly, curling into Geralt’s chest from where he’s rested in his lap.

“Home,” he whispers. One of his hands slink back between his legs, and he buries his head into Geralt’s neck in embarrassment as he touches himself again. Insatiable, but then again, Geralt remembers being seventeen.

Geralt eases his hand away and starts stroking his clit between his thumb and forefinger, casual as Jaskier shudders and tucks himself closer.

“Do you want me to take you, pup?”

Blue eyes peer up at him, legs squeezing together.

“Y-yeah.”

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longing-and-heartache-and-lust · 3 years

Text

Prompt: Messy oral Relationships: Jaskier/Coën, Gerat/Jaskier/Coën Rating: Explicit Content Warnings: None Summary: Why only have one witcher when you can have two?

[I know that Coën is a Griffin, but in this one and in all the other ones that are yet to come that include Geralt, he’s a Wolf because that’s my headcanon.]

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

Crossposted to ao3 here

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Over the years spent with witchers, the one thing that Jaskier just never seemed to learn was that drinking with them never ended up being just that.

It was never just about getting drunk and counting the imaginary starts by the fire in the massive hearth of the main hall of Kaer Morhen, it was about playing games that the bard hardy ever won, or telling each other stories that would have him blushing in the morning.

Despite all that, those evenings were, of course, his favourite.

Nothing brought him quite the same feeling of belonging somewhere like resting in Coën’s arms, drunk and hopelessly in love.

It had been strange, the first year Geralt suggested Jaskier came to Kaer Morhen with him. Gods know the bard had been pining for that man ever since they met.

But Geralt never really did anything with it, though Jaskier was sure that he knew. Everyone else knew, so how could Geralt not?

And though it sometimes brought him nothing but heartache, Jaskier couldn’t really see himself letting go of those feelings, allowing himself to fall in love with someone new, someone that would love him back.

Until, that is, they’ve arrived at Kaer Morhen that winter and he met Coën.

The younger witcher, so similar and yet so different to his brothers, had stolen Jaskier’s heart for himself what seemed like immediately. His effortless little touches, his sharp grins that could change into open, bright smiles just as easily, the lingering gazes of his unusually green eyes - all of that had Jaskier’s heart beating faster in his chest within the first week.

And when Coën pulled him into a long, sweet kiss another week after that, there was nothing Jaskier could do but wrap his arms around the witcher’s neck.

By the middle of December, they were already sleeping in the same bed.

And now that it’s been five years, all of them spent together, Jaskier could look at Geralt without that twist of longing somewhere deep in his chest. Coën had given him everything he needed and more, and finally, Jaskier let the older witcher go.

The feelings for him that used to an untamable flame in his chest have reduced to glowing ambers that kept him warm but didn’t burn, didn’t fill his lungs with smoke.

He still wanted him, still couldn’t help but think about what it would feel like to run his hands and lips down Geralt’s chest and abdomen and thighs, what it would feel like to spend a night with him, but he didn’t love him anymore. Not in a way he used to.

He couldn’t have him, Jaskier had accepted that.

Except, of course, that drinking with witchers never ended up being just that.

It’s an hour or two after midnight that the liquor finally runs out, and everyone goes back to their rooms, having bid each other goodnight. Jaskier isn’t really drunk, for he’d spent the good part of the night curled up in his witcher’s arms so comfortably that reaching for his bottle of wine seemed an insufficient reason to move. His body is pleasantly light and his head is spinning just a little, but his mind is clear if a little fogged by sleepiness.

That fog, however, is gone as soon as the bedroom door closes behind them and Coën presses Jaskier up against the wall, kissing him with a hunger that makes the bard’s knees go weak.

“You owe me a wish, bard,” Coën murmurs into his lips, and Jaskier would roll his eyes at that if only the promise in those words wasn’t so thrilling.

It’s true, he did lose to Coën at gwent, and his two options were either answering a question that the witcher would ask him, while they were still among the other Wolves, or granting him a wish when they were alone again. Of course, Jaskier had chosen the second option.

“I do,” he agrees, following the witcher towards the bed. “What is it you want, my dearest Witcher?”

Coën laughs, falling onto his back on the bed once the back of his knees hit it, and pulls Jaskier down with him.

“Wait and see,” he says, finding his way to Jaskier’s lips again.

His lips taste of sweet liquor, and so does his tongue, when he deepens the kiss.

It’s been years now and Jaskier can’t even begin to count all the things they’ve done to each other over that time, but whenever Coën kisses him like that, it sends his head reeling the same way it did the first night they’ve ever spent together.

Jaskier has always been impatient, especially when there was alcohol in his blood, heightening his senses and making him even more sensitive than usual. So, he doesn’t really wait.

As soon as Coën breaks the kiss, Jaskier finds his way to his neck, still bearing his marks from the night before. They stand out beautifully against the witcher’s pale skin.

Unable to help himself, Jaskier sucks another mark onto Coën’s neck only to press his tongue to it immediately, leaning into the touch when the witcher gets his hand into his hair as praise. It works just as perfectly as it always does because there aren’t many things that Jaskier loves as much as he loves knowing that he gives his witcher what he wants.

He presses his hips into Coën’s, gasping at the pressure, and rocks against him, biting a line down the witcher’s neck and chest, undoing the buttons of his shirt without even looking.

Had it been earlier in the night, he might’ve taken his time but right now he doesn’t want to wait, especially knowing that there’s going to be training in the morning that they will both have to attend whether they want to or not.

The lack of time makes him eager, and before Coën can pull him up to his lips again, Jaskier already slips off the bed and onto his knees, undoing the buttons on the witcher’s trousers with practised ease.

“It still amazes me, how much hunger there is in you,” Coën murmurs, propping himself up on his elbows to watch Jaskier.

He lifts his hips just enough for the bard to strip him of his trousers and smallclothes, and, whatever he says, he’s just as hard as Jaskier is.

“You can always stop me,” he grins, pressing a hard, possessive kiss to the inner side of Coën’s thigh.

Jaskier had never really met anyone with so many dominant traits to them as Coën, and it usually only took the witcher one little gaze of his green eyes to get what he wants, but at the same time - and there were only a couple of things that Jaskier loved more about him that this - he allowed the bard to do anything he wanted to him, as long as Jaskier didn’t try to control him.

Not that controlling Coën was possible in the first place.

But being allowed anything he wanted would always have him drunk faster than any liquor, and now he just can’t hold back from sinking his teeth into the tender flesh of the witcher’s inner thigh, untouched by claws and blades.

Coën gasps, arching his back, but allows for it, and Jaskier has to press his hips into the edge of the bed to give himself some kind of pressure and take the edge off his desperation.

“You’re lucky I’m a witcher, my love,” Coën laughs, breaking off into a soft moan when Jaskier leaves an identical bite on his other thigh. “No human would really be able to withstand just how hard you love to bite.”

Jaskier raises his head and grins, shrugging with one shoulder.

“You bite much harder, but you know as well as me just how much I love it.”

Coën rolls his eyes affectionately, his black hair falling into his face.

“Half-human doesn’t count.”

Perhaps he’s right, but discussing his blood doesn’t seem like the best option out of all the ones that Jaskier’s got right now, so instead of answering, he just goes back to what he’d started, running a line of wet, open-mouthed kisses up Coën’s thigh before finally running his tongue over the entire length of his cock, curving up toward the witcher’s stomach.

Usually, he likes taking his time with this kind of pleasure, but not tonight, and he’s experienced enough to adjust in a matter of seconds.

His eyes flutter closed as he wraps his lips over the tip, sucking at it teasingly lightly. The taste of precome spills over his tongue, and the fire low in his abdomen flares up in response.

Coën breathes out a moan, throwing his head back and brushing Jaskier’s hair out of his face for the chestnut locks not to get in the way, and it’s this kind of attention that melts the bard’s heart every single time.

He opens his mouth just a little wider, until he can take in the head, and moans at the weight of it on his tongue. With anyone else, he’d blush at the way his mouth waters but with Coën, he knows that the witcher enjoys it just as much as he does, this hunger bordering on dirtiness.

Jaskier wraps his fingers around the base of the witcher’s cock, twisting his wrist every time he moves his hand up the length, and concentrates on breathing, sinking halfway down with his mouth and then pulling back almost entirely every time, spit and precome glistening on his chin and lips.

He hides his teeth, though he knows how good an occasional scrape of them can feel, and hollows out his cheeks, pressing his tongue to the throbbing veins. With Coën’s hand in his hair, he lets the witcher guide him, until he can take in the entire length every time, taking away his hand to dig his slick fingers into Coën’s thigh.

Caught up in his own lust, Jaskier doesn’t take the time to pull back to take in a proper breath or wipe at his lips, instead allowing for whatever he can’t swallow to run down his chin, making a mess of himself. He would probably blush at his own state at any other time, but right now none of that matters, not when he can feel the pleasure he brings his witcher resonating through his own body.

Coën is sensitive and responsive to his every touch, his lower lip caught between his teeth to muffle the moans that Jaskier is tearing out of his chest. No one can hear them here, all the other bedrooms far enough to provide privacy, but it’s a habit formed over the countless nights spent at cheap inns with thin walls.

Jaskier is still unable to keep his voice down most of the time, but he hardly minds it when Coën clasps a hand over his mouth.

That thought goes straight to Jaskier’s cock, and for a second he suffocates with his own lust.

He’s dying to reach down and wrap a hand around himself, if even for a second, but right before he can break, there are footsteps in the hallway and then the door opens, letting Geralt into the room.

Jaskier darts back, blood rushing to his cheeks, but before he can turn away, Coën runs a comforting hand through his hair and grins at the older witcher, all sharp teeth.

“Right on time, Wolf,” he murmurs, his eyes dark and gleaming. “Come join us.”

Jaskier’s chest gets suffocatingly tight, and his cheeks burn with embarrassment, but Coën sits up on the bed, unperturbed by his state, and pulls him into a calming, comforting kiss.

“You owe me a wish,” he reminds, brushing Jaskier’s hair out of his face. “I’ve seen the way you two look at each other.”

Jaskier’s heart skips a painful beat.

“Coën--” he starts, stumbling over his words. “I would never--”

“No, it’s alright,” the witcher murmurs, stealing another kiss from him. “I don’t mind sharing every now and then.”

He doesn’t mind sharing, echoes in Jaskier’s mind.

“It’s been far too many years of you two undressing each other with your eyes, I want to finally see you do it with your hands,” Coën grins, bumping his nose against Jaskier’s cheek in a gesture that the bard had grown to love immeasurably. “If you want.”

He pulls back, looking the bard in the eye with a soft, comforting smile.

“Only if you want.”

Geralt is still by the door, but he doesn’t look surprised or embarrassed, and it’s then that Jaskier realises that he knew exactly what he was coming here for. And he still came.

A shiver of thrill and anticipation runs through his body, and Jaskier finally meets his eyes, the gold glowing softly in the darkness. Gods know he’d wanted him for as long as they’ve known each other.

“Come here,” he says before he fully thinks it through.

Geralt leaves his place by the door and crosses the room, coming closer to the bed, his gaze moving from Jaskier to Coën and back.

Jaskier is still on his knees, painfully hard beneath the fabric of his breeches, and it’s too good to question, so he just doesn’t.

