#the witcher fanfics

[eomereadig]

Snippet: Untitled #1

Teeny tiny lil fic :)

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

Rating: G

Tags: fluff, cuddling and snuggling, winters at Kaer Morhen, Geralt loves Jaskier

Full fic avaliable here

Even a handful of times later, when Geralt was able to predict Jaskier’s post-climb behaviour with near-complete accuracy, that thought always gave him a moment of pause, of panic. 

This time, though, Geralt swallowed around the lump in his throat. Despite the back of his mind telling him one thing, Geralt was relatively sure that Jaskier was not dying and instead the same mixture of exhausted, chilly and feverish that most humans were after a trying climb. Gods, Geralt remembered feeling that way the first time he’d climbed The Killer. He was only a boy then, even before his first set of trials, but he remembered how unpleasant it had been as clear as day. 

Geralt was sure that Jaskier had the strength to move, to go up to the bedroom they shared each winter and to help Geralt unpack. But the witcher thought he could afford Jaskier this - if only for a few hours. 

With a quiet sigh, Geralt hoisted Jaskier’s bags onto his shoulder from where he’d dropped them unceremoniously by the door, and lugged them over to the bottom of the winding, spiral staircase that led up to the second floor. He’d unpack Jaskier’s possessions himself, Geralt decided. He’d known his love long enough by now to know where Jaskier liked them, anyway. 

Content to leave the bard to his own devices for the time being - namely, getting warm - Geralt padded over to the fire and tossed on another log lest it burn itself out before Jaskeir was ready to come up. He’d make another fire in their bedroom regardless, something to keep Jaskier warm up there, too. 

Full fic avaliable here

[narniaandplowmen]

undone again

Fandom: The Witcher  Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier  Also on AO3 10059 words.

Mature / Graphic Depictions Of Violence Chapter 4/4 (2406 words)

chapter one - chapter two - chapter three - chapter four

carry you home

Geralt paced through the Keep. The Path pulled him, called to him, strongly, loudly, but he knew he could not obey it, not this year. This year, and for Melitele-knew-how-many-years after, there were more important things to be done. Or, at least, so he told himself. Repeatedly. His hand twitched as he turned away from the Keep’s exit, back into the hallway he had just come from. Back and forth, back and forth. It had been a strange winter, a long winter, a cold winter. And, although he had been surrounded by everyone he loved (or, the ones that lived, anyway), it had been a lonely winter. 

It was strange, how quickly one forgot the hurt of loneliness. He had known loneliness for most of his life, until Jaskier waltzed his way into it and made himself comfortable. And Geralt’s annoyance had turned into begrudging companionship, and from there a fondness, and from there – he had never allowed himself to call it love. Witchers did not love, nor did anyone love witchers. And he knew, or, he had thought he had known, full well that Jaskier travelled with him not for his character, but for the stories Geralt’s existence brought with him. It had not been until after the mountain that he, in the endless silence that now suffocated him wherever he went, that Geralt had reflected that there had been a friendship there. And maybe, on foolish days when he allowed himself to dream and hope, he could imagine there had been something more, too. But by then it had been too late, and the loneliness that had once been so familiar had returned, and returned with a vengeance. 

The loneliness had always hurt, of course it had. Even as a Witcher he still remembered being a little boy filled with hopes and dreams and the illusions of family. But now, now that he knew his days could have been filled with colour and song and talk and joy, but now that he knew he had ruined it all, the loneliness felt less like a cold, dark cave and more like an icy stake, driving into his heart and digging itself ever so much deeper with every step he took. It reminded him of the old fairy tale of the fisherman and his wife. Geralt had always wondered how much worse the couple must have felt living in their old shoe again after having lived in a castle. Their house must have been uncomfortable before, but having experienced luxury, how much of a torture must the return to poverty have been?

Finding Jaskier in that godsforsaken town with its Niflgaardian soldiers had seemed to be the answer to everything. Yet Jaskier had been different. Distant. Never really truly there, always one step away from leaving again. If not for Ciri — Geralt, for all his futile daydreams, had once again been reminded of the truth: nobody truly liked a Witcher. Jaskier did not want to travel with him for him, and, no matter his foolish illusions of friendship (or more), he had realistically never travelled with Geralt solely for Geralt’s companionship. Even if there had been potential for any connection beyond convenience, Geralt knew he had well and truly fucked that up, on the mountain. He had had a faint hope that, once in Kaer Morhen, Jaskier would relax, turn back into his exuberant self again. But even there, the bard had avoided him, avoided all of them. So Geralt had stayed quiet, had echoed Jaskier’s distance. He had already fucked up enough, no need to make it worse. And so the loneliness had turned from an icy stake to a sharp knife, cutting away at whatever counted as a Witcher’s soul with every step he took. 

“Where’s Jaskier?” Ciri’s voice cut through the thoughts spiralling in his head. “Have you seen him? I can’t find him anywhere.”

Geralt blinked. “Library?” That was usually where Jaskier holed himself up this time of day. “No, he’s not in there, I looked. He’s not in the kitchen or his room either.” 

Every bone, every muscle, every nerve in his body went stiff. Jaskier, for all his extravagance, was a man of routine. Every day was structured, even if no one else could see the logic in it. “Where else have you looked.” It was a statement more than a question, but Ciri answered anyway.

“I’ve been to the balustrades, and the Hall, and the stables. I was on my way to check the library again when I saw you.”

Geralt nodded, grabbed Ciri’s arm, ran. Library. Surrounding rooms. Upstairs. They divided the spaces between them, opening door after door to reveal silence, empty, no one. Hall. Bedroom. Courtyard. By the time they searched the dungeons, Eskel and Lambert had ceased their packing, joined the search. In a Keep full of Witchers, how long could a single bard hide? 

“He’s not here,” Lambert’s voice sounded like a sudden realisation, deeper than the announcement that the room he had just opened the door to was empty.

“What?” Geralt bit back

“He’s not here. The- The Pass. It’s clear. He must have-”

“Fuck.”

* * * 

How long had he been gone? When had he managed to leave without any of them noticing? The mountains surrounding Kaer Morhen saw little monsters, but there were plenty of bears, wolves, snakes. Especially now, when the weak sun would wake the creatures from their hibernation, causing them to drag their starving bodies out of the caves, crooks, and crannies they had hidden in, ready to jump on the first prey that wandered in front of their paws – and that was not even considering the dangers of the Pass itself. Yes, the Pass was clear now, the snow had melted, but the ground remained unstable, the stones slippery, and the wind could appear suddenly and with a vengeance. They had lost enough time searching the Keep, Jaskier could be— Geralt shook his head, attempting to force away the bloody scenes his mind readily provided. 

"Ciri, watch the Keep. Wake Vesimir. If Jaskier returns, whistle on your fingers like I taught you." 

