#moans of Temeria

[limerental]

ficletober 2022 day 24 (but late)

In the wake of the events on Thanned, Triss receives a final letter from someone dear to her.

content warning for a canonical character death involving suicide, big spoilers for time of contempt. also i fudged some sorceress details in ways that may minorly contradict canon but frankly I dont think canon even knows. I'm cutting this very early in case who dies is too spoilery for anyone

The note arrived in Tretogor tied to the leg of a soft, white pigeon with a plume of feathers along its crown.

Triss knew at once who had sent the bird, as a girl had cared for ones of the same breeding in the personal rookery of the former Rectoress of Aretuza.

She unrolled the note from the bird's offered foreleg and stared at the neat scrawl. Wave by wave, a chill sank through her, as though she were slowly being lowered into a vat of icy water.

If you are reading these words, Triss Merigold, I have been successful in my last act.

Her hands began to tremble as she read on, and as she reached its conclusion, she dropped it to the desk as though it had scalded her, wounded fingers pressed against her mouth.

"Oh," she moaned, shaking her head, and the bird watching her from the sill echoed the movement, plumage rustling. "Oh no, no."

I send this to note to you, so that you may be the one to tell her. So that you may be there for her. You are gentle and kind at heart, Triss, for all your mistakes. I hope you will rethink your associations before it is too late. As it is for me.

Triss felt ill. She pressed her fingers harder against her mouth to still the impulse to hurl. It couldn't be true, what she had read. If it were true, then she… 

Be brave, Triss. Be gentle. Do not blame yourself. Do not forget yourself.

It had been not yet a week since the dreadful events on Thanned, and Triss had had little time to reflect on them.

After fleeing to Brokilon with a mortally wounded Geralt, all her thoughts had been occupied by fretting for him, desperately fearful that he would die of shock or else be permanently crippled, horribly grateful when at last he stabilized and Eithne demanded that she go. She had found herself expelled from King Foltest's service and barred from entering Temeria and had had no choice but to join Philippa and the others in Tretogor. 

She was sharing Philippa's accommodations within the Redanian royal palace with Keira Metz, who had been ousted from Temeria along with Triss, and Margarita Laux-Antille, who had sent all those living at Aretuza, novices and instructors, to the remote stronghold of Ban Ard while repairs and investigations were underway on Thanned Island. 

Thankfully Tor Lara seemed to have stabilized, and the integrity of the island had not been irreparably damaged by its combustion. Whether other damages could be repaired, it was yet to be seen.

Especially now, the words of the note fallen to the desk echoing in the silence.

"Oh," sighed Triss, holding back a sob.  "Oh, how am I to tell her? How can I… oh."

If Triss had not stood in collusion with Philippa… if she had remained neutral… if she had spoken out, told someone, done something different…

Perhaps Tissaia de Vries would still be alive.

Her face crumpled as she held her head in her hands. She felt like wailing with grief, tearing at her hair, slumping to sob against the cold tile floor, but she restrained herself. 

She could hear Margarita and Keira having a light-hearted argument in the main room of Philippa's apartments. Keira had eaten one of the pears that Margarita bought at the market yesterday but swore with less and less credibility that she hadn't. Margarita's voice sounded fondly exasperated.

She and Keira had graduated the same year, Philippa a few years before them, Triss a good decade after. For all the strain and weight of the past week, the three of them got along well, Philippa getting on with all of them as well as she did anyone. Their stay had been somewhat reminiscent of a girlhood dormitory, at least late in the evenings when they tired of political conversation and discussing harrowing current events. 

The three of them talked late into the night, expressing their fears and doubts and hopes. The little tragedies and triumphs of their lives and worry over what would happen next.

"We had planned to vacation in Cidaris this week," Margarita had said. "Tissaia and I. I'll have to get a refund for the house. It was a beautiful place. Right on the water."

"Is it serious between you?" Keira had asked. It had been a surprise to all of them to learn that the two women shared a much closer bond than they allowed the world to see. 

"Yes. We see other people, of course. Our lives are too busy and too long to be everything to one another. But when I am with her… she is all I see. When I am away from her, she is the home I long to return to."

Triss had sighed and cooed at the romantic words, and Keira had made kissy faces and laughed away Margarita's embarrassed swats with a pillow.

She felt sickeningly cold as she recalled those words now.

Tissaia was dead. Triss had to be the one to…

It was too much. If only she had...

But it was too late now.

She sniffed once and rubbed away an escaped tear. Dropped her hands from her face and clasped them before her to quell their shaking. Straightened her shoulders and forced her facial expression stony and controlled, only a small wobble of her lower lip betraying her grief.

Just as Tissaia had taught her, long ago.

With a last long look at the tufted feathers of the bird settling down to nap on her windowsill, Triss turned on her heel and went to break the news.

[gauntie-o-dimm]

Dettlaff | Sweeter

Prompt: "I want to try something new"

Alongside the following request:

"Dettlaff loves you madly, deeply, unconditionally, but demonstrates his animalistic nature in your intimate affairs. You feel uncomfortable and sore, so you decide to teach him more human ways of pleasing and receiving pleasure."

Word count: 3300+ Warnings: Smut, swearing, angst

His body was hot on bent over me, hovering like a huge tower of muscle. His chest hit my back as he leaned over, sharp fangs grazing against my shoulder blades. I shuddered as the skin broke, his tongue slithering over my skin to catch any drop of blood that escaped the fresh cuts. He groaned, grunted, made noises that no one could describe. Droplets of sweat dripped onto my skin, scorching hot and oh-so-able to make me shiver. I let out a small moan as he reached around my body, hips pressing flush against my ass as he pressed himself into me, growled, and... Came. Dettlaff nearly collapsed on top of me, head falling against my back. I heard him try to catch his breath, his length slipping from my depths and soon replacing it with his fingers. He tugged - firmly - and I let out a pained sound. I saw his brow knit as he gazed inside of my cunt, pushing it any sperm dribbling down my legs. 'Yeah, all in there... Clench those thighs together, (Y/n). I don't want any to slip out of you.' He didn't even notice the slight clench of my walls around his fingers, indicating that I was about to orgasm. He pulled his fingers out of me, wiping them dry on the blanket. He leaned down to kiss me relentlessly, teeth and tongue ravishing my mouth without allowing me to breathe. As soon as I tasted iron in the kiss, I pulled back, exhausted and alas, far from satisfied. 'I love you, (Y/n)... You're my mate for life, and if someone comes to get you, they will pay with their death.'

I didn't respond, instead choosing to rest my head against the pillow - there was no point in trying to cuddle. Dettlaff smiled a little, leaning down to kiss me again. 'Your obedience speaks volumes, my dear.' He arose, finding his clothes and putting them on. 'I will be back tonight.' he spoke, draping a blanket on top of me. After he left, I let out a sorrowful whimper. Of course, I loved the Vampire so much... But there was no love in his way of fucking - just instinct, as if he was completely taken over by his beastly desires. It took a good ten minutes to get up, wash myself and get dressed.   With a slight limp in my step, I went to the market. The weather was nice today in Beauclair. Enjoying the sun, I purchased some fresh fruits, candies and bread. As I stood at a market stand that was selling fabrics - one of my dresses was becoming a little worn down - I heard a familiar voice behind me. 'What a lovely colour would that be on you, (Y/n).' I looked over my shoulder and smiled at the sight of my lover's closest friend. 'Hello Regis. Thank you, then I think I will get a piece of it.' I paid the merchant and stuffed the roll of fabric into my basket, which was getting pretty full. 'How are you doing?' I asked the Higher Vampire, who was rubbing his chin rather thoughtfully. 'Just enjoying the sun - what an odd thing to say as a Vampire, hm?' I lightly laughed at the mention of this myth. 'And what about you, Mrs van der Eretein?' I blushed at the nickname and let out a small chuckle - Regis often teased me with the knowledge of my hopes that Dettlaff would ask me to marry him soon. 'I am doing wonderful, thank you.' We walked down a bunch of stairs so we were looking out over the water. I offered Regis an apple, which he took with a thankful grin. 'Why are you lying to me, (Y/n)? I can see the sadness in your eyes?' I let out a sigh. 'Would you understand, Regis?' 'Well, I cannot answer that unless you tell me what is going on.'

The crimson hue that spread over my cheeks had me hide my face in my hands. 'Ugh, it's embarrassing.' 'How can you tell?' 'Because it's to do...' I lowered the volume of my voice. 'It's to do with sex.' Regis hummed and looked at me with an expecting nod, telling me to continue on.

'I really love Dettlaff, you know... But whenever we make love, there is not much... Well, love. He's so... Rough, in a bad way. I rarely orgasm.' By the way Regis was smiling, I was sure that my face must've been as red as the apple I was holding. To hide my blush, I took a bite and looked away. 'You know that Dettlaff loves you too, right?' I nodded, looking down at the water. 'I know.' 'The way Vampires love is way different than the way humans love, (Y/n). Dettlaff is a very emotional being. He is intense, extreme when it comes to expressing himself.' I was silent for a bit, looking over at the older Vampire. 'I know.' 'Then I am sure you also know that he will listen if you tell him you want him to be more gentle. Less bestial, if you catch my meaning.' After a few seconds, I gave him a small hum. 'I can always try. He will be back tonight, and I have no idea what he is up to right now.' 'I think he's at his toy shop.' Regis mused, tossing the eaten apple core into the lake. 'Plenty time of you to prepare. Make it a little romantic in your room and I am sure he will be up for it.' Regis put a hand on my shoulder, gently squeezing it. 'Thank you.' I whispered. 'That's what friends are for.'

~ That evening, I sat in the bedroom, wearing a robe. I had put a freshly washed duvet on it, had taken a bath and was wearing some light perfume. I was just lightning a few candles as I felt a door open and close behind me. 'What are you doing?' I heard a deep voice. 'Just... Dettlaff, please come sit with me.' I sat down on the bed and patted the blanket. Hesitantly, he obeyed. I fingered a few buttons on his frock coat and he saw it as a sign to take it off. I sighed as he draped it onto the ground, looking at me with that same confused face. 'I... I want to try something new.' I whispered, letting my hand slide around his waist to pull him a little closer. 'What do you mean?' 'I mean...' I paused, looking for the right words. 'I mean that I want you to make love to me the human way.'

He frowned, still unsure of what I meant by that. But before he could open his mouth to respond, I let myself sit down on his lap, straddling him. 'I want you to gently take me, kiss me everywhere, whisper sweet things in my ear... I want you to make me cum so hard that I can't walk tomorrow... I want...' I felt a tent press against my butt and I knew it was turning him on. 'I want you to make me feel good, and I will do the same to you.' Dettlaff lowly hummed and leaned upwards for a kiss, but I stopped him by pressing my fingers to his mouth. 'Sssh...' I reached for the belt around my robe, untying it. I let it fall off my shoulders, revealing that I was wearing nothing underneath. He gasped a little, tilting his head slightly to take in my body. Again, I pressed my index- and middle finger to his mouth, tugging at his bottom lip. He opened his mouth and I let his saliva make my digits become wet. I pulled them back, sliding my damp hand over my abdomen and between my legs. 'Hmm... Do you want to have a taste, darling?' I purred, starting to play with myself. He had to obviously withhold himself from grabbing me and taking me in the way he usually did. Teasingly, I ground myself against his clothed member, which was stiff against his pants.

'If you... Hm... If you want me to fuck you gently, you shouldn't tease me like that.' I pouted at Dettlaff's remark, pretending to be hurt. 'Can't you just let me have some fun, too?' He leaned back, hands resting on the bed. 'If that's what you want, (Y/n).' 'No, you don't understand...' I whispered with a patient sigh. 'Here, take some clothes off.' I helped him strip down until he was fully naked, and I gently pushed him on the bed. I knelt down between his legs, looking up at him with half-closed eyes. 'What...' he let out a low hum as I took a hold of his erection, pressing a kiss to the side of it. 'What are you doing?' 'Just try to enjoy it, OK?' I said. I had never sucked him off before, but his cock smelt amazing... 'Is this some kind of sorcery?' he breathed, swallowing a moan as I softly took the head in my mouth, swirling my tongue around it. 'Are you trying to eat my genitals?' I had to withhold a laugh. 'No, Dettlaff...' I said, licking the base and taking him in whole again. He grunted, lifting his hips slightly off the bed. 'Fuck, that feels good...' I pulled back for air, jerking him off a few times. 'It's called a blowjob.' I said. 'Oral sex. You can try oral sex on me, too...' 'Do you want me to?' I nodded and smiled softly. 'OK.' he said, lacing his fingers through my hair. 'Oh, you look so beautiful...' I pulled back the foreskin, softly sucking on his shaft. 'Ah, fuck!' I let out a small giggle, leaning down my head to suck on his testicles. Dettlaff tensed. 'Holy shit. Stop, I don't want to cum yet...'

I crawled on top of him, kissing him firmly. His hands wrapped around my waist, holding me close. After a moment, he pulled back for air. 'I want to give you a blowjob as well...' I burst out laughing. 'Oh, Dettlaff... That's not called a blowjob when performed on women, it's called eating out. I want you to eat my pussy.' 'Eating a pussy? That's a little sad, such a small kitty...' 'No, Dettlaff...' I felt like I was high from the amount of butterflies he gave me right now. 'That's a term for cunt... Vagina... You really didn't know that?' 'No...' he was sincere as he looked at me. 'Oh...' he blushed all of a sudden.

'So when I asked you what you had been doing the other day and you said "touching my pussy" with such a grin, you actually didn't mean you had seen a cat on the street and pet it?'

Dettlaff looked at me with such innocent confusion that I toppled over on top of him, cackling loudly. 'That's not what I meant indeed.' He wrapped his arms around me, hugging me. 'I was already wondering why you was already smirking like that.' I looked up at him, resting my chin against his chest. 'So you gonna eat my cunt or what?' 'I am curious to have a taste.'

I got out of his arms, laying on my back on the bed. I beckoned him to come closer, spreading my legs. 'What... What do you want me to do?' He leaned over me, kissing me on the lips for a moment. 'I want to make you feel good as well.' 'You can suck on my nipples first.' I boldly said. 'But.. Ain't that for feeding children? Won't you better be keeping that until I give you a child?' 'I don't produce any breast milk right now. Only during and after pregnancy.' Dettlaff rubbed his chin, looking down at my breasts. 'It's pleasurable, also for men.' 'Really?' I leaned a little forward, pressing a kiss on one of his nipples. The Higher Vampire let out a sigh. 'That indeed feels nice.' 'Then please...' Without wasting another second, he sucked down on one of my breasts, taking it into his mouth. The other, he grabbed firmly, massaging it with his palm. A moan left my lips, my back arching into him so the mound of flesh was fulling filling his mouth. 'They taste really nice...' Dettlaff muttered after pulling back, grazing his tongue against the perky nub. 'I should do that more often.' I rubbed my drenched core against his bare leg in order to tease him a little. 'The best is still to come, darling...' He moved down to sit between my legs, kissing my abdomen a few times. He knew the scent of my excitement, but he had never tasted it before. I spread my legs, using my own hands to push apart my folds. 'See that? When it's wet like it is now, it means my body is ready for intercourse.' 'Intercourse... Such an odd word.' 'Well, mating is often used for animals, wanting to get offspring. But intercourse, or making love as it is sometimes called, it's just for pleasuring each other to make them feel how much you love them.' 'So not always with the means of getting a child?' I hummed in response and stroked with my finger across my labia. 'See this tiny button over here?' Dettlaff gave a small nod. 'It's called a clitoris. It's an intensely sensitive spot on a woman's pussy. I often rub it to make myself orgasm, but I would much prefer it if you'd suck and lick it.' Dettlaff nodded thoughtfully, inspecting it with great interest. 'So you just want me to...' he leaned in, his hot breath hitting the soaked lips. 'Hmmm, yeah.' I said with a lewd sigh. The anticipation that seared through my core was almost killing me.

A loud moan came from me as he licked down, inexperienced and exploring. He wasn't sure of the movement of his tongue, but as soon as he saw me wriggle and moan under the heat he pressed against me, he became more certain of his actions. The taste of it had caused something to grow in his eyes, something I had never seen before. He sucked my clit, letting out a chuckle when I squealed in pleasure. 'Oh, Dettlaff, fuck...' I grabbed my own breasts and pressed them together, making sure that he'd see it. He sucked down a little harsher at the sight, clearly turned on by it. My toes curled as his tongue slithered into my depths, curling as my walls clenched around it. 'You taste so well, (Y/n)...' he grunted against me, sending vibrations through my spine. 'What was it called again?' 'E-Eating... Oh... Eating out-t-ooh, right there!' His tongue lapped across my soaked folds, large fingers parting them so he could suck on them both. 'I want to eat you out every day, then.' I smiled at the thought of that. 'Seeing you like this makes me want to do very rough things to you.' he said, nuzzling my core. I closed my eyes, arching my back. I didn't want to orgasm just yet, wanting it to come to a conclusion otherwise.

'Then let me show you something.' I mewled, wanting him to pull back since fuck was I close. 'Come over here...' He crawled on top of me, kissing me. For the first time I tasted my own essence on his lips, around his mouth as his tongue dove into me. I smiled, my hand going down to find his erection. He grunted as I took a hold of it, guiding it upwards to press it against my core. I wrapped my legs around his hips, hoping he would roll them forward. Dettlaff took notice of what I was trying to do, pressing himself into my vagina with not much difficulty. We both let out a sigh of satisfaction, the Higher Vampire frowning a bit. His arms wrapped around me, tensing as if he wanted to lift me up. 'What are you doing?' 'Trying to turn you around?' he looked at me as if it was the most normal thing and my question was plain stupid. I didn't blame him, he didn't know it any other way.' 'Oh, Dettlaff, no, I want to look you in the eye when you fuck me.' 'That's a thing when mating?' 'You will like it, I am sure.' I started to move against him, his thrusts soon meeting mine. I bit on my lip, maintaining eye-contact with him while he gradually started to increase his speed. He smiled a little as he saw my face twist in pleasure, my lips slightly parting as I let out a wanton sound. 'You like that, hm?' he said with a loving smile. I nodded. 'I love to see you like this.' he confessed, grunting as he slammed himself back into me. 'Shit, I love this, really...' he muttered, 'Being able to see your face like this... I've never known it could make me feel this way during mat- I mean, intercourse.' I smiled at him, tangling my fingers in his dark locks. 'Kiss me.' I urged, wanting to have him deeper inside me in more ways than one. His body was sticky against me, his skin scorching me but it was nothing but pleasurable. He deeply kissed me, rolled his tongue into me again and breathed heavily through me. For the first time, there was something else than instinct and vampiric behaviour in his thrusts. I wanted him to release into me so badly, so I pulled him tighter into me, his testicles slapping against me every time he pressed forward. 'Are you going to cum, baby?' I coaxed him, letting out a breathy moan that sounded very naughty. 'Are you going to fill me up?' 'What nonsense are you sputtering, (Y/n)?' Dettlaff said confusedly. 'Just wanting to talk dirty to you...' He was silent for a second, then showed me a toothy grin. 'In that case... Keep on going.' 'Are you going to make me your cum-slut, Dettlaff?' He raised an eyebrow. 'Darling, don't call yourself a slut. I know you aren't one.' 'Then try this.' I said, softly pushing him off me. I pushed him back onto the bed, straddling his hips and I let myself sink down onto him. 'Hmmm, yeah, I'm going to ride you, alright?' He grabbed my waist but I moved his hands down to my butt. 'I want you to fill me with your seed, Dettlaff...' I whispered while starting to ride him with a speed that was desperate, awaiting sweet release. 'I want it to stay in there, too... Make sure it stays in there...' 'Hmmm, do you want that?' One of his hands went up to massage my breast, the other groping my ass while I kept lifting and sinking myself onto his cock. The sound of skin slapping skin had me moaning. 'Yes, Dettlaff.' 'Are you going to give me a child?' 'Oh, yes... Yes!' My legs started shaking uncontrollably, my walls clenching around his length. I began to tremble, letting all control go of my body. As I came harder than I ever had, Dettlaffs finger brushed against my clitoris, a proud smile soon accompanying his features. Soon, he closed his eyes tightly as he felt me start to break down, emptying himself in my depths. I collapsed on top of him, resting my head against his heavily moving chest. His heartbeat was immensely fast. He kept himself sitting in me for a little longer until he pulled out and I winced at the sensation. Wholly satisfied and exhausted, I looked him in the eye. 'That was incredible... Thank you for trying your best for me, Dettlaff.' I whispered, softly smiling as he kissed my forehead. 'No need to thank me. I should thank you for this amazing experience. It certainly was an eye-opener to me... I hope to do this again with you very soon.'

I smiled. 'Of course. I love you.' 'I love you, too, (Y/n).' I closed my eyes, resting against him. His hands roamed over my body, insatiable almost. I enjoyed the touch as I softly drifted off to sleep. Right as I slipped into a slumber, I heard him mutter something underneath me. 'Do you want to become my wife?'

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Any Reason At All

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier Warning(s): a little bit of horniness in no.5 Rating: mature

Summary: Five times there is a very good reason for Jaskier and Geralt to kiss, and one time there is no reason at all.

on ao3

one.

A first kiss is supposed to be something special and Jaskier has had so many of them over the years. But usually, they're with different people. He's not used to having more than one first kiss with the same person and certainly wasn't expecting that person to be Geralt.

The first time, they've been away from town a long time and Jaskier is... wanting. He knows this contract is worth a lot and Geralt has been so focused on tracking that he probably hasn't realized how long it's been since they've been to town. But Jaskier has and he's getting antsy.

"Geralt do you think-" he tugs his boot out of a patch of brambles and sighs, "that we could head back soon? Sleep at an inn tonight?" he doesn't get a response, so he just sighs and plops down right where he is. Up ahead, Geralt shouts back without even pausing,

"Are you just gonna sit there or are you coming with me?"

Jaskier sighs. Geralt's right though, he can't just sit here all night. So he reluctantly gets up and goes after him, muttering under his breath. They continue in this way for the next three hours.

"It's just that... I haven't even kissed someone in weeks. Weeks, Geralt. Do you know what that's like? It's torture, utter-" he walks directly into Geralt's back with a thud and takes a step back as Geralt turns to face him.

"Jaskier," he says abruptly, but not overly angry. Jaskier's eyes flick up to his and he pauses. "If I kiss you, will you shut up and let me get on with it?"

"Uh, y-yes?"

Immediately, Geralt's palm is on his cheek and Jaskier is breathless. He leans in without hesitation and Jaskier is absolutely not prepared for Geralt's mouth on his own. He kisses him gently, leaning in and it's slow and deep and Jaskier isn't sure he's going to survive. Geralt takes a step forward and Jaskier presses into him, letting out a soft moan as Geralt's lips part against his own.

And he drowns in it. Pulled under by the current, he lets himself sink. His whole body burns with it and he can't breathe, but if he pulls back Geralt might stop and he doesn't think he could bear that. And all the while Geralt's hand remains on his face, anchoring him.

And he just... doesn't stop. Geralt's other hand comes to rest on his hip and it goes on for so long that Jaskier is expecting it to lead to something more.

When Geralt does pull away, it's abrupt and Jaskier is left reeling. He's breathless and more than a little turned on and who even knew Witchers were so skilled at kissing in the first place? Where the fuck did that even come from?

"That was..." he starts and when he looks up, Geralt is already a dozen paces ahead of him. "Geralt! Where did you- that was... very good you know. I didn't take you for someone who would be so-"

"What?" Geralt asks.

"I just didn't think you got a lot of practice, is all."

Geralt scoffs, rolling his eyes as he turns back to his tracking. Theoretically, Jaskier knows Geralt has had some practice with kissing and sex. He's been to brothels and some of his friends seem just this side of too familiar, but shit he was not expecting that.

Jaskier is quick to catch up to him again, but he spends the rest of the night in a daze.

two.

Jaskier has been invited to a ball. Normally, he would be delighted to attend an event back home, but it's a special celebration, a party to celebrate his sister's engagement and it's for family only. But Jaskier isn't about to drag Geralt all the way to Lettenhove and tell him he's not allowed to come. Which only leaves one option-

"I need you to be my husband," he announces cheerfully. They're already well on their way to the coast and Jaskier has been considering how to break the news before deciding it's best to just get it over with. "They won't let anyone in who's not family, but they could hardly refuse my husband entry now, could they?"

He beams up at Geralt, stumbling a little over a rock. He thinks it's a great plan, but Geralt doesn't show emotion one way or the other. He just stays silent and looks ahead again. Jaskier would give anything to know what's going on in his head right now.

It doesn't come up again until they're on the border of Temeria and about to cross into Kerack. Jaskier reminds him again when they're sharing a room at an inn. Geralt refuses to share the bed so Jaskier offers it to him before climbing up next to him and cuddling up behind him. Geralt grumbles.

"Hush my love. You're my husband, remember? You can hardly deny me the warmth of our bed so soon after our marriage."

Geralt scoffs at him, but Jaskier thinks it sounds more like a laugh than a grunt and he'll take what he can get.

They set out early the next morning, reaching the borders of Lettenhove by late evening. Jaskier is exhausted and Geralt seems to be getting antsy - probably about the party, maybe about the lie. Jaskier isn't worried about it, he knows well enough how to throw his title around when he needs to and most of the time, it works.

They're stopped at the bridge across to the palace and Jaskier dismounts, nodding his head at the guardsmen. One of them gives him a flash of a smile before looking up and scowling at Geralt.

"Your invitation was for one, master Julian."

"You'd hardly deny my husband entry," Jaskier says simply. The guard lifts an eyebrow and gives Jaskier a questioning look.

"The viscount isn't married," he says simply.

"I understand where your position, truly," Jaskier starts, "but I've been away for some time and in that time, I've found myself not only betrothed but married to a man whom I love very much and whom I wish to bring home to introduce to my family."

The guard looks unconvinced and Jaskier is both angry at his defiance and the fact that he simply refuses to believe Jaskier would marry someone like Geralt. Which, as a matter of fact, he would be delighted to do. Anger boils up and he's about to start threatening when Geralt slips from Roach, coming up to wind a comforting arm around his waist.

"It's fine, love," he whispers and it may just be a ruse, but Jaskier will never forget the sound of that word on his lips, the way it shudders through him like the cold.

"It's not-" he starts, but his voice fails him and before he can do anything else, Geralt gets two fingers under his chin, tipping it up so Jaskier is looking at him.

"Go alone, I wouldn't want you to miss your sister's party on my account. You can introduce us another time."

The look in his eyes is so unbearably soft and when he leans in, Jaskier's breath catches in his chest. Cold lips brush against his own and Geralt leans in, deepening the kiss as Jaskier presses into it. It's so unexpected that Jaskier isn't sure what to do with it, but Geralt's arm remains around his waist and he pulls him forward, pressing their bodies together.

Jaskier is stunned by his enthusiasm. Geralt leans into him, fingers twitching against his hip as he deepens the kiss and Jaskier barely withholds a groan as he feels Geralt's tongue against the seam of his lips. He wants to press into the touch, wants to touch and feel and have him, but it's a fine line between pretending to be with him and pushing too far. And right now, Jaskier isn't exactly sure where that line is.

Because Geralt's hands slip under his doublet, moving further until they're on either side of his chest, moving down to settle in the dip of his sides. And Geralt just presses closer, breathing hard through his nose and nipping softly at Jaskier's lower lip.

And Jaskier can't keep from losing himself, can't hold himself together with Geralt like this, so he kisses him hard. He throws his arms around his neck, arching against him as Geralt's teeth press in a little firmer and it's not until the more suspicious guard clears his throat that he's tugged abruptly back to reality.

He pulls out of Geralt's arms, smoothing his clothes down even as the memory of Geralt's hands on him lingers. He opens his mouth to speak, but Geralt's voice is the one he hears.

"Apologies," he pants, "it's been… some time since my lord and I have been together. He keeps so busy I don't see him often and we were hoping to get to the palace and to our room."

The same guard chokes and steps aside, not even daring to look at them as Geralt reaches up and takes Roach's reins, tugging gently to urge her forward.

It's not until they get to their room that Jaskier finally trusts his voice enough to speak and to thank Geralt for getting them out of what could otherwise have been a mess.

three.

Jaskier is struggling. It's been a relatively easy day in an easy week, but tonight he has time to compose and he can't get this one particular verse right. And it's killing him.

It's supposed to be a romantic ballad of a peasant woman in disguise as a knight, recusing the love of her life from where she's been held captive in a tower. The longing of being apart, he's got down, but now he's reached the point where they're reunited and he can't get the words out. And how is he supposed to when he needs to write a kiss and he himself hasn't been kissed in ages (Geralt notwithstanding, but even that was weeks ago now and they're not talking about it).

He's just not feeling very romantic tonight, so he flings himself back onto the grass, staring up at the stars with his notebook and lute on his chest and he sighs. Across the camp, Geralt makes a noise and shifts.

"What's wrong?" he asks, not even looking up from where he's stitching one of his shirts back together.

"How am I supposed to write the most romantic ballads the continent has ever heard when there is so little romance in my life?" Geralt snorts at him, attention still focused on his shirt. "Do you know," Jaskier continues, "that I can't even remember what it's like to be kissed?"

Geralt just lifts a skeptical eyebrow at him but says nothing.

"Perhaps you could help?" Jaskier suggests.

"What could I possibly do to help?"

"I have it on good authority that you're an excellent kisser and… maybe we could do that again. For research purposes, you see."

"What," Geralt smirks, "your memory not good enough for you?"

"Please, Geralt, it'll help."

For a moment there's nothing, then there's a scuffling sound and when Jaskier looks over, Geralt is rising to his feet. He crosses to stand in front of him, nudging Jaskier's knees apart to stand between them and Jaskier holds his breath. Geralt bends low over him, cupping his cheek and pulling him into a soft kiss. He doesn't let himself sink too much into it, keeping only at the surface and Geralt hums against him.

He shoves a leg between his thighs, pushing closer, but just as Jaskier bites back a moan, Geralt pulls back before it can get to be too much.

"Good enough?" he asks and Jaskier wants to say no, to pull him down and kiss him senseless and press against him and- he pulls himself back to the present and looks up at Geralt, nodding solemnly.

He pulls himself back up, taking his quill to paper and scratching out notes of what he wants Geralt to do to him. If he can't write a kiss from memory, he can write about what he wants.

four.

He's not supposed to get involved in Geralt's battles, but what was he supposed to do when Geralt was disarmed and backed into a corner. Jaskier jumps into the fray, bolting for Geralt's sword. If he can just get it to him- but he catches the attention of the devourer and instead of getting Geralt his sword back to him, he only manages to distract the devourer by turning its attention on him.

For a few moments, he manages to keep it away from Geralt and also keep away from it, but it's fast, faster than he is and before long, Jaskier finds himself right in front of it. The thing swings at him and Jaskier ducks, but not quickly enough. The strength of the devourer sends him flying sideways into a tree and Jaskier cries out as his shoulder connects with solid wood.

Immediately, he pulls himself up to his feet, holding his shoulder and seething. He tries to call the beast toward him again, but it's turned his attention back to Geralt. Luckily, the diversion bought him some time and Geralt has had time to retrieve his sword and lunge for the monster.

And he looks furious. Jaskier is dreading whatever comes next for him, but for now, he's just relieved that Geralt is in control again. Geralt dodges and swipes and fakes out, eventually overtaking the beast and piercing his sword up through the underside of its jaw. It shudders on his blade then collapses against the dirt and it's barely stopped moving before Geralt is bolting forward, dropping to his knees right in front of Jaskier.

"Are you hurt?" he asks and Jaskier shakes his head, but only because he doesn't trust his voice not to waver if he speaks. "Let go of your shoulder," Geralt says calmly and slowly, Jaskier does as he's asked. "I think it's dislocated," Geralt hums, looking it over and brushing his hands over his shoulder.

"What does that mean?"

"It means I have to put it back into place for you."

"I.. no, I don't think so. Can't it just go back on its own?"

"It won't," Geralt huffs, "it has to be put back or it's going to continue to hurt and be useless."

"Please-" Jaskier says, but Geralt cuts him off.

"Last week you threw yourself between me and a harpy and just now you tried to fend off a devourer and you don't want me to put your shoulder back into place?"

Jaskier shakes his head and Geralt sighs. He tries again, but Jaskier is adamant and then suddenly there are warm lips against his and he gasps at the suddenness of it before letting himself enjoy it. Geralt kisses him deeply, running one hand through his hair and then his other hand is on his shoulder, shoving and-

Jaskier pulls back with a start as pain shoots through him, but when he tries to move his arm, the pain is significantly less than before. He looks up at Geralt to find him looking rather smug at him and Jaskier splutters.

"You used me-" he accuses, but Geralt just huffs a quiet laugh at him, taking his arm again and wrapping it up so he can't move it around too much and make it worse.

It does feel better and by the time they turn in for bed that night, Jaskier is reluctantly grateful for it. But as he watches Geralt methodically prepare for bed, he's a little disappointed that the kiss didn't last longer this time.

five.