His hands move almost on their own as he catches the waist of Geralt’s trousers and pulls him closer, undoing the unnecessary extensive amount of buttons. Coën’s tentative gaze seems to burn right through him but it only thrills him more, being watched.

“I told you he’ll say yes,” Coën grins at the older witcher, reaching up to catch his medallion and pull Geralt in for a long, heated kiss that has Jaskier’s hands coming to a halt with sudden realisation.

“You two?” he asks, watching Coën’s tongue slip over Geralt’s lower lip as he breaks away.

“Isn’t it obvious?” the younger witcher grins, reaching out to help Jaskier with the buttons. “We don’t exactly hide that we used to sleep together.”

It was obvious, now that Jaskier thinks about it. They always act differently towards each other than they do towards the other two Wolves. If they all gather in front of the fireplace, they’re always close, knees or shoulders touching. They look at each other differently. Jaskier just never thought of it… this way.

“Oh, you really didn’t know, did you?” Coën laughs, tipping Jaskier’s chin up to look at him properly. “I told you that you’re not the first one that I’m sharing this bed with, don’t you remember?”

He did tell him. And Jaskier does remember that, he just never assumed that it was Geralt, for some reason.

“No, I just thought that it was--” he starts, blushing again.

“Eskel?” Geralt guesses, running his hand through Jaskier’s hair and sending a shockwave through his entire body. “No, he’s much more interested in succubi than in men.”

In another situation, Jaskier would probably laugh but right now he’s too preoccupied with getting Geralt out of his clothes, his hands working fast and sure even as they tremble. It’s strange, touching him like this after so many years and with Coën’s tentative eyes on him, but it’s not like Jaskier had never had two partners at once, so he doesn’t let it stop him.

Geralt pulls his shirt off over his head, letting it drop to the floor, and Jaskier can’t help but run his eyes over his chest and abdomen, marked with scars.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he asks, because not asking is unbearable.

Geralt shrugs with one shoulder, his breath getting heavier as Jaskier finally tugs the rest of his clothes off him and dips his head to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to his hipbone.

“By the time I finally got the courage, it was far too late,” Geralt breathes, nodding towards Coën and getting a hand into Jaskier’s hair, carding the chestnut locks through his fingers.

Oh, they’ll have to talk about this. They’ll definitely have to talk about this but not now.

Right now there are far better things to do.

#the witcher #jaskier/coen #jaskier/coёn #geralt/jaskier/coen #witcher rarepair #there is very slight chance that there will be a part two to this #my writing #calton writes

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valdomarx · 4 years

Note

Jaskier loses a bet with Geralt and has to suck cock on command for a year as a consequence. Winter at Kaer Moran that year gets very interesting once Geralt realizes he never specified *whose* cock Jaskier has to suck.

It started as a joke, a way to pass the long hours on the road.

“You doubt me?” Jaskier’s chest puffs up in mock offence. “I’ll have you know, you’re talking to Oxenfurt Academy’s leading expert on primitive bestiary illustrations.”

“Oh yes, an expert in dusty old books, so very informative. You might have studied under the masters, Jaskier, but I know my monsters. And a griffin is classified as a hybrid, not a beast.”

Jasker’s eyes narrow. “Wanna bet?”

“Wouldn’t want to take your coin. We’re going to need it to pay for the inn if this hybrid griffin contract falls through.”

“Fine, no coin. But if I’m right, you have to let me ride Roach, whenever I ask, for a whole year.”

“Very well.” Geralt stifles a smile. “And if I’m right, you have to suck cock, whenever I ask, for a whole year.”

“I do that whenever you ask anyway, as you well know.” Jaskier waggles his eyebrows. “Doesn’t matter in any case, because I know I’m right.”

As it turns out, Jaskier is not right. Geralt has never been more pleased by the outcome of a wager.

Geralt doesn’t take advantage of it, not much at any rate. Certainly no more than Jaskier would be willing to do without their silly bet.

Mostly, he uses it as an excuse to get Jaskier to go down on him in increasingly public settings, the thrill of potentially getting caught being something they’re both into. (The reality of being caught in the act is rather less sexy, as they have learned to their cost.)

Geralt picks his moments, like when he leads Jaskier into a deserted corridor at a fancy banquet and pushes him to his knees, urging him to hurry before a wandering guard or noble comes along and sees what they’re up to. He crowds him up against a damp wall in a dark alleyway in Novigrad and unlaces his own breeches, taking Jaskier’s hand and wrapping it around his length while instructing him on exactly how he wants to be pleasured. After one of Jaskier’s concerts, Geralt pulls him behind the curtain that passes for a dressing room and fucks his throat raw, and Jaskier has to perform his encore with his voice still husky and rough.

On one particularly memorable occasion, Geralt persuades Jaskier to suck his cock under the table at a busy tavern, patrons and barmaids wandering by with no idea he is thrusting into Jaskier’s warm, wet mouth as they pass.

It’s all in good fun, that’s the point.

Things get really interesting when they head to Kaer Morhen for the winter. This is the first time Geralt has brought Jaskier with him, and he’s a little nervous about how that will go down with the other Wolves. But every one of them adores Jaskier, because how could they not? They love having someone listen attentively to their stories, and Jaskier’s music makes even the cold, old walls of the crumbling castle reverberate with life.

He walks into the hall one afternoon to find Lambert sat up on the table with one leg on either side of Jaskier, who is sat on the bench below and is glowing under his attention. Lambert is murmuring something indistinguishable in a low voice, and Jaskier is giggling and blushing the most charming shade of pink.

Geralt stops and observes them. He should feel protective maybe, or jealous, but he doesn’t. Jaskier is his, and he is Jaskier’s, and no amount of flirting with other people will change that. In fact, he rather likes the idea of watching Jaskier with someone else, and while Lambert wouldn’t have been his first choice he finds himself somewhat… intrigued by the prospect.

“Geralt!” Lambert looks up with a typical smirk plastered across his face. “Jaskier was just telling me about your arrangement. Hope you know how lucky you are to have this gorgeous mouth any time you want it.”

Jaskier flushes more, his fingers playing at Lambert’s knee. “I truly am a delight,” he sighs dramatically. “It’s nice to have someone recognise my many talents for once.”

“Hmm.” Geralt concedes. He is keenly aware of just how lucky he is to have Jaskier, mouth and all. So aware, in fact, that he’s considering sharing that good fortune with his brothers.

And when he thinks back to the bet they’d made all those months ago, he does remember the exact wording being, well, nonspecific about whose cock Jaskier had to suck whenever he was told to.

“Perhaps…,” Geralt begins, eyeing Lambert thoughtfully, “if it would please Jaskier, I might be willing to share.”

He looks to Jaskier, raising half an eyebrow in a wordless question. Jaskier ducks his head, smiling and biting at his lip, and oh yeah, Jaskier is into that, no doubt.

“You like that idea, sweetheart?” Lambert asks, lifting Jaskier’s face and stroking a thumb over his bottom lip. “You want to suck my cock while Geralt watches?”

In response, Jaskier sucks Lambert’s thumb into his mouth and, judging by the way Lambert’s breath hitches, does something sinful to it.

Geralt’s dick twitches in his trousers. He meets Jaskier’s eye and sees the sparkle of mischief there. This is something he could get into, apparently.

“Go on then,” he says, making an effort to keep his voice steady. “Suck Lambert off for me.”

“With pleasure,” Jaskier grins, sharp and eager, and reaches out to unlace Lambert’s trousers. Lambert slides a hand into his hair as he pulls out his cock, jerking him to hardness with confident strokes.

Geralt pulls over a chair and settles himself to fully appreciate the view.

“You think you can take it all, gorgeous?” Lambert asks, low and quiet, and Geralt snorts. If Jaskier can handle his cock, he’s going to have no problem with Lambert’s.

Lambert shoots him a glare. “Don’t remember asking your opinion, jackaaaaaaa -” Lambert’s voice cracks as Jaskier licks a stripe up the underside of his cock and suckles at the head, and Geralt can see from the way the corners of his mouth turn up that Jaskier is smirking. He truly is perfect.

Jaskier bends his head and takes Lambert fully into his mouth and it’s interesting, seeing it from the outside. Geralt has seen Jaskier’s lips around his own cock a hundred times, he knows the way his Adam’s apple works as he swallows and the way his nostrils flare when he’s taking it down his throat. But it’s different, watching from this angle, and there’s something thrilling about seeing Lambert enjoying him as well.

Lambert is noisy, and bossy, because of course he is. He uses his hand to guide Jaskier’s head, telling him what he wants and how Jaskier should take it. And for all that Jaskier isn’t exactly renowned for doing as he’s told, he does so love to give people what they want.

By the time Jaskier is rolling Lambert’s balls in his hand and is sucking him down in great, sloppy gulps, Geralt is hard as iron.

And by the time Lambert’s breath is heaving and his instructions are becoming less coherent and more like desperate moans, Geralt’s fingers are itching to touch, to grab and to hold and to squeeze. But that isn’t what they’re doing here, so he fists his hands in his trousers and watches, hungrily.

Jaskier pulls off, eyes gleaming, before swallowing Lambert’s cock down in one smooth slide, until his nose it pushing against Lambert’s stomach. Lambert swears, tightens his grip on Jaskier’s hair, and comes down his throat with a groan.

Geralt lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding and Jaskier sits back, a satisfied smirk on his face as he wipes drool and cum off his chin.

Lambert rolls his shoulders and gives a smile more soft than Geralt is used to seeing on him. “Aren’t you a delight?” he says, taking Jaskier’s chin in his hand. Jaskier beams. “Are you going to let me take care of you now, sweet thing?” he asks, his hand running down Jaskier’s chest.

Geralt is on his feet at lightning speed. “Nope, not part of the deal,” he growls, striding over and tugging Jaskier away. If he doesn’t get Jaskier back to their room this instant, he might actually die.

Lambert shrugs one shoulder, lazy and contented. “Perhaps next time, then.”

Geralt narrows his eyes, both tempted by the prospect of doing this again and annoyed by Lambert’s presumption.

Though when Jaskier turns and presses himself up against Geralt, hard against his thigh, it wipes the look of annoyance from his face. “You’re the only one I want taking care of me,” Jaskier pants into his neck, and for half a second Geralt considers taking him right here on the table, audience be damned.

But that wouldn’t be in keeping with their bet. Although… perhaps next time.

#geraskier #jaskier x witchers #lambert #the witcher #my writing #anonymous #god damn anon; u really coming for me personally with this #this is so filthy i'm having the vapours and i wrote the damn thing #kaer morhen #george replies

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playing--koi · 5 years

Text

To Worship a Flower

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Summary: In which you work in a brothel, Geralt is a patron, and everybody needs to be taken care of sometimes.

Warning(s): SMUT (18+), language, prostitution, unprotected sex, slight body worship (both parties receiving)

Word Count: 5.5k

MASTERLIST

You’d heard the tales of Geralt of Rivia throughout your whole adult life. He’d reached legendary status across the continent; the melodic notes of the fiddle spectacularly complementing the stories of his bravery. Not that you’d traveled particularly far and wide, more so that your clientele all seemed to know of him no matter where they hailed from. The dichotomy of it all astonished you—that someone with a profession so loathed could be spoken of with such admiration.

Which was why the first time he’d entered your brothel, you simply had to get a glimpse of him. You were preparing for the day, insuring your body was well-cleaned and oiled to perfection—smelling of Lavender and Thyme. One of the girls had thrown your door open, not bothering to knock.