With those words, the three Witchers were off. Their once so playful running through the hallways was of days long past. It was all brutal efficiency now, long strides, quick grabs of swords, potions, cloaks. 

Upon their leaving, the Keep stood empty, abandoned but for a single fair-haired girl, stood in the courtyard, a look of determination on her face, a look of desperation in her eyes. 

The footsteps in the mud were easy to follow. Maybe less so for a human, but to a Witcher? Geralt breathed a sigh of relief when the prints crossing the Pass were solid, sturdy, walking in a straight line as if the bard hadn't had a care in the world. Just one step after another after another after another, away from the sheltered safety of the Keep he had apparently so desperately wanted to escape that he had not even wanted to wait for a single day to travel down with either of the others. After the Pass, however, the rocky ground was less willing to share its secrets. And once they arrived at the split in the road, not a single footstep, broken branch, or leaf out of place could serve as a hint as to the direction which Jaskier could have chosen.

Lambert went left. Geralt went right. And, in unspoken agreement, Eskel stayed behind, ready to respond to the call of either of them, if necessary. 

The woods surrounding him were filled with sound. Birds waking up, marking their territory. Squirrels running up and down to fetch more food. A woodpecker, happily drilling their way into a tree. Dripping snow melting off of the branches. Every noise surrounded him, penetrated him, overwhelmed him in a manner that they usually would not. But anything preventing him from hearing the reliable, familiar footsteps of his bard (his bard? Never his, he could not allow himself to think so) was too much, too loud, too— the woodpecker stopped, a bird fell silent. In the distance, a quiet hum. Geralt ran. 

Jaskier was safe. He was fine, he was ok, he was—

"You left." 

The bard didn't startle, didn't turn around, didn't show any sign of surprise at the sudden voice behind him.

"Yes," he simply said, and kept walking. 

"Why—" Geralt could curse himself. 'You left. Why.'? That was the only thing he could come up with? That was all he could say? 

Jaskier halted, but still did not turn. "I— have been a burden enough on you and your companions. I don't want to—" a breath, a sigh, "I don't want to overstay my welcome any more than I already have. I apologise for not being able to leave earlier, I apologise for even coming with you to Kaer Morgen. It was beautiful seeing your home, but I shouldn't," Jaskier swallowed, even from behind Geralt could see the bard squeeze his eyes shut. "I shouldn't have infiltrated. I'm sorry. I will pay back the costs of my stay. Thank the others for their hospitality." 

Geralt stood, frozen, as the  man in front of him started walking again, walking away from him, from home, from—

"You're no burden." Now, the bard's turn to freeze. "You haven't overstayed your welcome. You did not infiltrate. You are not—" why did the words he so desperately wanted to say feel like thorny bramble bushes, ripping open everything in their path, refusing to be unearthed from his throat where they stayed, unsounding, unyielding, unheard. Geralt stepped forward, took Jaskier's hand, spun him around to face him, gathered the courage to grab the thorny words tightly and pull them out. "I— I am sorry. I'm sorry for yelling at you after the dragon hunt and I'm sorry for making you feel unwanted and I'm sorry for ignoring you and betraying you and— And I'm not good at saying how I feel or what I want but I love you, I love you. Stay. Please." 

Jaskier's eyes widened, narrowed, and Geralt, throat bleeding, prepared for the hurt. Who, after all, could ever love a monster? 

"You— love me?" 

Geralt hummed in affirmation, still holding Jaskier's hand, but looking down rather than into those piercing blue eyes. 

A fist hit his face with surprising strength. A hand followed, grabbing his chin, dragging him forward and—

Jaskier's lips were touching his. Jaskier's lips were touching his, continuing to touch his, staying on his and they were soft, and smooth, and oh so Jaskier. It seemed both seconds and centuries before Jaskier moved back, reopening the distance he had closed. Geralt, however, chased back, captured Jaskier as Jaskier had captured him. Yet rather than gentle softness, Geralt pursued passionately, desperately, pushing both of their bodies off of the path, against a nearby tree, into each other and on each other and never, never close enough. Grabbing hands, cradling heads, pulling hair and breathing, breathing in Jaskier’s smell, touch, taste, feel. Could a monster be loved after all?

They went home, from there. Back up the mountain towards a joyful reunion with his brothers. Back across the Pass towards an anxious Ciri and worried Vesimir clutching Jaskier’s left-behind note. Back into the Keep for a large feast, a tearful goodbye to the two who did rejoin the Path. Back to his bedroom to talk, talk, and with each conversation the words started to feel less like bramble bushes and more like blackberries. They weeded out the years of thorns and splinters, scratched open the scabs and scars, drained the wounds to allow recovery. They were both broken, and bruised, and their hearts guarded by years and years of harm. They took things slow. Throughout the years they fought, made up, hurt the other and themselves and healed the pain with sincere apologies and careful conversations. Grew apart and closer together as they discovered how their differences fit into the other’s similarities. But during it all, during the difficulties and work and the days where they had to choose to love the other, rather than it coming naturally, Geralt found that his bedroom had become their bedroom, his possessions their possessions, his home their home. 

* * * 

Jaskier often thought back to his encounter with Fate. Not that he now thought her to be any less of a bastard – or whichever insult was appropriate, no amount of decent blowjobs, and he had had many, had provided him with an answer. Yet at some moments, he could almost, almost, be grateful to her. She had, after all, given him the daggers that had brought him and Geralt together, the yarrow that had kept him alive, and the ribbon that had made Ciri part of his family. And, he supposed, the mountainside confession – the second one, not the first – had indeed led to the mutual desire she had prophesied. Which is how he was now grasping at the hair of the white-haired Witcher on his knees in front of him, the delightful warmth of Geralt’s mouth around Jaskier’s cock a great contrast to the cold stone of one of the ruins near the Keep pressing against his naked back. So far out in the forest, Jaskier could moan as loudly as he wanted to when Geralt licked a particularly sensitive spot, stroked his thighs, cupped his balls and slowly rolled the skin with his thumbs. He was utterly powerless, given over to the hands and mouth of the man he loved, the man who loved him, who stayed, through it all, faithful and resilient and stubborn and endlessly, endlessly his. How had he ever been satisfied with ungratifying blowjobs in an alley near a pub? Jaskier’s whole body shook as he came, steadied by a pair of strong hands grasping his hips, caressing his skin, worshipping his body. In the vague back of his mind, the sole part still working through the delight, he knew that soon it would be his turn to grasp, to caress, to worship – not his own body, but that of the one in front of him, strong, strange, beautiful. He would grab Geralt’s hand, arm, shoulder. Move the man against the lower wall in front of them, bend him over, take his time. He would enter, inch by inch, move slowly, rapidly, frantically, fulfil Fate’s damned mutual desire over and over and over, until they both would be undone again.