Strictly speaking, Jaskier isn't supposed to be here at all. The contract had specified utmost secrecy and while Geralt is usually willing to do anything asked of him (within reason), he was firm but not leaving Jaskier alone with a bruxa roaming the halls of the castle, regardless of what the king had asked. The working story, if caught, is that Jaskier is acting as bait, but Jaskier likes to pretend that Geralt just doesn't want him out of his sight after the incident with the devourer.

So now at midnight, they're creeping through the halls, looking for any sign of the bruxa but so far there's nothing. Though the bodies the previous night say something is definitely lurking around after hours. Geralt slips around a corner, motioning for Jaskier to hold back and he does, but a second later Geralt is barreling back into him, hissing for him to get back.

They stumble back and Jaskier is suddenly pressed back against the wall firmly. Geralt hesitates for a moment, looking away from him, but then Jaskier hears the voices coming closer and Geralt pushes him back again, pressing a hand over his mouth. And abruptly, Jaskier's body goes limp under him, a side effect of years of being shoved up against walls for very different reasons.

Geralt seems unconcerned and slowly pulls his hand away, whispering for him to be quiet. Jaskier nods his understanding, but Geralt is so close and he smells good and he can't help the way his body reacts to that.

The guards come closer and Geralt presses right against him and Jaskier can't help the little moan that escapes him. It's quiet, barely even a sound, but in the silence of the hall it seems to echo and Jaskier bites down on his lip too late. Geralt's eyes snap onto his and in the very near distance, Jaskier can hear the guards' footsteps speed up.

But then Geralt is kissing him, somehow even closer than a moment before so there's not even an inch of space between them and Jaskier's mind goes blank. He can't think of anything but Geralt's mouth against him, hot and demanding and not letting up, even as the guards turn the corner. A diversion, he realizes, but it doesn't stop him from winding his arms around Geralt's waist and sliding his hands down over his ass.

Barely a few paces away now, the guards continue their approach, but Geralt pushes a knee between Jaskier's and he'd be happy enough to be tossed in the dungeon so long as they can continue uninterrupted. His hips give a little twitch and Geralt growls into his mouth and that… seems too real to be a diversion. Jaskier feels the vibrations all the way through him and he stutters when he pulls Geralt closer because Geralt's hard, the line of his cock pressing against Jaskier's thigh. Which is something. Jaskier doesn't have the wherewithal to process that right now, but then Geralt is tipping his head up roughly, ducking to kiss his neck just as the guards come upon them.

There's a thud as one walks straight into the other and then scattered mumbling as they trip over themselves to apologize and when Geralt looks up at them, they both mumble additional apologies and turn back in the opposite direction. Geralt doesn't kiss him again, but he doesn't pull away from him and Jaskier is aching with the effort it takes not to rut up against him.

Eventually, long after Jaskier can't hear the footsteps anymore, Geralt pulls away and Jaskier nearly cries though he's unsure if it's from relief or disappointment. He either wants Geralt back against him immediately or he needs to go back to their room on his own for a while and he doesn't see either being a likely option.

"Come on," Geralt whispers and Jaskier just shuts his eyes, leaning back against the wall.

"I'm just gonna… need a minute." To his surprise, Geralt nods and turns away.

By the time they get back to their room that night, Geralt seems to have forgotten the entire situation, but Jaskier will be thinking about it for the rest of their trip, if not the rest of his life.

plus one.

It's been a while since they've just been able to relax, but when they stroll into Oxenfurt, they arrive in the middle of a festival. There's a market in the center of town and various stages with performers scattered within the city so that everywhere they go, there's music on the air. Jaskier shuts his eyes and listens as they make their way to the inn. Once they've rented a room and organized their things, Jaskier asks if they might head down toward the festivities and Geralt, to his surprise, agrees.

They stroll through town looking at all the booths and stopping to watch the performers. Jaskier takes a turn on one of the stages, delighted when Geralt stays to watch, a soft smile on his face, and he's the only one Jaskier sees in the crowd. Afterward, they split sweet buns and pastries and fruit ciders of every variety imaginable. It's been a long time since Jaskier has enjoyed himself so thoroughly, and as the sun begins to set, he takes Geralt's hand and leads him, tipsy and warm with intoxication outside the city.

Others are already gathering for the firework celebration and Jaskier finds them a spot on the ridge of a hill, somehow unclaimed despite its views over the river. He plops himself down, only letting go of Geralt's hand when the angle becomes too awkward, but Geralt sits behind him, and Jaskier shuffles back, sitting between his thighs and leaning back against his chest.

It earns him a huff of amusement, but Geralt doesn't complain and doesn't tell him to move. They're both a little drunk, but the sunset is beautiful and Jaskier can't think of a better way to end his night, nor a better person to share it with. By the time they set off the fireworks, he's so tired he can barely keep his eyes open, instead resting his head against Geralt's chest and listening to the crack of their explosions, quickly followed by cheers and sounds of awe from the younger spectators.

Geralt's hand rests on his thigh and Jaskier twines their fingers together, humming softly as Geralt wraps his hand around his.

He doesn't realize he's fallen asleep until Geralt is shifting under him and for a moment, he's disappointed to have woken up because he's sure Geralt would have carried him back to the inn otherwise. But he looks up and Geralt smiles softly down at him, brushing a stray hair out of his face and Jaskier wouldn't trade this night for anything.

They make their way back to the inn, bumping against each other in their drowsiness and it's not until they get up to their room that Jaskieer realizes the room they booked only has one bed. They've both been looking forward to crawling into bed and sleeping well for once because it's been some time since they've had a bed. Jaskier makes a quick decision to let Geralt take the bed because it's hardly big enough for the both of them to share, even if they've done it a hundred times before when coin was low.

But Geralt strips down to his shorts and when he climbs into bed, he shuffles to one side, holding the blankets back in invitation. And Jaskier isn't one to turn down such an invitation, so he quickly undresses and climbs in next to him. He lies facing out into the room with Geralt's chest against his back, warm and rising softly with his breath.

"I had a good night tonight," he hums, "it's a shame we can't do this more often."

"Mm," comes the reply from behind, much closer than Jaskier had anticipated. He can feel Geralt's breath against the back of his neck and he shuts his eyes with a soft sigh.

"Did you enjoy yourself?"

"I did."

Jaskier turns over to face him, and Geralt smiles at him without opening his eyes. Jaskier shifts closer, tangling their legs together and Geralt's arm comes to drape over his hip, bringing him closer. The smile remains firmly in place and Jaskier's heart feels like it could burst from his chest.

"Geralt?" he asks quietly.

"Hm?"

Jaskier looks up at him, unable to find the words to properly thank him for the night, and he reaches up, brushing one hand through his hair.

"Thank you," he whispers, though the words feel flat on his tongue, not enough to express how much he truly appreciates tonight. Geralt hums again, tipping his head down so their noses bump together.

"Jaskier," he breathes.

There's nothing else, but then Geralt's lips brush against his own, soft and tentative and Jaskier's heart nearly stops. It's hardly the first time he's kissed him, but Geralt is so much softer than before, pressing forward only when Jaskier moves against him. And this is so different from before.

Tonight, there's no reason for Geralt to kiss him, there's certainly no reason for him to be so soft and gentle with him - none other than he simply wants to - and Jaskier could cry. He lets himself be drawn closer, completely entangled with Geralt as he kisses him, soft and slow and delightfully pointless.

There's no need for it, just the want to be closer, to feel each other, and Jaskier sinks into it easily, losing himself to the soft press of Geralt's lips of the brush of his thumb against his hip. When they do finally part, Jaskier isn't disappointed that it's over, because Geralt kisses his nose and his forehead as he settles against him and rather than an ending, it feels like the beginning.

[princess-of-riviaa]

Wicked Rose

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Rosa Malvada (OFC)

Summary: Geralt is sent on a mission that sends him to the doorstep of vampire Rosa Malvada. Steamy smut insues.

Warning(s): dirty talk, biting kink, SMUT, blood, both characters are very dominant

Word Count: 3092

There were countless reasons to enjoy an immortal life. The power was intoxicating--there was no greater feeling than knowing you were the greatest threat in any given room. The access to knowledge that stretched across every part of the realm, the secrets that stayed trapped within country borders--all of it there for you to revel in. But the greatest thing of all, the thing that brought satisfaction even in the darkest of nights, was being the kind of monster everyone believed vampires to be.

A regular vampire proved to be a challenging opponent, even for a skilled warrior. The Higher Vampires were impossible to kill. With their wit and strength, they ran circles around mortal men. Not even the legendary witchers could end them; only a Higher Vampire could kill one of his brethren, which had only happened twice in all of history. And Rosa Malvada, Princess of the Higher Vampires, was the most feared and powerful of her entire clan.

Geralt of Rivia, the most famous witcher along the west coast, had been stalking her for three days now. He’d been careful, calculating every movement before he made it. It was cute, actually, how much effort he put into being stealthy. Little did he know Rosa had noted his presence within the first twenty minutes of his days-long hunt. She’d considered draining the blood from his body and burying him in some forgotten part of the woods. Who was he to think that a centuries-old Higher Vampire--a princess of their clan--wouldn’t note his presence? How dare he think she would fall into his trap! But she’d been curious. She’d never seen a witcher hunt, and it had been appealing enough that she’d played the part of a happily oblivious vampire, letting him follow her from town to town, never letting him realize that she was drawing him ever closer to her nest.

The night of the full moon, Geralt had decided to make his attack. He’d been smart enough to drink one of those witcher elixirs he kept on his body--a wise precaution she had to give him credit for. But even that magical potion couldn’t take her down. Not before she found out why he’d been hunting her. Not before she’d have her way with him.

His boots were near-silent as he strode through the abandoned halls of an ancient castle along the coast of Temeria. It had been Rosa’s home since an ancient royal family had decided to abandon it due to the rumors of an evil vampire lurking in the halls at night--a rumor that had proved true, since Rosa had been sloppy enough to leave behind a mess of the guards’ bodies she’d drunk from. The family had been so scared they left with nothing but the clothes on their backs. The belongings they’d left behind were now part of Rosa’s trove.

Geralt pulled out two swords from his back, careful to make his movements as silent as possible. His ears perked up at every breath of the wind. That witcher elixir had heightened his senses, Rosa realized, and if she wasn’t careful, her game of cat and mouse would come to an end much too soon. She watched from the shadows as he stopped at the end of a hallway. He looked like a mountain in all that black armor--a mountain she wanted to climb. The sight of him was distracting--

Until he cocked his head, a predator finally spotting his prey.

“The shadows won’t hide you from me.” He spoke in a whisper, but Rosa heard him perfectly, as if he’d whispered the words in her ear. Rosa stood in a corner of darkness, and with thirty feet of distance between them, she thought it would have been harder for him to spot her. She was impressed.

“What makes you think I’m hiding?” she purred in response, moving through the shadows so he could catch a glimpse of her blood-red eyes.

“I don’t want to kill you,” he admitted as he turned to face her. That perfect face was paler than usual, enough so the veins under the surface of his skin were visible. And those eyes--darker than the shadows that now cloaked Rosa. He was the pure embodiment of death.

Rosa had never wanted a man more.

“Then what are you doing here?” She forced her tone to remain clipped, despite the desire starting to pool between her thighs.

“A descendant of the family who once lived here,” he began. “He’s paid me to return a lost family crest to him.”

Over her dead body. “Everything within these walls belongs to me. If they wanted some family crest, their ancestors should have brought it with them before they fled this place.”

“I’ve been paid to finish the job,” he insisted.

“Whatever amount they’ve promised you, I’ll double it.” She had more than enough gold to spare. Make enough calculated kills, drink from the right kind of people, and inheriting chests of gold becomes as easy as breathing.

“Come out of the dark. Maybe I’ll consider your offer.”

“Drop those blades,” she compromised, “and I’ll go anywhere you want, Witcher.”

Metal clinked against stone, a riotous sound amongst the silence of the dead castle. Geralt’s hands went slack at his sides. It was a mirage. An act of relaxed calm hiding a hunter about to pounce.

Rosa was precise with her movements, careful to never move within his reach even as she evaded the cover of darkness. His eyes slid along her body so sensually that her body burned everywhere he looked. It was almost enough to get her to step towards him. Almost. She lifted her chin higher, confident in the curve of her hips and the swell of her breasts that he now took in. Blood-red hair curled down her back, stark against the white dress she wore.

He sniffed audibly before muttering, “I didn’t know vampires could be aroused by anything other than blood.”

He could smell the lust dripping between her thighs. It only made her want him more, somehow.

She retorted, “I didn’t realize witchers could be so attractive.”

Silence filled the air as they stared at each other, both resisting the urge to close the distance between them and take what they both were craving.

“Afraid to want a monster, Witcher?” she taunted.

A warning growl was the only response he gave.

“I’ll pay you to leave empty-handed tonight, to return to the man who paid you and insist that this precious family crest no longer exists.” She took half a step towards him--the only amount of distance she dared to close between them. “I’ll pay you in gold. Or, if there’s another form of payment you’d prefer, I’d happily let you indulge in that too.” The smile that tugged at her lips was flirtatious. It only grew as Geralt’s gaze dropped to her mouth, those darkened pupils missing nothing.

He was silent. A man of few words. That was fine--Rosa would be sure to fill the silence as he filled her tonight.

She spread her arms. An open invitation. All he had to do was take it. “Come on, Geralt. Take what we both want.”

Still, he hesitated.

“Would you prefer it if I beg?” she wondered.

He pounced. Half a second passed before he had her pressed against the wall, her back pressed tightly against his chest. She ground her ass into his hard-on. Oh, fuck. The stories of a witcher’s girth weren’t just stories. One of his hands moved to her hip, grinding her body against his erection, while the other tugged hard enough on her hair to force her to look up and back at him.

“I’d like to hear you beg,” he growled.

Yeah, right. She dug her elbow into his stomach hard enough to make his grip loosen on her. A second later he was the one trapped against the wall. She held onto his wrists with a grip so tight not even a witcher’s strength could get him out.

“Sorry, darling, but I don’t beg for anyone.”

Before he could say anything, she licked up the column of his throat. His witcher heart was slow, but his pulse still made her toes curl. She longed to know what he tasted like, longed to know if he tasted better than he would feel when he was balls-deep inside of her.

The sensation of her tongue on his skin made a low growl elicit from the back of his throat, a sound so intoxicating that Rosa did, for a moment, contemplate begging him to fuck her if she had to. She needed this man inside of her, needed him to mark her up and fuck her so well she couldn’t walk right for a day afterwards.

“You don’t beg?” Geralt's voice was a low timber in her ear, making her shiver with arousal. And then his hand was around her throat while the other one went to the sensitive mound between her legs. “Then you’ve never had a Witcher fuck you.”

A moan fell from her lips before she could stop it. Her body was pure reaction now; there was no more room for her pride to decide what she would do. She was merely a reaction to every move Geralt made. She was at his mercy.

In one flash of movement Geralt picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder, carrying her off through the castle like game he’d just proudly hunted down. He stopped at what was once the duke’s quarters, but had been Rosa’s quarters for centuries now. The room was filled with piles of clothes, books, and gold. Crimson sheets were thrown about the bed on the far wall, which was where Geralt strode for now. He was gentle as he set her down but the look in his eyes was wild and ravenous. She had no doubt her eyes held the same kind of animalistic hunger.

“Ever fucked a vampire before?” she questioned as she sat up and started untying his breeches.

“No,” was his simple reply, his voice a deep, rumbling baritone that made Rosa’s stomach knot with need.

She pulled down his breeches enough for his cock to spring free and--wow. Whether it was the Witcher mutation or Geralt had been blessed by the gods themselves, Rosa didn’t particularly care. Not as her mouth literally watered at the site of his thick, long cock, already glistening with precum. Dark curls swirled around the base of his shaft. A thin vein ran along the length of his cock from base to tip and she practically moaned. She wrapped her hand around his length, softly caressing the velvet of his sensitive skin as she began to jerk him off. He growled in approval. It wasn’t long before her skilled hand had him bucking his hips, desperate for her to increase her pace so he could cum. But she continued her slow assault on his throbbing cock, enamored by the look on his face as she teased him. Precum continued to fall from his tip. It mixed with her hand to make a sinful squelching noise. That, along with Geralt’s grunts and growls, was the only sound in the room.

Rosa finally pulled her hand away when she decided she’d tortured the Witcher long enough. His eyes were lidded, heavy with lust, but they widened with arousal as he watched her lick up every last drop of the precum on her hand. With a growl that promised her unbecoming, he splayed a large hand on her stomach and pushed her back. He climbed over her as she relaxed against the bed. His right leg instantly moved between her own, his knee finding a home against her aching pussy.

“My turn,” he growled before moving to hover over her heat.

“Wait,” she called out, her body already humming with intense heat. “You really want to get me off?”

The look in his golden eyes was answer enough.

“Then let me drink from you.” Her voice was breathy, too overcome with lust to sound normal anymore.

He paused, and that lust in his eyes was replaced by a look of distrust.

“I won’t drink too much,” she promised. “But for a vampire, drinking a partner’s blood while being intimate with them is better than anything else. It’ll make me cum long before eating me out will.”

“Which vein is best?” Geralt asked in a low, curious voice, but there was still hesitancy written all over his face.

“The closer to the heart, the better,” she admitted. “Anywhere would do, but blood from the heart, or anywhere around it…” She closed her eyes as she thought about the intoxicating taste of blood straight from the heart. It had been a long time since she’d let herself indulge in it, since tasting blood that sweet normally sent vampires into a frenzy. But the memory of that nectar on her lips made her legs clench, it was that good.

“You stop when I tell you to,” Geralt demanded. His tone was stern, but he was giving in. Indulging her.

Her heart began to beat faster at the thought of drinking from him. “And if I don’t?” Rosa wondered, opening her eyes to look at him again.

The answer to her question was written in his eyes. If she didn’t stop, if she gave in to the monster inside of her, he’d kill her.

“As you wish,” she complied.

He reached a hand towards her. For a second she thought he was reaching for her neck, wanting to pull her towards him for a kiss, but his hand stopped between her breasts, at the dress still covering them. A second later and the dress was torn to shreds, her breasts falling free. Her nipples were already hard from arousal and a low sound of approval fell from Geralt as he observed it. His eyes scanned the rest of her body with hunger.

“Your turn,” she demanded, longing to see his body in all of its naked, muscled glory.

He rose to his feet and began undressing, teasing her as he moved slowly. All she had to do was spread her legs and one look at the sight of her glistening folds made him rush his movements. His body was a glorious maze of muscles and scars--a picture perfect warrior. Dark curls that matched the hair around his cock swirled around his chest and trailed a path down his stomach. An ancient kind of power and strength radiated off of him. Gods, did she want this man inside of her.

Geralt gave her only a few seconds to take in his naked form before he was on top of her, his mouth devouring hers. His tongue was hungry and demanding as it pushed past her lips and collided with her own. She moaned into his mouth as he ground her hips against hers, his cock rubbing against her clit and sending electricity through her veins. Her arousal spiked, and suddenly she could feel her fangs coming out, and before Geralt could break the kiss, she bit his bottom lip. They both moaned--him at the sensation of being bit for the first time, surprised that it could be so arousing for the victim; and her because his Witcher blood was the finest wine she’d ever tasted. Her legs clenched around his hips as she swallowed the first drop of his blood.

It was then that he chose to plunge deep into her folds. She released a cry of pleasure that made the walls shake. Her walls squeezed around him as he continued to enter her, his cock going ever deeper and farther inside of her. Geralt muttered something in a language Rosa didn’t recognize, but she got the message clear enough from the tone: he was loving this as much as she was. The pain of his cock splitting her open was a welcome hurt. It turned her on and made her walls clench even tighter around his length, which only made his growls and moans deepen.

“Fuck me, Witcher,” she cried out.

He obliged her. His hips began to move at an exhilarating rate and the sensation of his cock penetrating her at such an inhuman speed threw her over the edge in a matter of moments. She threw her head back as she cried out, her fangs only elongating further as she came around his unrelenting cock.

Even after the waves of ecstasy calmed inside of her, Geralt didn’t stop fucking her. His hands had moved to her hips in a deathly grip. She was sure to have bruises from where he held her.

“Let me drink from you,” she cried out.

Without even stopping his thrusts, he tilted his head to the side, inviting her to suck at his throat. She pulled him closer to her and clamped her mouth around the soft skin of his throat, letting her fangs break the skin slowly. His movements became sloppy as she began to drink from him, as if it were as much a turn on for him as it was for her. She drank mouthful after mouthful of his sweet nectar. Her entire body lit on fire as they attacked each other, her with her mouth, and him with his cock. This was how she wanted to die, she decided--her mouth around his throat, him balls deep inside of her. It was the closest to heaven she’d ever get.

Geralt let out a broken moan as his cock spasmed inside of her. A second later his hot seed poured inside of her, dripping down her legs and onto the bed. Geralt came longer than most men did, which must have been another aspect of the Witcher mutation, but she loved it, reveled in every second of it. And when he was done, he collapsed on top of her. She pulled her mouth back and forced her fangs to retract. Blood dripped down his neck and dried on his shoulder.

“I didn’t realize you had a biting kink,” she murmured minutes later.

“Neither did I.” He was on his back beside her now, his eyes closed and a droopy smile on his face.

“We’ll have to do this again sometime,” she said, admiring the few of a Witcher fucked out beside her.

He let out a humm of agreement, and then his breaths deepened and slowed. She fell asleep beside him, a smile plastered onto her face. It was the best sleep she’d had in decades.

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Of Monsters and Men

Chapter 6- Betrayer Moon

Summary: Temeria holds a beast that has been said to have slaughtered many. With the sweet sound of coins offered you’re ready for another wild hunt.

Warnings: lil smut we starting out with, gore and blood as per usual, fluff 

Masterlist

Outside the winds are cold and snowy as the night cascades its great darkness over the land of the Continent. But none of that holds any kind of significance as you lay in the warm bed of a village tavern, Geralt's muscular body pressing flush against your heated skin. You hold tightly onto the tousled bed sheets as he thrusts into you over and over again, nothing but the sweet sounds of his grunts and your pleasant moaning filling the darkly lit room but for a simple fire in the hearth.

He deliciously rocks you into the mattress as he gently kisses your sweaty temple, sending bolts of electricity coursing throughout your entire being as you await your building climax. With each new thrust of Geralt's manhood into your entrance, you try and hold back a scream but to no avail. He quickly silences you with a heated kiss, both of your tongues dancing in the dark with one another as he pushes your legs apart even more, his large body taking you all in.

He's a lot to handle but you can take it, no matter what he throws at you. Soon he's a moaning mess as he dumps his load into your clenching walls, hitting your own high just the same, you suddenly claw at his back as he pumps himself into you a couple more times before slowly leaning up to take a good look at your blissfully beautiful face. He gently pulls out of you, falling onto the bed at your side as the both of lay in silence, the only viable sounds coming from your heavy breaths and the crackling of the fireplace.

"So, I heard something interesting today." You begin, turning on your side to lean yourself into his chest as he stares at the ceiling, a satisfied smirk gracing his handsome features.

"Do tell." He quietly mumbles.

"I was conversing with some of the whores by the market today, asking about what interesting creatures have met their eyes and whatnot. When wouldn't you know it, another Witcher had come through this very village." He raises an eyebrow, curiosity catching his interest quick, "Said he fled Temeria with some miners coin when his ass was supposed to be killing their monster. I think foul play." You inquire, absentmindedly running your fingers over his battle scars, Geralt's intrigued by your words but is honestly enjoying himself too much to care about anything else at the moment.

Sighing in deep content he shifts his golden gaze onto you, "Tonight I will blissfully ignore my problems." He muses, closing his eyes as you continue to lightly trail your fingers against his skin, "Just uh...keeping doing that." A drunken smile gracing his sweaty face, as you break out into a grin while your eyes fully take in his glistening muscular form that's laying butt-ass naked right next to you. Oh, how did you get so lucky with a man like him?

The rest of the night is spent inside one another here and there, until you both fall asleep in an exhausted heap of tangled limbs and messy blankets. The next morning you two get dressed and head for Temeria, Geralt wisely leaving Roach with the stable boy until you both come back to retrieve her, whenever that may be.

The hike to Temeria went rather smoothly, no one to bother you and the cold of the winter weather doing nothing to freeze you, considering you're practically immune to feeling cold, another wondrous perk of being half vampire.

As you walk out of the shadowy woodland you look up to see a large abandoned castle stout upon the top of a rocky hill, thick forest surrounding it. Looking ahead you notice as the trail suddenly dives into the earth, lamps held up by steel poles guiding the way in, but before this you stop to read over a poster pinned to a wooden pole.

"Temeria, realm of monsters and cowardly kings." You turn to Geralt with an amused smirk upon your face, "Well it's nice to know they don't hold anything back." You laugh before turning to walk down the descending trail, Geralt smiling as he watches you go.

Your time in the mines was a quick one, the miners and the kings men on the verge of a tiny battle that was stopped by Geralt's calm inquisition. The high guard or whoever the fuck, lead you and your Witcher out of the mines and into the shadowy snow covered woods, you're guessing with interior motives but nonetheless you follow.

As you're walking next to Geralt, with the kingsmen on their steeds to either side of you; all of a sudden you catch the scent of another being lurking in the shadows. Another heartbeat thudding in the night, then not even ten seconds later do the guards fall from their horses, enchanted by some sleeping spell. Geralt quickly pulls out his silver sword as you bare your opened hands, emitting crackling purple lighting from your fingertips, this is sorcery at play and you know just how to fight it if need be.

"You can put down your sword...and calm your lightning. I'm not here to hurt you." Speaks a woman's calm voice, her shadowed silhouette walking into view.

"Says the witch hiding in the woods." Mutters Geralt defensively, sword still held out in front of him as you slowly lower your hands, dissipating away the lightning. You can tell this mage has come with no ill intent, even if you don't adherently feel very fond of such beings, you're wise enough to understand that not all are terrible.

"Sorceress." Corrects the curly haired woman.

"Witch." He growls darkly, you lightly touch him on the shoulder, silently asking him to calm is unneeded anger, he slowly brings his sword to his side.

"Triss Merigold. I serve King Foltest." She serenely replies. A simple mage.

"So he makes a show of kicking us out...then sends his errand girl to slip me some coin so we kill his monster." Proclaims Geralt smartly, believing he's just figured her out.

"Not a very original plan for a king." You add, your brows furrowing in thought.

"It's my plan. My coin. And I don't want you to kill the beast. I want you to help me save it." Assures Triss.

"Save it?" You ask.

Wanting to hear more she takes you both into her area within the castle where she goes into more detail about the happenings in the woods. Geralt leans against a counter as you sit on a wooden table, the both of you facing Triss who stands by a desk and chair directly in front of you.

"Six years ago, stable hands statred vanishing at the castle above the city. Before long, citizens were disappearing throughout all Temeria. Foltest's royal guards soon realized the creature was coming from the crypt where the king's sister Adda is buried. Rumor has it she was having an affair with a young man in town when she died."

oh the drama, you wanted to laugh when she said that but wisely chose against that.

"Was she pregnant?" You finally ask, your curiosity getting the better of you. Maybe that's why this beast is killing people?

"If she were, that would make her child the sole heir to the throne as Foltest never married." Explains Triss as her expression changes to a thoughtful one, "The king fled the castle, ignoring the rising death toll. After Nilfgaard overthrew their king, the Brotherhood couldn't risk it happening again, so they sent me here three months ago to cure the creature."

"Vukodlaks are freak mutations." Says Geralt, mind reeling with what this creature truly is.

"They can't be cured." You add as Triss' brows furrow, "A vukodlak is a type of mutated werewolf, its a beast that conceptualizes in the womb of a dead woman, this woman however must be pregnant. It's rare, but it happens."

"How strange, maybe if I take you to the creatures latest victim then you might have some understanding as to what it actually is."

"Worth a try."

Triss leads you and Geralt through the pre-burial section under the castle where all the dead lay awaiting their final home in the ground. The place reeks of death, spices to mask the dead smell, and too many salts and herbs doing their part to delay the decomposition process.

"Two thousand orens if either of you can tell me what exactly killed these people." Says Triss as all three of you scan over the cloaked bodies laying on wooden tables.

"You didn't want the people to know that it bested a Witcher. And you let them believe that he fled with their coin." Mutters Geralt.

"You two clearly weren't acquainted." At the end of the long cavernous room does she stop at a stone tub of white salt and sand, you can smell the dead man underneath. You walk past both of them before standing in front of the tub.

Taking a breath, you reach down to wipe away the white sand until the caved in chest of the fallen Witcher is revealed. You stick your hand inside the opened chest cavity to gather a mental image of what could be missing. You look over at a curious Geralt, "His hearts missing along with his liver."

"Only one creature I know is that picky an eater. A striga." Explains Geralt while you remove your wandering hand from within the broken rib cage to wipe it off on your pants. You then turn back around to face Triss and Geralt, noting how the mages face begins morphing into that of befuddlement.

"Strigas are old wives' tales." She replies, not completely sure of herself.

You shrug, "They're very rare as are the vukodlak, but they can happen. However the only way to make one is through a curse." You add, crimson eyes trailing over the mutilated body of the dark haired Witcher. So this is really what became of that other Witcher, better him then Geralt, nonetheless he fought bravely.

"Someone wanted Adda dead." Realizes Triss as Geralt hums in agreement.

"But the curse didn't stop with Adda. It turned her daughter into a monster." Triss' head tilts in surprised puzzlement at your troubling knowledge.

"Her daughter?"

"Strigas are female. This striga's a princess." Concludes Geralt with a sigh, his gaze searching for your own perplexed expression as you turn around to face him and Triss who still looks rather disturbed.

"Well then, lets see if this king of yours is willing to let us help." You quip at Triss as you begin leading the way out of the large burial room. "Can't be that difficult now can it?"

——

"Miss Merigold, you were dispatched to settle a family affair, not to enlist a mutant mercenary and a rouge hybrid for a game of sleuthing." Argues one of the kings guardsmen as King Foltest hungrily rips apart a turkey leg, rather disgustingly if you're being honest. He even smells of meat and sweat.

"This is no game, Captain. Tonight is a full moon, Geralt and Y/N have already proved themselves to be invaluable. We believe we can cure the creature." Implores Triss urgently as she vouches for you, Geralt, and her pertinent point at hand. You just lean yourself against the rooms wallpaper as Geralt stands next to you, feeling a bit doubtful that she'll be able to convince any of them.

"You say she's a girl. Then you will refer to her as Her Royal Highness." Directs the kings guard before his other man, who instructed for you and Geralt to leave Temeria only yesterday, walks over to give his two cents.

"Segelin." He says introducing himself before continuing, "I believe urgency warrants flexibility in a court decorum. The Witcher's theory is nonsense. Princess Adda was the people's angel. Who'd wish to murder her?" Implores the man Segelin as his eyes wander over to you and then to Geralt, eyeing you both suspiciously.

"What about her lover?" You inquire, folding your arms over your leather armored chest.

"Seditious rumors. Idle courtesans trading out boredom for jealousy." Quickly replies the kings guardsman giving you a distasteful look.

"Perhaps if you'd call off your guards, if we were able to search the abandoned castle, we could find clues as to who cursed her." Explains Triss, attempting to convince the king. That's not a bad idea.

"Except, these two monster hunters would kill the princess as she sleeps, and collect the miners' coin." Argues Segelin as you simply roll your crimson eyes at the grey bearded man. What's got water up his breeches?

"Call her a princess. Call her a unicorn if you'd like to." Begins Geralt, "She grew inside Adda, feeding on her petrified womb."

"Have you no respect?!" Shouts the guardsmen defensively, the king just continues his gruesome assault on his turkey leg as he listens.

"Mutating. Growing for years till she got so hungry..." Geralt steps closer, the guardsmen laying a quick hand upon the hilt of his sheathed sword as Geralt continues unfazed, "she was forced to slither out. Rotten muscle, bent bones, two spidery legs, claws dragging in the dirt." You watch in satisfaction as the kings eyes flash with disgust. You've got him.

"An overgrown abortion." You add shrewdly, pushing yourself off of the wall as you walk next to the long table, the kings face cast down in deep thought as the other men throw you nasty glares.

"Enough." He snaps, setting down his half eaten leg of turkey.

"Your Highness?" Begins the loyal concerned guardsmen.

"Leave." Growls the king menacingly, his men nodding before making their way for the door, Triss, Geralt, and you following.

Opening up the door first, Geralt politely opens it, offering his hand for the others to follow out, you giving him a wink as you tail the guardsmen who's last to leave. As soon as you reach the doors entrance you quickly shove the guardsmen into the hallway before Geralt quickly shuts the doors on all of them, making sure to lock it as they shout their angry protests.

You listen to the pounding on the wood as you calmly walk past Geralt to the right side of the long table, leaning your hand onto the clothed wood as he casually rests an arm over a great oaken chair, opposite of the king.