“Geralt of Rivia is here,”.

Your jaw dropped and, without any further consideration, you threw on a silken robe and quickly followed her down the corridor toward the entry hall. Word must’ve yet to travel because you couldn’t see anyone else scampering down the hallway to have their look. Both of you toeing down the staircase, you began to hear echoes of your Madam welcoming a new client, which you assumed to be the famous Witcher.

Your suspicions were confirmed when you heard the baritone voice speaking back to her, no doubt in your mind that a tone so authoritative and mysterious simply had to be him. You’d reached the bottom of the stairs, in which a wide landing before the doorway to the foyer lent itself to your hiding place around the corner, now able to make out what was being said.

“So, Witcher, how many nights will you be needing company and housing?” You rolled your eyes and quietly scoffed at Madam’s flirtatious tone, knowing damn well she didn��t entertain any clients. If he’d gotten her knickers in a twist, you couldn’t even imagine how handsome he was—considering you’d never once seen that woman show an inkling of sexuality. Even when talking about sex itself, she made it the least arousing topic in all of the continent.

“Just one,” he clearly wasn’t entertaining any of her advances, which you couldn’t help but smirk at.

“Of course.” She cleared her throat. “Do you have any preferences in your companions?”

“Hm,” he seemingly considered, probably not used to being asked that question. Most brothels across the continent typically didn’t give an array of choices, but Madam was nothing if not thorough. “Perhaps one who will keep me on my toes,”.

Madam chuckled lightly. “I have just the one for you,”.

You felt a hand hit your forearm and you turned to the girl who’d led you down to find her pointing at you and nodding, as if to say ‘she’s talking about you’, something you’d also had a sneaking suspicion of. Quickly, before Madam decided to lead him up to the second floor, you pulled your companion up the staircase as quietly as you were able. Because, had Madam been talking about you, you weren’t about to let some foolish sleuthing cause her to rethink her decision of his partner for the night.

Once you’d both returned to the second floor corridor where your chambers were located, you separated—each returning to your respective rooms—as she wished you good luck with a wink. You were praying to the Gods that she was right and Madam had been referring to you.

Doing your best to look previously engaged, you tidied up your space as the quiet footsteps of fate waltzed down the hall. They got louder with each moment and your heart quickened with anticipation. You’d always longed to lie with the great Witcher who sparked terror and respect in the hearts of those who beheld him. A worthy opponent; in your assumption to be just as much so sexually as he was on the battlefield.

You were pulled from your thoughts as you heard the creak of your weathered door, but you continued making the bed as if it’d slipped past you.

Madam cleared her throat and you quickly gave her your full attention, as if startled by her presence. You’d always been quite the actress.

“You have quite an important client tonight,” she announced.

You cocked your head slightly. “Oh?” You scrunched your eyebrows to further show confusion.

“Geralt of Rivia has chosen to stay with us,” she gave you a once-over, probably assessing if you were in the proper state to accompany such an esteemed guess and, luckily, you’d just bathed and oiled. “So I expect you to be on your best behavior and treat him well,”.

You nodded, moving to approach your dresser and search for the perfect lingerie for the occasion.

“Once you are changed, meet me in the hall,” she ordered, “and, by his orders, find something to keep him on his toes,”.

The door closed behind her and you swayed in silent victory, finally awarding yourself the smirk you’d fought against the moment that your door had been opened. Throwing your robe haphazardly across the bed, you stepped into the lingerie you’d been saving for quite the partner. It was black, lace, and—dare-you-say—devilish. You were determined to make this a night that neither of you would forget; a night that would leave him searching for you in every future body.

You fished your robe from its place on the bed, redressing and slipping on a pair of your nicer shoes, stepping out into the corridor to meet Madam. She wordlessly led you to the other side of the brothel—the side where the patrons stayed. The decor was noticeably finer with each step toward the division deemed worthy enough for clients, however you didn’t hold much resentment because, most nights, you found yourself in this sector anyway.

She stopped in front of the door that shielded the largest suite of the property, but you knew the Witcher definitely wouldn’t have paid extra, so you assumed that Madam just added it with the hope to impress. This man must be quite the sight to have even Madam eating out of the palm of his hand, all without even entertaining her extremely rare advances.

Your chest was constricted, heart rate accelerating with each inhale. Nerves vibrating beneath your skin, thrilled for the unveiling of your faceless lover-to-be. She angled her head toward the door, motioning you to enter and you quickly obeyed, holding her gaze until the door was shut with your back to the room. Once it clicked into place, you took a deep breath and turned around to find a presence in the bath gazing at you.

Your mouth went dry. You were thrilled with the discovery that the man you were to be lying with was delicious. His shoulders were nearly as broad as the width of the tub he was occupying and his face was chiseled to perfection, every small scar somehow adding to his beauty. His long silver hair was pulled back from his face, a mixture of sweat and bathwater no doubt the reason it was shining in the dim glow of the room. You surveyed his eyes last, finding them having followed your visual trek across the hills and valleys of his body; the bright golden color left you in awe. He was positively breathtaking and, for the remaining night, he was all yours.

“I wondered if the girl who’d been eavesdropping would be the one tasked with keeping me on my toes,” a smirk donned his face as he expelled the silence of the room.

You were intrigued that he’d sensed you earlier, but not at all surprised. “Madam knows her girls well. And I happen to fall on the more…daring side of the spectrum,” you let a smile of your own annunciate your words.

Without any forewarning, you untied your robe and let it fall to the floor, leaving you in the lingerie. You held eye contact with the Witcher as you slowly made your way to the tub. He let his eyes peruse the slopes and contours of your body as you moved closer, showing appreciation to each inch of visible skin.

You passed the bath, going to grab one of the luxurious soaps that were always stocked in the guest quarters and went to kneel beside the stone basin, working the liquid into a lather after pouring a generous amount into the tub. Your place behind him left you perfectly level with the back of his head. Starting with the ends of his strands, you paid close attention to each section that was caked with some form of grime, slowly moving higher up the lengths to the crown of his head.

As you removed the tie from his mane, he spoke once again. “Never would’ve seen hair washing as keeping me on my toes, but I suppose that’s the point,” his words nearly came out as a groan, clearly enjoying the scalp massage he was receiving.

You smirked. “Oh, darling,” you giggled, “this is simply the preparation.” You moved closer, hot breath undoubtedly tickling the shell of his ear, “the cleaner you are, the more I can dirty you,”.

To an untrained ear, no difference would’ve been captured, but with years of practice in studying the reactions of others, you could hear a slight hitch in his breath.

Your fingers tirelessly worked through the knots in his hair, determined to relax and open him up for you. If what you were planning for the evening was going to work, he was going to have to trust you to make him feel good. Once his mane grew to be more manageable, you picked up the small bucket placed next to you and filled it with the bathwater. You wordlessly pressed a hand between his shoulder blades, motioning to him to sit up straight and lean his head backward as you poured the water through his hair, ridding it of the suds.

You moved your hands down his neck and to his shoulders, finding a plethora of tension there. You’d had no previous doubt that his life was one of immense difficulty, but his muscles further proved it.

His body tensed as you worked through his dips and curves, spending what felt like hours on his shoulders and chest alone; the skin an angry red in response to the pressure. Once you felt a significant decrease in the rigidity of his upper torso, you simply started to clean the rest of his body with delicate strokes, paying attention to each area that warranted a peculiar reaction.

His eyes were shut at this point, neck resting on the rim of the tub as his breath deepened with each caress. You could assume that this type of treatment was nearly unheard of for a man of his background, but you were eager to please. Once you’d finished with the skin of his left calf, you slowly lowered his leg back into the water and returned to his side with a towel.

You were sure to break the silence with a gentle voice, so as not to alarm him or tear him from his blissed-out state. “Darling, would you stand up for me?” You questioned sweetly.

He seemed to be in a trance of sorts as his eyes slowly opened and he nodded, staring into your own with what could only be described as an insurmountable degree of gratitude. He followed your directions and you stared at him in awe. This was the first time you could admire his large stature and toned physique. A body tarnished by scarring and cruelty, but somehow still the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

You quickly shut your mouth, not even realizing it’d opened and rose to stand yourself. Handing him the towel, you turned away in an attempt to collect your thoughts. “Once you’re dried, go lie down on the bed facedown for me,”.

You busied yourself with grabbing the massage oil; you could hear him stepping out of the tub and walking over to the bed from behind you. After turning around and seeing him lying down, you quickly disrobed, throwing your clothes next to where he’d haphazardly tossed the towel. You approached the bed and kneeled up onto it, moving to straddle the backs of his thighs. If he was surprised by your actions, you didn’t hear it.

Pouring a generous amount of the oil onto your hands and tossing it aside, you rubbed it all along his back, outwardly gasping at the knots. “Oh, you poor thing,” you tutted. “When was the last time someone was gentle with you, darling?” The rhetorical question came without any thought, but you certainly didn’t regret it.

Kneading, caressing, rubbing, and massaging your way across his back mapped out a lot of his more sensitive spots for you. His body was complex and he clearly didn’t treat it with kindness. You found many areas that had healed oddly, no doubt due to his lack of care for wounds. It was obvious to you that a good bit of his tension came from his tight posture that was so wound so tightly, clearly terrified of showing any response to the massage, or anything really.

You continued your work on his back and, once you reached his lower spine, he let out the smallest mix between a groan and a whine once you’d pummeled a particularly excruciating bit of stress. It was delectable and you could feel his body softening now that he’d let out one of his natural reactions. “That’s it, darling, let it all out for me. Let me hear those pretty little sounds,”.

It was like a wall had been broken. The soft grunts and moans that you were now being met with gave you an overwhelming victorious feeling. You’d relaxed Geralt of Rivia and he felt secure enough in your hands to react to you.

Your mouth practically watered as you now realized it was time to give his glorious derriere the rubdown it deserved. Your fingers worked rigorously, doing your best to assuage the discomfort that he probably didn’t even know a life without. And it was getting to be your time to shine. You pressed the fingers of both hands into the flesh of his buttocks and pressed down deep enough to support your weight as you moved further down his body, finding space to lay down in between his thighs to spread his ass out beautifully in front of you.

Your face was now perfectly level with his juicy peach, your warm exhales ghosting over his skin. You could see his head slightly lifting from its place on the bed. “What are you doing?” He asked, but you heard no concern. Just mild curiosity. He’s intrigued.

“I’m gonna show this beautiful derriere of yours the love it deserves,” you lowered your head to place a gentle kiss to each cheek, sucking a small hickey into the skin of his left one. Enough for a stinging reminder and a fleeting mark of your territory. His body slightly shivered. Success.

Without any further words, you spread him apart and licked a broad stripe up from his taint to his tight little hole. A shocked mewl could be heard above you as he pressed his forehead down into the mattress. You continued massaging the muscles of his buttocks as your tongue took residence between them. Sucking, licking, and tasting him as he mindlessly rutted against the mattress.

His body started to shake with pleasure, clearly so unused to this area being stimulated. Your tongue flicked and rolled against his beautiful ring, laving it with attention—doing everything in your power to excite. His back arched slightly, pressing himself further back into your mouth and you were thrilled by it. Grasping him by the hips, you pulled him even closer—determined to taste every inch of him. Comfortably nestled into him and basking in the glory of his breathy sounds was quite possibly your new happy place.