[crispyliza]

I've got you all figured out fanartists

[hannibard]

GERALT AND JASKIER ARE BACK BABY!!!!!!!

[intrepidacious]

bring your hunger

summary: There is a Witcher in your house.

pairing: geralt of rivia x succubus!reader

word count: 2k

warnings: smut (18+ only!!), light dubcon due to demon magic, penetrative sex (p in v), some biting and choking 😌 please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: somehow it's been over a year since i posted a full fic but one ao3 writer's curse later here we are. whole new fandom. i've also never written smut until this show rewired my brain so bon appétit (please be kind). my biggest love to @aphrogeneias and @brandycranby who both let me complain about this story for about three months, i adore you!!

masterlist | read on ao3

There is a Witcher in your house.

You smell him long before you lay your eyes on him, the stench of his magic permeating the forest, harsh and acrid. Somewhere in the woods nearby, something is burning.

For a moment, you hesitate, considering your options. A lesser creature would’ve turned on the spot and run, would’ve stolen a horse in the nearby town and gotten as far away as possible, and maybe you should be doing the same. Forsake your home and this region and try to forget them to save your neck.

But your instincts are never wrong, and right now they are drawing you closer, one cautious step in front of the other, until your door creaks open.

He’s sitting in your chair, turned to the side to have a clear view of the entrance. He is propped up against the dining table, his matted white hair sticking to his forehead. The air is heavy with the smell of blood and sweat. Whatever happened across him managed to get him good; he seems to have bandaged himself up, somehow, but the gashes in his chest look painful.

He stares at you, frown deepening on his face, but he stays very still. There is a dangerous look in his amber eyes, full of fire and fury, and for some reason, that doesn’t scare you. Not at all.

Gods, you’re hungry.

There’s a steady pulse of power coming from him, muted but incessant, like his body’s not ready to drop the fight quite yet. He doesn’t, however, reach for the weapons he’s carelessly dropped on your good carpet.

So instead of fleeing, you draw the door shut behind you and you tilt your head.

It’s stronger now, the smell of your own powers. You don’t think it holds as much sway over Witchers as it would do over mere mortals, but it’s still enough for him to white-knuckle the edge of the table.

"I know what you are," he grits.

The low timbre of his voice makes you grin.

"That makes us even, then." You get closer to him, gingerly stepping over his swords. "Are you going to do something about it?"

His nostrils flare a little, but apart from that his face stays unreadable. Only his eyes betray him, still trained on your lips. He can’t help himself.

"I don’t kill your kind," he says.

"How generous of you." You come to a halt between his legs, reaching out to tilt his chin towards you.

He lets you, and there’s the slightest hint of amusement hidden at the corner of his mouth. From up close, the fire in his eyes burns even brighter.

"Let me show my appreciation," you say lowly.

His scent changes ever so slightly with the first small spike of his arousal. It sends a thrill of anticipation through you.

Your fingers trail down his throat, along his broad shoulders, down the taut muscles of his back, leaning into him even more. His hands fall to your hips, almost involuntarily. Slowly, unhurriedly, you let your nose brush against his and he inhales with a shudder.

This is always your favourite part. The final moments before they give into their desire, your meal prepared and served up on a silver platter, ready to indulge in.

"Don’t," he says, barely a warning.

"Don’t what?" You can feel his breath against your smile.

"Don’t tease."

"No?" He’s got remarkable restraint, this Witcher; but you can hear his racing heart. "Alright then."

And between one moment and the next, you let your clothes disappear.

It’s a simple trick, one that everyone of your kind can do as easily as blinking, but it’s never failed you. His eyes turn even darker as he realizes what you’ve done, as you move back a little to let him take you in. You lick your lips as another waft of his arousal reaches your nose.

Delicious.

"Is that better?" you whisper, tipping your head to the side.

He doesn’t reply. He pulls you towards him sharply, and then his mouth crashes against yours, hard and sudden. One of his hands grabs your ass, hauling you into his lap while the other one cradles the nape of your neck.

It’s a brutal kiss, divinely ferocious. Your naked core brushes over the noticeable bulge in his pants and he groans. You move your hips back and forth, just enough friction to make his fingers curl, nails biting into your skin.

This, you think, this is just what you’ve been craving. This sense of presence, of awareness. Your heartbeats growing faster. Pulling, tasting, wanting. More.

You only break the kiss to undo his belt, and he chases after your lips, hazy, starving.

You can relate.

He is already rock hard when you pull him out of his pants, ready and leaking. He pushes into your touch, raw need taking over.

You let out an appreciative hum, positioning yourself in his lap, careful not to put too much pressure on his chest. You want him to feel good, after all, no: you need him to.

You haven’t been sated in so long.

"Witcher," you chuckle breathlessly as his arms tighten around you, caging you against his body. "Aren’t you supposed to kill wicked, evil things like me?"

He growls, sinking his teeth into your shoulder. You gasp as he drags his tongue over the bite marks immediately; like he’s savouring your taste, too.

When he looks up at you again, his eyes are like molten embers.

Your hand tangles in his hair and you yank his head back to kiss him again, swallowing the sound he makes when you sink down on him, and it’s a pity, really, because you could get your fill from that alone. It’s delectably salty and bitter.

Finally, he’s fully inside you, and he tilts his hips to allow you a better angle as you start moving.

"So good for me," you murmur.

He slaps your hand away when you try to slip it between your bodies, and then his own fingers find your clit, gently teasing at first, but quickly applying more pressure. You gasp, your walls clenching around his cock.

He lets out a breathless huff. "There, huh?"

"That’s it. Just like that."

It’s too much. Your breaths quicken as the air around you starts to hum and crackle with building energy. It’s making your head swim, each precise stroke to your clit bringing you closer to that edge you’re chasing.

His mouth still trails along your neck, nipping there. Your skin already feels sticky with sweat and magic as you’re hurled ever closer to the peak of your arousal.

Just as the tension in your core gets tight enough to snap, he stills completely. His cock is fully sheathed inside you, but he doesn’t move, his arms around you hard and unyielding, not even allowing a single roll of your hips. Something between a whine and a growl escapes your lips as your canines come down hard enough to draw blood.

The Witcher smiles at you hazily. "Do you want to come, little demon?"

You want to bite him. You want to suck out his energy until he’s nothing more than a sad, empty husk.

Your snarl only brings out a dark glint in his eyes, and his hand moves to your neck, forcing you to hold his gaze. His grip tethers you in your denied pleasure.

"Ask nicely," he says lowly, brushing his lips against yours.

Wicked, evil man.