"Who's the princess' father?" Immediately asks Geralt with a curious tilt of his head, the king glaring bitterly.

"My men will kill you two, bastards." He warns darkly, Geralt pulls his arm away from the chair to slowly approach him, you standing your ground while he walks past you.

Eyeing up the plump king, you slowly drag your fingers over the wood while taking small steps closer, "Your threats don't shake me, but it's funny...you learn your sister was murdered, and you didn't even flinch." Your sly remark has the king's eyes staring daggers at his roast turkey, while Geralt hums in agreement, walking himself towards a window before turning around to lean himself on a wooden cabinet as he faces the king.

"But the moment I mention the girl's father.." King Foltest purses his lips together, his eyes downcast onto the floor, "Why were you never married?" Questions Geralt smoothly, the king lets out a sigh as he leans back into his chair.

"You are speaking to a king." He proclaims with no heat is in his words, other then something else that he seems to be hiding from you both.

"That's exactly my point. Why not produce your own heir? Why not kill the striga and avoid this revolt? Why drag this all out?" Suggests Geralt, his brows furrowing together at the strange reason for everything that's happened. You walk over closer to the king, his beady eyes following you the whole time, you've already figured out the possible truth. And why must it be so disgusting too?

Raising an eyebrow, you reveal a small smirk to the glaring king, "Between the three of us, and I would dare not tell...who is the striga's father?" King Foltest appears to want to say something, almost willing to answer your question. But instead he looks to the window as he slowly rises from his seat, bringing his gaze back over to Geralt.

"I remember hearing stories about Witcher's when I was a child." He says, voice low and gravely while eying up Geralt, turning his sullen gaze upon you now, "And that of dhampirs. Is it true what they say? That you're neither living nor dead, unkillable but for silver?" Sneers the sweaty king, anger emitting from his every word, "That the mutations that grant Witcher's their...abilities. Also erase your emotions? Must be." He criticizes sharply eyeing the two of you with hate, "Cause only a person devoid of all heart could accuse a brother of bedding his murdered sister while urging him to kill her." Suddenly the doors burst open, a small handful of yelling guards racing in with their weapons bared, you don't even flinch as a second later the king throws a hand into the air, silently commanding them to halt.

He turns to you then back to Geralt, "Leave Temeria. Never return." His command is noted as Geralt gives him a nod before turning to walk out the door. You follow suit and smile at a nervous guard who looks like he might have just shit himself. The both of you silently walk out of the castle, deciding to make a new plan of attack.

——

Crouching on the roof of the abandoned castle as the wind and snow blows past your face, you slowly crawl closer to the front gates. Where two incredibly anxious guards converse about how much longer their post is until they may leave. Quietly you pull out a loose piece of the castles roofing, before chucking it into the direction of a crow where the bird and the ceiling make a loud rackety noise as they take off elsewhere. To your utter satisfaction the two nervous guards yell and book it down the cobblestone pathway and away from the castle.

Well that was easy enough.

Pleased with your harmless mischievousness, you decide to find your own way into the castle while Geralt takes the front entrance. You find a broken rotting part in the roofs wooden beamed structure where you then purposefully slip through, falling down to the floor, catching yourself at the very last moment as you levitate your body the rest of the way for a silent and painless landing.

The castle smells of mystery and dead rats as you walk quietly throughout the gloomy thing, suddenly your ears pricking to the sounds of Geralt and Triss rummaging around in someone's room down the hall. With a smirk upon your lips you stalk closer, listening to them speak about letters from Adda's mother as they both begin walking for the door.

As soon as you catch sight of Triss' oblivious face do you finally make yourself known, turning your skin the color of bluish pale grey, the whites of your eyes turning to black as your scarlet irises practically glow red. You hiss, baring your pearly white fangs, her face contorts into pure dreadful fear as she lets out a surprised scream. Geralt suddenly rushing to her side, his magic at the ready before his concerned face slackens to throw you an amused glare.

Cackling you turn back into your more presentable self, "You two find anything?" You wheeze as Triss gathers her bearings.

Breathing heavily she practically stares daggers at you, "Oh yes, just a fucking heart attack!" She breathlessly retorts, throwing you a harsh glare as Geralt walks past her. The corners of his lips pulling up into a smirk as he catches your entertained gaze, you smiling back at him like a fool in love.

"You're an ass." She mutters, shaking her head at you while she follows Geralt down the dreary shadowed hallway. An enthralled grin upon your beaming features as you tail behind them.

——

Once back inside Triss' lair of sorts within the castle walls, unbeknownst to King Foltest, the three of you let Segelin in on what they found in the ruined castle. He stands, eyes cast onto the letters, "A Queen Mother cursing her own children for their affair." He plops the old papers onto a table, "This could destroy the throne." He says dismally while leaning, both hands pressed to the wooden table.

"Sancia wanted Adda to get rid of the child." Says Geralt, concluding all that appears to be written down in those letters between Adda and her Queen Mother.

"It seems she refused. Repeatedly." Adds Triss while you all stare at the back of the man.

Segelin sighs, "And now she's taken that curse with her to the grave."

Triss clasps her hands together, "You've served the family for decades. Was Sancia involved in dark sorcery of any kind?"

He turns to look at her, "No. Of course not." His expression reveals no faults, yet you feel something is not right here. He's not nearly surprised enough about all of this.

Touching a dangling green plant that hangs out over a wooden cupboard, you raise a brow at him, "What was your relationship to Adda?"

He rests his hands casually against the long desk behind him, "Well, I like to think that she saw me as a confidant." He smiles, "And a protector, even. We used to talk at great length about her troubles. She could be very naïve."

"She ever mention her brother?" Asks Geralt from his place by the wall, a foot or so away from you and Triss' plants.

Segelin looks down at the letters, "Certainly not like this."

"She was ashamed." Says Triss as Segelin turns to face her.

"Or she was frightened. What if the relationship was not.." He pauses a moment like he can't even bring himself to say it, his eyes trail over the three of you, "..consensual?"

Geralt hums in thought at this indeed interesting bout of information, he looks to Segelin, "You think he raped Adda, then cursed the child to cover it up?"

"Well, kings have done more for less."

Geralt's eyes fall elsewhere, "True." He mutters as you mull over everything previously said. This doesn't sit right with you at all.

You take a step away from the plants, "There's only one wrinkle, though." Both Triss and Geralt watch as you stand almost threateningly in front of Segelin, they have not a clue what you're doing. The greying man eyes you nervously, you narrow your eyes at him, "Your scent was on her sheets."

Triss takes a step foreward, "Y/N?"

Your crimson eyes never leave him once, "Old ones...and new ones."

He leans away from you, "What would I be doing in a dead girl's bed?" He accuses, face shifted into a repulsed grimace. You lean in closer so that your mouth remains mere inches from his ear, he's visibly uncomfortable.

"I smelt what you were doing."

You move backwards to stand in from of the conflicted man, he says not a single word as you patiently wait for him to break. The moment lasts a couple seconds more, you can hear how loud his heart is pounding within his chest. His lip quivers, breathing increasing with anxiousness, "Foltest had no right!" Shouts the angered man while you scowl and step away, "He seduced Adda! Abused his position. He was always nagging her for attention. Always nagging! But he didn't love her....I did."

"You cursed the woman you loved?" Denounces Triss like a disappointed mother.

Segelin shakes his head, "I cursed Foltest, not her."

"Countless are dead because of your jealousy."

"Countless are dead because of Foltest!" Protests Segelin, "He spoiled Adda with his seed. He refuses to kill this striga. He lies to his people. And yet you wag your finger in my face."

"If you wanted him to suffer, you could have just exposed the affair." Counters Triss while the three of you stare down the heated man.

"And hurt Adda?" He says softly, "Never. Her memory will not be sullied, not while I'm alive to protect it." Geralt glances from you to him.

"Tell us how to lift the curse."

Segelin pauses a moment before looking defiantly up at your Witcher, "No. Foltest will watch as Temeria turns against him. Just as he turned Adda against me." Geralt hums in response.

Fed up with his excuses you walk up to him, he slightly cowers back before keeping straight again, a snobby expression upon his greying features before you crack him across the temple. Sending him falling to the ground in an instant as he plunges into unconsciousness.

"Y/N." You turn to face Triss.

"What? You were all thinking it."

——

Waiting atop the crumbling castle roof where this striga is soon to be, you watch from above as Geralt and King Foltest speak about how you and him will handle the princess. He gives the king Renfri's brooch as a gift for the princess incase Geralt does not live to see the light of day. You watch the king and his men finally leave, letting Geralt enter the dying castle as he looks up towards the roof for a second before turning his gaze for the wooden doors.

Taking the same route as earlier in the day, you soon find yourself in Adda's room. Segelin tied pathetically to the wooden beams of the dead princess' bed as your unwilling captive. Geralt brooding by the window as he thinks of what to do next, none of you truly having a solid clue as to what should be done about this royal striga. You watch when the greying man glares at you, blood smeared across his lips from your abrupt assault not even an hour ago.

"The both of you! This is madness!" He cries angrily, tugging at his cloth restraints, "What are we doing here? What's happening?" He wonders while searching desperately around the room for a nonexistent answer.

"How can we lift the curse." Mutters Geralt, his leather armored back to you and Segelin.

Segelin shakes his head, "No! This is not right. Foltest must pay for what he did." Whines Segelin once more, you simply fold your arms in irritation as the man looks to you for a sign that you care, which you most defiantly don't.

Rolling your eyes, you scowl at him, "You're already too blind to even comprehend your own faults. This is what you get for your childish actions." You mutter bitterly as he glares hopelessly at you, frustration clearly evident on his dirty face.

"Carry me out. I order you." Demands Segelin as Geralt turns around to face the desperate man. "Tell us how to lift the curse." He orders, Segelin huffs in frustration, avoiding Geralt's intimidating gaze.

In a blur of black and grey your hand is suddenly around his neck as his eyes go wide in stunned alarm, your squeeze isn't enough to choke him, but you're hopeful it's enough to change his mind. "I'd advise you to listen well, your life is already standing on the edge of a knife." You hiss maliciously in his ear before releasing him, he lets out a dramatic gasp as his wide eyes follow your every movement.

He turns his attention from you to Geralt as his mouth opens to finally answer, "Sh-She was hiding from the Brotherhood. She sold me a lamb....Sh-She told me to wait until a full moon, to wait and then to kill it." He stammers, Geralt crouching down to meet his eye level, "And then I recited some silly chant. And then I bathed in the lamb's blood until sunrise. Until the rooster crowed three times. And that is all. I swear. I swear. Now please let us leave." Begs Segelin desperately as he fruitlessly pulls against his constraints, your face falling into a frown, understanding immediately what this idiot has done.

"What was the chant?" Wonders Geralt, his brows furrowing in thought while he stares daggers at Segelin who looks down in frustration.

"Uh..It was years ago." Protests Segelin as he tries to think up the chant, "It was Elven. Um..." Suddenly he begins reciting an Elven curse, your eyes going wide in realization as Geralt shares a quick wary glance with you before racing over to his bag of potions, earning a confused expression from the bound man.

"Wh-what is it? The..I...I've done what's been asked. What more can I do?" He wonders in blissful ignorance as you let out a pissed off huff of air.

"You've done more than enough you perverted fool, unless you can keep a fucking striga out of her crypt until a fucking rooster crows three times." You snap while unsheathing your dagger, his face falling in frightened understanding as Geralt fumbles around with his potions, trying to find the right one to take before the action starts.

Segelin's eyes go downcast, his whole aurora turning to pure dread, "You're gonna have to fight it till dawn." He murmurs softly, staring at the far wall as Geralt downs a potion, his eyeballs turning into two pools of inky darkness. You turn, hastily walking for the door as Geralt quickly follows behind you.

"No. No. Come back here! Please. Please! You'd leave a man bound to die in such indignity?" He cries desperately, pulling on his restraints but to no avail.

"You're not a man." Growls Geralt as he takes his place by your side, the two of you walking down the dreary hallway as the snow falls lightly from outside the nearby broken windows, you catching the scent of the beast on the cool night air.

"Remember not to kill the princess, Y/N" Implores your Witcher with a smirk, you simply roll your eyes.

"We'll see if you can last till dawn my love, I don't doubt it." You retort, a suggestive tone hidden in your voice that's most definitely caught by Geralt.

The hallway breaks off into another section of the abandoned castle, you giving him a nod before turning in that direction, deciding it best to take on the royal beast from two sides if he gets caught up in some trouble. You silently walk down the dusty corridor past rotting wood and broken glass, cracked pieces of stone and the occasional human bones.

The enthralling shriek of the striga bellows throughout the castle walls, it's high pitched scratchy scream sounding like a knife that's stabbed you in the ears. Without another thought you race down the entrance-way towards the sounds of a great messy struggle, the princess has found Geralt, and she doesn't seem too pleased.

Turning round another stony corner, you halt dead in your tracks as your scarlet eyes zero in on the striga who's completely manhandling your Witcher, throwing him this way and that, deflecting every punch he's throwing at her. He suddenly rips a lamp from the wall and uses it to crack her across the side of her grotesque wrinkly head. She stumbles back at the violent impact, pain running throughout her body before she quickly recovers, hurling him backwards with a fiercely strong blow.

As Geralt falls onto his back you swiftly race down the hallway as the striga climbs on top of his armored body. She doesn't hear you coming, or when you electrocute her without warning, sending her flying into the nearby wall as she screeches in pain. You stop to help Geralt up, your right hand crackling with energy as he stands and glances down at the light emitting from it, then over to the pissed off princess. Who almost immediately recovers from her abrupt assault, she stands, her umbilical cord dragging as she stalks over towards the two of you.

In an instant she charges, a piercing scream sending your ears into agony at the frantic noise as Geralt lunges for her, grabbing her shoulders as he throws her against the brick wall.

For the next couple hours would you and Geralt take turns beating on the striga, down this hallway and that, into doors and wooden walls, crashing into cabinets and breaking more cracked windows through the struggle. Every fucking time she would recover and throw it back at you ten fold, like nothing had even happened in the first place.

Racing across the hall to Geralt's aid, you electrocute the royal beast just before she's about to bite into his exposed jugular, she falls back as you get closer, preparing to hopefully knock her ugly face unconscious for a while. You're slowly getting more and more fatigued with every couple minutes that fly by, this fucking striga giving you a real run for your money. No matter how much stamina you have.

But as you get within a few feet from her, she whips around, slashing you across the face with her razor sharp claws. Sending you flying into the wall as a hot stream of blood pours out of your freshly opened wounds. Dazed, you try and raise yourself from the ground and watch as Geralt gets pinned down by the striga once again. You blink back your blurry vision, painfully raising your hand as lightning brightly emits from your opened palm and fingertips just as Geralt uses his magic to break the stone flooring from right out under him.

Himself and the striga immediately falling through the broken floor and straight to the crypts below. Rising to your feet, you can feel as your facial wounds begin to fuse the skin back together again, your injury a thing of the past except for the strips of blood that mark it's path.

You hastily limp over to the hole in the ground, looking down to find Geralt laying in the rubble before slowly getting up. Without another thought, you jump down, landing hard on a pile of rocks as the unconscious striga lays motionless next to you. Pulling yourself up from the wreckage, you tiredly shuffle over to the center of the room as Geralt puts an enchantment onto the doorways so that the creature cannot escape.

"I don't know about you but I could think of ten different ways we could have spent tonight." You jest, breathing heavily as you hold onto your aching side, Geralt hums in reply before turning around and freezing, his face morphing into wariness as he gives you a concerned look. You turn around to see what's bothering him, only to find absolutely nothing, which is most definitely the problem.

"Oh fuck." You whisper as Geralt cautiously walks over to you, the both of you looking around the room as you stand back to back.

You hear a dull rapid thudding of a heartbeat before suddenly the striga jumps down from the crumbling ceiling to pounce at Geralt, she lands, whipping her hand across your chest as she picks him up, throwing him into the nearby stone pillar. You stumble back at the abrupt impact, watching as Geralt gets his ass beat by the pissed off striga, it throws him into another pillar, quickly turning around to race for the open doorway. But before it can get through, the white force field knocks her back, she snaps around once more shrieking in rage, bolting on all fours towards Geralt.

You pull your bruised and tired body onto your feet, reaching your hands out to send volts of hot white lightning into the vessel of the striga, sending her into a cruel stone pillar as she screeches in misery. When you look to your left a beautiful streak of orange sunrise emits from an opened spot in the roof, you breath heavily as the striga and Geralt take notice of the sunlight. Your eyes go wide as the creature races for the safety of her dirty crypt, you trailing behind her as Geralt jumps to his feet to follow.

Your boots pound against the gravely stone of the abandoned crypts as you valiantly throw yourself onto the furious princess while she attempts to launch herself into her resting place, she falls into the wall as your hands smack onto the cracked floor.

"Get in the fucking crypt!" You scream at Geralt as he makes a mad dash for the opened tomb, heeding to your rushed words without a second thought.

You watch as he falls into the stony coffin and shutting it just as the striga launches herself onto the thing, her cries and horrid wails sounding noisily throughout the large drafty room. Picking up a fist sized rock you chuck it at her, cracking her perfectly across the back of her grotesque head.

"Your royal pain-in-the-ass, come and get me." You taunt, lightning crackling from your fingertips as the angry princess snaps her attention to you.

She jumps down and immediately pummels you into the rocks as you send harrowing sparks of electricity into her body that thankfully throws her backwards, your vision going blurry once again. Gods your head hurts. Dark spots cloud your sight as you rest on the rocks in exhaustion, your side most definitely hurting as your eyes flutter closed.

You awaken to the sounds of Geralt as he opens up the tomb and steps out to walk over towards the princess, a concerned and astonished expression crossing over his dirty features. Pushing some ruble from your legs you finally stand and slowly walk down the small stairway as Geralt leans down to see if the princess is actually okay, considering her naked mud covered self is facing away from you both.

You can hear as her heartbeat picks up in pace, but before you're able to warn him, the princess turns around and in a confused rage pins him to the ground just as she sinks her teeth into the side of his neck. She falls back in fear as Geralt's pained gaze finds your own bloody face while you race to his side. Your eyes going wide as he lays upon the stony ground, blood seeping out from his mouth and ripped neck as you try and put pressure on it.

Tears slowly begin building up in your shimmering irises, "No. No. No...Geralt, look at me...look at me." You desperately plea as his golden eyes try and stay open for you, but he's slipping as more blood spurts out from his wounds, "Don't you fucking leave me you prick, not now of all times, or places. Geralt!" You cry as his eyelids flutter shut, his breathing slowing down as you try and cover his bleeding neck the best you can, not sure what to do. If you leave and try to get help he'll bleed to death, but if you stay then his chances are less grim but still uncertain.

Your mind swirls with what's the best course of action when suddenly you hear the rushed steps of Triss coming to your aid, and just in the nick of time.

——

Leaning yourself into the welcoming comfort of Triss' plush lounge chair, you watch as she mixes some more healing ingredients into a marble bowl at her work counter. You touch the side of your torso where a white linen wrap tightly hugs around your aching side where you fell on Geralt's silver sword. It throbs under your soft touch, but due to your immaculate healing capabilities your wounds will not bother you in a couple days time.

Turning your head lazily to the right to find a sleeping Geralt laying on the bed, recovering from his own injuries, you idly smile at his peaceful yet considerably less dirty form. Suddenly his eyes fly open, a puzzled expression upon his handsome features as Triss calmly turns around.

She smiles fondly at him, "Your scars. You heal quite nicely, if not for Y/N's blood you would most certainly be dead." She concludes knowingly as Geralt gives her a confused look, "She dropped some of her blood into your wounds to speed up the healing process. It was more effective then I had first realized." He turns to face you, a relieved sigh escaping from his parted lips.

You smile back at him, "Don't worry about the princess, she'll be fine, Triss has arranged for her to stay with the Sisters of Melitele." You chime in with a shrug, "Also she had her first bath."

"You should know Foltest issued a statement. The honorable Lord Ostrit gave his life to slay the vukodlak. Miners are gathering ore for a statue." Adds Triss with a grin as Geralt attempts to get up, "Anyone else would've killed the princess. You both chose not to." She finishes as Geralt painfully rises into a sitting position, a grimace upon his sweaty face.

"We'll take our coin now. I need to get back to my horse." Grunts your eager Witcher as he sits on the side of the bed, pressing his hand against his wrapped torso. Triss only grins in reply, walking over to hand him the leather sack of coins. He quickly takes it with a nod, Triss turning to flash you a knowing smile before excusing herself from the area.

Turning to Geralt with a frown, you search for his eyes as they glance around the room before landing on you, "Lay down you idiot, I watched you bleed out and go as pale as a ghost." You lightly argue, he sets the coins onto the makeshift bed as he finds your frowning gaze once more, "If I hadn't been there to give you some of my blood...fuck...you'd be dead. So don't you dare try and get up or I'll give you a reason to be in pain."

His stern face suddenly breaks out into an amused grin, "I'd rather not face your wrath my dear, although I wouldn't mind a couple more hours here if you decide to lay next to me." He suggests with pleading eyes, ones that know exactly how to win you over.

Leaning into the soft back of your seat, you cross your arms over your chest, "You're sweating, honestly still smell a bit, and your sheets are stained with blood..." You add with an inquiring raise of your brow, "How could I ever say no to such an alluring offer?" He breaks out into a beaming smile at your humored words, his heart just about fluttering in his muscular chest as you suddenly rise to your feet, walking over to him before crawling over to his other side near the wall. You turn to face him, a hand propped up against your head while you watch him lay down once again. His back touches the mattress as he turns his head to face you, a blissful smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

"Yes. That's the face right there, the suave steely golden eyes that I've fallen in love with. No matter how beat up you get...you still make me feel things."

"What kind of things, hmm?" He wonders with a lazy smirk as he watches your face break out into a small smile.

Trailing your delicate touch over his old scars, you look over to him with tired eyes, "Things I wouldn't even dare share with the very stars in the sky, nor the moon herself. And I tell her everything." You muse before leaning over to kiss his exposed shoulder. You listen as he hums in delight while you scoot yourself close enough that your whole body is flush against his, "Just sleep for now, love. You've had quite the rough night...and that's putting it lightly. I honestly thought for a moment that...that uh...I might have lost you." He searches for your hand, holding it tightly as a small way to comfort you while he locks eyes with your own downcast ones.

"I wouldn't dare think of ever leaving you alone in this world, not for a second. Y/N you mean more to me then all the coins and jewels combined, more then...uh..."

Laughing you shift your face to gently kiss his bare shoulder before looking up at him once again, "Geralt, there's not a lot of things that you love. That's honestly some short list you've got there...but it matters not, I'm your favorite person in the world and that's all I need to know."

He smiles adoringly at your closing eyes, sleep tenderly calling to you by the second as you hug him closer. He stays silent, wanting to listen to the calming thumps of your relaxed heart beat as your mind drifts into slumber. Closing his own tired eyes, he finally lets sleep take him into darkness where no monsters of any kind wait to hurt him. He's safe in your arms as you're safe in his, the two of you blissfully enjoying one another's company after a taxing hunt.

-

Tagged: @notahappytree​ @ashleyforeverareject​ @sokkasdarling​ @kmuir1​@haleypearce @diegos-butt​ (@auds24 sorry idk why ur name won’t work)

[contemplativepancakes]

of stolen shirts and sorrow

4.5k hurt/comfort, happy ending. read on ao3 here.

Blood bubbles up between Geralt’s splayed fingers. He presses down as hard as he can without risking causing more damage. Jaskier moans faintly, and Geralt tries not to panic. 

He fails. 

It wasn’t supposed to be Jaskier that was in harm’s way, it was supposed to be him, should have been him lying on the ground with his blood seeping into the dirt, but they had been caught unaware, and there had barely been time for Geralt to unsheathe his sword before Jaskier had cried out beside him. 

Jaskier had stayed standing long enough for Geralt to dispatch the werewolf with a vicious slice of his sword, blood spraying from its carotid as it fell to the ground and twitched. There wasn’t time for anything with more finesse. Geralt took a moment to feel sorrow that he had to kill it when his intention had been to come here to cure it, but it had been snarling and advancing towards Jaskier again, and Geralt couldn’t take any more chances.

Geralt whirled to Jaskier, and Jaskier dropped to the ground, sitting down hard and looking pale. Geralt’s eyes shot down to where he was clutching his stomach, blood dripping through his fingers and staining them red. Geralt whipped his head around to be sure there wasn’t anything else waiting for him to drop his guard before he sank to his knees beside Jaskier, helping him lie back.

Now, Geralt takes a deep breath, trying to center himself, before scrabbling at Jaskier’s clothes, ripping his shirt open so that he can better assess the damage, and he can almost hear Jaskier making a quip about it, pouting that he liked that shirt, Geralt! But Geralt’s not sure that he’s ever going to be hearing Jaskier’s voice again, because the wound is even more severe than he thought now that he’s looking at Jaskier’s bare torso. 

A grunt comes from Jaskier again, determined to prove Geralt wrong even with the color starting to drain from his lips, and Geralt’s mind races, thinking about how he’s ever going to fix this. This is too much for him to solve alone, he thinks. He eyes the growing pool of blood worriedly, knowing how much blood someone can lose before they teeter off the cliff of no return, and Jaskier is closer than Geralt would like to admit. There’s no sign of the bleeding stopping anytime soon, so he further rips Jaskier’s shirt into wide strips to tie around the wound, hoping it’ll help staunch the bleeding. 

He bites his lip and picks Jaskier up, hoping he’s making the right choice, and not one he’s going to regret while staring at a tombstone, but Geralt tries to block out the worry. Jaskier needs him right now, and Geralt has to focus on that.

He clicks his tongue, and Roach approaches him skittishly. Geralt drapes Jaskier over her rump, settling him so he won’t fall off or be jostled too much, because Geralt knows that is the last thing he needs right now. He wants to mount Roach and gallop away to help, but he has to go about this the right way. If he’s not fast enough, Jaskier will die, and if he’s too fast and Jaskier’s wound doesn’t manage to start to clot, he’ll die, too. Geralt takes a deep breath and absent mindedly runs his bloody hand through his hair, taking Roach’s reins in hand and leading her along the path at a fast walk. They’re close to the outskirts of Temeria; the proximity of the werewolf being why there was a contract in the first place. 

It had been killing a farmer’s sheep, but Geralt regrets coming here in the first place. Farm animals were certainly not a fair trade for Jaskier, who’s cool and clammy to Geralt’s touch, his breath coming in rapid wheezes. 

Geralt speeds his pace.

By the time he makes it to the walls of Temeria and shouts to the guards that he needs help, he needs their mage, Jaskier’s face is white and bloody covers Roach’s flank. It seems like the bleeding has slowed, so Geralt allows himself to take heart. “Go!” he shouts at the guard closest to him, who’s just standing there and staring uselessly.

The boy startles, because now that Geralt has taken a closer look, he can see that that’s what he is, a boy, and he’s probably never seen this much blood before. He turns on his heel and runs, and Geralt desperately hopes it’s for help and not to flee.

Geralt lifts Jaskier gently from Roach, who’s now prancing anxiously, and sets him flat on the ground. He takes a second to stroke Roach and murmur reassurances, and she settles a bit before he turns his attention back to Jaskier. He presses his hands over his hasty bandage, reapplying the pressure. He hears shouts in the distance, and he hopes Triss is on the way with her potions.

He looks back down at Jaskier, who has blood that’s starting to trickle out his mouth. He makes a wet gurgling noise, and Geralt wishes he could do more. All of his elixirs would be toxic to Jaskier and only make things worse, and he desperately hopes the metaphor doesn’t extend to himself, even though he thinks it does.

This never would have happened if Jaskier wasn’t with him. Geralt had argued with him, said werewolves were unpredictable, but Jaskier said he would be fine at their camp, thank you very much. Geralt could go and try to shove the potion down the werewolf’s jaws, and Jaskier would work on his latest ballad.

Jaskier had cut off his protests with a kiss, and Geralt found himself powerless in the face of that. The tangled threads between them had become even more twisted in the last month, with Jaskier finally getting fed up with Geralt and calling him an idiot before pulling him in and kissing him.

Geralt had been shocked. He had never dared to hope that Jaskier would ever return Geralt’s feelings, because who would love a mutant, but Jaskier had said that he’d say it however many times Geralt needed to hear it.

And now he might not ever hear it again.

All of a sudden, there are soft hands pushing Geralt out of the way, and Geralt resists until he realizes that it’s Triss, here to help Jaskier. Geralt slumps in relief and backs away, watches Triss hover her hands above the wound and pull small glass bottles from her satchel. He wraps a hand around his medallion, vibrating as Triss begins her work. He looks on helplessly while she mutters incantations and pours the contents of her bottles on the would until she takes a step back after what seems like an eternity. Jaskier’s breaths seem to be coming a bit easier. There’s no bloody foam around his mouth anymore, at least, so Geralt will take it.

“That should stop the bleeding and stabilize him for now. Let’s get him out of the street,” Triss says, pointing to the cart she arrived on.  

Geralt swallows hard and leans down, pushing some of Jaskier’s soft hair off his sweaty forehead before gathering Jaskier in his arms and lifting him into the cart, settling him on the straw. Geralt climbs in after him, sitting down and ignoring the way the straw scratches at his skin. Jaskier moans and clutches at Geralt’s hand.

Geralt’s heart clenches. “Hey,” he says, uncharacteristically soft, “it’s okay, all right?”

Jaskier squeezes his hand weakly. Geralt raises their linked hands to his mouth and kisses Jaskier’s knuckles. “You’re going to be fine.”

Geralt looks towards the front of the cart, and Triss jerks in her seat, caught staring. “I’m going to take care of him for you, Geralt,” she says softly.

The words get stuck in Geralt’s throat. He grunts and runs a hand down his face. Damn it. This is all his fault.

“What happened?” she asks.

“We were… fuck, we were trying to cure a werewolf. I should have never let him come with me, but I was going to make him stay well away from its hunting grounds, and it was supposed to be fine.” Geralt waves his hand, his eyes catching on the blood caked underneath his fingernails. “It was supposed to be fine,” he repeats helplessly.  

Triss puts a hand on his shoulder, and Geralt lets himself draw comfort from the touch. His heartbeat has finally started to slow again, but he can still smell the sour scent of his own distress, mixed with the metallic tang of blood. He slumps against the side of the cart.

By the time they make it to the castle, Geralt’s adrenaline is starting to crash, but he still gathers Jaskier in his arms again and carries him where Triss directs. He waves off the offers of help; his clothes are already bloody, anyway, no one else needs to ruin theirs.

He carries Jaskier up a spiral staircase before he reaches Triss’s chambers and settles Jaskier on the bed. “Can you undress him for me?” Triss asks, as she bustles around behind Geralt, her fingers flying as she mixes herbs and other ingredients together.

Geralt swallows hard. His fingers hover over the buttons of Jaskier’s shirt, but it feels wrong. They haven’t got this far yet, and Geralt doesn’t want this moment to be the one he associates with shedding Jaskier of his clothes.

He sighs and takes Jaskier’s shirt off, pinching the bloody thing between his fingers and letting it crumple to the ground. He’s going to burn it, if Jaskier lets him. Well, even if he doesn’t. Geralt doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to see it again without flinching, no matter how well of a repair job Jaskier does.

He undoes the laces of Jaskier’s trousers, so Triss can take a look at where the wound extends down his torso, but it stops at his waist, so that’s as far as Geralt goes. Triss hums her thanks as she starts to gently rub a poultice over the wound. “This will lessen the pain and keep him unconscious until his body regenerates enough blood,” she explains.

“How long will that be?” Geralt asks, resolutely not giving into the urge to fidget.

“A few days. Maybe a week. You’re lucky you got him here when you did.”

Geralt lets out a heavy breath through his nose. All his fault. “Hmm.”

Triss straightens up. “He’s going to be fine, Geralt. The wonders of magic, huh?” She nudges his shoulder. “He just needs rest, now.”

Triss leaves them, and Geralt takes a seat by the bed, looking over at Jaskier’s motionless body, save for the slight rise and fall of his bare chest. Geralt runs his fingers down Jaskier’s chest curiously, before jerking away like he’s been burned. He’d always wanted to know what Jaskier’s chest hair would feel like under his fingertips, but this isn’t how he wanted to find out.

Jaskier might have expressed his enthusiastic support for the idea of them while he was still able to walk and talk, but Geralt thinks he might have changed his tune by now. Why would he want to be around Geralt when all Geralt’s brought him is suffering and pain?

Jaskier could have had a very comfortable life by now, but instead he insists on traipsing around after Geralt. And look where it’s gotten him.

Geralt stands up, thinking very hard. His eyes drift to Jaskier’s ruined shirt on the floor, but he lets it lie. It’s unfair of him to do this to Jaskier. He’s keeping Jaskier in a sort of limbo, stopping him from having the normal life that he deserves. Jaskier should have someone who can take care of him better than Geralt. Geralt’s been doing a piss poor job of it so far.