He looked obscene like this; hole puckered and red as your spit reflected the dim light of the suite. His hips tensing as he writhed against the sheets, your mind saturated with thoughts of what his expression displayed. Would it be desperate and fucked out? Maybe scrunched up and tense with a touch of mania. You were drenched already, but you could feel even more wetness gathering at the thought.

You finally found the perfect rhythm that seemed to be quite the sweet spot for both parties. It was slow enough that you could drift off into your own world of Geralt and consistent enough that he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself.

You heard a low mumble from the man of the hour and begrudgingly removed your tongue from the cleft of his bum. “What was that, darling?” You made sure to keep up the sickeningly sweet tone.

“‘m gonna cum—” he grunted, “can’t hold it,”.

You tsked, “now why would you be holding it, darling? Don’t hold out on me,”.

And what you heard next had your cherry fluttering. “Wanna come inside you,” he whimpered.

Your jaw nearly dropped and, with one final lick and suck of his pretty floret, you pulled yourself up onto your knees. “Well, why didn’t you just say so?” You patted him lightly on the side of his hip, ushering him to turn over which he obeyed immediately.

The sight in front of you was one of immense luxury. You almost felt scandalized by it (and that was saying something considering what you’d just finished doing). His pupils were blown wide, eyes nearly black, and his body was covered in a light sheen of sweat. His member was stood at attention, precum leaking from the tip as it pressed tightly against his abdomen. He looked at you like a sight to behold, lips swollen and pink from biting and pursing.

“What a pretty little pet you are—all fucked out like this,” he visually preened under the praise. You slowly crawled up his body, straddling his wide hips. “Tell me, White Wolf—has anyone ever allowed you to be the lamb?”

He looked at you with such awe in that moment, slowly shaking his head. Without any warning, you gripped his manhood and guided it to your opening, sinking down onto his thickness. Both of you released the most broken, animalistic noises. A flurry of passion and lust. Once you bottomed out, he quickly sat up and grabbed onto both of your hips searching for the comfort of your skin. He snapped his hips to yours and guided you down onto his thrusts, finding a shared tempo as he listened closely to which speed had you emitting the most sinful of noises.

You frantically bounced yourself on his cock, not even realizing how hungry you’d been for release until the smallest taste had you positively starved. Your body was now slick with the heat of sweat as you tightly gripped his shoulders, your fingernails leaving imprints on his skin. You hadn’t even realized that one of his hands had left your hip until you felt the pads of his fingertips make contact with your clit, causing your body to spasm at the first contact of the evening. Your eyes screwed shut as you bowed your head backward, baring your throat to him in a sort of submission. He immediately responded, attaching his lips to the skin of your neck—biting, sucking, and marking.

Both of your bodies begun stuttering at the closeness to release, teetering on the edge of climax. He removed the hand grasping your hip and snaked it around your back, tilting you closer to him as you both mindlessly rutted against each other in desperate pleas of euphoria.

You could feel your walls contract in the beginnings of orgasm, triggering a loud moan from Geralt at the clenching around his cock. You both grasped onto each other for dear life as you came apart at the seams. Both inhaling the thick scent of sex as you squeezed every last bit of ecstasy from one another.

And that was how you’d met the glorious Witcher who’d been subject to many tales and carols. You’d assumed the morning after you laid with him that’d be the last time you’d ever see him. So when you watched him just finish readying himself to leave, you were shocked when he picked you up by the bottoms of your thighs and kissed you with such intense fervor, leaving you to see stars. You were even more shocked when he pulled away and whispered, “until next time, little lamb,” with a wink. Your eyes widened at his nickname, no doubt giving it to you after your comment the evening before.

But before you’d had time to question it, he’d set you down and left.

You saw Geralt quite a few times after that night. He clearly felt safe with you and enjoyed the way you took care of him. You’d even heard talk from travelers that rumor had it he no longer entertained any more company at the places he stayed. You shook your head, trying to rid yourself of any silly fantasies that maybe he saved intimacy for you only.

However, the hope would reappear when you remembered the way his eyes crinkled slightly when he dared to laugh in front of you, far more intimate a gesture than any sexual act could be. The weighted, moonlit conversations dancing through the air as you ran your fingers delicately across his scars.

It was becoming quite the problem for you, as you were now far more disillusioned with any client that wasn’t him. You found yourself more easily irritated and difficult to please. All of it seeming pointless if it wasn’t with Geralt.

Which was how you’d ended up nearly rolling your eyes at the pig of a customer who’d been ordering you around condescendingly from the moment you walked through the door. Refusing to call you anything other than ‘whore’ any time he wanted your attention.

Luckily, you’d only been tasked with bathing him thus far, but now that he was out and dried off and sitting on the bed, you dreaded your next orders.

“Well come on then, make that mouth of yours useful. It ain’t gonna suck itself off—” he demanded and you let out a deep exhale as you walked over to where he was seated, about to kneel down before the door creaking startled you out of your action.

Madame was at the door, which had never once happened at your entire time working for her. She always waited until the client was done with whatever girl they’d been assigned before ever daring to enter.

“Mr. Broont, I’m afraid she has been requested by another patron and I’ll have to excuse her to come with me,” she spoke with an air of apology, “I promise the other girl I’ve brought will surely satisfy.” She motioned for you to stand and come back over to her.

Before you could, you could feel his be-ringed paw clutch your bicep tightly, holding you in place. “Nuh, uh. I paid for a night wit’ this one and that’s precisely what I’m ‘onna get—” you inhaled sharply upon contact, the stone jewelry and long nails doing nothing to help the aching of his grip. “Now run along and tell the other guy he’s gotta wait his turn,”.

Madame opened her mouth to answer, but before she had a chance at rebuttal, the door was slammed open and in walked the subject of your wildest dreams. With a look of malice on his face that you’d never seen before.

Once he assessed your predicament, he spoke up, “I suggest you take your hand off of her before I cut it from your wrist,” and if that didn’t get you all hot and bothered at what was definitely the wrong time.

The man behind you quickly pulled away as if the skin on your arm had burned him and you rose quickly to walk over to the den of safety he provided. Madame nodded to you, signaling you could go and take him with you to the usual room you both shared.

Without making eye contact, you led him from the room and down the corridor to where the suite was located and motioned for him to go sit on the bed. Refusing to look at him, you tried your best to collect yourself. Emotions were swirling around your head. Fear at the man who thought he owned you. Sadness at the way he’d regarded you, how these pathetic excuses for men continued to regard you. Confusing amounts of lust at Geralt’s show of dominance. And shame at the thought of your Witcher seeing you in such a vulnerable and embarrassing situation, no doubt hearing the way that man had been allowed to talk to you. You were a jumbled mess of barely-contained feelings just begging to be released.

You didn’t even have time to experience the usual bliss that came with seeing him. Your eyes had filled, much to your chagrin. You breathed in deeply from your nose, trying your best to keep the tears at bay.

You whipped around at the sound of him clearing his throat from a few feet behind you, making eye contact for the first time. He cocked his head slightly, eyebrows furrowing with empathy. “Enjoy the show?” You tried to joke, doing your best to mask the sadness that was doing its best to consume you.

“You don’t have to be strong for me, little lamb,” he whispered, moving closer with gentle steps. “Everybody needs to be taken care of sometimes.” And just as he reaches you, you crack.

The tears begin to fall as you reach up and pull him into you by his jaw, lips meeting in a desperate haze. The salty taste of your tears mixing with the taste of him as you reached for him, begging him to further invade your space. He did so quickly, pulling you up by your thighs which you instinctually wrapped around his waist, needing his sturdy presence to consume you.

You hadn’t even realized that he was walking until you were gently being placed down on the bed. His position did wonders for his beauty, a soft halo of light surrounding him, lending a warmth to his silver strands. You stared up at him as he gazed upon you, his eyes never leaving yours as he slid the undergarments from your body. You weren’t used to such attention being paid to you; patrons weren’t typically intrigued by any subtle details, preferring to shove their cock somewhere and shut their eyes until it was over.

But he really saw you. As your nude body was displayed to him at such an attentive state, you couldn’t help but to feel bashful at the pure vulnerability. You subtly moved your forearms up to shield your breasts while gently closing your thighs to shield them from his curious stare. Quickly catching onto what you were doing, he kneeled to the ground and forced your knees to a wider stance.

“Ah, ah—” he tutted gently, hands hungrily roaming your thighs with his calloused touch, “—now why would you hide such a pretty flower from me, hm?” You outwardly gasped, so unused to his newfound dirty talk. Well, maybe not fully new, but new to you. “Sometimes the only thing that keeps me going in combat is knowing I get to come back here and sink my face into this sweet little cunt,”.

He moved his face closer to your heat, the warmth of his breath making your tummy flutter in anticipation as you could feel yourself dampening. He gently placed your thighs over his broad shoulders, showing no signs of struggle at the added weight, eyes alternating between your pupils and your core; the tension in your chest thick and waiting. Your loud breaths were the only source of sound in the otherwise silent room.

Maintaining eye contact, he licked a long stripe up your slit, the first contact you’d gotten in ages; time wasted with piss poor lovers and clients with no concern for you. All of that melted away as your lips parted around a high-pitched moan, back arching and chasing more which he gladly offered. His mouth mapped out the dips and curves of your aching center, an unfathomable hunger overtaking your body with each suckle. It was messy, his lips coated with your juices and his own dribble; but with his eyelashes fluttering, you could tell he reveled in your taste.

Trying out different techniques, re-familiarizing himself with your anatomy, but it wasn’t long before he rediscovered his expert touch, sweeping his mouth across your most sensitive areas, swallowing your arousal with each movement.

While he’d previously been avoiding your fleshy bundle—which you assumed to be calculated teasing—the man decided that now was the focal moment; his lips capturing your bud and rolling it across his tongue.

“Geralt—” your choked out plea was met with a smirk from the man below you, albeit quite obscene as it was expressed while between your folds. Your body stuttered with each passing moment, finding it near impossible to breathe. Your heart rate was at an all-time high, the noises deafening in your ears. “Please—oh gods, please—”.

Your voice was nearly unrecognizable, so fucked out with broken mewls and haphazardly strewn phrases of ‘just like that’, ‘don’t stop’, ‘right there’, and several others along those same lines.

“Such a pretty little petal—” he mumbled, eyes raking along your heat as if in a trance, “—I could eat it forever,”. The only words running through your head in response were ‘please do’.

The sounds of his talents echoed throughout the once-noiseless suite: slurping, licking, and groaning; all matched in volume with your own whines and incantations. At this point, your body was covered in a thin veil of sweat—so responsive to feelings so rare to you.

While Geralt showed himself to be quite the able lover in your previous times together, bringing you to release more times than you could count, this time felt particularly important. It wasn’t as if he wanted you to feel good, it was as if he needed it. Each movement perfectly planned to give you the utmost feeling of ecstasy as he watched your facial expressions morph to varying degrees of unabashed delight. His tongue seeming to memorize the patterns that had your toes curling into the skin of his back and grip tightening around his mane. You could tell he loved the ache; with each tug, he would let out an especially thick groan into the soaking flesh of your heat.

You were nearing the tipping point, the pre-bliss haze of what was to come washing over you as your one hand gripping his hair pulled him closer (an impossible feat), while the other had the sheets in a vice hold of its own. You’d never felt such attention on you before and this new feeling of safety had everything feeling that much more intense.