Underneath your skin, your powers are brimming with unease, not yet refilled, not yet repleted; he knows this. You know he knows, and yet you’re unwilling to give in. "Or what?"

His grin widens just a fracture as his chin juts out in unmatched arrogance. You could burn it off his face. You could dig your claws into the gashes in his chest and widen them even more, feast on his blood instead.

"I know you need it," he says. His cock twitches inside you. "Beg."

A shiver goes down your spine, hot and cold at the same time.

You don’t beg. Ever. You don’t yield control, not even for your meal, especially not to someone like him. But then he expertly applies pressure to your throat and your eyes roll back in your head, all thoughts lost to the thick haze of your desire.

"Please," you whimper, clenching around him again. "Please fuck me."

He groans, hips stuttering into yours involuntarily before he moves in earnest, keeping his hand on your throat. It’s almost agonisingly slow at first, one roll of his hips almost letting him slip out of your cunt completely before he pushes back in with one single, firm stroke.

Your startled cry of pleasure gets stifled by his mouth, coaxing, biting, until your claws dig into the thick muscles on his shoulders. The arm around your back guides your movement, pressing you even closer to his body than before as he picks up the pace of his thrusts, each one hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over.

You’re so close. You can already taste the precipice, black stars dancing along the edge of your vision.

Another moan rips out of you when you come apart for air, mouths open. "That’s it," he pants, watching you through half-lidded eyes, "Come for me."

His voice cracks with rapture, and it’s that more than the feeling of his own climax that sends you over the edge.

This part of your nature never gets old: As the orgasm rushes through you, the pent-up energy surrounding you snaps like lightning, funnelling into your body like an invisible current until you shudder blissfully with your appetite sustained. Your magic crackles around you, dancing on your burning skin like sparks of fire.

You hum appreciatively, your eyes still closed as you take a moment to collect yourself. This day has taken a pleasantly surprising turn, after all. It’s been too long since you’ve felt so thoroughly sated.

However, when you try to move out of his lap, the Witcher’s grip on you tightens decisively.

"Is that it?"

Your eyes fly open.

He is breathing heavily, but despite his loss of blood and the energy you’ve pulled from him, there’s not a trace of exhaustion to be found. He still has that same dangerous twinkle in his gaze. Fire and fury. Something lurches in your stomach.

"I thought your kind’s supposed to be insatiable," he says, leaning in to nuzzle at your collarbone. His medallion bumps against your breasts with a sharp vibration as his fingers trail down your side, a slow, torturously delicate touch. "You can give me one more."

It’s not a question. Still, the hands parting your legs even further are almost as gentle as they are relentless. A light press to your overstimulated clit has you keen, spasming around his cock, and he chuckles lowly.

"Eyes on me."

You hadn’t even noticed they’d fallen shut again. You’re leaning heavily into him now, another wave of pleasure starting to build as the smell of his magic envelopes you.

He growls, moving both of you around so you’re spread open on your dining table, him leaning over you with a look that wants to devour you whole. Like you’re the one being served up for him to make a meal out of. Impossibly, he’s growing hard again as his deft hands coax you closer to your next release.

"Just one more."

It’s such an obvious lie, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You’re brimming with energy, dizzyingly replenished and yet still ravenous. The air is humming with it, the promise of more.

"Don’t lie to me, Witcher," you still gasp.

His smile is positively sinful. "You said it yourself. I’m just so generous."

You’re so full. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his aura flickering with lust, rich and decadent and beautiful.

"In other words," he continues, his lips brushing your ear right as you reach your peak again. "We are just getting started."

this fic was brought to you by horny hyperfixations. reblogs and comments are what keep your local writers sustained!! if you want to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics to get notified whenever i post 💛

[princessaxoxo]

Mine

Dark!Geralt x reader

Summary: Geralt shows you that you're only his.

Warnings: 18+ Only, NSFW, angst, rough unprotected sex (p in v), slight choking, Dub!con, virginity loss, vulgar language

Word Count: 791

With horror, you witnessed Geralt’s golden irises bore into the man’s eyes that he had just killed in a swift motion. The man’s head rolled, stopping right at your feet. Any other individual would be fleeing or screaming. However, you? Not at all. You were utterly still and unmoving in your place.

You began to notice that your hands were shaking.

Soon after, a powerful hand caught your jaw and raised your head. With great intensity, Geralt's eyes met yours, and through clenched teeth, he spoke one word. "Mine."

His breaths were coming out harshly, his chest rising and falling with steam from his enraged state. Geralt’s hand moved from your jaw to your arm and harshly dragged you to the small cabin you both were taking shelter in. You winced under his rough touch. “Geralt! You’re hurting me. Stop!” you shouted, and he ignored your pleas to let go.

The small droplets of blood fell from his sword and led a trail to the small cabin, and inside, he dropped it and shoved you in, slamming the door shut. You were oblivious to Geralt's possessiveness toward you until now.

Geralt stalked toward you, and you began to walk backward, stopping when you hit the wall. He trapped you as he put both of his hands near your head. "I am the only man who will ever be allowed to touch you. Any other man who attempts will be killed by me; the man you just saw was an example."

“Do you understand?” Geralt was waiting for a response from you—any response. However, you gave none. You just stood there, staring right back at him. His jaw ticked, and he asked again. “Do you understand?” You began to stammer out your words. “I.. understand.” 

You’d never been scared of Geralt until now. “I don’t believe you fully do." His eyes looked over your face, and a wicked smile formed. "But you're about to..."

Your heart began to beat out of your chest. Geralt pulled on your hair, causing your head to bend backward, and his other hand gripped your jaw as he grazed his teeth along your neck and up to your mouth, where he smashed his lips against yours.

With his hands still on your hair, Geralt steered you backward until you struck the table on the other side of the room. Every object on the table was shoved off its surface by his hands.

He began to rid himself of his attire. You tried to move, but he stopped you with his large hand, encircling your throat. “Don’t.” He said it with a threatening tone.

His eyes ranked over your body for a moment before he tore off your clothing.

Geralt aggressively started to assault your lips once more, his tongue dominating yours. His hands began to harshly massage your breasts, and he pushed you down on the table.

As soon as you felt the cold surface underneath you, he intruded your cunt with his cock. "Geralt, wait!” you yelled. With no concern for your being, Geralt stretched your walls, causing you to experience an unparalleled level of pain.

Tears welled in your eyes and your nails scraped against the wooden surface. You could feel his sac hitting your ass each time he pushed back into you.

“I'm the only person who is allowed to see your body, to touch you, and to fuck you until you can't remember who or where you are."

His tone turned harsh. "Fucking"—thrust—"take"—thrust—"it". Geralt said this through clenched teeth.

The pain that had consumed you was subsiding, and an overwhelming amount of pleasure replaced it. You couldn’t help the whimpers that fell from your lips.