Geralt steps towards the doorway before hesitating. This is for the best, but… He’d like a reminder of this, something he can look back on and remember just how full his life was, once. He remembers what it was like before Jaskier came along, and it’s almost unbearable to think of going back to that, but he has to. For Jaskier’s sake. What if the next time he dies? Geralt wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

Geralt steps towards Jaskier’s pack, which has somehow migrated here. He supposes Triss brought it; she’s good for things like that. He digs through it until he finds a doublet that Jaskier doesn’t wear very often but is Geralt’s personal favorite. Geralt reasons that it’s the tales of his adventures that paid for the shirt, anyway, so really, Jaskier owes him this one small thing.

Geralt brings it up to his nose. It smells like Jaskier.

-

When Jaskier wakes, he’s alone. He tries to sit up, but there’s a sharp pain in his side that feels like someone tried to carve out his spleen. It gets even worse when the door opens, and there’s no sign of Geralt, just a woman he doesn’t know. Generally speaking, these sorts of things don’t tend to work out for him.

“Where’s Geralt?” he croaks, and it comes out as an accusation.

She casts her eyes upward, before looking back down at Jaskier. “He left.”

“What? Without me? Why? When is he coming back?” The questions bubble out of him without his permission.

The woman hesitates. “I… don’t know.”

“Come, he surely must have said something.”

“Geralt? Say something?” She gives him a wry grin.

Jaskier shakes his head. She’s right. “He didn’t say anything about returning?” he asks again, just to be sure before his heart sinks all the way to his feet.

She shakes her head.

This is all Jaskier’s fault. If he never would have gotten hurt, they would have still been travelling together, and Geralt wouldn’t have thought he was too much of a burden to drag along any longer. Melitele's tits. What is he going to do now?

-

Geralt scuffs his boot against a tree trunk while Roach looks on disapprovingly. “I know, I know,” he grumbles. “You miss him. But this is for the best.”

He’s not sure who needs more convincing: him or Roach.

He putters around, setting up his camp for the night and trying not to think of what Jaskier is doing now. His brain decides to seize on the werewolf instead, and Geralt sighs, sitting down heavily with his back against the tree. The bark is scratchy, and there’s a stone digging into his ass, but he doesn’t move. It’s just the start of what he deserves, anyway.

The werewolf should have been cured, it should have been them that Geralt rushed to town for care, not Jaskier. But now, because of his ineptitude, the werewolf is dead, and Jaskier almost died. The cure that sits in his satchel mocks him. He had mixed it together hopefully, with the best intentions, but it was worth fuck all in the end.

Roach paws at the ground, and Geralt knows his distress is making her nervous, but he just doesn’t have the energy to sort out his feelings right now. He pulls his cloak over his head and tries to sleep.

He’s unsuccessful, of course. His thoughts won’t stop stampeding through his head, and his ears are picking up on every sound of the night. This is one of the times when Jaskier would do his best to distract him.

They’d barely been together for a month before it all went awry, and this, this is why Geralt doesn’t get close to people. There’s nothing but misery in his future, and he dragged Jaskier into it.

Geralt smells a storm on the horizon, and he sighs. Typical.

-

Jaskier watches the rain outside, running his fingers over the droplets that race down the window. Triss had left him a few hours ago, telling him he could stay until he felt fully healed. He traces his fingertips over the wound; it’s hard to believe that it was life threatening with how well it’s looking now. Pink and tender to the touch, but a far cry from gushing blood like Triss had told him it was.

Triss had also told him that he woke up not fours hours after Geralt dumped him on her and fled. Triss didn’t put it like that, of course, but Jaskier can read through the lines well enough. He racks his brain back to the last thing he remembers. He can dimly recall teasing Geralt, sneaking Roach a sugar cube, and then things start to get blurry. There was a...snarl? He knows they were looking for a werewolf, but Jaskier wasn’t supposed to get anywhere close to it in the first place.

No wonder Geralt didn’t want him slowing him down anymore, if Jaskier’s intestines are just going to spill out of him at the first sign of danger. His side throbs at the reminder, and Jaskier gets up to rustle through his pack and find a shirt so he can cover his wound.

He’s looking for a particular shirt, one Geralt had always liked, because Jaskier’s not above a bit of self-flagellation when a breakup is still so fresh, but he can’t find it. Great. He had always saved it for special occasions, because life on the road tended to not be great for the longevity of his clothing, and now he’s gone and lost it.

It’s probably for the best anyway. He doesn’t need to dwell on the memories. But, it’s too soon for him to completely move on. Heartbreak is the best muse, and all that.

Jaskier unties his bundle of parchment and pulls out a clean sheet, along with his quill and inkwell. He dips his quill in ink, but no words come. He wants to write something scathing about Geralt, for leaving him behind like he’s worth nothing at all, but the lyrics don’t come as easily as the other ballads he’s written singing Geralt’s praise.

Jaskier stares at the page for a few more minutes, but all he manages to write is The. He scratches it out and sighs, pushing his paper aside.

-

Geralt drums his fingers and looks skeptically at the paper that’s just been slapped in front of him.

“There’s a pack of ghouls, right along the path to town. We’ve lost two supply wagons trying to pass through already!” the man tells him.

Geralt looks up at him, raising his eyebrows. “How do you know they didn’t just pocket your coin and disappear?”

The man throws up his hands in exasperation. “Are you going to take the job or not, Witcher?”

“Fine. I’ll look into it.”

In the end, it turns out not to be ghouls, but a graveir. Similar to ghouls, but larger, nastier, and venomous. Geralt rustles through his satchel, looking for the elixir that will cure it. He was off balance and too slow the entire fight, and now he’s paying for it. Geralt downs the elixir and yanks his fingers through his hair, trying to get rid of some of the guts. He attempts not to think of Jaskier.

When he makes it back to the inn where he’s staying, he takes a bath before he makes his way outside to the stables to check on Roach. He gives her a solid pat along her flank before he rustles through her saddle bags, where Jaskier’s shirt lives.

He brings it up to his nose. It smells like both of them, and now Geralt finally knows what it would have smelled like if he had let Jaskier get close enough for the scents to meld together. They’d been on their way there, for sure, but Geralt had had too many hang ups for it to truly go anywhere in the short amount of time they had where they both knew how the other felt before it all went to shit.

He takes it back up to his room and puts it beside his pillow, letting the scent soothe him to sleep.

-

Jaskier looks down at the ruined shirt in his hands. Money has been tight since Geralt left and all Jaskier’s inspiration followed him. He hasn’t written any new songs in months, and he thinks the crowds can pick up on his melancholia no matter how many cheerful songs he performs, because his takes have been pitiful. He supposes part of the problem might be the fact that he refuses to sing about Geralt, and those had always been his most well liked songs. Jaskier always skirts around any requests for them.

He scrubs at the shirt, trying to get the last traces of blood out of it. Once he’s successful, he pulls out his needle and thread. It’s so tattered that he’s going to have to patch it, but he’s always been good at starting new fashion statements. He replaces the ripped off buttons and pokes his tongue between his teeth as he selects the fabric for the patch.

-

Geralt’s not sure how much time passes before he allows himself to bring the shirt out again. Time seems meaningless, and he’s taken as many contracts as possible, trying to keep busy. Roach hasn’t been happy with him, and he knows he should let her rest, so that’s why he’s packed it in for the night. The break will do him good, as well, he supposes. Assuming he can actually manage to fall asleep, which is by no means assured.

He stares out at the swamp for an hour before he breaks down and pulls out the shirt. He takes a deep sniff. It smells like him. Only him. He flings it back down in disgust.

He gets up and pauses for a second before stooping down to pick up the shirt and stuff it back in the saddlebag. He ignores Roach’s snorts of displeasure as he gets her ready to move on.  

-

Jaskier walks along the road, trying not to cough as carriages pass him, kicking up dust in their wake. It’s not good for his vocal cords, but he hasn’t been doing much singing at all, these days, so he doesn’t let himself worry about it.

He trudges along, lyrics swirling through his mind, but the urge to stop and write them down doesn’t come to him. His toes throb from where they’re trapped in his shoes, adding to his body’s cacophony of complaints against him. He’s not sure what the next town is, but he’s more than ready to arrive.

Jaskier squints into the distance as he sees a bit of dust somewhere farther down the path. It’s moving towards him, but it’s not big enough for a caravan or even a singular carriage. It’s someone else walking alone, and Jaskier’s immediately put on guard.

His hand slips into his pocket, where he keeps his knife. He keeps his hand on it as he’s just able to make it the outline of a person dressed in all black in the distance. It feels like someone’s turned his knife on himself as it makes him think of Geralt.

The person is leading a horse, and Jaskier’s breath catches in his throat.

It can’t be… but as he gets closer, Jaskier can tell it is. He smooths his hands down his clothes uselessly and resists the urge to tame his hair into something that doesn’t look like a squirrel’s den.

He debates what to do. Geralt’s the one who left, so he must not want to see Jaskier, must be upset at this unhappy little coincidence, even if Jaskier is desperate for any sight of Geralt he can get.  

Jaskier’s set to walk past him, his eyes on his feet, just a fleeting glimpse up to satisfy his curiosity—it’s plausible to say he didn’t recognize Geralt, right?—when a hand lands on his elbow.

“Why in the fuck are you wearing that shirt?” Geralt asks, and it’s such an odd question that it stops Jaskier in his tracks.

“What?” He looks down at himself.

He’s wearing the shirt he patched, and he huffs in offense. He thought he did a fine repair job. He shoulders Geralt out of the way and keeps walking.

“Wait, Jaskier,” Geralt says, and it’s the closest to a plea he’s ever heard Geralt get. He stops.

“How are you?” Geralt breathes.

Jaskier just stares at him in confusion. He’s not sure what Geralt’s aim is. How is he? “How do you think I am?” he snaps.

Geralt looks cowed, and Jaskier feels bad for a fleeting moment before he remembers Geralt is the one who should be contrite. It was Geralt who left him high and dry when he needed him most.

Geralt swallows hard, and Jaskier follows his line of sight to see that Geralt’s focused on where the scar in his side is.

He lifts up his shirt so Geralt can see, forgetting to be angry for a second. “It’s healed up very nicely, if I do say so myself.”

Jaskier looks back at Geralt, but Geralt’s just staring at the scar with a haunted look. “I’m fine, Geralt,” he says in exasperation. “If it wasn’t for you, I would have been dead.”

“If it wasn’t for me, you would never have been in that situation in the first place.”

A realization starts to dawn on Jaskier. “Did you—is that why you left?”

Geralt glances down.

“Geralt, if it wasn’t for you, a cuckolded husband would have most definitely done me in before then.”

“But—”

“I’m serious,” Jaskier says, putting his hands on his hips. “You don’t get to make choices like that for me. We make them together, okay? I’ve been miserable.”

“Me, too,” Geralt grumbles, and Jaskier’s surprised at the admission.  

“Good. I’m glad that’s settled, then. You didn’t have to drag it out for so long, you know.”

It seems like Jaskier shouldn’t be letting Geralt off the hook this easily, but he’s been nothing but desolate since Geralt left. He’s sick of waiting.

His magnanimity only extends so far, though, so Jaskier brushes past Geralt to pet Roach, trying to contain his smirk at the look on Geralt’s face. Jaskier pets the soft velvet of Roach’s nose, and she bumps his hand when he stops.

He rustles around in Roach’s saddlebags, looking for a treat for her. His hand brushes past some soft fabric. That’s odd; Geralt doesn’t keep any of his clothes in this saddle bag. He pulls it out, gaping at what’s in his hand. “What’s this?”

Geralt scratches the back of his neck. “I wanted a reminder of you,” he admits in a small voice.

Jaskier’s grin turns smug. Geralt was always saying how impractical his clothing was. “I thought my shirts were foolish?”

If Jaskier didn’t know better, he’d say there’s a blush on Geralt’s cheeks right now. “I never said that.”

“You absolutely did. Do you take it back?”

Geralt grunts, stepping into Jaskier’s space and wrapping him in a hug. “No.”

Jaskier pouts, and the resulting laughter from Geralt is something that he wants to keep hearing for the rest of his life. He hopes Geralt gives him the chance.  

thank you @witcher-and-his-bard for the idea and the read over! <3 it is definitely your fault that this got so angsty, i take no responsibility

[noladyme]

The Princess Frog. Epilogue

She had no wish to be bound down to anyone, but Y/N none the less found herself being dragged across the continent; to marry King Foltest of Temeria.  Instead of pomp and spectacle; she was accompanied by the witcher, Geralt of Rivia. Their travels would bring both monsters, lust, love; and heartache. All sound tracked by an endearing buffoon of a bard, named Jaskier.

TW: Violence, language, sexual themes. Rated M.

I hope you have enjoyed  reading this, as much as I have enjoyed writing it. Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in any of my future writings.

- no lady

Tag list:

@ayamenimthiriel​

Epilogue - The Queen Frog

It was spring. The flowers in my private garden were budding; and a few were in full bloom – making them ripe for harvest. I walked past the chamomile; inhaling the sweet smell. It made me think of my Tootie. Thrude had passed a year ago – Eist having sent a letter with the information, and his warm condolences. Not long after, Mousesack had visited me. His grief was deep; but he had told me that seeing me still wearing her frog around my neck, brought him much joy.

“Mousesack; was I hurting Thrude, when she healed me as a child? Was she draining herself for me?”, I’d asked. The wizard laughed out loud. “Do you think all she was feeding you was chamomile and honey?”, he guffawed. “My dear; Thrude had years of training as a vöelve before you were even born. She knew how to heal using plants and other medicines; that was what she was using on you”. He took my hand. “She also didn’t have your powers. She was teaching you how to use what you had naturally in you; by using the words, that would help you in the future”.

And I was learning to use them properly. Triss saw to that.

Ylva had got a cut to her arm while in a tussle with a drunkard in a tavern, who had told her women couldn’t be soldiers. She’d insisted she didn’t need treatment; but I couldn’t let my personal guard walk around with cuts and bruises that might fester. So, I was preparing a poultice of celandine and wolfs aloe. Saoirsheen walked up to me, as I was kneeling in one of the flowerbeds.

“Your majesty, he’s here!”, she smiled broadly. Saoirsheen had been with me, as my lady in waiting, ever since Cynnes had passed from old age three years before.

My heart leapt; and I smiled broadly. “Where is he?”, I asked, almost giddily. “He’s shoving grapes into his mouth in your dining room”, she smirked. I quickly wiped my hands in my apron, and took it off; handing it to her. “How long has it been?”, she asked. I frowned. “Not since Foltests and my two year anniversary, I think”, I answered. “There was that midsummer feast the year after that”, she smiled. I scoffed a laugh. “Yes, but he was piss-drunk; and had his face buried in the countess De Stael’s cleavage”, I said. “Right”, Saoirsheen laughed.

I walked into the door of the kitchen; then made my way up the stairs, and down a hallway to my private chambers. Ajvin was standing outside the door to my dining room. “Is it true, my queen?”, he asked; his voice shaking with excitement. “Is it really him? Will you introduce me?”. I smiled and nodded. “I will, Ajvin”, I said. “You will see him at the feast, and I will introduce you to him. Maybe he’ll even let you accompany him in a song”. I winked at the man. “For now, I need to speak to him privately”. Ajvin nodded. “Yes, your majesty”, he said, and stepped aside.

I opened the doors to the room. I never had guards outside my chambers – or inside – except for Ylva. It made me feel uncomfortable to constantly be watched by anyone else.

By the end of the large table – in my own seat, no less – sat a blue eyed; brightly smiling man.

“Jaskier!”, I said. The bard sprang to his feet. He ran over to me; and took my outstretched hand; kissing it. “Princess!”, he smiled. I raised a brow at him. “Queen…”, I smirked. Jaskiers smile broadened into a grin. I put my arms around him for a warm hug.

We went to sit by the table. I gave the bard a light tap over the back of his head, when he went for my chair. He took a seat next to it instead. “Did you eat most of the fruit already?”, I jeered. “I had to”, Jaskier answered. “I was worried you might start throwing it around if I didn’t”. I laughed. “How have you been?”, I asked. “You know…”, he said. “Travelling. Falling in love. Performing. Falling out of love. Almost died from a djinn-attack…”. “That sounds like a story!”, I said. He smiled. “I haven’t written the song yet”, he winked at me. “So, my queen. You have asked me to come here for a certain reason”.

I nodded. “Adda’s 20’th birthday-celebration”, I said. “She was very clear that she wanted the great bard Jaskier to perform. I think she has a crush on you, from when she saw you at that midsummer feast two years ago”. Jaskier’s face lit up. “Really?”, he asked. I frowned at him. “Don’t even think about it bard; or I’ll have Ylva cut of your bollocks and serve them to you on a plate”, I said menacingly. “Besides; she’s still… having troubles controlling herself; after her difficult beginnings as a striga”. Jaskiers face scrunched up. “I’ll make sure not to butter that biscuit, then”, he muttered. I threw a grape at his head. He laughed. “There she is…”, he smirked.

We sat in silence for a few minutes. “He’s here…”, Jaskier suddenly said. I looked at him; my breath hitching. “Here?”, I said. Jaskier nodded. “He owed me a favor from… almost getting me killed”, he answered. “I insisted he travel with me here, as my bodyguard”. I smirked. “Last time you did that; he ended up with a child of surprise”, I said. The bard laughed nervously. “Yes well, I trust you don’t have any pregnant princesses wandering the halls”. I scoffed a laugh. “No pregnancies here”, I said. “We avoid them. Like the plague”.

Jaskier sighed. “He wanted to come”. “He said that?”, I asked, and poured myself a goblet of mead. It was Jaskier’s turn to scoff. “It’s Geralt. Does he ever say anything, unless he has to?”. He used to say many things, I thought to myself.

I took a large sip of my drink. “The feast”, I said. “Tonight. You will perform?”. Jaskier nodded. “Of course. But I thought you already had a court-bard.”. “We do”, I laughed. “But in all honesty; he’s terrible”. Jaskier laughed. “Why keep him?”. I smiled warmly. “He’s a good boy; our Ajvin”, I said. “And he’s managed to spawn 4 children with his wife. He needs the pay”. Jaskier grabbed my hand. “You’re a good queen, your majesty”, he said. “And a kind woman”. I grinned at him. “Maybe; but I still have the mouth of a fucking sailor!”.

We laughed together; when suddenly there was a knock on the door. “Yes?”, I called. My good friend – the court-enchantress – stepped in. “Triss!”, I smiled. “You’ve arrived! How was Aretuza?”. She smiled. “Filled with the grunts and moanings of old men; as per usual. I’ve come to celebrate the princess. I’m in desperate need of some cheer and good times”. I stepped over to give her a hug. “Well then”, I said. “Let’s have them!”. Triss nodded. “Yes”, she said. “But tomorrow – training!”. I scoffed. “I’ll be hung over…”. The enchantress smirked at me. “All the more reason to train. It’ll wake up your brain”.

I hadn’t used my powers for anything serious since my run in with O’Dimm. There had never been reason to. But they remained there; and I knew I had to control them.

Saoirsheen came into the room then. “Your majesty. I was unsure whether you wanted the velvet or the silk gown tonight”. I frowned. “Hel’s ass; can’t I just wear pants?”, I said. Triss laughed behind me. “Come, bard”, she said. “Our Zaba has preparations to make”.

They went to leave through the door. “Jaskier!”, I called after them. “If you sing that song…”. I looked at him menacingly. He grinned at me. “I’ll take my chances”, he winked; and he and Triss left the room.

---

I was standing in my bedchamber; brushing my hair. He’s here. It was like a jolt through my body, just thinking of Jaskier’s words. I wondered if he’d changed. I knew I had. I was older; though only a few years – but I knew that those years on the throne, had rid me of at least some of the rough edges of my former life.

I’d taken my role as queen seriously. My husband had been respectful, even kind. And he listened to me; and guided me through the complicated politics of court life. I recalled how terrified I’d been; standing in front of the grim man at our wedding. Not a smile had ghosted his face at any point of the ceremony. Just hardness. So I had taken him as being that. Hard. Cold. I’d had so much to learn.

Our wedding had been grand. I’d kept from crying my way through it, by reminding myself of the people that needed me to be here. Jaskier had told his most thrilling stories, and sung his best songs – even on my wedding-day I could not avoid The Foulmouthed Princess of the Skellige Isles. It had made my new husband laugh heartily. The first time I saw him smile.

I remembered that night with him – our wedding night – as we had shared a meal in private; before we were to go to bed.

I was picking at my food; heart in my throat from what was to come. And I remembered Geralts eyes before he turned around, and walked out of my life. “My lady”, my new husband suddenly said. Not my queen or my wife. “It is vital to me, that I make it clear, why you are here”. I gulped. “I am at your disposal; your majesty”, I whispered. “I need a queen at my side; and a mother for my daughter”. Foltest drained his goblet, and looked at me. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had the urge for a bedmate; so, I shan’t be bothering you for that”.

I was flabbergasted; sat, mouth agape. The king took my hand in his own two. “You will have a crown; a home; and public displays of my chaste love. And your cousin and his wife will have my armies”. He looked down. “My heart still belongs to my daughters’ mother; however repulsive you might find that. I hope you can live with me on these terms. If not…”.

I sighed, swallowed; and looked up at him, meeting his pained eyes. “And what of friendship, and respect?”, I said. “Friendship?”, Foltest asked.

“I can live with you on your terms. But I cannot be a puppet to be put on display, whenever it suits your majesty. I wish to be heard; and seen as a queen and woman in my own right”.

Foltest stifled a laughter, and narrowed his eyes at me. “I was told you’d be a handful”, he murmured. “I will treat you with whatever respect you earn from me; and I promise never to be unkind. Should this seem to you as friendship, I have nothing against it. I’ll welcome it”.

I smiled and nodded. “Then you have your wife”.

He put a chaste kiss on my hand. “And you have a husband”.

So, I was queen. And it was good, for many people. My cousin. His wife. Those were less important to me.

But then there were people like Saoirsheen; and others like her; who needed a safe haven, that I now had the power to create for them.

Ajvin and Lysa; and their brood of children. The bard sang and performed as best he could – bringing cheer and laughter to the courts hearts, every time he played a false note.

Filivandrel and his people – whom I’d promised to stop Nilgaard from using me for evil.

Ylva and her pack. She’d never gone back; but in stead was now my greatest protector and personal guard. Flaxon had showed up shortly after the wedding with a sour expression on his lips; and I’d informed my husband of his crimes. “Your majesty; you’d belive this woman over me?”, Flaxon said. “You ask me if I believe my wife – the queen – over you?”, Foltest said. “Yes, Flaxon. I do”. He’d been stripped of his rank; and now spent his days in a Maribor cell. The one I had been placed in myself, those years back.

Five years. Five years of learning and growing. Days of boring meetings, where my husband would roll his eyes at me behind the back of his counsellors. Days of working with Triss; and riding the fields and forests outside Vizima, on my stallion – Bayrd. I’d been a mother. Not to a child I had given birth to myself; but to a teenaged girl with a troubled heart and mind. And I’d guided her, best as I could, with the help of Triss. I would tell her fairytales about moonwraiths and witchers, succubi and bards. And I’d stroked her hair when she could not sleep from nightmares. I loved Adda, and she loved me. But she was difficult.

Saoirsheen joined me in my chamber; carrying a purple velvet gown. “Oh gods”, I said. “Not that one!”. Saoirsheen smiled. “The princess insisted”, she smiled. “Mother looks so pretty in that one, she said”. I sighed defeatedly. “Fine”, I said, and took the bundle of fabric from my ladys hands. Saoirsheen went to look for shoes for me. “Would you like to take a bath before the feast?”. “No”, I said. “After. I think I’ll need it to calm my nerves”. The half elf smiled. “He’s in the courtyard”, she said. I looked at her. “Thank you, Saoirsheen”. She set a pair of shoes on the floor in front of the bed, and took her leave.

I walked to the window; and looked down into the courtyard. I found him instantly.

He was talking to one of the stable-hands; with a very serious expression on his face. The man nodded – looking terrified – and took the reins of a red mare from him; leading it into the stable. “Not next to the black stallion!”, I heard the witcher growl after him.

My breath hitched; and – as if he’d heard me – he looked up. His amber eyes found mine; and I parted my lips – having to remind myself to breathe. Looking at me; his expression was warm and strangely sorrowful. His lips twitched into a smile for a second.

It was as if we stood there for hours; just looking at each other. Suddenly, his head turned; and I saw Jaskier walking towards him. The bard patted his shoulder, and said a few words; before looking up and meeting my eyes with a grin. I nodded at them both; and stepped away from the window.

I had to sit on the edge of the bed for a second; to control my shaking hands. Saoirsheen came back into the room. “The king is expecting you, madam”, she said. I nodded; and begun the task of getting dressed.

Purple velvet; draping over my body; like a 10 layer cake. White, frilly lacing across my chest, and at the bottom of the sleeves and skirt. I put on my necklace – the one with the small frog landing between my breasts. Saoirsheen managed to tame my hair into a somewhat regal style; and I went to join my husband, outside my chambers.

Foltest took my hand and kissed it. “You look beautiful, my queen”, he said warmly. “I look like a fucking dessert”, I said. He chuckled; and led me down the stairs to the great hall.

---

Horns blared when we entered the room. “Yes, yes. We’re here now”, I muttered bellow my breath.

Adda was already dancing; sashaying around a young count, who was having great difficulty in keeping up with her energy. I nodded at Triss, who was in deep conversation with a visiting wizard from Ban Ard - looking terribly bored.

Foltest and I went to our thrones – ridiculous things that I hated sitting on – to overlook the festivities. Adda looked at us and waved, with a grin on her face. Jaskier was playing a happy jaunt; and she skipped over to him, twirling around in front of him. He smiled cheekily; before looking at me. I raised a brow at him, and winked, then gestured at Ylva; who was lurking menacingly in a corner. The bard gave a nervous giggle, and returned his focus to his lute.

“We’ll have to get her married off soon”, my husband murmured. I sighed. “Yes, well… you know how I feel about that”. He frowned. “She’ll have the choice of man she wants”, he said. “I just hope she makes the right one”. I squeezed his hand. “We’ll guide her”.

“I received a letter from your cousin today”, Foltest said; taking a sip from his goblet. I’d turned him on to Skelliger mead. “With 10 barrels of your favorite, I’m guessing”, I said. He chuckled. “You know me too well”, Foltest chuckled. “He sends his best, and speaks of his grandchild”. I clenched my jaw. “Anything in particular?”. I had not seen Eist in years; and knew very little about his and Calanthes grandchild – the child of Pavetta. Pavetta herself, had drowned while travelling from Skellige to Cintra; and I knew that it must have broken Calanthes heart; making her overly protective of the child. “Not much. It grows healthily”, Foltest said. “Good”, I said quietly.

I was deep in thought, when suddenly the king sat up straight. “Is that the witcher? Geralt of Rivia?”. I looked up.

The doors had opened; and there stood Geralt – stripped of his weapons, and looking very uncomfortable. My mouth opened; but I couldn’t speak. “I haven’t seen him since he brought you here”, Foltest said. “Five years”, I muttered. “Yes”, my husband agreed. “I owe him a great thanks for his service”, he said smilingly. I tried to match his smile; feeling very short of breath. “Bring him forward”, the king said to his crier. I dug my fingers into the armrest of my throne; convinced that I’d fall of my seat if I didn’t.

“Geralt of Rivia; witcher!”, the crier called out, and an embarrassed looking Geralt stepped forward. He looked at Foltest, and nodded. “Your majesty”, he said. His voice still sent shivers down my spine – dark and brusque, but bellow it, a great warmth. His eyes met mine; and he got on one knee – bowing to me. Geralt doesn’t bow to anyone. He took my hand; and kissed it – the feeling of his lips to my skin an instant reminder, of where else on my body they had been. “My queen”, he muttered. He stood back up, facing Foltest.

“Witcher”, the king said solemnly. “When I saw you last, I did not thank you, for your protection and care of my wife”. Geralt smiled. “The honor was mine”, he said. Foltest laughed. “Come now, witcher!”, he said. “We both know she can be a bloody pain in the ass!”. Geralt laughed; and I bit my cheek to avoid saying something un-queenly. “None the less, my friend”, Foltest said. “I am honored to have you here for this celebration. Just don’t start any fights, or claim any children”, he jeered.

Geralt looked at me somberly. “Am I to understand congratulations are in order?”. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. “No”, I said quickly. The first word I had spoken to him in five years. Foltest took my hand. “Alas, the gods have not blessed our union with any children”. He looked at me meaningfully. I smiled. Geralt narrowed his eyes at me.

Foltest drained his goblet. “Well”, he said. “I brought you forward to thank you, and so I will. Thank you, witcher”. He kissed my hand. “Now; I will go dance with my daughter. Sit with my wife; entertain her. She’s been very bored lately; I’ve noticed”. Foltest got up; and went to join Adda.

Geralt sat down in the chair next to me. We were quiet for a while. “A-are you well?”, I stammered. “I am”, he grumbled. We were quiet for a moment longer. “And you?”, he said. “Yes”, I smiled. Geralt looked towards the floor, where my husband was lifting my stepdaughter into the air; and twirling her around – to great applause and cheer from the guests. Jaskier was making a grimace; and trying to nod approvingly at Ajvin; who was playing his best rendition of The Fishmongers Daughter.

Geralts body so close to mine sent waves of warmth through me. “Does he… treat you well?”, the witcher asked. I smiled. “He treats me like a queen”, I answered. Geralt grunted. “With all that entails…”.

I looked at him and laughed. “Are you jealous of my husband, witcher?”. He scoffed. “What? The sweaty sister fucker?”. I frowned softly. “My husband…”, I began. “My marriage… it’s turned out very differently than what I had imagined. In spite of the sister fucking”. I took a large gulp of my mead. “How so?”. Geralt lifted a brow at me.

I sat up straight; trying to look completely at ease with our conversation. It wasn’t like it was his business – but I felt that he should know. “My husbands… carnal desires, aren’t much to speak of”, I smiled meekly. “I haven’t been with a man since…”. I bit my lip. “Your wedding night”, Geralt said. I met his eyes. “Since you…”. Geralt looked stunned. “Oh!... well…Fuck!”, he said. I smiled. “Well, not really”, I said. He chuckled and nodded. “Right…”.

Foltest came back to sit with me; panting. “I am getting to old for this”, he said, out of breath. “Do you dance, witcher?” “I do not”, Geralt chuckled. I smiled. “You don’t dance. You don’t sing”. I raised a brow at him. “Is there anything you do?”. He smirked at me. “Kill monsters and tame frogs”. I laughed. Geralt stood up and nodded his head at us. “I should go fulfill my duties to the bard”, he sneered. Jaskier was being held against a wall by a baron; who’s blushing wife stood by, looking at the scene. Geralt took my hand, and kissed it again. “Your majesty”, he said softly. He narrowed his eyes at me. “That dress looks ridiculous on you”, he whispered. I chuckled in response. The witcher went to help his friend.

“He made you happy”, Foltest muttered. I looked at him in shock. He squeezed my hand and smiled warmly at me. “I might be old, but I’m not blind”. I looked down. “I want you to be happy, wife”, my husband said softly. I sighed. “He did”. Foltest nodded. “We need drinks and music. Bard! Sing that song we talked about”.

Jaskier – having been let lose by the baron – stepped onto the middle of the floor; and began.

“Once a lady from Kaer Trolde fared, with skin so smooth, and beautiful hair. She held the heart of many a man; but mouths stood agape, when she speaking began.”

Foul mouthed lady, be kind onto me And I’ll be your thrall, I will never flee. Foul mouthed princess, have mercy, I plea And I shall be ever a servant of thee

The foulmouthed princess of the Skellige Isles The foulmouthed princess, the foulmouthed princess, the foulmouthed princess of the Skellige Isles!”

---

I partook in the festivities as long as I could manage; before – with a smile to my husband, and a kiss on my stepdaughter’s cheek – I retired to my chambers. It was good to see him, I thought to myself. He would be gone in the morning.

As she’d promised; Saoirsheen had had the maids prepare a bath for me. I shed myself of the monstrosity Adda called a dress, and was about to step into the tub; when I realized that they’d forgotten to leave towels for me. I didn’t want to call out for help. I hated being waited on; and only accepted Saoirsheens help; because she was more friend than servant. In combination, she and Triss made me feel like I was still in my Tooties warm embrace.

I wrapped myself in a robe; and went to the door, to make my way to the linen closet down the hall. I opened the door; and was met by Geralt. “Saoirsheen said…”, he began. “She said to bring you these”. He handed me two towels – one for my hair, another for my body. I took the towels. “Thank you”, I said, meeting his eyes.

I stepped back for him to enter. He looked around the room. “It’s very different that a tavern”, he said. “Or a wood shack”, I smiled. He grunted a smile back.