Your vision went white, the world around you completely lost to your unconscious mind. A headspace of pure intoxication. You felt as if you were floating, your body weightless and free of all stress. Sleepy and satiated and content.

As your senses returned, you could feel that you were being carried. The sounds of splashing were slowly invading your perception and, soon you were being lowered into warm water by the body that had been holding you. Opening your eyes, you could see Geralt facing you; you were sitting in his lap in the bath as he slowly grounded you with his continuous strokes along your spine.

You opened your mouth, but your mind was still muddled, so nothing came out. He nodded understandingly, showing that you needn’t speak. He knew.

“You did so well for me, little lamb—” you tucked your face into his neck, hugging him closer to hide your bashful countenance. He continued mindlessly caressing the skin of your back as you came back down.

You felt him lightly tap against you, signaling for your attention, which you gladly gave him, untucking your head from where it rested on his shoulder. “How’d you like to come with me?” His brows furrowed in questioning. “We can find a life better suited for you,”.

You didn’t even have to think it over, nodding eagerly at his suggestion. Getting out of there was a dream come true, but getting out of there with Geralt? Now that was simply heaven.

“Alright, we’ll sort that out come morning—but, for now, just relax,” he whispered, the heat of his words dancing across every pore on your face. Staring into his bright golden eyes, you could feel a warm hope envelop you.

“Thank you,” your voice was soft, filled to the brim with gratitude.

“Everyone needs to be taken care of sometimes,” he smirked, “a very smart woman showed me that some time ago—”. The grin that you donned could nearly split your face.

fin

A/N: Another Geralt fic that I’d say is quite possibly filthier than either of my other two so far, but you can be the judges of that ;) Thank you so much for reading, you beautiful babies!!! Likes, reblogs, comments, and just overall reactions are always treasured real deep in my lil’ heart. I hope you guys like this one!!!! x g

tag list: @alwayshave-faith @fairytale07 @whatawildone @angelic-kisses13 @la-meneur-louve @thewitcher-is-a-pandemic

if i forgot anybody/you wanna be added to the tag list, just lemme know!! x g

#Geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt fic #geralt of rivia #geralt smut #geralt of rivia smut #geralt x reader #the witcher #the witcher x reader #henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #my writing

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stardustanthem · 5 years

Text

red daisy inn | Geralt x Female reader | SMUT/ NSFW 18+

Description: Geralt is back from one of his adventures, quick to find you in the brothel you live in, just as he always does when he returns from killing monsters. This time though, it’s a bit different.

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Reader (Y/N)

Warnings: let’s try some smut like 18+ !! oh and cuss words if you’re scared of those or what not

— • —

You pulled your clothing back over your body, fixing your hair as you adjusted on the bed. The man next to you settled into the bed beside you making no effort to move, which quite frankly pissed you off. He hadn’t even paid you, and he had forced you to keep busy for hours. He didn’t even have the damn equipment to keep you that long. He was just wasting your time, and now he was going to settle in and not pay you?

“Excuse me, sir, I’ll take what I’m owed now,” You speak confidently, rising to your feet. The man furrowed his brows with his eyes shut and draped an arm over his plump belly. You grimaced at the thought. You’d had many men, but lately you wished you could just see the one man that brought your meek and disappointing life a tinge of light. He hadn’t come to see you in months, and you almost wondered if he was even alive.

“I paid the brothel keeper. Your payment is with him,” The man grumbled. He rolled away from you onto his side and began snoring softly just as you thought to remark. You tied the hanging strings at the top of your loose fitting gown and grabbed your shawl trying to put it on you as neatly as possible for the next guest. You wanted to clear up the payment issue with Allard before pursuing more customers.

Storming down the steps in a hurry, your hair blowing behind you as you ran, you make it to the office at the front of the brothel just as Allard is locking up his office to leave for his upstairs apartment, “Allard! Allard please wait-”

“Good Gods, Y/N, what is it now? I’m headed home for the evening. Burne is outside of you’re having any altercations with your guest, now please.” You stumbled back as he pushed past you, nearly falling to the ground. You had managed to catch yourself.

The man in the room had kept you locked away to fuck, and fondle him for hours. Not to mention Allard probably didn’t even have a form of payment for you, and now Allard was leaving without listening to the issue at hand. For fucks sake, Burne wasn’t going to help, he slept out front half of the time. He wasn’t a guard, he was a sleeping giant that probably made more than you. Damn this place.

“What’s the matter, Y/N?” A soft voice spoke from behind you, placing a hand on your upper back and smoothing your hair out of your face, “Were you hurt?”

You looked up into a pair of brown eyes, her face framed but wavy red hair and felt relief, “No, Freya. I’m not hurt. That fat bastard won’t pay me what I am owed, said he paid Allard. Well now Allard has left and I don’t know if I even have money waiting for me in that damn chancery.” You weren’t going to cry, but by gods you were exhausted from the whole ordeal.

As a fallen woman in the brothel community, you had practicallt no rights. You’d just been part of the room that man paid for, nothing more, and it would be setting you back at least a day to make up for the time you had wasted. Freya knew how hard it had been for you lately with Geralt not having come back yet. She was your best friend and confidant. You whispered into the early hours of the morning about the days you would no longer live here and be free to roam the lands and live amongst the continent with the finest royalty. These were fantasies, and they kept Freya going for sure, but if you had to be honest... you’d trade everything to go with Geralt on his leave.

As if your thoughts had manifested your desires, you suddenly heard the pounding of horse hooves coming toward the ‘Red Daisy Inn’, and suddenly your heart swelled. It could be anyone, it was always possible it couldn’t be him, but just as your doubts started to settle in you saw him in the doorway dimly lit by candle light.

He had new cuts on his face, one strikingly long from just above his eyebrow to the middle of his cheek. His hair was an absolute mess, but he was just as handsome as you remembered. His eyes scanned the faces of the other girls among the hallway of the Inn until suddenly they landed on you. His eyes weren’t warm like they typically were, his leave had been much longer than it usually was, and by the animalistic darkness to his eyes you could tell it hadn’t been intentional.

You hadn’t even taken two steps forward before he had you scooped up into his arms, one hand at the back of your neck forcing you into the most hungry kiss he had ever given you. You tried to keep up with his assault but this was new to you, from him at least. You can’t deny you enjoyed it though, you felt your insides tingling with ecstasy at his mouth and it hadn’t even explored you yet.

He pulled away from you, shielding you into his chest as he turned to Freya, “My usual room, now,” he ordered at her staring down at her as she grabbed the key to the room at the top of the Inn from the key holder next to the door of Allards locked business room. He snatched it from her and threw you over his shoulder carrying you up the steps as quickly as his legs would carry him. He was ready to fuck the absolute hell out of you. He was practically foaming at the mouth in anticipation.

The door nearly broke off the hinges as he shoved it open. You fell to the bed as he dropped you, watching as he shut and locked the door behind him. Your body was in an absolutely overdrive of emotions. Your heart racing, your heat aching, but you were so excited to see the golden eyed hero. You reached for him, terrified that if he stayed near the door too long he might actually leave through it. You weren’t ready for that so soon. He was here, and you wanted to show him how much you missed him, just as he did you.

Geralt untied the strings on his pants and removed his shirt in the four short strides it took to get to the giant king sized bed in the middle of the room. Gawking wasn’t your typical behavior, but seeing his cock for the first time in months had you in a trance. He released a semi-audible growl and snapped his fingers at you, “My eyes are up here.” This in itself caused you to take your lower lip between your rows of teeth. You weren’t used to being this shy with him, but you just couldn’t help it. You wanted him, but you also wanted to bathe in your time together. You had missed him, terribly, but it was like a breath of fresh air to know he had missed you too.

The white wolf himself climbed onto the bed, on top of you, laying between your legs as he slipped your shawl out from under you and tossed it aside. You watched as he slowed his pace, untying the strings attached to the top of your gown. He pushed the opening in your gown on your chest open and pressed a gentle kiss there earning a whimper from you. Geralt felt himself hardening just from the sound itself. He wanted louder sounds from you, he craved them. His journey had been long, and he was going to have you in a puddle at his feet when he was done with you.

He sucked on the spot, making you release a sigh of content before he once again fell into his animal-like behavior. He nipped and groped every inch of free skin he could before yanking your gown over your head. He took in your bare figure before him. Nipples taught from the heat of the moment, legs wide open ready to take him in full stride, and the sheen of sweat across your body. He wanted to lick you clean.

So he did just that, starting with the mound between your legs. He placed gentle kisses from your knee to the center of your legs on both sides before dragging his wet tongue over your heat. You instinctively grabbed a fistful of his hair, arching your body into him as much as you could. This was the difference with Geralt. He made it about you just as much as it was about him. He sucked ever so slowly on your bundle of nerves, before slowly inserting a finger into your hole. He continued sucking as he slowly moved his fingers, making you more and more aroused by each stroke. If he could make you this happy with just his fingers and his mouth, imagine the rest.

He continued like this for what felt like forever, your stomach filling up with electricity and butterflies but just before you were pushed over the edge into oblivion, he pulled away from you. You stared up at him, knowing damn well he couldn’t take it any longer. He was ready to take you.

Geralt positioned his length at your entrance, glancing at you before slowly inching his way in. Your eyes rolled back slightly as your walls adjusted to the familiarity of it all and without warning he began aggressively pumping himself into you. He leaned down, biting your neck enough to cause slight pain but not enough to draw blood, grunting as he pounding his cock into you as quickly and as hard as he could.

The build up within your lower region was quick to burst as you screamed out his name in a state of euphoria. Geralt wasn’t finished with you though, just because he had made you cum once didn’t mean you couldn’t do it again, especially since he hadn’t. So he continued. He supported himself with one arm, removing his face from your neck as his amber eyes locked on yours. His free hand snuck its way down to your heat again, massaging as generously as he could the proximity of your bodies. You felt yourself building up again, Geralt’s intense gaze on you not helping in any way.

His amber eyes burned intensely into yours, stealing away to glance at your mouth before his mouth found yours again. You cupped his face in your hands, roughly kissing him in return just as you reached your second release, another moan pouring from your lips into his mouth. You could feel his cock twitch just as he bit your lip a little too harshly, drawing blood, he grunted heavily muttering a, “Fuck, Y/N,” before his movements stopped altogether. Like a gentleman, he moved to lay next to you, taking the time to catch his breath before helping you clean up.

You were speechless. Good Gods, say something. Anything, “I missed you an incredible amount, Geralt.” And just like that, your emotions came to a head and you find yourself sobbing quietly into his chest as he pulled you closer. The last few months had quite honestly been horrible, and Geralt being here now made you realize how awful they actually were.

Geralt caressed you softly, from the base of your neck to your lower back, one hand tangled in your hair. You’d never told him you had missed him before. This was new. It all felt so new, but it felt like the right thing to say. You felt him tuck a strand of hair behind your ear as his lips touched your lobe, “And I, you.” His voice was rough, but deliciously so. He pressed a few gentle kisses to your neck before pulling away from you, “I’ll draw a bath. Does that sound alright to you, Y/N?”