Geralt moved his hands from your hips to your throat, squeezing lightly. His growls became louder: “The feel of your cunt is astonishing; all mine, all the time, whenever I want."

Mindlessly, you spoke to him. “Yes, all yours whenever you please.” Another moan fell from your lips.

Geralt closed his eyes, trying to control himself before losing control, but you drove him insane with everything about you. His body shook as he felt your walls tighten around his cock. “Fuck..” 

You reached out and wrapped your slender fingers around his wrist as you reached for release. “Yes, come all over my cock. Show me how good I make you feel."

His thumb rubbed across your jaw as he loosed his grip around your neck and bent down to kiss you, this time more softly. Your vibrant red crimson covered his cock from losing the girl you were to becoming a woman.

He carried you to his bed. “For now, rest. I'm going to show you more how you belong to me.”

Taglist: @shellyshellshell @identity2212 @chloe92 @juliaorpll78 @nighttimestan

[scarlet2007]

₊˚꒷꒦︶⊹ The Witcher's Witch₊︶꒷꒦︶

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x reader.

[ Master list ]

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Summary: Being rescued by the Witcher after being accused of being a Witch was the last thing you expected in life. But it looks like kindness can go a long way if shown to the right people.

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Warnings: Mention of murder, beast slaying, taming wild animals, witch hunting, the reader is beaten up and was about to get burned alive.

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Word count: 3.3k

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

The Witcher was finally in town, it was pretty clear from how the people were crowding towards a certain white haired man who stood besides a horse.

The crowd was sneering at the Witcher, calling him names and yelling at him, as if the Witcher was nothing but a mere dirty dog in their eyes. The Mayor of our town finally made an appearance, making the angry people go silent as they all waited for their "king" to speak.

"Ah, Witcher! We have been waiting for your arrival." The mayor chuckled, walking towards the Witcher, who stood tall amongst the crowd, clearly used to the sneering and insults of the people.

"There is an unknown monster lurking in the forest near our town, it had already murdered two people brutally. We need you to take care of the monster." The Mayor spoke as the people continued to glare at the Witcher. Some mothers even went as far as to try and 'shield' their kid from him as if he was the monster that would tear apart their children.

You stood slightly far from the crowd, watching everything occur as you scoffed at the hostility of the people towards the Witcher.

"They are acting as if he can't just kill them all in an instant..." You mumbled, chuckling darkly.

"You better be as good as they say you are, Witcher." Someone hissed, staring at the Witcher in disdain as they tried to stare him down. The Witcher ignored them all as he looked at the Mayor, nodding silently as the Mayor handed him a bag filled with coins.

"Where is the beast?" Asked the Witcher, making you sigh as the people started to talk about the beast all at once. Half of them were made up while the other half were useless.

Finally, the mayor explained everything that they knew about the beast, and where it attacks. You listened intensely, still standing away from the crowd as you stared at the ground in focus.

The Witcher nodded along, before he started to walk in the direction of the forest that was now forbiddened from entering for the safety of the people. You quickly walked in the opposite direction before entering an alley that lead towards the forest as you tried to track down the Witcher.

"Stop following me." A gruff voice said from behind you, making you jump as you turned around to face the dark and tall figure in front of you.

"Oh! It's you..." You sighed in relief, making the Witcher frown.

"Um... Mister... Uh.. sir? Whichever you prefer, I have some information about the beast that might help you." You chuckled nervously, looking around to see if someone was spying on you. You might get in trouble if you were to be seen with the Witcher alone.

"Speak."

You glanced at the Witcher before nodding, "Well... If you think the attack is being done by some sort of animal like a wolf, it's not true. It's not a wolf." You said quickly.

"What makes you think that?"

"W-well-... A wolf was injured because of the said beast and the wounds didn't look like it was from a wolf fight either so..." You mumbled, trying not to act suspicious.

The Witcher stared at you silently. You were acting suspicious and it was evident by the way you talked that you knew more than you told him. The Witcher took a step towards you, making you look up, still standing your ground nervously.

Witcher frowned at your weird behaviour, you were scared but not because of him, but because of something else. Something else was making you nervous.

He opened his mouth to speak before a sudden growl intrupted him, making both of them tense up as he grabbed his sword, stepping in front of you protectively. A wolf stood before them, glaring and growling at the Witcher, ready to pounce.

"Stay back-" The Witcher mumbled was unheard as you stood in front of him, glaring at the wolf.

"Sky!" You hissed, still standing in front of the Witcher. It would've amused him if they weren't in a tense situation. You, a young girl, perhaps in your mid 20s, standing before the Witcher with no weapons, as the Witcher behind you towered you with his height. You looked tiny compared to his frame, both height and muscle wise.

The Witcher felt annoyed at your pathetic attempt to tame a wild wolf, as if the wolf would suddenly transform into a domesticated puppy and obey your every command.

The wolf continued to growl but it slowly started to approach you, the wolf stance becoming slightly relaxed as it stared at you and your hand that was outstretched in front of you. The Witcher looked at the exchange in slight confusion, his expression was still stoic but he felt confused.

"Sky, come on, what did I tell you about jumping in front of guests like a beast? Hmm?" You mumbled as you patted the wolf, the wolf's tail wagging behind him.

"You... Tamed the injured wolf..?" Asked the Witcher, eyeing them warily. It's not everyday that someone saves a wolf, let alone tame them.

"I would prefer 'befriended' and yes, I did. He is a sweetheart. That is also why I wanted to warn you that this wolf is not the beast. Oh! And the beast also does not live here. It lives deeper into the woods, this area is just the edge of the forest. The people... They forgot to mention something important." You glanced at him as you stood up, the wolf standing besides you in his fully height, his black fur and tall height made it look intimidating, the wolf looked strong and but the bandages around his torso also did not go unnoticed by the Witcher, making him believe the story that you told him about patching up a wounded wolf even though it sounded bizarre and made up.

"What is it?"

You bite your lips, looking at the forest, deep in thoughts before finally speaking.

"The town people provoked the beast. Some drunkards wanted to prove to the people that there was no such beast residing in the depths of the woods, so they went ahead despite the warnings and... Well, only their mangled up bodies made it back here. That's why the people think that the beast resides in the edge of the forest and not deep within."

The Witcher's frown, staring at you for a while before speaking.

"They knew that there was a beast?"

You nodded, "The beast is older than most of us, the tales have been circulating amongst the people since past few generations, it can probably be dated back to the generation of our grandparents, something similar happened but this time, the beast is... More angry. It didn't kill people before like it did now, or at least that's what the people say."

The Witcher sighed at your words. This was more work than he intended to do. If the beast was as old as you said it was, then it wouldn't die without putting up a great fight and he was in no position to get into a full-on battle in his tired state.