I went to lay the towels next to the tub. It was steaming. “I was about to have a bath”, I said. Geralt nodded. “Yes, of course”, he grumbled. “I’ll come back”. He went for the door. “No, please!”, I halted him. “Stay… talk. It’s been so long. The water is to hot anyway”. He smirked. “That’s never been an issue before”, he said. I chuckled. “Five years in a castle and on a throne has made me a weakling, I’m afraid”, I said. “Never”, he muttered.

I looked at him; unsure what to say. “B-but you. You’ve not changed…”, I said. “Never more than what I told you that time”. I have changed. You’ve been a part of that change. He looked at me meaningfully. I swallowed hard.

“There must have been someone else, witcher”, I said. Geralt grunted. “There was… maybe is…”. His expression became tentative. I smiled. “Our lives are different now”, I said. “I always knew… You don’t owe me anything, Geralt. You are allowed to love”. He sighed deeply. “I did love…”, he said; and met my eyes. “As did I”, I answered quietly. He frowned. “And now?”, he asked.

I took his hand, and pressed it to my lips. “You wrote your name on my life”, I said. “As I wrote mine on yours. What we were… are… no one and nothing can change that”. The witcher smiled softly. “What we’ve taken and given”. I nodded. “I can’t say that you will always have a place in my heart; because that would mean that you’d left it”. He grunted, and squeezed my hand.

I sighed. Take it. “There is another place you will always have, though. A place I know you will have to leave”, I said. “But… it will always be here for you when you come back”. He looked at me confusedly. “What do you mean?”, he said. I smiled; and slid my hands behind his neck. “For all your improved eyesight, witcher…”, I said, “… you are blind”. I pulled his face to mine, and kissed him.

It had been so long, but the warmth; the passion… it was all there. Geralts hands found my waist; pulled me to him. “Little frog…”, he breathed. “Always”, I whispered. Our kiss became heated – his warm body familiar; yet new. His tongue tasted like a million unspoken words. Words that he had saved for me; but could never utter. I pulled back.

“You can send me away”, he said. “I won’t”, I whispered.

Squeezing his hand; I stepped over to the door, and bolted it. I felt him moving up behind me; and his hands slid around my torso; as he drew in the scent of my hair. “Still…”, he said. I smiled at the sensation of his warm breath to the back of my head; and turned around to face him again.

I put my hands on his chest. “I want…”, I began. “Yes?”, he said. “I need…”. He pulled me towards him; and slid his finger from my chin; down my collarbone; and rest it by the pendant between my breasts. “Tell me, your majesty”, he smirked. My breath hitched; as the finger slid behind my robe; and found my breast – stroking softly just above my nipple. “Geralt”, I breathed. “Will you let me finish my sentence?”. He chuckled softly; and let his hand cup my breast - his thumb stroking the nub of the nipple. “If you can…”, he said. “Tell me. What is this place you have for me?”.

I took his free hand and drew it down my torso. “Here”, I whispered; and placed it between my legs; letting his fingers find my folds. He groaned as he found me already wet from want. I threw my head back and gasped; almost throbbing already, when his index finger slid between my labia; stroking the path from my nub to my entrance, and back again. “It is a good place”, he smirked. “Then explore it more”, I moaned.

He growled; and pushed me against the door; sliding two fingers into me. “I have missed this place”, he chuckled. “It is warm… slick… always wanting”. I mewled. “It’s wanted you for five years”, I said. He leaned in to me; pressing his fingers deeper inside my warmth. “Hmm”, he breathed into my ear. “That must be why it is so much tighter than I remember”. His palm began massaging my bundle of nerves; drawing swearwords from my mouth, not even I knew I had in me.

Geralt used his free hand to open my robe; and pull it off my shoulders – before dropping it on the floor. “I think the bath is cool enough. Let’s go warm it up again”. He drew his fingers from me – making me moan from the lack of contact – and put them in his mouth, tasting. The look of pleasure on his face; was enough to make me gasp and my tunnel tighten.

“I want to undress you”, I said. He smiled, and stepped back; letting my arms free for my task. I opened his jerkin, and pushed it off his shoulders; making it hit the floor with a bump. Running my hand across his chest; I walked around him. I slid my hands under the hem of his shirt; running them up his back, and lifting the fabric along the way. He helped me pull the shirt over his head.

I gently kissed the scar on his shoulder, where – so many years before – I’d treated his wound from the fight with the foglets. Cinnamon and neem. No chamomile. I felt him shiver under my touch. “Are you cold, witcher?”, I said. “Or do I scare you?”. He chuckled. “You’ve always scared me little frog”, he said. “But no more than now”. I stepped in front of him, and tilted my head. “What are you afraid of?”, I asked. He looked suddenly apprehensive. “That I’ll close my eyes; and when I open them again, you will be gone”. I smiled. “I’m here”, I said. “Now remind me that you are as well”.

Geralts eyes grew dark; and I swallowed hard, remembering what that expression on his face had led to, when we knew each other before. “Bath”, he growled. I gasped as he picked up my naked body; and carried me to the large tub. He leant down; as if to gently seat me in the warm water; but stopped a few inches above the surface – found my eyes, and grinned at me. “Geralt…!”, I managed; before he let go, dropping me into the water with a splash. I heard him laugh as I was resurfacing; and rubbing the water out of my eyes. “You’ll pay for that!”, I snarled; without being able to stifle my laughter. He quickly removed his boots and breeches. “I have the best currency right here”, he smirked; and released his hardness from his pants. My jaw dropped. I have missed you, I thought; sitting face to face with that most cherished part of his body.

Geralt stepped into the tub; making the water splash onto the floor. He sat down facing me; and realizing I was too stunned to move; he pulled me onto his lap, so I was straddling him. His fingers found my folds again. “Remember that night?”, he breathed. I moaned. “I remember many nights”, I smiled, panting. “At taverns… in haylofts… against trees… under the stars”. He chuckled. “You were so angry”. He slid his fingers into me again; his palm against my clit. “So beautiful”. I began riding his hand. “You wouldn’t let me come in the bath”, I breathed. “You made me wait”. He put his free arm around me; and pulled me close. I threw my head back and closed my eyes. “I won’t make you wait this time”, he growled into my ear; and his fingers and palm worked in perfect coordination – pushing and rubbing – until I was just about ready to come.

“Look at me”, he demanded. “I want to see your eyes”. Panting and mewling, I opened my eyes, and met his. His pupils were blown from lust; and his lips were pulled back into a snarl. “Do you want this?”, he asked; and I nodded with bated breath. “Then come for me, your majesty!”. His hand moved faster; and without breaking eye-contact; I rode him into extasy. My loins felt like they combusted; and my walls clenched around his fingers. In the end, I collapsed onto his chest.

He gently drew out his fingers, and removed the hair from my face to look at me. “This I remember”, he smiled. “What?”, I panted. “My well and fucked look?”. He growled. “I haven’t fucked you yet”. I felt his hard cock twitch against my stomach; and I smirked. “Well, as long as you’re here…”, I said. He narrowed his eyes. “Not yet”, he said. “I seem to remember as well; that you have a mouth on you”. I bit my lip. “That fucking lip”, he rumbled; pulled my face in for a kiss; sucking hard at my lower lip. “Get up”, he demanded.

I got out of the bath; my body dripping with water. Geralt got up behind me; his member rigid and wanting. “Bed”, he said; and with bated breath I walked over to the bed; seating myself on the edge of it. “No. On your knees”. I narrowed my eyes at him. “Are you asking the queen of Temeria to kneel for you?”, I smirked. His eyes were animal. “I’m telling you, woman; to get on your fucking knees and face the bed”. With shaking legs and a pounding heart; I did as I was told. “Good”, the witcher said; passing me to sit down in front of me on the bed. He looked at me for what seemed like forever. Then his face warmed, and he smiled. “Please”, he said. I smiled up at him.

Sliding my fingers around his shaft; I placed the head on my tongue; instantly recognizing the taste of him. I let out a moan; and slid him into my mouth. He groaned above me; sliding his fingers through my wet hair. I ran my nails down his torso; playing with the hair there; before gently cradling his testes. I bobbed my head up and down; never breaking eye-contact with the witcher. He smiled at me so gently; making me feel as if I had never looked more beautiful.

“How many nights I have thought of you like this”, he moaned. “Your hair wild, and your eyes… Shit!”. He cried out, as I took him deep into my mouth, sucking and swallowing; so he would feel the tension around his hardness. “Careful; someone will hear us!”, he breathed. I pulled him out; and pumped his length. “No one will hear us”, I said. “My rooms are empty at night, save for myself – and the occasional guest”.

Geralt looked at me wonderingly. “You said you hadn’t been with anyone since me”, he breathed, as I continued pumping him; and lapping at his tip. “I said I hadn’t been with any men”, I smirked. Geralts eyebrows raised, and he chuckled at me. “You’re always a surprise, woman”, he said. I stroked my tongue from the root to the tip of him. “I like to think of my life as a series of journeys”, I smiled. He placed both his hands on the sides of my face; drawing me to him. “Well”, he rumbled. “Let’s go on another one”.

He met my lips; and let the tip of his tongue met mine; before picking me up by the waist; and straddling me on him. I grabbed at his cock; desperately wanting him inside me; but he took a hold of my wrist; stopping me. “No”, he said. “No?”, I asked. He bared his teeth. “Hungry”, he growled. My eyes widened.

As if I weighed no more than a small animal; he flipped me around; laying me on the bed. He grabbed me behind my knees; and tugged me towards him – the sudden jolt of it making me gasp. He kneeled in front of the bed, and looked into me. “Has it changed much?”, I smiled at him. He exhaled and narrowed his eyes. “I’m not sure yet. I’ll have to taste it”.

I drew in a breath; and his lips closed around my folds. He stuck his tongue inside me; after which he slid it up between my labia – letting it flicker over my nub. “Still sweet”; he said softly; before diving in again – taking the same route. “But more…”. He paused. “What?”, I breathed. He sent me a wicked smile. “Royal”. I laughed; which soon turned into a mewl, when he once again dove in to me. He flattened his tongue; and stroked it up and down my slit – all along holding my hips down; so I couldn’t move. “Fingers!”, I moaned. I heard him chuckle, and he slipped his fingers into me again; pressing upwards. His lips closed around my nub; and he suckled at it. First softly, then hard – as if he was in fact trying to devour me. My legs began shaking; and I once again saw stars and contracted around his fingers.

As I was still laying – panting – Geralt moved up my body; wiping his face of my juices. “I think I’ll have you now”, he growled smilingly. My breath heaving; I nodded, and spread my legs further for him to enter me. “No”, he said. I was dumbfounded “No? Geralt!”, I panted. He smiled. “I don’t want to use you up to fast”, he said; sliding his hands around the outsides of my breasts. He sucked at my left nipple; while pulling at my right. “I don’t think I ever had you here”, he said.

My lips parted. “No, you didn’t”, I said. “May I?”, he said. I bit my lip; and he groaned; catching my mouth in a brutal kiss; before straddling my waist, and placing himself between my breasts. He pushed my warm mounds around his hardness, and began thrusting slowly. He was careful not to place his full weight on me as he went; but his eyes were wild – the amber staring all the way into my soul. I scratched my nails down his chest, and he growled.

He was pulling at my nipples as he thrusted, sending sparks from them to my core. My small mewls every time I felt one of them, made him smile. “I will have to be careful I don’t come like this”, he groaned. “You were always able to continue quite soon, after you’d finished”, I smiled. “Yes”, he said. “But I want to come inside you”. He lifted himself off me, and looked at me; eyes suddenly soft. “Can you take me?”, he asked “It’s not been long since you came last, and I don’t want to…”. “Just fuck me, Geralt”, I said, and laughed. He smiled widely.

“Do you remember that first night we laid in bed together? At the inn?”. He ran his fingers from my collarbone, between my breasts; all the way down my stomach; ending up in my curls, playing with them. I laughed and nodded. “I thought you hated me”, I said. “I’d just tried to run away; so you tied me to the bed”. He placed himself between my legs; and lifted my knees – leaving me open for him. “That whole night I was pretending to sleep. In reality I wanted nothing more than to press my body against yours, and…”, he slid his fingers between my slick folds, opening and entering me, “… slide in to you”. His breath was warm against my neck, as he began moving slowly; his thrusts soft and swaying.

“I’m not sure I would have tried to stop you”, I breathed; moving with him; his hardness and the delicious ripples of its veins sending shivers through my body.

“It would have been a bad-mannered move of me. I did have you tied up to the bedpost”, he chuckled. I returned his laugh; and gasped as he made a single deep thrust, bottoming out in me with a groan.

“Again?”, Geralt smiled. “Yes, please...”, I said. He kissed me and our tongues met; massaging eachother - as he continued thrusting softly; and then bottomed out again. The feeling made my walls clench - and I came for the third time that night; taking us both by surprise. “Fuck!”, I yelped; making the witcher chuckle at me. “It is good I can still have this effect on you”, he said, letting my walls settle around his member - still inside me. “Are you ready for more?”.

I gasped as he thrust into me again, “Slow and sweet is still not your way. Is it, master witcher?”, I moaned into his ear. “I can go as slow or fast as you want, your majesty”, he said; dark voice almost warning me. I scratched my nails down his back, and locked my legs around his waist. “What about what you want? Why don’t you show me that?”.

He lifted his head, and looked at me warily. “Are you sure? I might hurt you…”, he said. I swallowed. “I want you to do to me, what you wanted to do that night”, I breathed.

His eyes darkened, and he put his lips to my mouth, quickly pressing his tongue between my teeth, and meeting mine. I felt a sting on my thigh, where he was digging his fingers into my skin. His thrusts became harder. “Say it”, he said. “Say you’re sure”. His pupils were blown, darkness taking over in him.

“I’m sure”, I said.

He made a groan, and pulled out of me; the sudden emptiness in my core almost painful from want. He flipped me over with a single hand on my hip; making me lay on my side, and placing himself behind me. Pulling me close to him with one hand; the other one grabbed my wrist, and placed my hand on the bedpost; closing it around the wood. He wanted me to hold on to it; as I had been tied up that night. He grabbed himself, and slid back into me; bottoming out in one thrust. I cried out from the feeling of it.

“Are you alright?”, he asked, his breath catching. “Y-yes”, I stammered. “Don’t stop”.

His arm around my torso; he held me firmly to his chest – putting his hand on my shoulder, so that I was nailed onto him. “I’m going to move now”, he said. I nodded and panted in anticipation.

With a loud groan, he pulled back; and slammed back inside of me – making me feel as if he was reaching all the way into the deepest parts of my being. He made the same move again; this time making me shiver so hard from pleasure, that my hand fell from the bedpost. Geralt grabbed it, and firmly put it back around the wood; clenching it to let me know not to let go. His hand then travelled to my neck, lightly squeezing my jugular. He moved again, slamming into me with a force I didn’t know could exist in lovemaking. My walls began to clench; as Geralts thrusts became more consistent.

His chest-hair tickled my back, making me giggle. “Something funny?”, he growled into my neck. “It tickles!”, I laughed. He continued thrusting in to my core. “This”, he said, slamming into me hard, once, “tickles?”.

I gasped loudly, and followed the sound with a loud moan. He squeezed my throat a little harder. “I’ll show you tickles”, he snarled; pulling out, and flipping me onto my stomach.

He placed both my hands on the headboard; once again making it clear that I was not to remove them from there. Putting his hands on my hips; he forcefully lifted my bottom into the air; and gave it one hand spank – making me yelp in surprise.

“Too much, little frog?”, he said, sliding his hand from my bottom, up my spine to my neck; before grabbing my hair, and turning my head to the side. He leant over my body; his still throbbing member poking at my thigh as he spoke. “I can stop any time”, he smirked; and slid a finger between my labia, tracing the shape of my entrance. I shivered; shook my head and turned it forward – holding on firmly to the headboard. “Good girl”, he whispered; before smacking my cheeks one more time, grabbing my hips; once again bottoming out inside of me. He held himself there, letting me adjust to the sensation.

Not satisfied with his lack of movement; I moved myself forward, and backed up against him again; trying to coax him to thrust. In a sudden movement, he lifted my torso against his; one hand on my breast, the other holding my throat; slightly squeezing. His hold on me was strong, both arms around me like firm logs covered by soft leather; and I melted against his broad chest. His length was still inside me, like a warm rod; forcing me to stay upright. I winced from the sudden sting of his fingers tweezing my nipple; and felt my whole body shiver as his voice rumbled from his chest. “I thought I told you before”, he said. “Don’t play with fire”. “Well, you never did punish me”, I croaked.

In an instant my hands were back on the headboard, his own hand covering them; making me lean forward again. He began thrusting hard, continuously making my whole body jolt forward each time his hips met my ass. Placing his right hand on my lower back; his thumb moved between my cheeks, probing at the ring of muscle there, intensifying the sensation of his thrusts. The muscles in my thighs were seething from the strain of holding my bottom raised. Geralt continued to thrust into me; but realizing my predicament, slid his left hand under me to hold me up – taking advantage of his finger’s closeness to my nub, to tease and rub it. He was now stimulating my entire intimate area.

I could no longer moan silently; my walls once again clenching around him from the sweet sensations of his fingers along with his brutal attack on my vagina. I began mewling loudly, accompanying the sounds of his groans each time he bottomed out.

A thundering current, pulsating to the rhythm of his thrusts, began spreading from my core, throughout my limbs. It was at once a hot and cold sensation, that made my fingers shake, until I could no longer hold on to the headboard, and fell forward; with my face into the pillow.

Suddenly it felt like I shattered. A sweet mixed sensation of pain and pleasure spread into every inch of my body. My legs began to shake, my arms and shoulders jolted – and I opened my mouth; and screamed.

Geralt did not stop. Continuously moaning and grunting, he slammed, slammed and slammed into me; almost lifting me into the air with each thrust, from the sheer force of it.

I was losing control of my limbs, and the growling beast behind me was relentless in his excavation of me - while simultaniously rubbing and teasing my most sensitive spots; to force me to continue orgasming around him - giving him pleasure, and drawing mine out.

Behind me, Geralt roared; and with a final hard thrust into me, he came undone; and fell over me – our bodies still attached. Panting, Geralt lifted the hair from the back of my neck, and kissed it gently, before rolling of me, and onto his back; sliding out of me in the process. My face was still buried in the pillow.

He slid a finger down my back. “Are you alright?”, he asked; sounding worried. I turned my face to look at him; my body still convulsing in aftershocks. I tried to nod, but it disappeared in one of the jolts.

“Y/N?”, he asked, distressed. He pulled me into his arms, stroked my cheek and removed the hair from my face. His fretful eyes searched my own. “Say something!”. “I… can’t move”, I breathed. “Did I hurt you?”, he asked. “N-no”, I stammered. “I haven’t… so much… in a long time... ever...”. I couldn’t finish my sentence.

He breathed a gasp in relief, before laughing at my expression. “I told you”, he said; and pulled me to lay across his chest. “Mhmm”, I answered, my eyelids heavy. “You did. But I wanted it. It was good”. His chest rumbled from his chuckle. “Just good?”. “Hhmmm…”, I sighed, and yawned.

He put his arms around me, and ran a hand through my hair. “Sleep now, little frog. I might want you again in the morning”.

“Hhmnn frog…”, I mumbled – and drifted off.

---

He did have me again in the morning; twice. And then one more time in the afternoon, before I waved him off from my window; his note to me, still in my hand.

Until the next journey, little frog.

---

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Snowed In

Y'all, the quarantine hit hard. This fic is 100% self serving but I'm posting it in case it makes anyone else feel better? To add some spicy self loathing to my day? who knows. 

No legit pairings, a tiny bit of hinting angstiness, for the sake of form, Geralt x fem!reader

Warnings: defs big warning for anxiety and depression. I don't think there's anything else? Lmk if there is and I'll edit this.

__________

“Snowed in?” you repeated, having just packed everything up and saddled both Roach and your horse Beau. 

Geralt nodded grimly, “We’ll just have to hope Jaskier hears of the weather before he tries to make it here. The mail carrier is refusing to ride the pass.”

You heaved your saddlebags down with a slightly over dramatic grunt before turning to face him, “Is it a passing storm or do they think it’s headed for us?”

He shrugged and began untacking Roach, “You’ll have to ask the innkeeper. I just heard from someone who was turned back.” 

You both finished putting the horses back in their stalls, throwing a little extra hay over the side in case you didn’t want to face the cold after dinner. The innkeeper looked frantic, attempting to deal with about five angry customers, so you headed for the connected tavern instead. In your experience, bartenders knew more scuttlebutt anyway. 

Surprisingly you two were the only ones in the bar. The pretty blonde poured the two of you a beer and slapped a loaf of bread down between you before you could utter a word of request. Something rather unusual since traveling with Geralt. 

“How long do you think this will last?” you asked, handing the woman a couple of gold coins. 

She shrugged, “Last year it was mild. Just a week I think? But the year before that the town was stuck for almost a month.”

“Hm- huh? What day is it?” you mumbled as Geralt shook you awake. 

“Twenty-three. Get up.” He ordered. The process had become routine. The two of you were stuck in a rather small room together due to overcrowding and you weren’t handling the idle time very well. 

Geralt seemed completely content to meditate by the fire and meticulously repair his armor for the rest of eternity. While you had quickly become catatonic. 

You sat up only because you knew he would lift you out of the bed completely if you didn’t do it yourself, “Ah yes, what a beautiful day to feed the horses and drink our weight in ale.” 

The sarcasm dripping from your voice only earned a stern look from your roommate. The inn had run out of the drinkable stuff last week and they were rationing little the piss water they had left.

You scratched at your hair, your hand recoiling at the feel of grease. There was nothing to do, the floor space between the bed and the fire was barely big enough for Geralt to sit cross-legged, let alone for you to do any sort of exercise to keep your mood up. Not that you would if you could anyway. Any motivation to keep some sort of normalcy had left your body around day ten. The innkeeper had let some guests spar in the lobby around day six but everyone scattered when you had attempted to join. Something about ‘the witcher’s girl’ and how ‘she might gut you out of habit’. People could be stupid, you weren’t a witcher any more than they were and even so, Geralt was calmer and more restrained than all of them combined.  

So, embracing the numbness, you stayed in bed well into the afternoon and long after Geralt had left his side of the bed.

“Did I miss breakfast again?” you asked, not making a move to get any farther from your warm blankets.

Geralt nodded, pointing to the small table near the door where some bread,  cheese, and dried meat sat waiting. 

You picked at it for his benefit, though you hadn’t really been hungry for a few days now. The storm raging outside was just about as strong as the one raging through your hollow insides. This inaction, the unknowing, the vulnerability was killing you. 

“Y/N, you need to eat more than the crumbs.” Geralt urged, moving to sit in the chair opposite to you. 

“I tried.” You sighed, “Can’t I just lay back down?”

He shook his head, “No. You’re letting this consume you. You’re tougher than this.”

You scowled at him, wanting to throw the bread in his face, “Fuck you. Nothing bothers you.”

“Your behavior is bothering me.” he countered, staring at you with a mix of worry and annoyance.

“Well isn’t that touching.” You sighed in mock flattery. Abandoning any idea of food, you got up to sit by the fire,  poking at it aggressively with an iron rod and making a point to face away from him. 

“What in the spheres is your problem?” He growled.

“Being stuck here with nothing to do?” you offered, your tone reminiscent of the young spoiled princess the two of you had saved from a wraith a few months back. 

“That’s not it. I know when you’re lying Y/N”

Your limbs felt like they might float away into the air if you didn’t curl up into a ball, “I don’t want to talk about it Geralt. I’m sorry for snapping. I just need a couple of minutes.”

“You’ve needed ‘a couple of minutes’ for the past two weeks. Time to talk.” he argued. 

You snorted, “That’s rich coming from you. You didn’t tell me you’d been stabbed until right before you passed out in Temeria.”

“I’ve tried learning from my mistakes.” his tone was one of convincing the both of you, “What's bothering you? Really.”

“I don’t fucking know Geralt.” you hissed, getting very tired of his prying.

You heard him sit back and cross his arms, “Not good enough.”

You felt the words leave your throat before you could think of their meaning, spewing out with vitriol and fire, “I’m fucking tired. I’m tired of you telling me what to do. I’m tired of watching snow pile up out the damn window. I’m tired of the stupid couple that fucks all night next door. I’m tired of this worry that feels like it will rip me apart at any fucking moment from just not fucking knowing. I’m tired of worrying about Jaskier. I’m tired of worrying about the horses getting stocked up when there’s nothing I can do to help them. I’m tired of the glares from the other guests. I’m tired of feeling powerless. I’m tired of having no decent outlet for this anxious energy I’m stuck with. I’m tired of not knowing when this feeling will go away. And I’m absolutely fucking exhausted by the thought that it’s only been twenty-fucking-three days yet I feel I’ve been trapped here for a god-damned-eternity.” 

The last sentence broke your resolve to stay angry. Upon pushing the last words from your lungs, you heaved a deep breath and let the sobs tear your chest apart, giving in to the hopelessness that had been building for weeks now. 

You heard a shuffling that registered in the back of your mind as Geralt sitting behind you, but even so, you flinched when a hand rested on your shoulders. He scooped one hand under your knees and pulled you onto his lap, pulling a blanket from the bed and wrapping it around the two of you. He let you sob until the sobs turned to whimpers.

“I didn’t realize, I’m sorry Y/N” he whispered, placing a gentle kiss on the top of your hair, sending a flood of warmth to your cheeks.

“You don’t need to be.” you croaked, leaning into his affection.

“I didn’t need to pry either.” He argued.

You just hummed in reply, too much of your energy spent on purging your system of those hideous sobs. You did make a noise of protest when he lifted you from his lap and set you beside him on the floor. 

“Stay by the fire, I’ll be back.” He instructed, the tenderness of his voice surprising you. 

Minutes later, as you were beginning to pull yourself back together, he returned with a terry cloth robe and what smelled like fresh jasmine soap. Without a word, he hoisted you into his arms and carried you across the room to the bathroom. He set you on your feet and handed you the robe and soap before turning his attention to the lever pump hanging over the ceramic tub. 

“A bath?” You tried to bring your usual playful tone back to life and failed miserably.

“Does it make you uncomfortable?” 

You shook your head, “I’m just…” slightly disoriented? you finished the sentence in your head, not sure how to phrase it.

“Not used to anyone accommodating your emotions.” he finished, a knowing look in his eyes reminding you just how much he knew of isolation and pain. 

As you nodded you had to mentally remind yourself you have to let people help you, that it’s okay to let people help you.

You didn’t bother waiting for him to leave before you peeled off your riding breeches. Melitele only knows how long you’d gone without changing them. You had more trouble unlacing the cinched waist blouse you’d been wearing the last four days. The restless tossing and turning you’d done instead of sleeping had it knotted four times over. When you’d finally rid yourself of every last thread the tub was full. 

Geralt traced a sign in the water, sending ripples over the surface and steam up in the air, “Shouldn’t be too hot, but test it first.” He mumbled, making an effort not to stare at you too long. 

It was rather hot but you had exposed yourself enough for one day. You took the hand he offered for balance and sank into the nearly scalding water without hesitation.

He knelt next to you, “If you wish to be alone-”

“No.” You interrupted, not having the courage to look up at him, “Please don’t go.” The words barely escaped your mouth, but Geralt heard them perfectly fine.

He wet a washcloth and lathered it with soap before handing it off to you. With the rest of the bar, he began washing your hair. At first, his hands were hesitant, as if he was afraid to hurt you. He paused when you gave up scrubbing the sweat and dirt from behind your knees, but only for a moment. You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes. His nails scratched at the base of your skull, coaxing a sigh from your lips. As he massaged the soap through the tangled mess he took his time with the tension in your temples, then the pressure points behind your ears, even working out the knots in your neck. You did your best not to moan, but a couple of gasps and pleased grunts may have slipped out.  He rested a hand between your shoulders and guided you back, dipping your hair into the water to rid it of the froth he’d created. 

You peeked up at him through your lashes. If he noticed he didn’t show it. His face was relaxed, almost serene, as he raked his fingers through your hair, gently tugging on the bigger tangles. You hadn’t ever taken the time to look at his eyes before, he seemed uncomfortable over them when you’d met so you left him alone about it. Looking at them now, you regretted it. They were a beautiful mix of honey, sunflowers, and glittering gold. And they were so kind. The idea that people spat at him when they recognized his eyes made your heart ache. 

With a slight nudge from him, you sat back up, all the tension in your body having melted in the hot water or under his touch. You pulled your knees to your chest, resting your arms across them and your chin on your arms. The events of the day had you feeling like a child who’d gone too long without a nap being soothed back to sleep. If you were being honest with yourself you missed the feeling of safety that came with someone taking care of you. 

Geralt brushed your favorite oils through your hair, doing his best not to pull through knots too roughly, but it was in the same bun for about four days. 

You let your tired mind wander as you watched snow fall out the small port window above the tub. The comb had failed to detect any knots in your hair for some time but it seemed Geralt was just as lost in thought as you.

Eventually the water grew cold and you had to accept this couldn’t go on forever. 

“I think I might need to get out soon.” you mumbled, inspecting your pruney fingers. Everything in you was telling you to stay. Stay in this safe place with your gentle guardian. But you knew if you didn’t get out soon you’d never warm up, fire or not. Not to mention you knew you were taking Geralt’s actions more to heart than they were meant. He simply felt guilty for pushing you too far. 

That didn’t mean you wanted him gone though. You were more than happy to live the lie for a little while longer.

"I'll go check the horses." He offered, placing a towel and the robe within your reach. 

"Thank you, Geralt. For not… I don't know? Laughing at me?" You refused to look at him, being vulnerable enough as you already were. 

"Y/N…" he said your name like it meant something but you couldn't figure out what, "You never have to thank me. I owe you so much more than a hot bath and kind words." 

You turned your head to argue but when you saw his expression the words died on your tongue. All you could offer in response was a small smile.

It seemed to be enough for him and he nodded before disappearing through the door, leaving you to ponder what he'd meant. 

_________

Part 2 here!

[ivegotbreadinmypants]

If you’re taking prompts: “you could have warned me!” Fluffffff please and thank you!

Thank you so much for the ask! I am so sorry this took so long! I had forgotten this was in my drafts 😂 

Welp, here you go now! Enjoy all 2k fluffy jealous goodness!

@jask-jaskier-jaskiest

Prompt: “You could have warned me!”

---

Geralt is not a jealous man.

He's not.

He just doesn't like it when people still think Jaskier’s old reputation true—back when the bard was young, free, unapologetically loving, and Geralt still hadn’t quite realized the reason for the swaths of warm in his chest whenever Jaskier smiled at him.

Their relationship is fairly new; their dynamic is still a little stilted as they try to figure out the unspoken boundaries and each other’s wants. It has been smooth sailing mostly. 

But fuck, can Jaskier’s old reputation be annoying.

Past and newer lovers are as taken with the bard as Geralt is. It's ridiculous that such a fumbling, awful-at-flirting bard has men and ladies fawning over him.

It's worse when he's teaching at Oxenfurt.

Geralt can't count on both his hands the number of times he's seen students try and fail to flirt with their professor. Most students know to back off, especially when Geralt is within radius. They are well-aware of the famed tales of The White Wolf and his bard, Dandelion.

So, it’s quite a shock when this one particular student just would not leave Jaskier’s side, even when Geralt starting hovering around the pair.

“Professor, I was wondering if you can help me with my piece? I was having trouble with how the tempo would match with the wor—”

“Jaskier,” Geralt interrupts, catching up to the both of them. The bard beams, and Geralt—as always—softens. “Geralt! You’re here early.”

“I’ve been here for the past twenty minutes.”

Jaskier blinks. “Oh. Well, uh, just give me a few more minutes then we can go off, okay?”

Geralt grunts. The student, a pretty blond boy with bright green eyes, does not even look in his direction. Geralt tries his best to hide his grimace. 

Jaskier had once berated him for scaring off his students during one of his visits. To be fair, it was satisfying to see the group of young eager students nearly shit their pants at his looming figure.

They don’t quite believe that a man—whose trademark is being flamboyant and loving every thing that existed on the Continent—would be utterly and mutually smitten with a man who was practically his opposite—whose trademark is his surly frown and golden cat eyes.

“Professor, do you think we can schedule an appointment? A one-on-one consultation if you’ll allow it.” The boy’s eyes are bright, lively and a touch devilish. Everything that reminds Geralt of eighteen year old Jaskier. And Gods only know how much of a handful that young man was. 

Geralt had lost count how many times he’s had to end a tavern fight that Jaskier started. In the first year they started travelling together.

“Of course. However, that would mean you would have to wait a couple of weeks since I am going on the road,” Jaskier says, friendly and helpful and completely oblivious to the glint in the kid’s eye.

Geralt grimaces when the kid even takes it a step further, placing his hand on Jaskier’s bicep.

(It’s not like Geralt can really blame him. Jaskier is not at all scrawny.)

“That won’t be a problem at all, professor.”

Fucking hell.

The kid is practically moaning out Jaskier’s title.