You wiped at your eyes and nose before sitting up and nodding, not meeting his eyes. He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead preparing a bath for the two of you as you let yourself be washed away in your thoughts, only to be brought to by Geralt scooping you out of bed and gently dropping you into the bath water. It was almost too hot, but with Geralt being who he was, you knew he had made the bath with himself in mind. As if on queue he settled into the giant bath across from you, leaning back against the side of the tub, “I’m sorry I was away so long.”

You voiced your fears finally to someone other than Freya and it felt relieving, “I thought you weren’t going to ever come back. I was scared you’d left me here to die.” You let yourself soak into the water, before moving closer to Geralt. His eyes remained closed as you quietly moved through the water.

“I wish I didn’t have to leave you here,” he murmured sounding almost tired. Understandable as he had just traveled such a distance and fucked the lights out of you... but, unapologetically, you didn’t want him to sleep yet. You slowly reached toward him, your hand almost hovering over his Witcher medallion before he snatched your hand in midair, his head moving so his eyes could stare into yours, “It’s safer for you here.”

You stared at him, furrowing your brows before shaking your head and pulling your hand back, “The monsters you face out there are the monsters I face in here every day. My way of life isn’t that of a Witcher but I see monsters too, Geralt. I’m tired of being here,” you pushed his hand away and moved your body over his, straddling his naked lap, “I am tired of being away from you.”

His eyes softened, the fire place across the room coloring the pair of you a mixture of orange and yellow. He placed a hand on your cheek before pulling you into him again, this time your head on his chest, his legs extending for you to sit comfortably on his lap, “I won’t leave you here ever again. I swear on Roach.”

You smile at the last part, lifting your head from his chest as he searches over your face, memorizing your smile. You bite your lip gently before touching his lips with your fingertips, “On Roach, huh? Sure she’d kick you halfway to Temeria for saying such filthy things.”

Geralt smirks softly, moving to sit up, holding you on his lap still, “I can show you a filthy thing or two.” He grins and brings your face back to his, crashing his lips on yours before tickling your sides playfully. You scream and laugh at his behavior as the two of you fall into a playful banter of splashing each other with the bath water.

#the witcher x reader #geralt smut #henry cavill #witcher x reader #witcher smut #geralt of rivia #geralt imagine #witcher imagine #geralt x you #geralt x y/n #geralt fanfic #geralt x reader

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ficsandcatsandficsandcats · 4 years

Note

"Behave" and "Mine" smutty timees with Geralt the sexy witcher pretty pls?

Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Geralt x Reader Word Count: 1,914 Rating: E Taglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mycat-is-mylove @mynamesoundslikesherlock @kemmastan @magic-multicolored-miracle @writingstudent @mlleecrivaine @coffee-and-stories @amirahiddleston @ultracolorfulnerdcollection @astouract @your-not-invisible-to-me @daydreamer-in-training @morelikebyesexual a/n: Some academically inspired smut for you xo

Beware the witcher, they said, for they are a fierce breed. You longed for a taste of that ferocity for though Geralt was an excellent lover he was also very… well, not timid. He was passionate and thorough and very generous but he was so soft. He caressed and peppered kisses and was so careful with you all the time. You’d tried to tell him that you wanted him to be rough but even that had only inspired a slightly brisker thrusting, never really getting what you were asking for and you grew too embarrassed to vocalize it more clearly. It wasn’t until the pair of you attended a lecture by Jaskier that it clicked for him. He’d watched you stare at Jaskier in rapt attention as he shared the many different ways to express love and affection in art, including the acts that most deemed too improper to speak of. If anyone could and would speak of it, it was Jaskier de Lettenhove.

“When we write of a man’s loving strike it isn’t to glorify violence, but to communicate the needs being met in different ways,” he explained, “In the tale of the Lusty Carlotta she is shunned for her – quote – extreme tastes and even sent to a nunnery which is where she paradoxically finds her satisfaction. The severe punishments of the abbess awakens her own lust and whether or not you agree with the text from a religious standpoint you cannot deny it’s very evocative.”

Your eyes never wavered and you made little notes in the journal you’d brought as he spoke. Geralt glanced over and saw you were writing titles of the pieces he mentioned and slowly but surely the witcher understood.

“Now perhaps you think to yourself, what if someone’s partner is hesitant because they fear hurting their lover,” Jaskier said. Geralt caught himself nodding a moment too late but thankfully no one had seen. Still he listened carefully as the bard continued.

“This is where communication is vital. You must express in the story that the lovers understand the roles and why it’s desired. We take for granted that we know what our partners want but in life and stories the best, most stirring embraces may only be experienced between two who know what is wanted and know if they can provide that for them. If you’ve decided to write a tale or share an anecdote about a passion that explores this side of carnality, you have to be sure that you express clearly that not only is the submissive desiring of this, but the dominant one is as well.”

Geralt pondered this, chewing it over slowly in his mind and by the time they left he still wasn’t sure what to do with it. You noticed his pensive silence, sliding your hand in his and squeezing it gently to pull his attention to you as you walked towards the house. The amber eyes glanced at you and then flitted away quickly. If you didn’t know any better you’d say he was almost bashful.

“Is everything alright Geralt?” you asked.

“Hmm.”

“Did you enjoy the lecture?”

“Hmm.”

“Oh…” your voice grew small and you looked askance awkwardly. Geralt heard the defeated tone in your voice and tried to think of what to say. Words were not his forte. He didn’t know how to tell you that he finally understood what you were asking for and feared he may hurt you. He didn’t know how to tell you that it scared him a little that he enjoyed the idea of doing these things to you, or, as Jaskier had insisted one should think of it, for you. He stayed silent as you took off your cloak and hung it on the rack. He stayed silent as you moved into the bedroom and wordlessly began to change out of your clothes. He stayed silent as he crossed the room in quick strides and wrapped his arm around your waist pulling you close. He cradled your face in his large hand, his golden eyes staring into yours intently with the words he could not say until he summoned the only one that seemed to capture what he felt.

“Mine,” he said in a low, firm voice. Your eyes widened slightly and you smiled.

“Yours,” you said. He loved the sound of it, loved the possessive and proud feeling that welled in his chest as you gazed at him and called you his.

“Mine,” he murmured against your lips, pulling you into a bruising, punishing kiss that you responded to eagerly. Your arms wrapped around his neck and he pulled you up against him by your hips as you wrapped your legs around him. He walked you back to the bed and experimentally tossed you down onto it. You bounced once and giggled, landing with your legs parted and your half-undone dress just barely shielding your breasts from view.

“Tell me what you want,” he said, and you felt emboldened by the lecture and the look in his eyes.

“I want you to make me yours. I want you to use me any way you want. I want you to p-punish me if I don’t do what you ask,” you admitted, stammering over your words but feeling freer for saying them. He was so proud of you and so in awe of how lovely you looked as you took charge. He wordlessly pulled his shirt off, throwing it aside carelessly.

“I want that too,” you said. He chuckled as he leaned forward, body large and looming over yours. He slid a hand into the opening of your bodice and palmed a breast so tightly you gasped. He startled slightly, watching your face warily but you didn’t look upset. He could feel your heart racing and roughly ripped the dress open further. You swallowed hard as he bared your body to him and ran a hand down it starting at your neck and down between your breasts and your stomach until he reached your mound. He was surprised to find you already dripping wet and he palmed you, enjoying the way you ground against his hand and writhed beneath him.

“Who do you belong to, Y/N?” he asked.

“You, Geralt,” you answered.

“Too fucking right,” he growled. You whined when he pulled his hand away but sat up with interest as he undid his belt and quickly finished disrobing. You ached with need at the sight of him, hard and thick and yours. He saw your eyes fall to him and he took himself in hand, stroking slowly as you watched.

“Tell me what you want,” he demanded.

“You.”

“Be more specific.”

Your eyes flitted up to his and you felt your courage waver slightly. He sensed your hesitation and moved closer, reaching out to lift your face to meet his with a tender look in his eyes.

“Tell me what you want, love,” he repeated.

“I want your cock.”

“Where?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake Geralt where do you thi-”

He rolled you onto your stomach and before you could ask what he was doing you heard the thwack of hand meeting flesh and your ass stung.

“Behave,” he growled, leaning over you as one hand massaged the spot he’d spanked. You could feel his hard length brush against your ass as he moved to look into your eyes as you craned your neck back towards him.

“I asked you a question, Y/N,” he said in a voice that was stern and demanding though you could see a tinge of uncertainty and concern in his eyes.

“I want you to fuck me, Geralt. I want you to fill me up and make me scream your name. I want to be owned by you inside and out so fully that I feel the ache for days but still crave more.”

Geralt had never been one for dirty talk, preferring to use his actions over his words, but when you said this he understood its appeal for the first time. He kissed you hard and before you could get a proper breath he’d pushed you into position, propping you onto your knees and presenting yourself for him lewdly. He just looked at you for a moment, stroking himself though he was more than ready for you.

“I’m going to be careful,” he said, “But I’m going to give you everything you want.”

“I want you. I just want you,” you said breathlessly, propping yourself up on your hands and arching back towards him. He aligned himself at your entrance and entered you slowly. You were tight and warm and wet and he wanted to bury himself deep inside of you as quickly as possible but he kept his control. There was good and bad pain and he would be certain you only felt the first. He looked at the red mark on your ass and smiled. You grasped at the bedsheets, panting as he slowly filled you.

“Go faster I can take it,” you pleaded. He swatted you hard, giving you a matching mark on the other side and he felt you get wetter, screwing his eyes tight and forcing himself to breath slowly and maintain his slow, steady pace.

“I know what I’m doing, Y/N. Now shut up and take it,” he snapped, surprised but delighted when you moaned in reply and he felt you clench around him. You obeyed though you rocked against him lightly so he had to still your hips with his hands until he was finally, blessedly, buried to the hilt. He pulled out just as slowly, your little frustrated sighs music to his ears but nowhere near as beautiful as the gasping moan you gave when he quickly thrust back into you. The pace grew quicker, building slowly but still quicker than he’d planned. He had excellent stamina, not a brag just a fact, but when you came for him, suddenly and catching you both by surprise, he nearly lot himself as well. You clenched and fluttered around him and your moans were half-cursing, half-sobbing as he fucked you through your climax, pushing you with ease into a second one and this time he let himself take his release as well.

“That was…” your voice trailed away as you lay side by side. He stroked your hair and nuzzled your cheek with his nose, more tender and careful than usual as he tried to check in with you. He waited for you to finish your sentence, anxious for what you’d say.

“Perfect,” you finished, lolling your head to the side to give him a sleepy smile. “Did you like it?”

“Yes,” he said quickly, pulling you in close to press a gentle kiss to your puffy lips.

“Mmm good,” you yawned, “Would you want to do it again sometime?”

“Yes,” he answered just as quickly, “Would you ever want me to…”

You cracked open one eye and watched him, waiting for him to continue.

“Take the lead?” he finished.

“Ooh what would that be like?” you asked, seeking fodder for your dreams.

“I don’t know… We could read those stories you wrote down. See what they have to say,” he mumbled.

“Geralt of Rivia that is the sweetest, sexiest thing anyone could ever say,” you murmured, eyes falling closed though the smile on your face remained. He harrumphed, fearing that you were teasing him, but when he fell asleep moments later there was a smile on his face as well.