"Sir..? You look tired, and I doubt the villagers asked you to rest or offered you food, would you..." You trailed off, laughing awkwardly as you stared at the Wolf, Sky, instead of the Witcher as you continued in a quiet manner, "Like something to eat?"

The Witcher froze, not expecting an act of kindness, especially from someone like you. He stared at you suspiciously, thinking that you had ulterior motives to offer him something like that. You looked at him in alarm, as if sensing his chain of thoughts as you waved your hands in front of you. "I don't need anything in return, i promise! It's just... You look tired and hungry."

The Witcher didn't say anything, simply staring at you for a solid minute before nodding his head along with a stoic, "hm."

"Um.. sir? Where did you leave your horse?" You asked suddenly.

"It's outside the woods."

"Ah... You can bring your horse in, this part of the woods is safe and Sky isn't going to hurt your horse, I can assure you that much." You smiled at him, the Wolf still standing guard besides you.

"How do you know it's safe here?" The Witcher rolled his eyes.

"Well... I live here. My cottage is just a few minutes walk away from here."

"You... Live in the middle of the woods?"

"It's the edge and yes, I prefer living here." That made the Witcher frown his eyebrows in confusion as he walked beside you to get his horse.

"Why? Isn't the town safer?"

You stayed silent for a while before chuckling softly. "Perhaps. But I am not too fond of the people there." The Witcher could see why, so he stayed silent and walked towards his horse.

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

You provided food and a place for the Witcher to rest, which he found weird and bizarre but didn't complain about. You insisted that the Witcher rest for at least a day before he went to hunt down the beast, saying that it will give him more benefit in battle if he is well rested and fed. The horse, which you learnt was called Roach, was spoiled rotten too. It looked like you had a liking towards animals and insects, finding them adorable and taking care of them and for some reason, animals seem to like you too, even the most wild animals liked you and it was evident with how the wild wolf acted like a domesticated dog in front of you. The food you prepared for the Witcher was amazing, and the spare room was also comfortable enough for the Witcher to sleep in but you insisted that he slept in your room instead, that the spare room wasn't that clean and that you would sleep in the spare room instead. The Witcher tried to decline politely but you were stubborn and he ended up getting the best sleep he ever has in your bed while you slept in the spare room.

Your whole cottage was filled with plants, flowers and books. The plants weren't everywhere but the ones you did have inside were too pretty and went well with your theme. Your cottage had a cozy feeling to it, the aroma of tea and lavender was always present, along with some books lying here and there. It made the cottage feel like a home that the Witcher didn't have.

The Witcher thanked you before venturing off to hunt the beast, giving you a small, awkward smile before leaving. You waved enthusiastically at him, wishing him luck before rushing after Sky, who has decided to run after a rabbit.

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

When the Witcher came back, the cottage was a mess, making him frown as he couldn't find you or Sky. It looked like you left somewhere in a hurry as there was still uncooked food on the table, half done and some books were scattered on the ground.

The Witcher went towards the town, the head of the beast was hanging from his hand. The battle against the beast wasn't easy, but it was nothing he couldn't handle.

The town was filled with commotion, people gathering around a tall tree, yelling at something or rather, someone.

As he walked closer, he could hear what they were saying clearly.

"Burn the Witch! Burn her! She was the one who brought the beast to the town!" Someone yelled venomously, making the Witcher frown his eyebrows as he walked towards the crowd. The Mayor took immediate notice of his presence as the people stopped yelling.

"Ah! Witcher! You are back and you brought the beast's head with you." The Witcher paid the Mayor zero attention as he stared at the scene in front of him. Someone was bounded to the tree with thick ropes, blood pooling underneath them as it dropped from the wound on their arm. It looked like a young girl, which made the Witcher slightly nervous. He couldn't see her face, as her head was down, her hair covering her face. The only thing that made it evident that she was alive was the quick motion of her chest falling up and down as she breath heavily.

The Mayor, displeased with the Witcher's ignorance towards his words, turned his attention to the girl instead. He stepped closer to the girl and gripped her hair, making her wince as he forced her to look up.

Witcher's breath hitched as he saw your pained face, staring directly at him before looking at the Mayor in fear.

"The beast you called upon is long dead now, Witch. You have no one to save you now." The Mayor hissed, staring at your face as he continued to hold your hair in a tight grip, making you wince.

You were already weak from the beatings and the lack of food, your head throbbing painfully under the harsh Sun. You were dehydrated, hungry, wounded and scared.  Oh, you were so so scared.

A lot has happened in the span of just four days after your last meeting with the Witcher.

You flinched when someone threw another stone at you again, wincing at the sharp pain that erupted from your temple, where the stone landed, making it bleed.

You couldn't even look at the Witcher, humiliation filled your body as you stared at the ground, willing yourself to not cry. You have yet to let the tears flow and you want to keep it that way. You want to keep some of your dignity, if there was even any left.

"What's going on?" You closed your eyes as you heard Witcher ask the Mayor. You didn't want him to think that you were someone evil, but you weren't sure if the Witcher will believe you over the Mayor's word or the people's word. You just silently hoped that they won't answer his question but your hopes died quickly as the Mayor began to tell him what happened.

"This girl, this witch, is the one that unleashed the very beast you hold in your hands. She was seen with a wolf, commanding him to attack innocents! She can put animals and beasts under her spell, making them do whatever she please." The Mayor spit out, glaring at you as you kept your eyes closed and your head low.

"Just look at her! She has been punished but she has yet to utter a word of apology or even a tear in remorse! She is a threat to the town and the people!"

"Burn her!"

"Kill her!"

Were the words that followed soon after the Mayor stopped talking, making the Witcher step in front of you protectively, just like how he did before when he saw Sky as a threat.

"Witcher, what are you doing?!" The Mayor fumed, staring at the Witcher in anger and annoyance.

"Keep your hands away from the girl." He said quietly, his sword already out, the beast's head thrown somewhere on the ground. No one dared to put up a fight against the Witcher, everyone was too cowardly to try and fight him.

"The Witch has put you under a spell too, Witcher!" The Mayor exclaimed as the people started to insult both of you.

You whimpered, staring at the people and the Witcher in fear.

"What good will it do to you even if you safe her? She is a damned witch that should rot in hell for her crimes!" The people agreed, trying to step closer to her before the Witcher pointed his sword towards them, making them step back in fear.

"I will keep her."

That made the whole town silent as you stared at the Witcher in confusion and shock.

He couldn't let them kill you, not when you were the only one that treated him like a human and showed him kindness, it pained him to see you in such a state and he will not let you get harmed. You took care of him, and it was now his turn to do so.

He gripped his sword tightly, glaring at whoever dared to step towards them.