And somehow, the bard still grins.

Geralt wants nothing more than to leave, right about now. At this absolute moment. But there is no way in any world is Geralt going to leave Jaskier here.

He wishes he hasn’t gotten himself in trouble with the school that one time—when he insulted one of the other professors for stealing one of Jaskier’s songs. 

(—But it was entirely worth it when Jaskier let out the biggest, up-roaring laugh of his life—) 

Because then he’d still be able to scare this kid off with minimal chastising.

The kid’s face pinked, and he leans in to Jaskier’s ear and—

“C’mon, Jaskier. Roach doesn’t like to wait.” Jaskier squawks when he’s practically manhandled back to Geralt’s side, his thick arm winding around his lithe waist. 

“But—” 

“I don’t like to wait,” Geralt grumbles, lips near Jaskier’s neck, voice dangerously low; Jaskier has to fight the urge to shiver. He can’t quite fight the redness in the tips of his ears.

“Geralt,” he mumbles, impish smile on his lips, “you’re awfully impatient.”

“I am. It’s been a week since I saw you.” And what a long week it was. First, Geralt had to deal with alghouls that had practically kicked out an entire village’s populace. Then, he had to manage the tempers of two prickly sorcerers, with the threat of being turned into a frog at his throat.

Truly, Geralt has been craving nothing but Jaskier’s presence. But it’s difficult in the winter, because the bard is adamant on keeping his yearly Oxenfurt teaching tradition.

This week would only get worse if he had to endure another second of inappropriate one-sided teacher-student flirting. 

Speaking of which...

Geralt looked over his shoulder to glare at the kid with narrowed eyes, baring his teeth. There’s a thrum of satisfaction when a flash of regret and fear runs over the student’s face, and he turns on his heel in the opposite direction.

He knows he didn’t have to do that. But Gods, he couldn’t resist.

He tightens his hold on Jaskier, revelling in the bard’s laboured breaths, the sweetness of lust enveloping Geralt’s senses. He wears a half-hidden proud grin as he drags Jaskier out of the school, disinterestedly noting all the stares they’re getting.

*

Only when Geralt has completed a drowner contract does Jaskier question him. They’re not yet out of Temeria by the time night falls, since Geralt had come across a noticeboard that was basically begging for a witcher.

Jaskier had just finished untying the knots on Geralt’s blood-caked armor, both ready to tuck in soon, and is now sitting flushed to Geralt’s side, playing a mindless tune as he stares at the witcher from the corner of his eye.

The bard does have to wait for a while for the words to come, considering he’s doing his gaze lovingly at Geralt ritual for the night. But once they do, Jaskier says, “Can you indulge my curiosity for a moment?”

Geralt stops in his sword sharpening, eyeing Jaskier, and grunts.

“Why were you acting all... weird today? Back at Oxenfurt, when I was talking to Stefan. What was wrong? Did I do something? Did you do something?”

The witcher purses his lips, darting his gaze away as if he were shy.

“Come on, Geralt. I won’t laugh, I promise.” Jaskier is more than patient when Geralt grits his teeth, a ball of suppressed thoughts and emotions; it’s much easier to coax things out of Geralt, even if it does take a few sugar-coated attempts and easy smiles.

His eyes remind Jaskier of a cat when he keeps looking around, as if he’s trying to find an excuse to avoid this conversation.

Eventually, like always, Geralt can’t quite hide away from Jaskier like he used to, and he faces the bard.

“That kid. Stefan.” Jaskier nods, even if he has no idea where this was going.

“He kept—” Geralt screws up his face. The campfire brings out the heat in those golden eyes. “He kept flirting with you. Touching you.”

Geralt grabs Jaskier’s hands and threads their fingers together. “Got a little angry. Protective.”

Jaskier blinks.

“Wait. Me and Stef—wait, wait, waitwaitwaitwait,” Jaskier sputters, “you think that my student was flirting with me?”

Geralt rolls his eyes, but the fond curl to his lips diminishes the effect. “As if you don’t notice the line of admirers at your office door everyday.”

Jaskier opens his mouth, gapes for a moment, narrowing his eyes; then he tilts his head, jaw closing with a click. “Tha—That’s true. I suppose. But come on.”

Just as he had promised, Jaskier doesn’t laugh, but he desperately wants to. 

“Stefan? Really? Okay, I get what you mean, but I swear it’s not because he’s attracted to me. Not in the slightest.” Jaskier smiles softly, hand coming up to stroke the line of Geralt’s jaw. “Sort of a funny story, actually.”

“Pray tell,” Geralt practically purred, softening in the palms of Jaskier’s callused hands, eyes heavily lidded.

“How would you prefer it, in verse or in normal speech?”

“Normal speech would do just fine,” Geralt huffs.

“Twas the first day of last year’s winter term, and I was merely feasting upon my lovely, lovely, sandwich—a sandwich that you made, actually. Full of delicious meats and amazing vegetables that you had lovingly cut just for me, a sandwich I had the magnificent honour of eating.”

“I thought I said normal speech.”

“It is,” Jaskier says, puffs of his laughter on Geralt’s cheeks. “I was just celebrating the fact my boyfriend made me a sandwich.”

Geralt’s shoulders shake, eyes warm with affection.

“And it was the most curious when a man I had never met before, blond with forest green eyes—”

Geralt rolls his eyes.

“—came up behind me and started to recite one of my poems—by heart!”

Geralt frowns, but Jaskier smooths the lines away with gentle strokes of his thumbs.

“I was about to thank him for the recital, but I turned around and gods, he had the reddest blushes I’ve ever seen.” Jaskier laughs under his breath. “He had thought I was his girlfriend, who I’ve actually had the pleasure of meeting. She’s very tall, taller than me even. I think she might be part elf.”

“So, what does that have to do with the flirting?”

“After that, he made a point to recite my other poems as a joke, especially the old bad ones I’ve written. The flirting just added to the experience.”

Geralt is staring at him now, eyes a little more awake. Under his hands, Jaskier can feel the gradual increase in temperature on the planes of Geralt’s scruffy cheeks—even if he can’t see the red, Jaskier knows Geralt is blushing from embarrassment.

Geralt hums, then rumbles; his eyes go down and then all of a sudden, Geralt is curling forward and leaning into the crook of Jaskier’s neck, hiding his face away. Jaskier doesn’t stop his laugh this time, hands automatically sliding in Geralt’s hair and over his shoulders, his lips on the witcher’s temple.

“You could’ve warned me,” Geralt grumbles, pulling Jaskier into his lap to fully embrace the bard. Jaskier only snorts.

“You could’ve warned me before carrying me out there like the brute that you are. I can only imagine the types of rumors that are cooking up in there now,” Jaskier mumbles, pressing the witcher closer to his chest. 

Gods, he’s missed this.

Geralt hums, low and warm, but a touch despondent. Jaskier frowns, hand swiping down the witcher’s spine. “Darling, if you’re uncomfortable with the flirting, I can just ask him to stop.”

“It’s yours and Stefan’s thing.” Jaskier doesn’t need to look at Geralt’s face to know he’s missing the twinkle in his eyes.

“Geralt, my dear witcher, you come first. You know that, right?” He presses his lips on the crown of Geralt’s head, grimacing when he smells the sea-salt and coppery blood from the drowners.

“I know that this is new. For both of us. The last thing I want is to screw it up with you without me knowing. So, tell me when something is bothering you. I promise I won’t laugh the next time.” Geralt’s shoulders shake with mirth. 

It’s only a flurry of silver and pale skin before a pair of long-missed lips seal his. Jaskier strokes a finger along Geralt’s jaw, not missing how easy and pliable the witcher becomes when he does so. 

It’s soft, sweet, with a touch of longing. It’s only been a week since Geralt’s last visit, but neither can ever get enough of each other. It’s only by sheer stubbornness of wanting to keep the other party happy do they resist jumping each other’s bones at the moment.

They breathe in each other’s air, foreheads pressed flushed, and Jaskier sighs reverently—much like a damsel would when in presence of her prince—melting in Geralt’s embrace.

“I don’t care if he flirts with you,” Geralt says eventually. “If only I get to read your older poems. 

“Oh Gods, I’d rather eat my own shoe than let you see those,” Jaskier groans. “A lot of them were about pining after a certain golden-eyed man. Quite pathetic.”

“I don’t know,” Geralt teases, nose brushing against Jaskier’s, “maybe Stefan and I can bond over that. We’d ambush you in the middle of a lectures, start reciting your verses.”

“I shall never forgive you,” Jaskier threatens, but his next words are muffled by bursts of laughter when Geralt digs his fingers into Jaskier’s sensitive sides.

“Whatever you say, bard.”

[afterhoursfic]

There's really just a tragic lack of Geralt getting fucked on horseback... Imagine Geralt having a harness he can strap onto his saddle so he has a nice big toy to ride. He gets too distracted to safely use it when he's alone, but that just makes it that much better when he meets up with Eskel on the path. There's nothing better than riding next to Eskel while he leisurely fucks himself and Eskel watches.

You are so right anon

Geralt saves for ages to get a proper harness and toy to use and hes so excited to use it he goes straight into the wilderness to try it out. He just about manages to stop himself from coming when he first sinks down on it, but as soon as he puts Roach into a walk, making sure to ride the cock with every step, that she only gets through a few steps before Geralts hunching over in the saddle and gripping the horn as his cock spurts come across his chest, the saddle, and even onto Roach. He'll make it up to her later.

But he becomes giddy with it, as soon as his cock starts to go down he's coaxing Roach into a walk again, and then a trot which doesn't last for nearly as long as he wants to, but he's so overcome with the feeling and pleasure of it all that he keeps tugging at Roachs reins, causing her to stop and start and eventually grow agitated.

The next orgasm he keeps Roach still and simply holds the horn of the saddle as he rides the cock, his hips building up a rhythm as if he were in a horse race and letting out small moans the closer he gets until he collapses down onto the saddle, forcing the cock so deep inside he doesn't have a chance to catch his breath before he's grinding against the toy through his third orgasm.

He's still desperate for it, in a way he hasnt been desperate ever but now that he has the means he wants to spends days riding this cock and is already working through making a hole in the back of his pants so he can slowly ride the toy as he travels between contracts.

The thoughts enough to have his cock stir on his thigh and he huffs as he puts Roach into a canter, letting her movement do most of the work as he lets the toy fuck him as he holds hinself up. But his eyes are shut, and mouth open to let out small gasps that he doesn't notice the group of drowners, just feels one tear across his thigh which has him jolting back to reality. He manages to ride Roach away from the monsters but it was a significant enough boner killer that he gets no joy from it.

He just finds a camp and quickly sets to cleaning and dressing his wound before cleaning and packing away his new toy, and it almost feels like a goodbye ceremony as he tucks it to the back of his bag because he can't risk something like this again, being so unawares what if vandits found him and steuck with an arrow or a kikimore jumped from the ground. Nope now it was just a fond memory but maybe something he could enjoy in the winter.

Of course when winter comes he tells Eskel, the two are out on the walls sipping moonshine and Geralt just lets it slip and Eskel becomes very interested in it all, asks to see it and asks for a demonstration. So thats how Eskel ends up sitting in a corner of his room, steoking his cock as Geralt rode his toy and fuck he forgot how good it felt to just take and take until he was sore and quite literally drained.

The next day Eskel insists they take the horses out an innocent gesture but when Geralt meets him Roach is already tacked up and has got his toy standing proud and inviting on her saddle. Its an invitation he cant refuse and with Eskel leading him, setting their pace to make it the best and worse torture Geralt is pleasure drunk mess by the time they return to the keep, just before nightfall.

So when Eskel asks to head down the pass together, about escorting him down to Temeria and meeting up in the summer Geralt practically jumps at the chance, well his cock does anyway.

[corvo-bianco-lilacs]

Talking with Emhyr always left Geralt in a foul mood, but now it was even more so. He had roped Yen into summoning him to Temeria just to send them both on the hunt for Ciri, even though the king wasn't even sure that Curi had returned or if she had fled again.

Geralt sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he leaned against the desk in Yen's study.

"I know, Geralt... I'm not thrilled about this either." Yen broached, resting her hand on his arm. "The only thing that I am looking forward to at the end of this mad search is seeing Ciri's face again."

Geralt hummed in agreement, his eyes still closed as he worked to even his breathing out. He felt Yen's other hand come to his waist, her slender fingers brushing against his side as she leaned her head against his chest.

"I'm sorry I've pulled you into this mess." She breathed, calming as soon as he wrapped his arms around her. "I hate putting you in positions like this, especially with kings."

"It is what it is... If it means seeing Ciri again, then I'll search for her." He replied, kissing the top of her head. "But there is something that I'd request of you first."

"What?"

"You and me, right now." He hummed, his eyes dilating slightly with desire.

"Geralt." She chuckled, her breath hitching a moment later to stifle the yelp as he hoisted her up in his arms and sat her on the table behind him.

"I've missed you..." He growled, trailing a line of kisses down her neck before sucking at the pulse point against her throat, his teeth gently scraping the area as he did so. "I need you."

She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck as he continued to kiss her, his hands coming up to unbutton her blouse before shoving it off her shoulders. He slipped it from her arms and tossed it onto the chair behind her, his hands immediately coming to cup her breasts as a soft moan rumbled against his ear.

"Geralt... My room... It's through the door behind you." She gasped, his hand wedged tightly between her thighs. She bit down on her lip to stop the yelp of pleasure that threatened to escape her lips.

How long had it been since they had last been intimate? How long had it been since they had shared a bed? She couldn't recall, but the bubble of pleasure building in her core reminded her that it had been too long since they were wrapped up together beneath the sheets.

She wanted him just as badly as he wanted her.

And when she had been pressed against the window in her bedroom, with Geralt ramming into her from behind, she remembered what it was like to scream his name with each orgasm.

[geralt-jaskier]

Changes

In which Jaskier gets turned into a woman. Rated M.

You can also read on ao3

Jaskier is only trying to help, which could possibly be the title of the biography that will surely be written about him one day. Only Trying to Help, the epic tale of a bard and all manner of trouble he gets into alongside his witcher friend.

They are rifling through the house of a mage that Geralt is tracking down. Geralt sniffs and squints around for clues, and really if you think about it, the whole situation is his fault because in between all that sniffing and squinting he says, “Make yourself useful, Jaskier. Search the bedroom.”

So he does as he’s told, and what happens next could have happened to anyone--Geralt included. When Jaskier reaches for a suspicious-looking piece of paper poking out of a book on the upper shelf, he knocks over a small bottle on one of the lower shelves, and when the glass shatters against the ground, some of the liquid inside splashes onto Jaskier.

He freezes, waiting for pain or, perhaps, even pleasure, but there’s nothing. He reaches a hand back out for the note, but it’s not...his hand is not his hand. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier calls, panic growing in his voice as he looks down at this body and, oh sweet Gods, hears his voice, “something has gone very very very very wrong.” 

His voice is not his, that is not his voice, he thinks frantically. 

Geralt rushes up the stairs and when he catches sight of Jaskier his eyes go wide in a way that they normally do not, which only confirms Jaskier’s fears that indeed something has gone very very very very wrong. “Fuck.”

“I need a mirror. Do I need a mirror? Do I even want to see?” the voice that is not his own asks, panic-stricken. 

“There’s one on the other side of the room.” Geralt has the audacity to laugh, so at least it’s not like Jaskier is dying, but now does not feel like the appropriate time for Geralt to be a complete and utter shithead. 

Jaskier’s clothes feel too loose now, and he has to hold his trousers up with one hand as he makes his way over to the alchemist’s changing area.  

In the mirror staring back at him is a beautiful dark-haired woman. He recognizes his eyes, gone wide now with shock.  

Geralt comes to stand behind him.

“One of your tits is hanging out,” Geralt points out.

“Yes, thank you, Geralt. I can see that.” Jaskier can’t look away from the reflection where indeed one of his tits has fallen out of the v-neck of his now-loose white tunic. “Nice tit, though.” 

“Hm.” Geralt nods back at him in the mirror. 

   After three weeks, they’ve not had much luck finding anyone who knows of a cure. They haven’t managed to track the mage who was responsible for the potion, and the two alchemists they’ve spoken to were utterly flummoxed. 

“I know of a group of druids we can speak to,” Geralt says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And I have another alchemist contact in Temeria. We will find a cure for you, Jaskier.” 

It’s been taking some adjustment to get used to the changes in the way his body is built, the way it moves, how there is somehow considerably less strength. It’s even harder to get used to the staring and leers and horrible come-ons. He feels a bit like a double-agent, now working for the other side and is deeply embarrassed by the lack of finesse from his old team. 

If he stands a little closer to Geralt when they stop at a tavern, that’s only because it offers a welcome reprieve from the attention his beauty attracts when men think that he’s the girlfriend of a terrifying witcher. 

   Jaskier learns that while he definitely does know how to please a woman--as all of his past lovers will attest--there is still so much to learn. He’s lying on his stomach, hand between the bedroll and his body as he rubs slow circles around his clit. 

“Would you stop doing that,” Geralt snaps one night from his bedroll on the other side of the fire.

Jaskier freezes. He’d thought that without the revealing and obvious sound of his hand against his cock he’d be able to get away with this. 

“Doing what?” Jaskier asks as innocently and evenly as he can, hand still between his thighs. 

“I can smell and hear you,” Geralt adds through gritted teeth. 

“The thing is, Geralt. Is that I’m really really close.” 

He doesn’t add that not only is he too aroused to feel the weight of mortification that he should surely feel, he’s only more turned on knowing that Geralt is aware of what’s happening. He imagines Geralt getting up, sliding under the blanket with Jaskier and then sliding into Jaskier’s ready, willing, wet--seriously, dripping wet--cunt. 

His whole body goes tense, thighs trembling, and he can’t help the muffled moan he lets out into the blanket as he comes. 

“Fuck you, Jaskier,” Geralt says, and Jaskier is sure he’s wrong, but it sounds a little strangled. 

   Geralt has been more irritable than usual about Jaskier coming on hunts with him.

“I’m not sure how my being a woman changes anything. I wasn’t exactly critical to the monster-killing side of the operation.” 

“No shit.” 

“So that settles it. I’m coming with you.” 

Though he’s gotten funny about letting Jaskier go on hunts, he’s gotten even funnier about traveling with Jaskier. It makes some sense that they wouldn’t part ways until a cure was found, but Geralt could have ridden ahead on his own and told Jaskier to stay put in a city like Novigrad.  

But he doesn’t, and as they make their way towards Temeria to speak to Geralt’s contact there, he finds he likes living alongside Geralt as though this is their everyday life. Geralt takes contracts and Jaskier still performs for coin and, of course, accolades. 

He even announces to his audiences, with great excitement, that he is, in fact, the famous bard Jaskier and has been temporarily afflicted by a curse that has turned him into the gorgeous woman they see before them today. 

At the end of his performances, he’s found it quite lucrative to say, “Every coin you can spare helps me continue my search for a cure.” 

The thing that’s funniest and strangest of all about Geralt’s behavior during this whole ordeal is that while Geralt doesn’t want Jaskier on hunts, he seems to want him alone in the evenings even less. Geralt sits in all manner of corners and glowers and broods more than he’d done in the past while Jaskier performs--his voice as gorgeous as ever as he adjusts to his new range and the highest of notes he can now reach--and if there’s even a hint of nastiness from the crowd, Geralt puts a stop to it with one of his infamously scary looks. 

Jaskier rather likes it. 

   “Husbands are so much less violent when they catch me sleeping with their wives now,” Jaskier muses. “All I have to do is wink at them and they’re practically thanking me for doing it!”

“We need to find a cure,” Geralt mutters. 

   It’s now been nearly three months since Jaskier’s transformation, and the contact in Temaria was unable to help them. They’re now making their way to the druids, and at this point, Jaskier is starting to come to terms with the fact that he might have to adjust to life as a goddess. There are worse things that could have happened to him, honestly. 

There is one thing, though, that he hasn’t done for a variety of reasons that he would very much like to try, and he thinks maybe just maybe Geralt will be willing to help. They’ve barely been apart from one another in these past months, and Jaskier is sure that his request will at worst be met with an irritated silence.

He drinks just enough ale one evening before they head up to their room and cap off the night with a round of cards that he finally works up the courage to both literally and figuratively lay his cards down. 

“Geralt,” I have a proposition. “Now, you can say no if you--” 

“No.” 

“At least let me finish!”

Geralt fixes him with a wry look but waves a hand as if to cede the floor to Jaskier. 

“I would like you to fuck me. Now, before you say no again, let me explain where I’m coming from. I’ve given this a lot of thought, and my reasoning, I’m sure you’ll find, is quite sound. Over the years, you and I have built up a certain level of trust, so I feel confident telling you that a little tumble in the sheets couldn’t possibly harm that. Not for two friends as close as us.” 

Geralt rolls his eyes, right on cue. 

“As a witcher, I know you’re sterile so there’s no risk of, uh, child.” Jaskier really does not want to experience that part of womanhood. The monthly bleeding is already terrible enough and after complaining and complaining Geralt finally bought him potions that helped ease the pain, and then he kept providing them without being asked.

“You want me to fuck you because it won’t hurt our friendship and because you won’t get pregnant,” Geralt says slowly.  

“Well, I also think you’d make it very enjoyable.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” 

“You can say no, but I’ve seen the way you look at me,” Jaskier says, an accusatory note in his voice, just daring Geralt to deny it.  

Deny it he does. “It’s just jarring seeing you like this.”

“That’s nonsense, and you know it. It’s been months. You’ve had plenty of time to get used to me like this.” Jaskier gestures down at his perfectly shaped, lovely body that he would ravish in a heartbeat if presented with the opportunity. Really, Geralt should be getting down on his knees and thanking him. 

Geralt glares at him across the table. 

Jaskier knows Geralt will never hurt him, so he does what he’d want a sexy seductress to do to him if the roles were reversed, and he goes to Geralt and straddles him in his seat.

“Jaskier,” Geralt’s voice is a low rumble, and Jaskier can see how his amber eyes are going dark. “This is a bad--”

Jaskier wraps his arms around Geralt’s neck and kisses him, and after a moment Geralt puts his hands on Jaskier’s waist and kisses him back. He can feel the hard outline of Geralt’s cock pressing against his clit and he grounds himself down, chasing that sweet friction. 

He’s losing himself in the kiss, the building ache in his cunt, his breasts pressed against Geralt’s strong chest when Geralt stands, Jaskier’s legs wrapping around him, and walks them to the bed.

   The next morning Jaskier rolls over and opens his eyes to find Geralt looking at him strangely. 

“What?” Jaskier says in a voice that is his but not his. He looks down at himself. His beautiful tits are gone, his hairy chest has returned. He feels sweet relief and joy and a touch of regret which grows into an entire fistful of regret when he catches Geralt’s eyes and realizes that last night would be a memory not to be repeated. His stomach drops. 

Geralt’s brow furrows. “Don’t have to go find the druids then.” 

“You don’t have to sound so disappointed,” Jaskier says testily. 

“I’m not,” Geralt says. “Are you?” 

“I don’t know.” Jaskier sighs and says wistfully, “I was so beautiful.” 

“You did make a beautiful woman,” Geralt agrees. He hesitates then says, “Don’t really mind what I’m seeing now either, though.” 

There’s a moment where Jaskier thinks he must have misheard or misunderstood, but as he meets Geralt’s eyes and Geralt doesn’t look away, Jaskier’s heart begins to hammer. A smile spreads across his face. 

“Leave the sweet-talking to me from now on, Geralt,” he says, not meaning this at all. 

He tugs Geralt to him and Jaskier celebrates the welcome return of his cock. 

   As they ride on from the town, Jaskier begins to work on a song about his time as a woman, which he will always remember fondly.  

“How does this sound? Oh how I’d fix this, I couldn’t be sure / Only to find true love’s cock was the cure .” 

“True love’s cock.” Geralt snorts. “That’s a new one.” 

Jaskier waits for the moment Geralt will tell him it’s not true love. 

The moment never comes.

[gauntie-o-dimm]

Witchers | A Round Of Gwent

'We are going to make you feel so good, (Y/n)...'

Word count: 2900+ Warnings: Smut, swearing, group sex

My hand swirled across the paper, the pen I was holding leaving behind words I wanted to write down, the ink slightly staining as I accidentally brushed a finger over it. A sigh left my lips as I looked up for a moment before writing on. It wasn't often that I wrote in my journal, and if I wrote anything, it was far from entertaining. It wasn't that nothing ever happened in my life, but I wasn't always able to write it down. Tonight was quiet, even though Vesemir was out for business in Novigrad, the other Witchers were at home and they were suspiciously quiet. At this time, Lambert would've been drunk, Eskel would've been singing and Geralt would've stood at the door of my room, begging to let him in because he was going crazy. But now, however, everything seemed oddly peaceful. I shut my journal, putting it in one of the drawers of my desk before heading downstairs to check out what the hell had gotten into the Witchers. The kitchen was empty, which was far from normal. 'Hello? Geralt? Lambert? Eskel?' I spied around the room for any signs of the Witchers. None.

'Hey, lass.' I nearly got a heart attack as I suddenly heard Geralt's deep voice behind me. 'Geralt! Where were you? And where are the others?' The White Wolf shrugged, approaching me. 'We are a bit bored and decided to think about what we could do tonight.' I scoffed, rolling my eyes. 'You mean, like becoming drunk?' Geralt shook his head, gazing over his shoulder. 'No, we were more thinking about--' 'Strip Gwent!' Lambert cheered, entering the room with a deck of Gwent cards in his hand. My cheeks heated up instantly. 'What, why?' 'Because it is fun! And besides, who wouldn't want to laugh at Eskel's micro dingdong?' Lambert laughed, making me giggle a bit. 'I don't have a micro dingdong!' Eskel barked, carrying a crate of alcohol inside. 'Is she joining?' he asked Lambert, who shrugged. 'Wait, no, what?' I crossed my arms, shaking my head furiously. 'I am not joining this stupid game of you!' 'Sure you are, lass.' Geralt muttered with an amused smirk, forcing me to sit down at the table. 'Here are your cards.' Lambert pushed a deck into my hands. I didn't collect them myself, so I decided to tag along with the cards he had given me. 'How does this work?' I asked as the others sat down. 'We aren't really going to do Gwent, but it's something Lambert came up with,' Eskel began, 'Someone draws a card and the person next to them should draw a higher card. If that person is unable to do so, they should take off a piece of clothing.' I swallowed, standing up. 'I am not going to--' 'Come on, (Y/n), it will be fun!' I looked at the three Witchers, who had pleading looks in their eyes. What was the worst that could happen? I gave in, sitting down again. 'Right. But as soon as I want to stop, I quit!' 'Fair enough. Now, who goes first?'

~ It wasn't long until Lambert was shirtless and Geralt sat in his underwear. Eskel was the lucky one that had all his armor still on, but I had reached the point where I had to remove my shirt. I wore a bra, yes, but it made me a bit nervous to strip in front of the Witchers. However, I did of course notice that the Witchers all had attractive bodies, so I kept playing along. Even though I tried to ignore the warm pool that had started to grow in my belly. Slowly, almost teasingly, I took off my shirt, goosebumps appearing on my skin from the contact with the evening air. Lambert whistled through his teeth as I tossed the piece of clothing somewhere into the room. In the corner of my eyes, I saw that Eskel was chewing on his lip furiously, his cheeks set on fire whilst Geralt didn't waste any time to look me up and down. 'You were right Lambert, this is going to be an exciting night.' I sat back down on my chair and drew another card. 'A dragon?' Eskel spat, rolling his eyes in annoyance. 'I cannot beat that!' I pat on his shoulder. 'Time to take something off!' Sighing, he obliged.

After a solid thirty minutes, Geralt was fully naked, as was Lambert. I was still lucky enough to have my panties on, but my bra was added to the pile of clothing, and every few seconds I saw the Witchers ogle my breasts. Why hadn't I quit this damned game yet? Perhaps it was because the damage had already been done, or because I had too much alcohol in my blood to act or think properly, or because the Witchers were just looking hot. Perhaps it was because a combination from all of the above options. Whatever it was, the spot between my legs was drenched. I pinched the bridge of my nose as Lambert threw a high card onto the table. 'Hm, kept the best for last!' 'Take it off, (Y/n)! Stand on the table!' Geralt cooed, tapping the wooden surface. I stood up, carefully climbing on top of the table as elegant as I could, and put my hands on my sides. I stroked my own sides with my fingertips as their jaws fell agape. With utmost care, I hooked around the edge of my panties, tugging them off awfully slow. 'Fuck, (Y/n)...' Lambert uttered, squinting as if he tried to look closer when I tried to pull them towards my ankles. I was too slow. A long string of my excitement attached my core to the soft fabric. The room fell dead quiet. 'Are you... Are you guys seeing this?' Eskel asked softly. My cheeks were set aflame as they all looked at me with something in their gazes that I had never seen before.

'I think she is a bit... Excited.' Geralt said. 'Fucking horny.' Lambert replied, 'Just like me.' Just now I noticed that his manhood stood erect. How did I not see that when I climbed on top of this table? 'You're not the only one.' Again, silence filled Kaer Morhen. 'Are you thinking what I am thinking?' Geralt hummed, reaching out to draw circles onto my bare foot with his thumb. My breath hitched. 'If you'll have us, that is.'

I nodded, not saying a word. Before I could climb off the table, Lambert had hoisted himself up next to me, pressing his lips to mine. Surprised, it took a second for me to respond. A squeal left my lips as I felt a hand run up and down my calf, and I figured that it was Eskel's. 'You look so gorgeous, (Y/n).' he whispered as I moved my mouth against Lambert's. 'I agree.' Geralt growled, and when I opened my eyes to peek, I saw that he was stroking himself. 'I could jerk myself off to that pretty face all day.'   'But now we will get the real thing.' Lambert breathed, his arms moving around my waist. Some movement behind me and I felt another presence make its way onto the table. 'We are going to make you feel so good, (Y/n)...' Geralt suddenly uttered in my hair, cupping my breasts. He started squeezing my nipples, making me moan out. 'Such a horny slut, aren't you...' Lambert laughed as he pulled back from my body. 'Play with yourself.' Eskel suddenly asked, moving into view as Lambert jumped onto the ground. Doing as he said, my hand moved between my thighs, giving the burning bud of nerves attention whilst Geralt kept massaging my bosom. 'Moan for us, love.' I let out a sound between a sigh and a groan, feeling the White Wolfs lips against the nape of my neck. 'How are we going to fuck her?' Lambert asked, tilting his head slightly as he started to jerk himself off. My stomach twisted at the size of his cock. 'We can make two fit into her. The other man takes the mouth.' Geralt suggested, stroking the tip of his erection against my butt, leaving a stripe of pre-cum on my skin. 'Can I get a say in this?' I spoke up, my voice nearly inaudible over the moan that left my throat. 'You will love it, (Y/n).' I was guided onto the floor. Nervously, I eyed the three men. 'How is your sucking, love?' Eskel asked, grabbing my face in a strong hand, squeezing my cheeks lightly to make me open my mouth. He slipped in his thumb, tugging at my bottom lip. 'Fuck, yes.' he groaned. 'This will be lovely for both parties.' He gave me a gentle push downwards and I squatted down, feeling my folds pull apart in anticipation, but I knew that I had to wait. 'Come here, love.' Eskel urged, guiding his cock towards my face. I slowly wrapped my lips around the head, sucking softly. On my other side, I felt that the other two Witchers were standing there, awaiting their treatment. Both of my hands were taken from Eskel's body, just my face was there to please the brunet as my palms were met by two other weeping penises. 'Go ahead, princess.' Lambert whispered, bucking his hips against my fingers. I moaned as Eskel slowly fucked my mouth whilst the other two men seemed to enjoy the feel of my hands against their shafts. I jerked them off firmly, making them moan out. Geralt buried his hands in my hair, tugging at the (h/c) locks to brush them out of my face in order to look at it. 'Please, can I have your mouth for a moment, love?' I gasped for air as I finally pulled away from Eskel's length, the brunet laughing lightly. 'Fuck, that was an amazing experience.' Before I could react, Geralt shoved his manhood down my throat. I resisted the natural urge to gag. My now free hand took ahold of Eskel as well. 'You will love that in a minute.' Eskel praised, continuing to move against me. Lambert's nails scraped against my scalp in pleasure, grunts leaving his throat. The White Wolf was quiet now, silently enjoying the attention I gave him. 'Fuck, that is what I call a blowjob.' Geralt said as I pulled back for oxygen, licking his shaft in the process. 'Remind me to ask you for some private time later, love.' Geralt sighed, stroking the side of my face. 'Now I want to feel it too.' Lambert almost whined, forcing his entire penis into my mouth. I hummed slightly, proceeding to suck him off whilst the others were being given a handjob. 'Shit!' Lambert cried out as I pleased him, his hands taking a hold of my face. Rapidly, he started to fuck my face. 'Told you so.' Eskel uttered, bucking against my palm sloppily. My tongue darted over Lambert's leaking tip, catching the first few drops of his pleasure. I felt him throb against the wet muscle. 'Stop, stop, stop!' he suddenly exclaimed, pushing me away. 'Otherwise I am going to cum!' I released the other two men and wiped the corner of my mouth.