#Anonymous #Geralt x Reader #smut #Geralt smut #Geralt imagines #reader request

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queenxxxsupreme · 4 years

Text

Sweet Creature

Part 4

A/N: FINALLY i’ve finished a mini series. My next challenge is Fate but I will conquer it!! Here is part 1, part 2, and part 3. AND REMEMBER GUYS I have changed how I’m doing my taglist so basically everyone who was once on my taglist has been removed and I know need you (if you want to be on the taglist) to go to this link. It will take you all of a 30 seconds. It will help me stay organized and make sure I miss no one.

Warnings: angst, no happy ending (sorry guys: /), death, blood, graphic murder of someone

***

Geralt hummed softly as someone moved out in the hallway, stumbling to their room in an early afternoon drunken stupor. His amber gaze flickered down to you. Your heart still beat the same soft beat it had been for the last two hours. He combed his fingers through your hair carefully, admiring how beautiful and peaceful you looked.

“Princess?”

You didn’t answer. He almost chuckled. He could tell just by your breathing and heartbeat that you weren’t sleeping. You hadn’t been asleep for a while. He wondered if you were staying quiet because maybe you thought he was sleeping and you didn’t want to wake him.

“Princess, I know you’re awake.”

You groaned into the pillows. His hand trailed over your shoulder and down your arm, coarse fingertips tentatively brushing over your wrist.

“We should be going.” He spoke quietly, forcing the words out of his mouth. “We already won’t be getting to Pont Vanis before nightfall.”

You rolled over on to your back, putting yourself underneath the witcher who had propped himself up on one elbow to watch you.

“I don’t want to go.” You picked up the medallion and ran your thumb over the warm metal.

“I know.” Geralt brought his hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His voice seemed tense, like he was trying to hold back any emotion that might break through as he spoke to you. “But your father and Maksym will send a bounty for me if I keep you.”

“It’s just not fair.” You let the medallion go and instead chose to reach up and cup his scruffy jaw. “I want you to keep me.”

He took your hand, his thumb pressed gently to the center of your palm, and he brought your hand to his lips.

“We knew this was coming, dove.” His breath was warm against your skin.

You turned your hand in his to brush your fingertips over his soft pink lips.

“It’s not fair.” You whispered, reaching up to comb your fingers through his hair. You learned just a couple nights ago that he enjoyed when you played with his hair. He’d let you put little braids into the white strands when he couldn’t sleep.

He leaned down to plant a kiss on your lips. You pulled him closer to you, wanting to feel nothing but his warmth. He, however, couldn’t stand dragging this out. He had a job to do.

He pulled away but your foreheads remained together.

“We need to be going.” He breathed against your lips. “Jaskier is growing impatient.”

“How do you know?” You opened her eyes as he pulled away and got off of the bed.

“He’s been pacing up and down the hall for the last eight minutes.” Geralt pulled on a shirt.

You rubbed your eyes, cursing whatever gods were listening.

“It’s such a cruel joke how the gods would bring us together knowing we could never happily be together.” You sat up in bed.

He grunted in agreement.

“I’ll be outside waiting for you, princess.” Geralt picked up his back, throwing it over his shoulder as he looked back to you.

You nodded your head, eyes watching him as he left the room.

You had done your best to talk him into running away with you three days ago, but it didn’t work.

Flashback

The two of you walked side by side along the dirt road. Your arm was hooked in his. You’d been telling different stories from your childhood, trying to keep him and Jaskier entertained.

You fell silent though, your fingers brushing over the sleeve on Geralt’s forearm. You turned your head to look at him, admiring his side profile. His jaw was sharply defined and darkened with a shadow of scruff.

He turned his head to meet your gaze, brows drawn together just slightly.

“What?”

You shook your head gently, bringing your gaze back to the road ahead.

“What are you thinking?” He asked you quietly.

“How lovely it would be to wake up next to you, to have those eyes be the first thing I see everyday for the rest of my life.”

Something vibrated in his chest, the mix between a displeased growl and an agreeing hum.

“Y/N-,”

“There has to be somewhere on the Continent we can go, Geralt. Somewhere no one will bother us.”

“Y/N, there is nowhere. We’ve been over this already.”

You came to a stop and turned to face him, wanting to see his face while you fought to be with him.

“I refuse to believe that. The Continent is vast-,”

“Y/N-,”

“We can go west! To the mountains! We can be together-,”

“No, we can’t!” He cut you off firmly, his deep voice echoing off of the trees. “I can stand here and indulge in your fantasies all day long, but reality is brutal and unfair. We cannot be as you wish.”

Jaskier had heard your conversation and when he realized you both had stopped walking, he did the same.

You were quiet for a few moments, taking in his words. You were being naive and unrealistic. Anything you thought of was nearly impossible to act on. You were being childish dreaming up a fairytale ending that you knew would never happen.

“Okay.” You nodded your head and started to walk again but Geralt stopped you, his hand taking ahold of your arm.

“Don’t be mad at me, dove.” He murmured.

“I’m not mad at you.” You shook your head, biting back the tears that blurred your vision. “Only destiny and my bloodline and duties as princess of Kaedwen.”

You tried to walk again but he stopped you once more.

“I just…. I don’t want this to hurt anymore than it already will.” He pulled you closer to him, his hand slipping down to lace your fingers together.

You squeezed his hand, nodding softly.

“I just hate that we can’t be together.” You leaned forward to rest your forehead against his chest.

End of Flashback

The day seemed to be over in the blink of an eye. Once second you were riding your horse alongside Geralt, admiring his deep and gravelly voice, and the next second, you were being greeted by a dozen guards who insisted they’d escort you to Prince Maksym. Geralt refused to let you out of his sight just yet, telling the guards he was ordered to see you arrive to Maksym. Jaskier had parted ways with you after giving you a hug. He went into the city to look around and do as he pleased while he waited for Geralt to return.

Now as you drew closer and closer to the prince, a ball of tension began to form in your stomach. Your fingers were shaking and your heart was hammering in your chest.

Geralt could hear your heartbeat and it did little to help him remain civil and calm. He was masking his emotions as best as he could, remembering to take even breaths now and then to center himself and tell himself that he knew this was going to happen.

The large doors to Prince Maksym’s study opened and the guard that had been escorting you gestured for you to walk in.

You nodded, taking a deep breath. You have to do this, Y/N. This is your destiny.

Across from the door was a large desk and behind the desk sat a man. When he saw you enter, he stood to his feet, a smile plastering his lips.

“Princess! You’ve finally arrived.”

Prince Maksym was a tall man, maybe a few inches taller than Geralt, but built much slimmer. His hair was dark and about shoulder length, pulled back into a low ponytail. His eyes were a vibrant shade of green. He was handsome, sure. But he wasn’t your witcher.

He held his hand out for you. You raised your hand, cursing at your shaking fingers.

“Are you scared, my darling?” He asked you, taking note of your hand. With your hand in his, he placed his other on top of your hand and brought it to his lips.

“Just…. Just nervous, is all.” You told him, forcing a little smile to your lips.

“No need to be nervous. This is your home now. You must be exhausted. I’m sure your journey with that witcher must’ve been treacherous.” Maksym looked back at the door to his study, finding Geralt standing there. “You may leave now, witcher. You’re no longer needed.”

“I actually have to speak with him.” You spoke a little too quickly. “I have a message I must give him for my father.”

“Very well.” Maksym nodded his head. “I’ll be just outside this room.”

You smiled at him, grateful that he didn’t ask questions. He pressed a kiss to your cheek before he left.

You turned to watch the guards pull the doors shut behind Maksym, leaving you alone in the study with Geralt of Rivia.

The second the doors closed, you were crossing the room to embrace him, your arms wrapping around his neck. His arms slipped around you, one large hand holding your lower back. He buried his nose in your hair, breathing in your scent.

“I don’t want to be here, Geralt.” You cried into his chest, your words muffled by his armor. The brutal reality of what you were feeling was difficult to describe. You were scared and fearful but also heartbroken and distraught. No matter how many times you’d told yourself this was what had to happen, nothing could prepare you for this.

“I know, dove.” He murmured gently, one hand brushing over the back of your head. “I am sorry.”

“Just-Just take me with you, please.” You pulled your head from his chest to look at him, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks. “I-I can’t stay here. I can’t do it. I’m-I’m scared.”

“I’m so sorry, dove.” He brushed his thumb across your cheek, wiping a tear away. He had regretted not taking you away, not running away with you when he had the chance. Now, it was too late. There was no way the two of you could make it out of Prince Maksym’s castle, let alone Pont Vanis.

“I’ll never get to see you again.” You leaned into his touch, eyes closing tightly.

“We knew this would happen, dove.” All he could do was remind you that this was always going to happen. There were no words he could say to make you feel better, to assure you that you were safe in the palace in an unfamiliar city miles and miles away from your home. “You need to stop crying, Y/N. Maksym will suspect something.”

“I know.” You hiccuped, pushing your face back into his chest.

Geralt let you stay there for a few moments, biting back the tears that pricked his eyes. He rubbed your back and did his best to soothe you for a couple minutes.

“I must go.” He murmured softly.

With this, you pulled your head from his chest and kissed him softly, passionately, savoring his taste and his scent and his touch. You didn’t want to forget him. Your hand came up to hold his jaw, urging him to stay as he started to gently pull away.

He rested his forehead against yours as your lips parted.

“Be safe.” You told him, your eyes opening to find his gold gaze. “Please, be safe.”

He nodded, pulling your hand from his jaw to kiss your knuckles.

“Good-bye, princess.”

You watched him turn and exit through the door. You hastily wiped your cheeks, forcing the tears down.

***

Three long months passed. You’d grown accustomed to the ways of Prince Maksym. He was a vibrant man with an ego as big as the entire continent. He was practically a fanatic when it came to appearances. You were always in a fancy dress and a corset that was too tight.

He was young and enjoyed a good party. Oftentimes, his friends–knights and noblemen within the palace–would accompany him for drinks during the evening. You were forced to sit through all of these. Most of the time, you rested on his lap, his hand secure around your hip. He was possessive of you, you learned this early on. He didn’t like when any other man so much as looked at you. But when he was with his friends, he’d flaunt you about like a trophy wife.

Today was the day before your wedding. Your parents had arrived a week ago. You were warned by your lady in waiting, Mereida, that the betrothal celebration would be a week long ordeal and she did not lie.

You were exhausted from having to constantly greet and talk with people and play friendly with Maksym’s buddies.

You currently sat at the front of the room at the table with Maksym to your left and your father to your right. You were thankful he hadn’t made you sit in his lap but his hand rested on your thigh, thumb tracing circles into the expensive material of your dress.

“What is he doing here?” You heard your mother whisper to your father.

You looked over to them, unable to hear your father answer her. He leaned towards her, his eyes on someone across the room. You followed his gaze, curious to know who your mother was getting antsy about.

At the doors to the ballroom was Jaskier. Your heart jumped to your throat, an uncontrollable smile coming to your lips. If Jaskier was here, Geralt was too.

Maksym felt you move under his touch, your leg jump as if you were going to spring to your feet but decided against it at the last second.

“Is everything alright, daring?” He asked you.

“I’m going to go for a little walk, mingle with the crowd.” You explained, standing to your feet calmly. You smoothed out your dress.

“Would you like me to accompany you?”

“No, that’s okay, dear.” You answered a little too quickly. “Stay here with my father. I’m sure he’d like to discuss the terms of our betrothal.”

You made sure to speak loud enough so your father could hear. This sparked a conversation between your father and Maksym.