"Give me the girl." He hissed, his gaze making everyone scared, some even rushing away to their home to not face his wrath.

The air was tense, people stared at you and the Witcher with scared and disgusted expression while the Mayor was deep in thought. The town was known for its cowardly people and after watching the Witcher walk with the head of a beast in his hand, nobody wanted to fight him.

"What will we get in return if we let the girl go unpunished?" The Mayor asked, smirking as he stared at the Witcher.

"You can keep your coins." He grumbled, throwing the pouch of coins towards the Mayor that he got as a payment when he first came here to slay the beast.

The Mayor checked the pouch before letting them go, commanding people to go inside their houses as they rushed away.

"You are lucky, or else today would've been your last day, witch." The mayor muttered venomously before leaving them be.

You flinched when Witcher's blade cut throw the thick ropes, all at once as you stumbled forward. He caught you, making you wince as it made you put some pressure on your wounds. The Witcher carried you towards your cottage, but not before the Mayor warned them that they had to leave before noon, and if they failed to do so, they will both be punished and killed. The threat made you tense, as you tried to make yourself as small as possible in his arms as he walked you towards your cottage.

"Where's sky?" He asked, trying to break the silence.

"I made him leave. The... The people saw him and they would've hunted him down or hurt him..." You mumbled, sniffling a bit as he sat you down on your bed.

He nodded in understanding, before cleaning yours wounds.

"You should go wash yourself and pack." You glanced at him, wondering what he meant by 'pack'.

"We need to leave. Make sure to only pack the necessary things like clothes and some food." He muttered, staring at you.

You looked scared, and timided, not like the lively girl he met that day that took care of him. It made his heart clench painfully for some reason.

"Oh... A-are you... Taking me in?" You asked slowly, stuttering a bit.

He nodded silently, walking out of your room to let you bath and change. Your voice suddenly made him stop.

"You... You can use the bathroom in the spare room to freshen up too!" He smiled a bit as he heard you, making his way towards the spare room.

After you were done packing and ready to leave, you both stood in front of the Mayor at the gate of the town, you stood behind Witcher, trying to hide from anyone's view, the Mayor stared at you both as you began to walk away from the town, making sure that you both were out of the town.

After walking beside Witcher and Roach, you glanced at him as you handed him a pouch with gold coins.

"U-um... I know what you did for me can never be paid by coins, but... I still want to thank you and repay you for saving me and giving up the coins you got as a payment." You mumbled quietly.

"Keep them." He grumbled, walking towards you.

"Do you know how to get on a horse?" You shook your head, making him chuckle at how cute you looked while doing so.

"Let me help you." You nodded as he grabbed your waist gently, trying to avoid any wounds as he helped you on the horse. It made your heart beat quicken with how close you both were.

"Thank you, Sir."

"Geralt." You looked at him in confusion.

"My name is Geralt, just call me by my name."

You stared at him in shock before smiling wildly, "Okay, Geralt!"

And for some reason, Geralt loved the way you said his name.

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

[blooms-in-april]

Obsessed with the idea it's illegal in Oxenfurt to execute or arrest someone while there is a theatre performance going on. So when Jaskier is finally arrested for being the Sandpiper and an associate of the fugitive Geralt of Rivia, all his students band together to perform the longest musical the Continent has ever seen.

Yes, it's about his life. Yes, it's very personal. And yes, fugitive Geralt and Ciri end up in the audience, of course they do.

[ellethespaceunicorn]

You're Mine

Title: You’re Mine

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Dark!Daddy!Geralt x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1.8K

Prompts: Geralt of Rivia + Female Reader + Daddy Kink + “Can you feel how much I want you?” + Darkfic, requested by @chibijusstuff

Summary: After coming back from a hunt, you find out that Geralt isn’t himself.

Warnings: Daddy Kink, pet names for Reader (little one, my sweet), Darkfic, dark!Geralt, drugged!Geralt, choking, biting, scratching, manipulation, Geralt rips Readers underwear off, non-con, unprotected p-in-v sex, creampie, mention of bodily fluids, memory lapse, bathtime as aftercare, cuddling, possessiveness, dead dove: do not eat

A/N: Unbeta'd, because I was impatient about posting this. All mistakes are mine.

Dividers by me

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

Sweet Treats Event 2024 Masterlist

My Masterlist

You’ve been watching him for hours from your spot in a nearby chair as he kneels in front of the fire. The silver wolf's face on his medallion shines brightly from the flickering embers, suspended from his chest. The remnants of the potion in his system show themselves in deep, black cracking lines on his ashen skin that radiate from his closed eyes. He has never taken this long to shake off the effects of any of the mixtures he carries in his pack, and your concern is beginning to grow.

He barely acknowledged you when he came home in the early morning hours. He placed his swords in their spot by the door, shed his armor, and took his place in front of the fire to warm himself and meditate. The longer he remains in that spot, the more you wring your hands with concern.

You were but a commoner; you hadn’t much knowledge of the Witcher lifestyle before meeting Geralt in that tavern. And even now, Geralt wasn’t the most forthcoming with things he deemed ‘unnecessary for you to concern yourself with’, as he put it. You hadn’t the faintest idea of what was in his potions, let alone how to make them.

You only knew that he was usually back to himself by now.

Another thing you noticed was that his scent had changed. He tended to keep the smell of whatever beast or monster he had slain. But all you could smell were flowers, and more specifically, the aroma of tuberose.

Heady and exotic, the scent of tuberose is one you are accustomed to. Your mother would use tuberose oil as a perfume, saying it would lure in men with its sweet honey and warm spice combination. Your poor father had died years prior, and your mother barely waited for the dirt in his grave to settle before she was out with other men. But that’s a story for a different day.

Even though the oil performed just as she promised, you couldn't quite grasp why she never revealed the source of that unique blend to you. Of course, you called it magic, but she would always shake her head and say there was no way it was magical. She claimed it was a gift from an elderly beggar woman to whom she had once given a handful of orens. You knew well enough not to push any further, but that doesn’t mean you forgot that story.

Or that smell.

You were so in your thoughts that you almost missed Geralt’s grumbling. Your eyes returned to his face, and this time, his eyes looked at you. Gone was the golden yellow iris you had come to love, only to be replaced with full, black eyes. Black, like you never saw black. Nothingness.

Rising from the floor, he bares his teeth and growls lowly. You stand up from your chair and raise your hands in front of you.

“Geralt?” You attempt, moving backward when he takes a step forward. “Daddy...” you trail off as he smiles at you, a devilish grin showing his sharp canines.

“My sweet little one. Don’t you look delectable?” Geralt coos, crowding into your space as you are backed into the wall behind you.

His hands rest on either side of your head on the wall while he noses at your neck, no doubt smelling the fear-induced arousal that is shooting through your entire body.