Next thing I knew, I was being lifted off my feet. I let out a surprised sound as I saw that Geralt had taken a hold of my legs and lifted me high up in the air whilst my back rested against his chest. 'Eskel, you can take the mouth if you want to.' Said Witcher nearly cheered and climbed on top of the table. Lambert kneeled down and dragged his tongue against my ever yearning core. I moaned out, finally receiving a bit of pleasure. The scruff of his beard scraped against the insides of my legs. 'Delicious... You should let me eat you out later.' Lambert cooed, a smirk on his face. 'But now, it's time for something else.' 'Just fuck her already, Lambert. Don't keept the poor girl waiting.' Eskel sighed, grabbing my face before teasing my mouth by rubbing his tip against my teeth. 'Before she is going to suck you dry, you better wait until we've entered her. We don't want her to bite off your micro dingdong.' 'I don't have- Fine, I will wait a minute.' A deep sigh left my lips as Lambert slipped himself into my vagina. So far, so good, for I had sex before and I was adjusted to quite some size. When Geralt entered as well, however, it got pretty cramped until the point of burning. I gasped in pain as he pushed on, his lips pressing kisses against my neck. 'This will be over soon, trust me.' 'I know.' I whispered, closing my eyes tightly as the pain between my legs continued. But the White Wolf was right, it eased within a minute.

Soft moans left my throat as they slipped in and out of me, my essence running down my legs, dripping onto the ground. Lewd noises escaped both Witchers, Lambert's hand resting on my breast whilst his mouth was resting on my chin, his teeth scraping against the soft skin. 'Turn your head.' Eskel ordered and I obliged, Lambert now burying his head in the crook of my neck, Geralt on the other side, licking and sucking whilst Eskel guided the tip of his cock against my lips. 'You certainly don't have a micro dingdong, Eskel.' I whispered to make him smile. I took his shaft in my mouth and closed my eyes, taking him in whole, dark pubic hairs tickling my nose as the base of his manhood completely disappeared into me. Lambert was now massaging my clit, making me hum lowly in pleasure. My airways were being restricted and the need for oxygen almost made it more pleasurable. 'Fuck, keep doing that!' Eskel uttered, a hand tangling in my (h/c) locks as he kept fucking my face. Geralt slowly nibbled on my earlobe, his breaths heavy and uneven against my skin as he kept bucking his hips, fastening his thrusts. I pulled back to breathe, my tongue darting out to circle around the tip of Eskel's cock, Lambert ducking down to suck on my nipples whilst his movements became more and more sloppy. The familiar feeling of my climax built up in the pit of my stomach, making me moan out. Grunts left Geralt's lips and at the twitching of his cock inside of my vagina indicated that he was close as well. 'Fuck, I am going to cum.' Lambert groaned, pumping in and out of me like there was no tomorrow. 'Place her on the floor.' Eskel commanded, pulling his length out of my mouth. The tiles were cold against my bare feet and I squatted again, opening my mouth in a lewd way, brushing some hair from my face. The three Witchers stood around me, touching themselves whilst their eyes were glued to my face and body. Lambert was the first one to spill his seed onto my face and breasts in long, hot stripes of sperm. Eskel and Geralt didn't follow too long after, grunting my name, their hot liquids making my body sticky as it dripped down my skin. They tried to catch their breath as I tried to not spill a drop from their seed, licking it off my fingers after wiping it up with my hands. 'Now for you...' Lambert said, gesturing me to stand up. I did as he said, letting him lift me off the floor to lay me onto the tabletop. Geralt and Eskel bent down at both my sides. Geralt took a breast into his mouth, sucking on it firmly whilst Eskel pressed his lips onto mine, pulling me into a loving French kiss. I moaned out as I felt a tongue slither in between my hot, dripping folds, two fingers following soon after. 'Fuck...' I whispered, bucking my hips up to grind against Lambert's face. It wasn't long until I was shivering under the circling of his warm muscle, my clit being massaged by Geralt's strong hand. Eskel pulled back from my face, now eyeing me up and down. 'Yes, good girl.' I was spasming in pleasure, having no control over my movements anymore. 'Fuck! I am going to...' I moaned out loud without being able to finish my sentence. Lambert's fingers curled up inside of me, pushing me over the edge. My climax washed over me, my excitement squirting out of my entrance. 'That's fucking hot.' Geralt uttered, continuing to rub my clitoris rapidly. Lambert laughed, trying to catch all of the essence with his mouth. 'Fuck, (Y/n), that was so sexy.' Eskel praised as my orgasm had died down. I still had to catch my breath, my body covered in goosebumps as my chest raised up and down heavily. 'We should do this more often.' I smiled, gathering my strength to stand up. I took my panties from the floor, looking over my shoulder to face the Witchers. 'Thank you, boys. That was amazing.' Geralt smiled. 'So are you.' I prepared to leave the room, taking all my clothing pieces that were scattered on the floor. 'I am going to bathe.' 'Can we come?' Eskel asked. I smirked. 'No idea, can you?' Quickly, I made my way to the bathroom. When I finally slipped my way into the hot water of the tub, I heard the bathroom door open and close again. A smile spread over my face, knowing what was to come.

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

|| on ao3

The inn was Jaskier's idea. He had insisted on staying so Geralt could relax because there isn't a bathhouse in town and after a good week on the road, Geralt could use a break. At first, he had been thankful for the thought, but now he's not so sure.

Jaskier is now the only one doing any relaxing while Geralt is still on edge watching him and ensuring he doesn't get himself into any trouble. He's very drunk and while the young men and women drinking with him think he's charming, Geralt doesn't share their amusement. They won't be the ones fending off angry relatives if he climbs into the wrong bed tonight.

Then, out of nowhere, Jaskier catches his eye over the crowd and Geralt very nearly groans out loud as Jaskier slips away from his admirers to join him in the corner. Geralt prefers drinking alone, but as soon as Jaskier spots him, a dozen heads turn in his direction and he scowls at them. The gesture is enough for most of them to return to their own business, but a few are curious and Geralt has learned the hard way that nothing deters Jaskier anymore.

He saunters over with a lopsided grin and slides conspicuously into Geralt's lap. If he wasn't accustomed to this kind of behaviour while Jaskier was drunk, Geralt might push him off and return to drinking alone. But tonight, Jaskier gets his arms around his neck and the way his thumb rubs against the back of his neck is actually kind of... nice.

"One of those lovely ladies told me a Witcher's touch is special," Jaskier hums, "tingly. Is that true, Geralt?"

"You're sitting in my lap, Jaskier, you tell me."

He leans in close enough that Geralt can feel his breath against his cheek. "That's not what I mean and you know it."

"Well," Geralt asks, "why don't you find out for yourself?" Jaskier quite nearly falls backward onto the floor and Geralt has to bring an arm up around his waist to keep him steady.

"Really?" he chokes and Geralt scoffs.

"No. Go back to your friends, Jaskier. I'm going to bed."

He slides Jaskier out of his lap and before he has a chance to say anything else, Geralt slips out through the crowd, so Jaskier goes back to his friends to announce his findings are, sadly, inconclusive. When Geralt gets up to their room, he spends what can only be described as an embarrassing amount of time trying to figure out how he could make his touch tingle.

It’s not that he really cares, he’s heard much more absurd and, frankly, much more realistic rumours about Witchers in the past, but something about this one gets to him. Maybe it’s because Jaskier believed it or maybe it’s because it’s inherently sexual but a part of him wants to know where it stems from.

An hour of messing around with various signs tells him the accusation is baseless.

Later that night, when all experimentation is over and Geralt is just about to turn in for real, there's a knock on the door. Expecting Jaskier, too drunk to get the door open himself, Geralt sighs and pushes himself up from the bed. He's in no mood to deal with a drunk and clingy bard and he considers going down to get a second room when he opens the door to find not Jaskier, but the innkeeper.

"We, er, have a situation of sorts downstairs," the man mumbles, wringing his hands at the sight of Geralt's scarred chest. Geralt grunts and reaches for his sword instinctively, expecting the worst where Jaskier is concerned. "I- I don't think you'll be needing that," he says, eyes wide, but Geralt just raises an eyebrow at him and brushes past.

He knows exactly what sort of situation they have downstairs and he's learned sometimes the sight of a sword alone is enough to diffuse a problem.

As expected, Jaskier does seem to be in the middle of it with some Lord or other, currently pressed up against a beam and rambling to defend himself. Geralt sighs. At least the sword doesn't seem to be necessary; they're both fairly drunk and Geralt could easily dodge whatever ill-considered attack he might face.

He crosses over to them scowling at Jaskier's grin and doesn't wait long enough to hear an explanation. He's tired and he's spent more than enough time thinking about Jaskier and tingling tonight and now his sleep has been interrupted. Without saying a word, he pushes between the two of them and picks Jaskier up off the floor, slinging him over his shoulder.

The only protest he gets is a soft oof when Jaskier's chest hits his shoulder. The lord stares after them, blinking like he can't quite believe what he's seeing.

"See," Jaskier shouts belatedly, already halfway across the bar, "I told you." Geralt just rolls his eyes and carries him up to bed.

In their room, Geralt lets him down, pressing a hand to his shoulder to steady him as Jaskier adjusts to being back on his feet. Geralt helps him out his clothes, now stinking like liquor and Jaskier grins as his hands brush against bare skin.

"You know," he hums, "I do feel a little tingly."

"That's the vodka."

Geralt gets him out of the rest of his clothes, tossing them into a corner to be taken and washed, then guides him to bed. Jaskier flops on top of the blankets, pulls a pillow up under his face, and falls asleep almost instantly, much to Geralt's relief.

Geralt sits up for a little while, adding an extra log to the fire and pulling a blanket over Jaskier before laying his own blanket down on the floor. Drunk Jaskier is a restless sleeper and Geralt is exhausted; he's slept in much less comfortable places than this before. He doesn’t mind sleeping on the floor if it means a peaceful sleep.

In the morning, Geralt packs their things while Jaskier sits in bed and moans about his head. It takes all of Geralt's strength not to remind him that if he didn't drink so much, he wouldn't feel so awful in the morning, but he's tired and stiff from sleeping on the floor, and he doesn't want an argument this morning.

When they head out to collect Roach, Geralt is starting to feel better. He's still exhausted, but his limbs are loosening a little and the fresh air is a welcome respite after smelling alcohol all night. Just as he's saddling Roach, though, the same lord from the night before comes out, sauntering past and glaring daggers at Jaskier. Despite his earlier complaints, Jaskier seems to be well enough to smirk and wink at the man and Geralt takes a deep breath and bites his tongue.

"Your friend from last night?" he asks.

"I'd hardly call him a friend."

"Mm."

"Who is he?" Jaskier says, unprompted. "He's the cad who told me Witchers make terrible lovers." Geralt stiffens for a moment when he realizes Jaskier was arguing in his defence last night, but he replies quickly to cover it up.

"I don't recall asking."

"And it's not like he'd know, anyway,” he continues, oblivious to Geralt’s disinterest. “Men like him like to throw their words around and make up all sorts of stories about things they know nothing about." Geralt turns and lifts an eyebrow at him, but Jaskier misses the irony.

"And you would," he deadpans.

"I know better than him," Jaskier says, smug. And for a second Geralt worries that he does and he's afraid to ask who Jaskier may have run into along the road. "I have you," he clarifies and Geralt's body relaxes.

It’s a little worrying, having not realized how he’d tensed up at the mere thought of Jaskier with another Witcher, but Geralt ignores that for the time being. He takes Roach's reins in one hand and turns away, heading west. Jaskier trots obediently behind him.

"Jaskier," Geralt says, "last night you asked me if a Witcher's touch is tingly. You don't know shit."

Rumours spread about Witchers and tingling and Geralt suspects Jaskier is the one to blame. They've been in Temeria for a week with no plans yet to move on and Geralt knows he's bored, so it seems likely that he’s responsible. But he’s not the one dealing with the fallout of the whole fiasco. The dark looks and nervous glances are gone, replaced with curiosity or worse.

It’s not that Geralt doesn’t appreciate the change of pace, but he doesn’t like being fawned over either. He isn’t some sort of novelty for people to seduce and be done with. For the most part, he’s adjusted well enough to ignoring villagers and this isn’t much different than dodging insults and curses.

Jaskier, on the other hand, seems to have realized he’s made a mistake.

They're in Mirthe and Geralt had thought he was doing a good enough job making it obvious that he didn't want company. He’s sitting in the corner, as usual, facing away from the crowd and for good measure, he’s even got his hood up to hide his face. None of it is enough to deter the more determined of the townsfolk. The woman who approaches now is dark-haired and objectively beautiful but Geralt can already tell she's going to be a pain.

"So," she starts and Geralt barely resists rolling his eyes. "I've heard a thing or two about Witchers, care to show me if they're true." Gods, they’re not even trying for subtlety anymore.

"He doesn't," Jaskier interrupts, slipping between the two of them and draping himself over Geralt's lap. He wraps an arm around Geralt's neck, pressing up too close and for the first time, Geralt is actually relieved to have him there. He's even more relieved when the woman scoffs at Jaskier, narrowing her eyes before stalking away like she’s lost out on something.

Normally, Geralt would push Jaskier away at this point, but he's thankful for not having to talk to anyone else about what he can or can't do during sex, so he lets him stay. And he likes it if he's honest. He likes the weight of having a lapful of bard and he likes the way Jaskier's fingers twist in the short hair at the back of his neck. And when he leans in close enough that Geralt can smell the wine on his breath, he nearly closes the distance between them to taste it. Which is worrying, at best.

Jaskier doesn't share any of his inhibitions and he pushes the boundaries whenever he gets the chance. Normally Geralt doesn't put up with his theatrics, but tonight he likes being rescued and he wants to keep Jaskier exactly where he is. Because if Jaskier is in his lap, no one else will bother him. Or at least that’s what he tells himself. It definitely has nothing to do with the way Jaskier’s fingertips press into the base of his skull.

Apparently, having someone in your lap isn’t a strong enough deterrent for some of the other patrons, and Geralt still finds himself being propositioned. But Jaskier does the talking for him, saving Geralt the irritation, so when Jaskier pushes further and pretends to know all sorts of things about Geralt and his touches, Geralt doesn't stop him. He cooperates even. And he's expecting it all to be utter bullshit about glowing eyes and tingling, but Jaskier shuts that down pretty quickly, much to Geralt's amusement.

"Don't be ridiculous," he scoffs, stroking Geralt's hair. "He's human, he's just a person. He doesn't glow or vibrate. Although-" he flashes a cheeky grin in Geralt’s direction and Geralt can’t even bring himself to roll his eyes.

One of the more skeptical people in their audience looks to him for affirmation and Geralt just shrugs. She purses her lips, and Jaskier pulls back to look at Geralt. He looks absolutely delighted and the glimmer of joy in his eyes is intoxicating, Geralt can't help but grin back at him.

Jaskier leans in like no one else is in the room, breathing against his ear. Geralt isn't sure if it's part of the act or not, but when Jaskier whispers, "take me upstairs," he isn't about to risk it. He shifts Jaskier so he's straddling his thighs and there's a rolling heat that creeps up his chest. When Jaskier bends back, effectively shooing away the gathered patrons, Geralt realizes he's fucked either way.

Mostly, he hopes it’s a part of the act and Jaskier will drop it as soon as they’re alone in their room. But another part of him doesn’t want it to be.

He's an idiot for ever having let Jaskier traipse along after him, to begin with, but now he's stuck with him. And now, Jaskier has done something to him and he's got all these feelings. And now, right this moment, Geralt is going to take him upstairs and if that’s what Jaskier wants, he’s going to fuck him.

When he looks down at him, Jaskier's got a smug little smirk on his face and Geralt wants to kiss it away. He hauls Jaskier up into his arms and he's the one feeling tingly as Jaskier gives him a seductive little wink and wraps his arms tighter around Geralt's neck. If they don’t get out of here soon, Geralt is going to do something stupid in front of a lot of people.

Geralt makes his way out of the crowded inn and gets Jaskier upstairs to their room. Jaskier laughs as they stop at the door and when Geralt gives him a funny look, he slides a hand down the side of his face.

"They really bought that, huh?" Jaskier grins at him and Geralt scowls. He thought he knew Jaskier better than that.

"Hmm." He shifts Jaskier to hold him with one arm to unlock the door and Jaskier practically purrs.

"Fuck, you're strong."

"Hmm."

"It's a little bit sexy." Jaskier bites his lip and Geralt has to look away from him.

"And you're a little bit drunk."

Jaskier leans in again, letting his lips brush against Geralt's cheek. "Mm, I'm not. But you are sexy." He leans back, looking at him and Geralt realizes he's going to do this whether it's a good idea or not. Probably not. He walks into the room and twists his fingers in Jaskier's shirt, hauling him forward to kiss him.

Jaskier responds immediately, sliding his hands into Geralt's hair and holding him against him. Geralt wasn't expecting this kind of response and it catches him off guard, but he shuts the door behind them and carries Jaskier to the bed. He feels like he's burning up and suddenly he's afraid of doing the wrong thing and when he presses Jaskier into the bed, his movements are automatic and stunted.

He shouldn't do this. Jaskier is his only real friend and the last time he had sex with a friend it got complicated. He holds back, but Jaskier isn't having it and he stops, pushing Geralt up off of him.

"What's wrong?" he asks, "I thought you wanted this?" He looks anxious like he’s the one to blame here, and Geralt doesn't know what to say.

He does want him. He wants him much more than he's ever wanted anyone, more than he should want anyone. But he's a Witcher and Jaskier is a poet, a romantic and there's no romance in what Geralt does. He just got carried away tonight, wrapped up in the way Jaskier treated him like a regular person, the way he defended him. It felt good for once to feel normal, even for a fleeting moment. But he knows he isn't and he knows he can't have things like this that seem so common to others. Rarely does Geralt feel a gentle touch without paying and even then, it's timid at best.

But not Jaskier. Even after Geralt has failed to respond to him, Jaskier runs his hands up his arms, rubbing soothing circles into his skin. Geralt doesn't deserve him, but Jaskier doesn't seem to care.

"I can't," he says finally and Jaskier looks at him like he's considering it.

"Do this?” he asks, “Or want it?" Geralt doesn't meet his eyes. "Because you are allowed to want things, and I promise you darling that if this is what you want, you absolutely can have it." Jaskier reaches up for him, pulling Geralt down against him and rolling him onto his back. Geralt says nothing, just looks up at him. Jaskier isn't deterred.

"You can tell me," he whispers, shifting onto his knees so he can lean over Geralt. "We're friends, right?"

"Hmm."

"Or is that the problem? Because let me tell you, Geralt, if you're worried about ruining this friendship, you won't. This is a terrible friendship and fucking me right now could only improve it." He slides his hands up Geralt's stomach tangling in the fabric of his tunic and tugging it up.

"Jaskier."

"Tell me you don't want me and I'll leave you to sleep, but I think you do. I think you’re making up rules for yourself again." Geralt grunts at him but gives no other response and Jaskier smiles softly. "Charming as always, darling, but I'm going to need you to use your words."

"I don't want to fuck this up," Geralt rumbles, turning to look at the wall. "You're all I have."

"And I'm not going anywhere. If I recall, you've fucked up pretty badly before and yet, here we are." Jaskier leans down next to his ear, breathing softly. "I'm yours, love, tingly or not." He presses his lips to the bolt of Geralt's jaw, leaving sloppy kisses down to his chin. "Do you want me, Witcher?"

Geralt looks up into bright, honest eyes and gods does he want him. It feels unreal that he could even have the chance, but Jaskier's hands are soft against him, brushing the strip of skin between his trousers and his dishevelled shirt.

"Yes," he breathes and Jaskier tips his chin up, smiling before pressing their lips together firmly. He's soft still, but his enthusiasm bleeds through in the fumbling of his fingers and the desperate groan that slips from his lips.

Jaskier's fingers slip down, popping each button on Geralt's trousers with intent. He pushes them open and Geralt's breath catches in his chest, hips rising with the motion of Jaskier's fingers as he strokes down the length of his cock. Jaskier's mouth slides away from his own, pressing open-mouthed kisses down his neck and chest, down to the vee of Geralt's hips. When he reaches the head of his cock, jutting out from his trousers, Jaskier noses at him, humming softly.

"Jas," he huffs and Jaskier doesn't wait any longer, taking the head of his cock between his lips and slowly sliding down to the base. Geralt doesn't breathe as Jaskier settles. His cock is pressed right to the back of his throat and he knows Jaskier can't keep this up for long but it feels incredible. It's too good and Geralt has to steady himself to keep from fucking into his mouth.

He draws back and Jaskier follows, slipping up to the head again and running his tongue around it before sinking back down. His head bobs and Geralt has to keep his eyes off him because he doesn't think he'll be able to hold it together if he can see what he’s doing. Jaskier sinks low and Geralt's hand thrusts into his hair, tugging lightly and drawing a stifled moan from Jaskier's lips.

"You like that?" he asks, curious. Jaskier presses up into the touch, flicking his eyes up to meet Geralt's and he’s a stunning sight, cheeks flushed, lips stretched wide around the girth of his cock.

Jaskier pulls up, running his tongue along the slit of Geralt's cock and back around the head. Out of sight, he slips a hand beneath himself and Geralt can hear the rustling of fabric, the metal clink of claps coming undone. Jaskier's hand slips around himself and Geralt only just refrains from pushing him over and touching him himself, but Jaskier's tongue runs along the underside of his cock, sufficiently subduing him.

He slips a hand into Jaskier’s hair as Jaskier’s tongue works up the length of his cock, tugging lightly. Jaskier groans around him and Geralt tugs again, just lightly, but Jaskier gets the message.

He pulls up off his cock, sucking hard at the head and winding his tongue around him once more as he lifts his head. Geralt reaches out, tugging Jaskier up over him and he slides his hands down his back, over the swell off his ass. He squeezes just slightly, shifting his hips so his cock slides up against Jaskier's, hot and painfully hard.

He slides both hands into Jaskier's hair, pulling him into a hungry kiss and rocking up against him. The friction is exactly what he needs and he thrusts lightly, letting the sounds of Jaskier's pleasure wash over him. Jaskier lets out soft, needy moans that get lost amidst the tangle of lips and tongues but they linger long enough.

Geralt pulls one hand from Jaskier's hair, pushing down his back and beneath his trousers. He traces the line between his cheeks and Jaskier arches against him, pressing into the touch. He's soft and wanting and when Geralt's fingers slip between his cheeks, brushing against his hole, Jaskier groans into his mouth. He draws away, pressing his forehead into Geralt's shoulder.

"Fuck," he breathes and that one single word rips through Geralt like a hot blade. He flips Jaskier onto his back without warning, kneeling above him as he reaches for the hem of Jaskier's trousers.

Geralt gets him out of them quickly, discarding the clothing without a thought as he reaches for Jaskier's bag. He's always got a selection of oils and right now he's not picky. The bottle he pulls out is tall and thin and a quick nod from Jaskier confirms that it will do the job. Geralt is quick about popping the cork and slicking his fingers. Now that he's got Jaskier like this, he realizes just how badly he’s wanted it and his patience is running thin.

Moving over, Geralt settles himself next to Jaskier, running his slick fingers down the length of his cock and back behind his balls. He rubs against his hole and Jaskier groans, rolling his head to nip at Geralt's earlobe. Soft moans slip from his lips and Geralt rubs harder, using just enough pressure that he breaches the first ring of muscle. Jaskier whimpers and whines, biting Geralt's ear.

"More," he breathes and he pushes his hips down, taking Geralt deeper. He clenches around him and Geralt pushes deeper, rubbing up against him.

Jaskier whimpers as he seeks out that spot and Geralt runs a second finger around his rim before pushing in. He'd spend more time teasing, really working Jaskier up because he'd love to see him undone, writhing in ecstasy, but he doesn't have the patience right now. He thrusts hard and Jaskier groans. One hand flies up to his cock and Girl realizes with a start that Jaskier is wet, precome leaking steadily down his shaft and onto his stomach.

He can smell him now like the tangy-sweet scent wasn't there before and it makes his head foggy. Jaskier always smells incredible, but right now he's intoxicating and Geralt's whole body reacts to the change.

He watches, awed, as a bead of pre-come gathers and rolls down the head of Jaskier's cock. His fingers thrust quickly fucking him with renewed enthusiasm and Jaskier pushes his cock up, squeezing around the base as he arches off the bed. Geralt isn't sure what possesses him to do it, but he ducks his head taking the head of Jaskier's cock between his lips.

Sliding low, Geralt presses his nose into the bed of dark curls at the base of his cock, inhaling the scent of him. It's sweat and salt and the musky, spicy scent of lust and Jaskier. He smells incredible and his taste is just as good, spreading along the tip of his tongue.

By the time he gets three fingers into Jaskier, his jaw aches and Jaskier is rambling at him. It's nonsense, but it's filthy and Geralt struggles to keep his composure. His cock aches under him and every word goes through him like lightning, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to his aching cock. He shifts his hips, rutting against the mattress as Jaskier fucks his mouth and he can't take it much longer.

Jaskier's fingers slip into his hair, tugging his head up and Geralt is met with dark wide eyes before Jaskier sits up and his lips come crashing back against his own.

"I want you," he breathes. "Come on darling, I'm ready for your cock and I know you want it." He's right. Geralt is rock hard under him, pressed firmly into the mattress and he does, he wants him so badly. He growls low in his throat, pulling out and reaching for the bottle again.

He rises up to his knees, dripping oil along the length of his cock and Jaskier watches, suddenly silent. He moves, mirroring Geralt's position and shuffles forward. He runs his fingers along the underside of Geralt's cock. It's a soft, barely-there touch, but Geralt jerks into it with a grunt.

Jaskier turns toward the wall, bracing himself with one hand against the headboard and reaching back to stroke Geralt with the other. He wraps around him as best he can, tugging Geralt forward and Geralt lets himself be led. He presses against Jaskier's back, dipping to kiss the side of his neck and Jaskier moans softly, dropping his chin forward.

He presses Geralt's cock against his hole and pushes back against him. Geralt's fingers settle on his hips, fingers digging into his skin and he shuts his eyes. Jaskier is tight and hot around him and his mind is foggy as he presses into him.

"Fuck," Jaskier moans, "gods, Geralt, you're fucking huge." Geralt says nothing, but he withdraws a little, to no avail. Jaskier is quick to press back, taking him all the way and Geralt jerks forward, bracing himself on the wall above Jaskier’s shoulders. Jaskier's fingers move, slipping over Geralt's and Geralt covers his hand, tangling their fingers together.

He rolls his hips, draping himself over Jaskier's back and pressing his nose into Jaskier's hair. He tries to keep a steady pace, but every time, Jaskier is right there wanting him harder, faster, more and Geralt relishes the chance not to have to restrain himself. He fucks him hard, snapping his hips and pushing himself deep and rolling his hips into him. And Jaskier lets him, encourages him and when Geralt pushes his fingers into his hair again, jerking Jaskier back against him, he just moans and grins up at him.

"Tingly," he breathes and Geralt huffs incredulously, kissing the word from his lips.

Jaskier pushes his hips back, fully seating himself on Geralt's cock and he leans against his chest. Warm lips press against Geralt’s neck and he groans, slipping his hand down Jaskier's stomach and around his cock. Jaskier thrusts between his fingers and the shaky breath against his neck tells Geralt he's getting close. Which is way more arousing than it should be and Geralt has to steady himself to keep from coming right there.

He strokes Jaskier quickly, pressing his forefinger under the head and Jaskier whimpers under him. He rocks back onto Geralt's cock and forward into his hand, quick and hard until his hips stutter and he spills over Geralt's hand, rolling his head back on his shoulder.

Geralt is so caught up in watching him that he forgets about his own orgasm until Jaskier curls an arm around his neck, tugging his hair. There's a familiar pull in his gut and Geralt shoves his hips forward hard, knocking them both forward against the wall. He winds one arm under Jaskier's chest, holding him against him and it only takes a couple of quick thrusts before he's coming. He buries himself deep, hips jerking as he rides out the rush of it and Jaskier rides him through it, slipping his fingers through his hair and whispering soft words of praise.

He stays there for a moment with his face pressed into Jaskier's neck, pressing soft kisses into his skin. He's breathless and tired, but Jaskier is soft against him and when he hums Geralt can't help but smile to himself. He shifts, dropping to sit with his back against the wall, and he pulls Jaskier into his lap, running his fingers down his thighs.

"Am I tingly enough for you?" he asks and Jaskier laughs, dropping his head back against his shoulder.

"I never cared if you were tingly," he breathes, "you're perfect to me however you are." Geralt rolls his eyes, but he winds an arm around Jaskier's stomach and holds him close.

[henryobsessed]

The Widow and The Witcher Chapter 19

Summary: The wedding night has arrived, but the war is getting closer.

Word Count: 3440

Warning: Oral Female receiving, Sex. I have marked where this starts and finishes for those who wish to skip the more explicate part. 

A/N I am not normally a smut writer but I wanted to show the difference between their stolen moment of desperation, compared to the joy of committed intimacy. For Geralt and Julia this is marriage but it is meant to signify any committed relationship. 

Chapter 19

Geralt waited, looking into the fire, but focusing on the sounds from the bathroom. He could hear the rustling of clothes and water running into a bowel. His heightened senses could even hear her heartbeat from the other room, it alerted him that it was beating faster than her normal rhythm. Was she nervous? His precious wife who could command a household of people, stand up to a slave trader and address a village was nervous to be with him? He heard the door open and turn to reassure her but his own heart increased at the sight that stood before him.

The garment hung loosely lightly touching but not concealing the soft skin of her naked body. Geralt lost his ability to speak, as his eyes traveled over her curves. From the soft reddish-brown curls that cascaded down over her shoulders and back only just obscuring the sight of the tops of breasts. Down to her slim waist and then her hips. His body shivered and began to feel warm as she walked towards him. Her eyes never leaving his until she stopped standing directly in front of him. A small smile pulled at her lips as she spoke in a soft voice "My love I think you're a little overdressed" Geralt could only grunt still mesmerized by the siren that stood before him.

Julia tried to hold a giggle back as she looked at her warrior, he seemed stunned unable to move unable to speak. This gave her some hope that he liked what he saw. Playing along she reached up and started to undo each button making sure to caress his skin lightly with each one. This elicited small groans from Geralt as she teased. Wanting to no longer look at this Warrior as a patient but as her lover, she removed the shirt and let it fall to the ground. Her hand trailing across his broad shoulders she moved to circle him tracing the lines of his skin. As she moved she felt his hand reach around for her but she swatted it away. Chuckling she whispered "uh uh not yet My love your still overdressed and I want to see all of you" A frustrated growl left Geralt's lips as she came back to face him sending a shiver of heat through her middle.

Geralt felt like he was burning up, every light touch of her hands on his skin felt like a hot coals. He was ready to claim her body, to let his actions speak of his desire for her. Heart pounding in his ears he felt her swat his hand away did she not realise what she was doing to him. How hard it was for him to not just lift her up and claim her right now. She was facing him again her hand skillfully undoing the laces causing his britches to fall to the ground. Proud of her achievement she looked up at him with a soft smile on her face. Geralt reached up to cup her face and softly said "Is my mistress pleased with what she see’s?" nodding her head her bottom lip caught between her teeth in a coy smile. This action caused Geralt to reached his limit of control. Lifting her in his arms her legs wrapped around his waist there lips tangled in a warm and passionate dance. He could feel her moan into his mouth as he walked them to the bed.

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The wolf in Geralt wanted to ravish his bride, but as he laid her down he stood back and watched her. She was stunning, her hair messy, lips swollen, cheeks blushed with a beautiful hue of red. The sheer gown showed her breasts peaked with desire. This is what they lacked on their previous dalliance. Time, vision, enjoyment of each other. He watched as she noticed his absence and leant up on her elbows. The action aching her back making her heavy breasts push even more through her gown. “Geralt?” she panted an uncertain look crossing her features at his absence. He smiled at her as he knelt between her legs, slowly running his hands under the fabric pushing it up over her knees as he began kissing the inside of her thighs.

A shiver curled its way though her middle at each gentle kiss Geralt placed on her sensitive skin. His eyes sparkled with mischief as they met hers “Geralt!” she moaned as he increased the suction of his kissed leaving reddish purple love bites up her inner thighs. Chuckling he murmured into her skin “Two can play this game my love” frustration built as each kiss sent her senses into overdrive. She reached down and pulled her fingers through his white hair in a bid to speed up his movement towards her now aching mound. The growl he let out vibrated along her skin knocking the breath from her lips.