You were able to slip away, moving through the middle of the room so that if Maksym was watching you–which you were positive he was–he’d lose you amongst the packed crowd.

Your eyes glided over everyone you passed, searching for your White Wolf.

“Princess!” Jaskier emerges from between two women, moving towards you.

“Jaskier, hello!” You greeted him with a hug.

“He’s to the left down the hall waiting for you.” The bard whispered to you as he embraced you tightly. “I do love a good scandal.”

You pulled away and nodded your head, looking over your shoulder to the front of the room. Maksym wasn’t looking at you so you hastily made your escape.

You looked both ways down the hallway before practically running down the hallway in the direction Jaskier said the witcher was. The hallway ended with only one way to go, to the right.

Your shoulders slumped and your hands met at your hips. Nervously, you messed with your fingers.

“Looking for someone?”

You turned on your heels to see Geralt leaning against the wall behind a large pillar. He was hiding from view.

Without hesitation, you hurried to him, embracing him in a tight hug. His arms snaked around you, hugging you, and he kissed the top of your head. You couldn’t contain how happy you were, the smile on your lips hurt your cheeks.

You pulled back to look at him, wanting to see if you’d forgotten what he looked like. Your brows drew together as you focused on a scar that rested just below his right eye. This was a new scar, one you didn’t remember.

“What happened?”

“That isn’t important.” He answered rather quickly, dipping his head down to catch your lips in a sweet kiss. His hand held your cheek, the rough pad of his thumb feathering across your soft skin.

“I missed you.” Your words were muffled into his mouth but he knew what you were saying.

His hand on the small of your back drew you closer to him, fingers curling into your dress just slightly. His teeth caught your bottom lip before he pulled away.

“I was afraid I’d never see you again.” He rested his forehead against yours, eyes still closed. Your scent was comforting and your touch was intoxicating.

The sound of the doors to the ballroom opening caught your attention. You quickly pulled away from him and stepped away, putting plenty of space between the two of you.

“Let’s walk.” You suggested, feeling unsafe right there with the ballroom being not too far away.

Geralt nodded his head and followed alongside you.

“How are things here?” He turned his head to look at you. He wanted desperately to hold his hand in yours, to have your arm weaved around his.

“I have no right to complain.” You absentmindedly rubbed your arm. “The prince, he’s a decent man. Quite possessive though.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s insecure. He doesn’t want me around any other man, he doesn’t want any other man looking at me…. Sometimes I feel like I’m suffocating because he’s always there.” You shook your head, frustrated.

“Does he harm you?” Geralt drew his brows together. He had heard rumors that the prince had a short temper. The question had been bothering him for days. He needed to know if you were being hurt.

“He doesn’t, no.” You shook your head. “He can be quite rough though, er, in bed.”

Your cheeks flushed at the thought, your eyes falling to the stone floor as you moved.

“Has he forced himself upon you?” Geralt came to a stop, ready to storm into the ballroom and slaughter the prince should your answer be what he was dreading.

“No! Gods, no.” You shook your head. “I-I-I’m trying to be a good wife, a good partner. I won’t say that I’ve enjoyed the times we shared but it was consensual.”

The witcher said nothing. You were trying to make the relationship work, to make your marriage work.

“He…. As soon as this banquet is over, he wants to have a child, to make me a mother.”

Your voice dropped and fear seeped into it. Your stomach churned at the thought.

“I-I don’t want to carry his child. I can’t-Geralt, I can’t stand the thought of being here for the rest of my life.” You brought your eyes up to meet his. “I have no one here. Maksym doesn’t like when I am nice to the servants. He doesn’t like when I try to be friendly with the noblewomen staying here in the palace. He barely gives me enough time alone to enjoy their company. When he’s around, they put on a front, pretend to like him. I just can’t stand it.”

“I’m sorry, dove.” Geralt wanted to reach out to brush a piece of your hair back behind your ear. Something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. He turned his head to see Prince Maksym as well as three guards approaching them.

You followed Geralt’s gaze and your stomach dropped.

“Your highness.” You forced a smile on to your lips and moved towards him. He slipped his arm around your waist and kissed your cheek.

“What are you doing with this mutant, my love?” He asked you, darkened eyes carefully watching Geralt.

“We were just chatting.” You explained. “I ran into him and he offered his company.”

“If I knew you’d be leaving the ballroom, I would’ve had a guard escort you through the palace.” Maksym’s gaze fell upon Geralt. “There can be unsavory characters anywhere.”

“Geralt of Rivia is a friend, love.” You placed your hand upon his chest. “He is the one who brought me to you.”

Maksym looked down at you, eyes finding your lips.

“That he is. Come now. Our celebration awaits us, my wife.” He kissed you roughly, lips threatening to bruise. His grip on you tightened as well. He pulled away and turned you away from Geralt, who had looked away. He couldn’t stand the sight of you kissing him.

You wanted to object, to say your goodbyes to Geralt, but you knew that would only get him in trouble. So you allowed Maksym to guide you down the hall.

Geralt saw that you didn’t go into the ballroom and instead continued down the hall. The guards were right behind Maksym.

Worry formed a nasty ball in the White Wolf’s gut. Something wasn’t right.

***

Geralt found himself circling the ballroom, searching for your face among the crowd. You weren’t sitting at the table at the front of the room and neither was Maksym. It had been nearly an hour since he last saw you.

“Witcher!”

Geralt turned at the call, finding your father approaching him. Along with him were six Kaedweni guards. He’d brought his own protection to Kovir.

“Have you seen my dear Y/N?” He asked, looking around the room.

“I haven’t. Last I saw, she was with the prince.”

“Well, the festivities must go on but we can’t do it without them.” Your father shook his head. “Will you help me find her?”

Geralt nodded his head and led the way out of the ballroom.

“What are you doing here anyways?”

“There’s a contract for a cockatrice not too far from here.” Geralt followed your scent down the hall. “The bard was offered a job tonight in entertaining the crowd. I go where he goes.”

Your scent disappeared down a dimly lit hall. The lighting from what few torches lined the hall cast ominous shadows on the stone walls.

“Where in the hell have they gone?” Your father thought out loud.

Geralt tuned him out, listening closely to the little sounds he could hear. There was quiet chatter behind the wall to his right but there was no door in sight. The wall was so thick that Geralt struggled to hear what they were talking about, or even who was talking.

He ran one gloved hand along the wall, searching for a stone that appeared out of place. His hand slipped across one that stuck out further from the wall than the rest. With a firm push, there was a grinding noise and a secret tunnel was revealed.

“Stay out here, your majesty.” Geralt told your father. “It’s too dark down there and I won’t be able to protect you.”

“My daughter is down there?” Your father widened his eyes. “Take my men with you!”

“They’d only be a distraction.” Geralt firmly shook your head.

Your father agreed, trusting the witcher. After all, he had safely gotten you to Kovir as he promised.

Geralt disappeared into the pitch black tunnel, his yellow eyes adjusting to the dark.

The tunnel led down a narrow hallway. There was a golden glow coming from a room at the end of the hall.

The sound of an unfamiliar voice, a male, speaking caught Geralt’s attention.

“Your highness, this can’t just be swept under the rug.”

“I know!” Maksym shouted, fury in his voice.

Geralt searched the room for your heartbeat, the familiar noise that was music to his ears. At first, he didn’t find it. But then he heard a whimper. Without hesitation, he made his presence known, stepping into the room.

The three guards that had been with Maksym earlier drew their weapons, pointing them at Geralt. Just behind them laying in a pool of crimson was you. You were on your side, hands cradling your stomach and eyes squeezed shut.

“What did you do?” The witcher growled, pulling his sword from his back.

“Ah, witcher.” Maksym stood to his feet. He was sitting behind a desk but when he saw Geralt, he moved around the desk. “You are just in time.”

“Ger-Geralt.” You cried, forcing your eyes open to find your White Wolf.

“Guards! Kill the beast that slaughtered my wife.” Maksym pointed to Geralt.

The guards charged the witcher, foolishly obedient to the prince.

Being that there were only three, they were easy to defeat.

Geralt held his sword up, the point aimed at Maksym. Slowly, he took steps towards the unarmed prince.

“You-You can’t kill me!” Maksym stepped away too quickly, losing his footing and falling onto his ass. “If you kill me, Kovir will fall into a civil war! There is no one to take my throne!”

“That isn’t my problem.” Geralt spoke through clenched teeth, swinging the sword with enough power to behead the prince.

“Geralt.” You tried to push yourself up but your arms were too weak and your whole body was on fire.

He dropped his sword and rushed to your side, eyes gliding over your body. The wounds were too deep. He could smell the iron in the room, potent and nauseating.

“Dove.” His strong voice cracked, brows drawing together as he reached out to touch your face. Your eyes opened to meet his. Your pupils were dilated and dazed. You were swinging in and out of consciousness.

“I-I’m-I’m sorry.” You choked out.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, dove.” Geralt carefully moved you so that your head was in his lap. “King Y/F/N!” He roared over his shoulder, hoping his booming voice would echo down the tunnel.

You jolted at the sudden noise. Your fingers latched on to Geralt’s wrist.

“Save your energy, dove. Help will be here soon enough.” He told you, his voice shaky. He was unsure of his own words, unsure if you’d survive long enough for help.

“I’m-I’m fre-freezing.” You sputtered out, eyes slipping shut once more.

“I’ll keep you warm, dove.” Geralt rubbed his hand over the back of yours. Your skin was cold to the touch. You’d lost so much blood already, it was a wonder you were still awake.

“My gods!” Your father exclaimed from the doorway to the room.

“Get a healer!” Geralt ordered.

The Kaedweni guards rushed off to do as they were told while your father came to kneel down next to you. He pulled off his elegant blue cape and placed it on your stomach. You cried out at the pain but he insisted, wanting to stop the bleeding or at least slow it down.

“Y/N, what happened to you?” He asked, reaching out to brush his hand over your hair.

“Maks-Maksym.”

“He did this.” Geralt looked up to your father, anger and darkness swarming his eyes. “I killed him.”

Your father looked in the direction of the fallen prince.

“Is she going to be okay?”

Geralt said nothing, bringing his gaze back down to you. You had curled up as much as you could into his chest, eyes closed.

“Geralt?” You croaked.

“Right here, dove.”

“I-I should’ve ran away with you when I asked me to.”

Geralt’s chest tightened and his breath was caught in his throat. Tears blurred his vision of you but he quickly blinked them away, wanting to see your face.

“I’m sorry.” You opened your Y/E/C eyes to look at him.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Y/N.” His voice was weak, trembling, on the verge of breaking.

“Perhaps-,” You paused for a moment, struggling to draw in enough oxygen. “Perhaps we will see-we will see each other again.”

He could hear your heart slowly giving up.

“I know we will.” Geralt leaned down to kiss your forehead, his tears transferring to your skin. He wiped them away with his thumb.

You managed to raise your hand, wrapping your fingers around the back of his hand. Your grip on him tightened for a moment before your eyes shut and you took your final breath.

His own heart was pounding so loudly in his ears that he almost wasn’t able to hear the final beat of your heart.

Your father fell into a horrible sob, hands covering his face as he cried out at the loss of his daughter.

The familiar pain of loss crept into the witcher’s heart. He placed one last kiss to your forehead before clutching you against his chest, fearing the thought of having to let you go.

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