He wanted to tease, and it seemed he was being successful as he felt her body tremble.  Her hands reached out tugging his hair causing him to growl as his control began to slip. Geralt could smell her arousal as his mouth descended on her inner lips, they were so wet with desire. Her body trembled as a loud moan filled the air, finding his target and laying claim to her pleasure. Her body writhed beneath his mouth. Her hand increased there pressure and his tongue feasted on his prize. This was now his and would always be. He slowed down making note of every sweet sound, what elicited music from her lips, and what caused her to recoil from him. His rhythm increased until he felt her curl up over him as her body sang out his name.

Julia lay panting on the bed her body recovering from his talented mouth. They had moved to the middle of the bed, Geralt lay on his side watch her a sly smile on his lips. She lifted her hand to trace the lines on his face, as she smiled “I could get used to your talented mouth Geralt. That was a new experience that I want to enjoy again.” He laughed joy lighting his eyes at her praise. Feeling her energy return she pushed him onto his back her hand tracing the lines on his stomach. The ridges of his muscles as they trailed down towards the large muscle protruding between his legs. It fascinated her the soft skin contrasting with the steel beneath. Hearing him gasp at her light touches his member twitching beneath her fingers, she got up and straddled his hips lining up and settling him slowly inside her. 

She enjoyed the feeling of fullness as her walls welcomed the pleasured stretch and friction as he seemed to fill her completely . Looking down at her husbands a look of surprise and approval filled his face. She took time squeezing around him before she leaned down and captured his lips. It was her turn to slowly massage and tease his hardness drawing moans of pleasure from his depths. She increased her speed until his face contorted pupils dilated and a cry filled her ears as he expanded inside her. 

His chest heaved beneath her trying to catch his breath, his eyes focused on her as he came back down to earth. A smile lifted from his lips and settled in his eyes as he bought her down to kiss her slowly this time. “My love, you will be the death of me, and I will die a happy man.” she laughed softly at his words as she peered into his amber yellow eyes. “I will spend a life time learning how to bring you back to life Geralt.” she kissed him again before settling on his chest his arms wrapping around her. A contented rumble radiating from them both as they enjoyed the embrase.                

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Julia sighed with contentment as her fingers lightly played with the hair on Geralt's chest. The sun was almost up over the trees and she could already hear movement within the house. She closed her eyes for a moment knowing that they had no responsibility today. No one would disturb them. She turned her head at the sound of Geralt's stomach rumbling. Chuckling she put her hand over the offending muscles and asked "I think you're body is protesting, would you like some fruit and bread?" Geralt not quite awake hovering somewhere between sleep and consciousness answered with a grunt.

Geralt heard movement as Julia slipped out of the bed and moved towards to table. Finally satisfied and content the image in front of him was a comfort. He knew every part of her body now, had spent most of the night exploring it, and now he could see the little love bites he had left behind. She walked back to him a smile tugging at her lips as she caught him staring. She sat on the edge of the bed completely relaxed and no longer self-conscious as Geralt lifted himself up to take her food offering. Taking the first bite Julia sighed "I wish every day could be like this" Geralt hummed his agreement. After finishing her meal and taking Geralt's empty plate she moved back into his arms. Snuggling deep into his chest she seemed to relax. Geralt wrapped his arms around her echoing her thoughts in his mind, he wished every day could be like this too.

That evening the couple emerged from their chambers to share in a meal with the rest of the household. Most of the villagers had left but their family still remained. The conversation around the table was lively, Geralt was seated with Julia to his right and Vesemir to his left giving him some relief from the ribbing he was sure to get from his brothers. Overhearing some conversations floating around the room one line of subject caught his attention. Lambert was saying to Tobias "I heard they crossed the river. If Temeria can't hold the line you will have trouble here" Julia must have heard the same thing as her hand reached over seeking out his.

A commotion was heard outside, Tobias stood and left, Lambert followed. It wasn't long before they returned with a man wearing a uniform hat in hand. Tobias walked him up to Julia and introduce Captain Solair, Julia looked at the Man who seemed commanding in his approach but looking around and noticing all the Witcher's at the table stuttered out his greeting "M..m..my Apologies for interrupting your d..dinnner Mistress" taking pity on the poor man Julia gave him a warm smile and said "That's ok Captain, how can I help you tonight?" gathering his wits the captain focused only on Julia and spoke again "The Nilfgaardians army has reached Temeria, we are holding the line but we need to have a field hospital further away from the front line. It was recommended that we come here as your healing is well renown."

Geralt growled at the man, that would bring men here and possibly even the Nilfgaardians army. He looked at Julia conveying his disagreement at what was being propositioned. Julia didn't seem to be taking any notice of what he was silently conveying instead she said "Captain have you bought any wounded with you? Or are they on their way" The Captain seemed to approve of her gumption and said "I have 5 in a wagon with me and more are on their way" Geralt groaned he never wanted to be apart of the war, Witcher's don't take political sides. Taking Julia's hand he stared with one of his most ugly smiles and said "excuse me, I need to talk to my wife alone for a moment" this caused the Captain to shrink back nodding in agreement.

Geralt pulled Julia into the kitchen and then let go of her hand frustration making him need to pace. Julia looked at him as he stomped amongst the pots and pans scaring the other servants and Nessie who with a nod from Julia left the room. She just waited, knowing that he needed time to put his thoughts together. Turning to face her a look of worry and frustration lining his eyes he spoke "You can't just say yes to this, the whole village could be put in jeopardy by bringing so many people here. We need to think about this family, about Ciri, it would be better if we left, as once my brothers are gone we will only have the men of this estate for protection. They have been training well but it still will not be enough" Julia caught between her desire to help the wounded and to protect her family stood silent. A deep voice spoke from the doorway causing Geralt and Julia to look that way.

Vesemir stood with the wolf brothers speaking with determination said "We couldn't help overhear Geralt, we will stay, this is our family now too and war or not we are here for whatever you need." The rest of the brothers nodded their heads in agreement. Julia took in this information looked back at Geralt who seemed to be surprised by His brother's words. Julia taking the initiative said "Thank you, We appreciated your offer. Do you mind giving us just a moment and can you ask Visenna, Yennefer, and Renee to wait in the dining room for me as well." Nodding their agreement, the men turned and left.

Julia looked back to Geralt and moved to wrap her arms around his waist, "I know that given your comments before you would rather us pack up and run so you can get us to safety. I would too, but they're here now and more are coming and I can't just leave them to suffer. I'll send Tobias to get the village elders so we can discuss what to do and I will leave the security detailing up to you. Can you work with that? Can you accept the hand we have been given?" Geralt moved his arms around her and pulled her into a hug resting his chin on her head. She could hear his heartbeat slowing as her touch helped him calm. He then said with a resigned voice "Ok, let's do this but If I come to you and say we have to go. I want you to drop whatever you are doing and come. No questions asked." Hearing his need to have an escape plan and to know she trusted him Julia said quietly into his chest "Yes Geralt, I will trust your judgment"

That night saw a blur of activity. The Village elders had arrived an hour after the message went out and after much debate had agreed that the Village would host the Field hospital. Julia had spoken with Visenna, Renee and Yennefer who had discussed what was going to happen in great detail, Visenna and Renee were happy to help, Yennefer was angry that Julia was putting Ciri in danger but once they agreed to change Ciri's appearance and that she would stay by Yen's side helping her they all accepted to help. Now she had everyone on board she went back to the Captain with Geralt at her side. He didn't seem to trust the man but it gave her a sense of security knowing he was there. The Captain was waiting out by the wagon with his men as Julia approached him. Looking him straight in the eye Julia spoke with assurity "Captain, I have spoken with the Village elders you can set up tents here on my land, there are 4 healers here already and I am sure the ladies of the Village will help me but you might want to bring some with you as well." Renee and Tobias had already done a quick triage taking the neediest into the healing rooms those left in the wagons were stable.

Geralt walked into the healing room looking for Julia, he found her head resting on her arms asleep with herbs scattered around the table. She must have been up most of the night helping the wounded and preparing for the people to arrive. He looked around and saw Renee tending to one of the patients his head was bandaged and his leg was missing. Walking over to Renee he put a hand on her back "How long has Julia been asleep? And You should not be overdoing it, Renee, get Visenna to take over" Renee looked at him a small smile on her face as she said "Julia's been asleep for about two hours and I just sent Visenna to bed, she's been up for 24 hours" placing a hand on her protruding belly she said "we will be ok, and I will make sure to accept help when its offered. Don't worry Tobias is on my case as well" with that she sat down to rest watching her patient.

Taking a blanket and laying it over Julia's shoulders Geralt kissed her on her head and walked out the door. He had a job to do now. He had sent a message to the men of the Village and they would be arriving soon. All his brothers waited for him outside ready to train, if this village was willing to bring wounded in to care for them he would make sure that the men of the Village were trained to protect their families.    

          One Month had passed, Julia was sitting in the library the one place she could go when it was her turn for a break to not be disturbed. She sat looking into the fire, her body ached from all the activity, her mind foggy with lack of sleep. The last month had been frantic, the Temeria line had held and Nilfgaard had retreated only a week ago. However, that had not stopped the wounded arriving.  She heard a noise at the door and saw Geralt looking at her, from his look he too was tired. As the wounded healed Geralt the brothers and his band of Village men had worked hard to keep the peace and stop the soldiers from taking advantage of the Village. The same Village that had sent its Women to feed and heal their sorry asses. There was no way to vet who was good and bad all they knew were they were wounded and that's all Julia could think of now. She motioned for Geralt to come in, He came forward and sat next to her pulling her into his arms and they sank into the couch. Snuggling in further Julia whispered "I Love you" and before she fell asleep she heard his deep gruff voices whisper back "I love you too"

Slowly the tents began disappearing, as the men healed Geralt made sure they were sent back to their home towns. Julia was glad as her household and the Village were tired and needed rest. Especially Renee who Julia had been watching closely. She was not far off her time and Visenna had insisted that she be on bed rest in her last weeks before the baby was due. No more wounded had arrived for a few days now so Julia was doing an inventory on what she had left and what she needed to replenish. She was so grateful for her garden, she had only run out of one herb during the time she was needed however she hoped there would not be any more wars as her supply was almost out.

Julia heard a shout from outside her room as Geralt push inn carrying Eskel over his shoulder followed by Vesemir "Julia, Eskel's been poisoned, quick do you have any Golden Oriole." Not thinking but acting out of haste she ran and grabbed the Witcher book out of its hiding place and quickly finding the recipe for the Golden Oriole went to make some. Thankfully she had what she needed and was able to make it quickly. Running over to Eskel she lifted his head to drink, then waited, watching as his skin went from an almost death pallor to his normal pink hue. Breathing a sigh of relief she turned back to her table but rather than relief her heart began to race as she saw Vesemir looking down at her book.      

He looked up at her a mix of Amazement and shock on his face. Not sure what to do she looked to Geralt for help but he was too busy fussing over Eskel to notice that she was in trouble.

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[noladyme]

The Frog Princess. Chapter 6

She had no wish to be bound down to anyone, but Y/N none the less found herself being dragged across the continent; to marry King Foltest of Temeria.  Instead of pomp and spectacle; she was accompanied by the witcher, Geralt of Rivia. Their travels would bring both monsters, lust, love; and heartache. All sound tracked by an endearing buffoon of a bard, named Jaskier.

TW: Violence, language, sexual themes. Rated M.

6

The rooster that woke me up, was a real one. Sunlight was slipping in through the shutters; and lighting up the face of the man lying naked next to me – his arm draped over my chest.

We looked at each other for a long time without a word. I knew the situation should be awkward – our circumstance being as it was – but in that moment, it wasn’t.

His amber eyes were warm; nothing like the cold, heartless eyes I’d seen earlier. I lost myself in his gaze; and smiled. I ran a finger down the side of his face; from the soft skin on his temple, over the stubble on his cheek, and he closed his eyes in pleasure. He pulled me towards him gingerly, so that we were laid facing each other; and put his forehead to mine, exhaling with a satisfied expression. His arm was around me, and his fingers played with the hair at the back of my neck.

The fire having gone out; the room was cold; and Geralt pulled the covers over me, to shield me from it. I sighed contentedly, and he smiled at me; pulling me in for a soft kiss. I let my fingers slide over his chest, running them through the hair there; before slipping my arm around his warm body. Taking a hold of my thigh; he slowly slid my leg around his hip – still softly kissing my lips; occasionally letting the tip of his tongue met mine.

Our eyes met in mutual consent; and he gingerly slid inside me again – taking care not to hurt me; as I was still sore from our lovemaking the night before – we hadn’t stopped at one time, and I could see a few bruises on my arms from where he had held me pinned down on the mattress. I gasped as he began to move. “Do you want me to stop?”, he whispered. I shook my head. “Never”. He smiled softly.

His movements weren’t so much thrusts, as slow sways of his hips; as he held me against him. His member felt velvety as he moved in and out of me; and I stroked his back lazily – closing my eyes in relaxed pleasure.

We were in a state of pure bliss in that moment. Nothing could touch us inside this little bubble we had created.

He continued to move; pulling himself on top of me – taking care not to put his full weight on me. His hands slid over my breasts; fingers tracing a purplish bruise his mouth had left there. “I didn’t mean to hurt you”, he said; and kissed the mark. “You didn’t”, I breathed, and stroked his cheek. “I’m all right”.

Our lips met again; brushing against each other. He ran his hand down my side; lifting my leg to lay it around his torso. I moaned from the angle he was getting; only having made such a slight change to our position. He kept kissing me and gently excavating my core. His pubic bone was softly pushing against my bundle of nerves as he moved; and I felt my insides beginning to clench around him.

“Geralt…”, I breathed. “I can… only once…”. “Yes”, he whispered into my ear. “Together”. Moving a little faster; we chased our highs together – moaning in unison.

It wasn’t the same explosion as the ones that I had felt the night before – but no less pleasurable. It was a poof; and then a soft wave of tingling warmth spreading throughout my body. Geralt came along with me; a quiet groan as he pushed into me one final time – his cock twitching along with his body’s jolt.

Sliding out of me; he laid back on the mattress. His hair was tussled, and I grinned at him. “What?”, he asked. “Now you look well and fucked”, I giggled. He raised his eyebrows and smiled back at me. “I am”.

There was a gentle knock on the door. “Geralt?”, Jaskier called softly. “Are you awake?”

“Fuck”, Geralt grumbled.

I released myself from his grasp – squeezing his hand in the process – and went to get the robe I had left by the tub. The water was cold; but I used it to quickly rinse myself off from Geralts and my own juices; smiling at the memory of the moments we’d spent in it the night before.

Having put on his pants and breeches, and checked to see that I was decent – pouting playfully at the lack of skin he could see on me – Geralt unbolted and opened the door. Jaskier stepped in, carrying a tray of assorted fruits. “Good morning”, he chirped sweetly, like a mother to a child. He set down the tray, and sat himself on a chair by the table. Geralt went to build a fire.

“Well, that was a party!”, Jaskier smiled. “I didn’t see much of you. Where did you go?”. He looked from Geralt to me; to the untouched bedding on the cot by the door. Seeing my flushed cheeks; his mouth went agape. “Oh”. He said. “Oh! Oh, wow!”, he smiled brightly. “Well, I can’t say I didn’t see that coming”. Popping a grape into his mouth, he smirked and wiggled his brows. I ran a hand through my hair, and looked away.

“What do you want, Jaskier?”, Geralt asked. “I wanted to make sure to see you off”, the bard answered. I sat down across the table from him; wincing slightly from the pain in my nether regions. Jaskier drew in a long breath through his teeth. “Do you need some ice, my lady?”. I threw a plum at him. He laughed in response.

“Are you not continuing on with us?”, I asked, trying to change the subject. “Alas, I cannot”, he answered, stuffing his mouth with another three grapes. “The Baron has asked me to stay the week, and perform at the evening festivities each night. I’m charging him a good amount of coin for it”, he said proudly. “Good for you”, Geralt said disinterestedly. “Yes, well; I’m sure you’ll miss me very much”, Jaskier smirked at him.

He stood up and took my hand; kissing it chivalrously. “My lady. It has been an honor”, he said. “I shall write you another ode; and if we’re lucky, I’ll be able to sing it at your wedding”.

Geralt looked as if he was ready to smash the bards face into the wall.

Another knock on the door. “Jasky?”, a light voice tweeted. “Coming, Cri… Clo… Cuddle cake”, Jaskier called. “I can’t remember her name”, he whispered with a shrug.

He walked up to the witcher, and patted his shoulder. “Take care, old friend”, he said. “Goodbye, Jaskier”, Geralt answered. “Don’t die before we meet again”. Jaskier smiled brightly, and went out the door to join his newest conquest.

“I give it three days”, I smirked, making Geralt chuckle. He grabbed an apple from the tray, and took a large bite of it. “Get dressed”, he said, mouth full. I looked him with a raised eyebrow. He swallowed the bite. “Please?...”.

---

We set off from Tigg within an hour. Geralt had offered me to sit on Roach, but I’d declined. “It’s probably going to be a few hours before I can straddle anything again”, I’d smirked at him; getting a grunting chuckle in response.

It was strange leaving behind the place we’d spent the night making love; and moving towards the place he was to hand me over to another man. I think we both felt the awkwardness of the situation build; but once we’d left the village behind us, and were out of the sight of others, Geralt took my hand; clearly trying to clear the air, somehow.

“Are we going to… do that… again?”, I asked. Suddenly I felt strangely shy. “What do you mean?”, he smirked; looking out the corner of his eye at me. “Fuck you, Geralt”, I sneered. “Oh, that! Yeah, I wouldn’t mind”, he chuckled. My face reddened. “Hels ass. I feel like a… bloody juvenile”, I snorted.

He stopped, and pulled me in to his arms. “I don’t know what this is; but whatever it is, it feels good”. I looked up at him. “I want you to be happy; safe and content. And if it wasn’t for your soreness; I’d want to throw you against that tree over there, and screw your brains out, until you screamed in pleasure. Trust me when I say; I haven’t felt that way about someone in quite a while”. I laughed, and bit my lip. “That fucking lip”, he growled. I raised a brow at him, and smirked. “Don’t play with fire, little frog”, he said warningly.

I got on my toes, and kissed him softly. He groaned in response. “What did I just say?”, he said, and looked at me with mock threat in his eyes. “Fine”, I said, and we kept moving.

We walked throughout the day, stopping once for a bite of bread; and a tender kiss. The landscape changed again; as we moved towards the edge of forestland. The air had a brisk chill to it; biting at my nose and cheeks. My knee was no longer in any real pain; so, I tried to keep a brisk pace, to keep myself warm.

“Eager to get to our destination?”, Geralt asked curtly. “I’m cold”, I bit back. “Sorry”, he said, voice softer.

I saw a patch of white flowers at the side of the road; and let go of Geralts hand to examine them. Chamomile!, I realized, and began gently cutting their stems with my knife, to save them for future use. I saw more plants further in to the trees, that I wanted to have a look at. “Y/N”, Geralt called after me. “I’m just going to look at these flowers”, I called back. “Keep your bloody breeches on… If you insist…”, I mumbled.

I found another patch of flowers – pretty pink ones – which I recognized to be oleander. I wasn’t in the habit of dabbling in poison; but if the last week had taught me anything, it was to always be prepared. I moved on; finding both honeysuckle and mandrake. Looking back over my shoulder, I could no longer see the road; or Geralt. I realized I was lost.

I tried to find my own tracks, thinking that I could follow them back. I didn’t want to call out for the witcher, admittedly a little ashamed about my predicament. It was swiftly becoming darker around me – the sun beginning to set. Suddenly, someone grabbed my arm. Geralt looked at me with angry eyes.

“You’ve been gone over half an hour. I thought you were trying to run again!”, he snarled. His words made me turn from embarrassed to enraged. “Who says I wasn’t?”, I said. “The honeysuckle in your satchel”, he answered. “How did you?...”, I began; remembering his perfect sense of smell. “Of course”, I scoffed.

He dragged me back to the road; which to my embarrassment was only about 50 yards away.

“You need to stay near me”, he growled, not letting go of my arm, and snatching my satchel from me. “I can’t spend every minute of the day having to worry that you’ll suddenly wander off and get yourself in trouble!”.

“I wish you’d just ignore your duty for once, and take me somewhere else!”, I said. “Y/N…”, Geralt said, having let go of me. “I can’t… Even if I did, I couldn’t give you what you want”. I looked at him confused, but he seemed to take that as sadness. “I’m sorry, little frog”, he said. “I was made for one thing. To kill. I’m not going to be able to settle down in a cabin near Kaer Trolde; shearing sheep and tending to crops”.

I stopped in my tracks – rage seeping out of every pore of my being. “Did you completely miss the point of what I told you that night?”, I snarled. “I don’t want you to change for me. I just don’t want to…”.

“Shut up”, he said. I slapped him hard across the face. He looked at me with a sudden indignance; which made me lift my arm, to strike him again. He caught my wrist in the air. “Shut up, and get out of sight!”. He shoved me towards the side of the road; gesturing for me to get behind the trees that made out the edge of the forest. I instantly obeyed; recognizing the expression on his face.

Crouching behind a tree, I looked down the road from where we had been coming. A group of men on black horses were approaching.

“Halt!”, the rider at the front called out. “You! Where is the girl?”, he demanded, looking at Geralt. “What girl?”, the witcher answered. “Don’t play dumb. The girl you’re transporting!”.

I recognized the men as the ones who had been at Coodcoodlaks feast. “She’s gone”, Geralt answered calmly. “She ran off. I’m searching for her myself”. The man laughed gruffly. “You lost the future queen of Temeria? Even a witcher can’t be that stupid”, he sneered. “Or is it that you take me for a fool?”, he added. Geralt smirked. “You brought only 4 men for a fight with a witcher. That seems foolish”.

The man got off his horse; his men following his lead. They all drew their swords. “Don’t tempt me, mutant”. I saw Geralts face contract into anger, and held my breath. “You should have just told me, if you wanted to dance”, he said.

The man put his blade to Geralts throat; making the witcher lean back slightly. “Where. Is. She?”, the man said asked again. Geralt bared his teeth in a sneer – his expression terrifying. “She ran away”, he repeated. “Which is something you should do as well”.

The man let out an angry grunt, pulled back his sword; and went to join his men at the horses.

“Don’t walk away angry; just walk away”, Geralt called after him.

Suddenly I felt something cold and sharp against my neck. Someone put their arm around my waist; pulling me against them. “Hello there”, someone whispered in my ear. I could feel his hot breath and spittle against my neck. It smelled rancid.

He dragged me from my hiding place; his blade making it clear that I shouldn’t struggle. I couldn’t help myself though; and tried to jostle myself out of his grasp. His knife nicked at the skin on my neck; and I felt a tiny trickle of blood from the wound, running down my collarbone.

My captor dragged me onto the road; and shoved me towards the man who had been threatening Geralt. He grabbed a hold of me with a laugh; holding me close to his chest.

“There she is, the whore”, the man sneered. “Don’t worry, witcher. We’ll bring her to our master. I’m sure he’ll bring her to good use”.

“I’m…”, I tried, “…my name is… Zaba. I’m an herbalist. I don’t know who this man is”. “Sure you are, my lady”, the man growled into my ear. “What’s in the satchel? The crown jewels?”.

Geralt drew his sword. “Let her go”, he snarled; his eyes almost black – not from any draughts, but from pure rage. The men around us drew their own weapons; and their leader kept me held against him; turning me, so my back was to his chest. “No. No, I don’t think so”, he chuckled; and let his hand travel to my breast, taking a hold of it – testing its firmness. “Come to think of it, maybe I’ll have a go at her myself”.

Geralt took a fighting stance, and then jumped forward with a brutal slash, hitting one of the men across the torso. He fell to the ground with a scream; and I could see his guts spilling from his stomach. One of his companions instantly vomited at the sight.

The men sprang at the witcher; but had not counted for his speed. Even the man holding me seemed surprised; which gave me the chance I needed. I threw my head back – hitting his nose – and then slipped the sgian-dubh out of my boot, and spun around; stabbing him in the side. The man squealed like a stung pig; and stumbled backwards. I drew my knife back; and turned towards the fighting behind me.

Geralt was effortlessly avoiding the slashes of his opponents swords; slashing at one mans shoulder, and hitting another on the back of his knee, making him unable to stand. At this point, three men were dead or dying; and Geralt grabbed the throat of a fourth one; lifting him into the air, and lowering him onto his sword – killing him instantly in the process.

The witcher ran towards me and the leader laying on the ground. The man was bleeding out, color gone from his face. My first captor sprang onto his horse, and made to ride off. “Tell O’Dimm the witcher has her!...”, the man on the ground cried out; before Geralts sword pushed through his neck; making any other words disappear into a rattle. The rider kicked at his horse, and quickly disappeared into the forest.

I looked down at the dead man at my feet. “I killed him…”, I said below my breath. “No. I killed him”, Geralt said gruffly, and pulled back his sword. “We have to get out of here”. He examined the horses the dead men had arrived on; and apparently being satisfied with the build of one of them, he took my satchel, and fastened it to the black stallion. “Come on”, he said. I was frozen in place; looking at my bloody hands; breathing superficially.

Geralt put his hands on either side of my face, forcing me to look into his eyes. “Y/N, these weren’t soldiers, but they were Nilfgaardian. They came here to take you to their master – Gaunter O’Dimm, I suspect. Whatever he has planned for you is not good”. He raised his eyebrows, boring into my eyes. “I killed them. They’re dead. It was bloody; you saw it happen, and you took part in the fighting yourself. This is real. And I need you to move past that; get on that horse, and follow me out of here”.

I shook myself. “Yes”, I said. Geralt nodded, and led me to the horse; quickly depositing me on its back. Kicking at the corpse of the man that had held me, he then took the mans sword, and fastened it to my saddle.

We rode through the night, putting as many miles between us and the battleground as possible.

---

As the sun began to rise, we arrived at a lake. Geralt helped me off my horse. He gently slid his thumb over the cut on my neck, and grunted. “You can wash up. I’ll find us something to eat”. He went to get his things; but I grabbed his hand, stopping him. He put his hand on my cheek. “I’ll be close”, he smiled reassuringly.

I walked down to the edge of the water. Meeting my own eyes in the reflection, I didn’t recognize the woman looking back at me. Geralt dealt the finishing blow… but I killed him, I thought. I killed a man… a man that was going to do very bad things to me if I didn’t… and he’s dead now. Because of me. The thought didn’t make me as distraught as I thought it would. I should be screaming and feeling like a murderer – but in reality; I felt nothing but indifference. I’d done what I had to, to survive. I felt strangely… satisfied.

I quickly washed my face, arms and hands; and walked back to the horses. The black stallion standing next to Roach was beautiful and strong. I blew at his muzzle, as I had with Roach’s when I’d first met her – and he responded in kind. “You need a name, boy”, I whispered.

“Are you talking to your horse?”, Geralts gruff voice came from behind me. I turned to face him. “Training for conversations with you, I suppose”. He grunted with a smile.

He was carrying a dead hare by its ears, and slit his knife down its front, beginning to skin it. I winced at the sight. “You just saw 5 men killed brutally; but can’t stomach a hare being prepared for a meal?”, he chuckled. “I’ve just seen enough blood for a while”, I answered.

I went to build a fire, as Geralt continued his butchery of the hare. The flames were a welcome sight, after having ridden through the cold night. Putting the meat on a stick over the fire; Geralt looked at me with enquiring eyes. “You like animals?”, he asked. “No more than anyone else, I guess”, I answered. “But you know how to speak to them”, he said. I sighed, and considered his words. “I eat their meat; wear their skins; and ride their backs. It’s only fair to treat them with respect; if I expect for them to serve me like that”. He chuckled at my response, and handed me a piece of the meat to eat. It was sweet and gamey.

“But it’s more than that, isn’t it?”, he said, between bites. “What do you mean?”. “The cat. How you talk to the horses. I’ve never seen anyone interact that way with animals”. I looked at him challengingly. “Ask”, I said, as he had to me those nights before. “You want to”. He laughed, and narrowed his eyes. “You’re playing with things you shouldn’t, little frog”, he said. “Magic isn’t for humans”.

I laughed at him. “Not everything is magic, witcher”, I said. “Sometimes it’s just two creatures meeting, and reacting”. He exhaled with a grunt. “Are you unhappy with my answer?”, I asked teasingly. He looked into the fire. “I think there is more to you than you're telling me”, he grumbled. “Maybe”, I said. “But if there is, I don’t know”. He nodded.

We went to wash our bowls in the lake. The morning sun was shining orange across the sky. “Do you usually hit your lovers?”, the witcher asked out of nowhere. I looked at him questioningly. He gestured at a scratch on his cheek, that I’d apparently left there when I slapped him. I smirked. “Only the ones who ask for it”. He made a scoffing laugh.

“You missed a spot”, I smiled. “Where?”, he said, looking down at his bowl. “There”, I said; took a handful of water, and threw it at his face. I laughed heartily – until I saw his expression. It wasn’t angry, but it was menacing. He wiped his face, and snarled. I threw my bowl on the ground, and ran. “Hurry, little frog!”, he growled after me.

Laughing, I sped towards the trees; him fast at my heels. “Does water make witchers melt, like it does witches?”, I giggled, and looked back towards him. He was gone. My heart was in my throat, and a tingle spread through my body in anticipation. I couldn’t see him anywhere. I spun around, and he appeared in front of me; grabbing me around my waist with one arm. “I don’t know; do witches melt?”, he said, and emptied his bowl – filled with water – over my head. I yelped, and struggled to get away from him. I could feel his hardness against my stomach, and my breath hitched. Biting my lip; I smirked at him. “Fire…”, he growled; and grabbed my mouth in a violent kiss, leaving me breathless and panting. “There are plenty of trees around”, I moaned against him; and he picked me up – pushing me against an old oak.

Everything happened fast after that. Frantically kissing and panting; he pulled up my skirts; and put his large hand between my legs – earning a desperate mewl from me. “Mmhmm…”, he groaned; excavating my folds, and sliding two fingers into me. “No bath to confuse your wetness this time”, he growled into my mouth, as he kept kissing me. His fingers hooked, and his palm rubbed against my nub; quickly drawing me closer to my undoing. I was desperately trying to keep my composure; but quickly had to accept the fact that I was coming violently on his hand. He chuckled menacingly at me. “Only once isn’t going to be enough this time”, he said; pulling out his fingers, and tasting my juices on them. “Mmmhmm…”, he smirked.

I was still seeing starts as he was beginning to undo the buttons on his breeches; one knee between my knees to keep me from moving. I managed to push him away; meeting his confused eyes with a teasing smile. I turned him around; and pushed him against the tree; kneeling down in front of him. Looking up at him, his expression had turned primal; the pupil in his amber eyes blown.

I finished the task he had started on his breeches; and reached down into his pants, taking a hold of his hardness – relishing in the soft skin covering the rod-like firmness underneath it. I tasted the salty precum with the tip of my tongue; and closed my eyes, smiling. I gently cupped his testicles; and folded his penis against his stomach; tracing my tongue from the base to the head of it.

Geralt gasped, and put his hand on my head; sliding his fingers into my hair. “Y/N”, he sighed. Giving his balls a soft squeeze; I slid my lips around the head and sucked at it, before moving my head towards the base; massaging it with my tongue all the way.

Geralt let out another gasp; and I released him from my mouth, smiling up at him. “I think I found your weakness, witcher”, I whispered; letting my index finger find the soft skin just behind his testes, stroking it. I pumped his cock, and licked the tip again. “Princess…”, he moaned. I gave his member a firm squeeze, and frowned up at him; removing my tongue from where it had been. Chiding him with my eyes, he smiled apologetically. “Sorry”, he breathed. “Better”, I smiled; and slid him into my mouth again; going as deep as I could without choking.

I kept massaging his balls, and hummed softly as I bobbed my head back and forth. He tasted better than any treat I’d had before. Before long I felt the precious jewels in my hand tighten; and Geralts voice became strained in his moaning. He grabbed tightly at my hair, and cried out – before coming in my mouth. Pulling him out, I looked him in the eyes; swallowed; and smiled.

He stroked my cheek, and looked at me in wonder. In front of my face, his still hard member was twitching; and I gave it a final lick at its head – like it was a delicious sweetie on a stick. “Fuck”, he groaned at me, looking on in amazement. I stood up; straightened my skirts and smiled again. “That was lovely”, I said sweetly, and went to walk back to the horses.

“Not finished!”, he snarled; picked me up; and slammed me against the tree-trunk again. I gasped in shock. “Again?”, I squeaked. “Again”, he growled; hitched my skirts back up, and sank into me with his still rock hard cock.

“Remember what I said?”, he breathed into my ear. I nodded; digging my fingers into his jerkin, holding on to him as he thrusted. “Screaming in pleasure, little frog”. “Do your best, wolf!”, I panted.

Having held on to only one of my legs; he now lifted the other one from the ground; and was now carrying my weight, as he continuously hammered into my core. The familiar tingling returned; turning in to a pulsating warmth; before finally exploding – as I began throbbing around his length.

And then I did as he’d said. I screamed in pleasure.

---

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