“Daddy? Why don’t we take it slow? You’re not yourself yet-”

His hand flies to your throat, tightening at the sides. “You wish to refuse me that which is rightfully mine?”

“Geralt, I-”

“Ah, ah. Try again, little one,” he cautions, his grip on your neck ever sure.

“Daddy, I’m scared,” you breathe, tears falling from your eyes.

“I know. I can smell it on you,” he confesses, leaning back in to sniff under your jawline. He stoops to pick you up and brings you to the bed, lying his body on top of yours. He doesn’t waste time in rucking your dress up and pressing his clothed sex against your own. “Can you feel how much I want you?”

His voice, so delicate as he speaks to you, sounds like your Geralt. But those eyes, the way he takes without asking, and his smell only serve to repel you. It feels like your partner has been swapped out for a harsher, more unkind version of who he used to be.

His hand reaches between the two of you and rips away your undergarments before unbuttoning his pants so his thick and ready length can fall free. As soon as his shaft is uninhibited from its confines, he is pushing and prodding at your entrance.

Without preparation or care, he enters you swiftly. You aren’t given a second to adjust to his girth before he withdraws his cock and forces himself back inside you. By the third thrust, you are crying and begging him to stop. Your hands are balled into fists as you pound on his chest, his shoulders, anywhere you can land a blow.

He only laughs at your feeble attempts to thwart his actions. He also teases you when your body eventually betrays you.

“Look at you, being torn apart from the inside out, and your sloppy little cunt can’t get enough of it. Always so soft and warm for me. Stop fighting and take it, little one,” he soothes. His warm, rich voice invades your ears, and you cease efforts to push him away from you.

Once he has you malleable and compliant, he focuses on chasing his release. Unconcerned with your pleasure, he fists one hand in the sheets of your bed while the other tangles in your hair to expose your neck. Biting and sucking at your skin until blood is brought to the surface, he takes pride in marking you.

Soon, your neck and chest are littered with bite marks and bruises. You can feel every welt as he takes his time poking them as he drives into you over and over. His first orgasm is so intense that he lets out a feral growl, slowing down for a bit before it’s evident that he isn’t done in the slightest.

Realizing your fate, you begin to hyperventilate. Your chest is heaving as you inhale and exhale shallowly; you feel as though your heart could beat out of your chest. But only momentarily as Geralt leans down to speak into your ear.

“You’ve never looked lovelier than you do tonight. I can smell your fear; I can taste your panic. Just have to hold out a little longer for me, my sweet,” he sighs, nosing at your neck.

By now, you can feel nothing but pain from the bites, the scratches, and his relentless pounding into your battered and bruised heat. The stuttering of his hips is a gift, alerting you to his impending climax. You’d already given up on experiencing your peak.

“So close. I can feel it coming, little one,” he whispers, his voice strained and gruff as he forces his eyes shut. He thrusts into you one last time, his hips flush with yours as his cock paints your insides. Once he stops spasming, he lets out a heavy breath and opens his eyes.

You watch as he comes back to himself, the black veins disappearing from his face and his eyes returning to their golden hue. Frozen where you are, you observe the realization on Geralt’s face as he looks down at your marred skin and wet eyes.

As he relaxes just enough to pull away from your body, he quickly adjusts himself back into his pants and settles down onto his knees. He’s unsure of what to say; what can he say that would make this situation any easier? His eyes are drawn to where his semen drips from you.

“Daddy? Are you back?” you ask, your hands pushing your dress down over yourself as you sit up.

The sound of your tiny voice washes over him like a cold shower. He finally looks back at you, and a single tear falls from his left eye. As if a switch were flipped, Geralt appears smaller than before. He shrinks into himself, hunching his shoulders.

“I did this to you?” he guesses, nodding to the angry marks on your skin.

“Geralt, I think you were poisoned. What’s the last thing you remember?” you question, raising your hands to show him you mean no harm.

“The wyvern nest. There were druids; they surrounded me. I felt pain in my neck and then smelled flowers before everything went black. Next thing I know, I’m in bed with you,” he replies.

“You weren’t yourself, Geralt. This wasn’t you,” you insist, feeling the urge to comfort him.

“Poisoned or possessed, I am the reason you’re hurt right now. I could have killed you if I hadn’t come back to myself,” he frets, holding up a hand when you try to move closer to him.

“I’ve already forgiven you, if only you would forgive yourself,” you plead, trying to hide your distress.

“You should have a bath. Let me draw it for you,” he suggests, leaving you on the bed before you can say anything in response.

After he fills the wooden bath with enough water, he uses Igni to warm the water to your liking. He helps you into the water, washing your body and hair when you ask him to stay with you. When you are done, he helps dry your skin. You don’t exchange many words, and neither of you knows how to start a conversation.

After you are dressed in a nightgown, you climb into bed and pull Geralt in behind you. He reluctantly lays next to you, afraid that he will hurt you again somehow. Turning onto your side, you face away from him. You sniff, holding back tears and the lump in your throat.

Before you could clear your throat, Geralt was pulling you into his chest. His strong arms wrap around you, and he inhales your scent. While he can still smell the faint echo of fear on you, the most prevalent fragrance is overwhelming love.

You were pushing down your fear with all your might and thinking only of good moments of Geralt. Images of a smile pulling at his lips, your hands in his, and a stolen kiss cloud your vision.

You snuggle into his embrace, his body heat keeping you warm. He peppers kisses over your hickeys on your neck, lulling you to sleep. But just before you can give in to the draw of slumber, you hear his voice in your ear.

“I wouldn’t get too comfortable,” he whispers, laughing lowly. “You’re mine, little one. And I won’t let you escape.” His hand goes to your mouth, and you know your night is far from over.

A/N: I really enjoyed writing this story. It took so long to write, but I am happy with what I have created here. Also, I feel like there are very few dark!Geralt or Daddy!Geralt stories out there. Is it because we don’t like these or it’s just too taboo? Let me know, cuz I could write more dark versions of this man.

[eomereadig]

Snippet: House-cat

Found this little fic sitting in my drafts since 2021, hope you enjoy it!

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Jaskier/Aiden

Rating: G

Tags: fluff, modern!AU, cuddling, cutagens 

Full fic now avaliable here

After padding over to that side of the room, Aiden made a grumpy sound to get Jaskier’s attention and flicked on a lamp. He rubbed his eyes tiredly as Jaskier hissed and shielded his own, evidently not used to even the warm light. His irritation softened immediately when he caught sight of Aiden though, wrapped up and soft as he was, like some kind of giant teddy bear. Jaskier took a deep breath, arched his back, several of the joints popping as he stretched, and smiled kindly albeit tiredly. 

“You sleepy, darling?” His voice was quiet but Aiden heard him over the storm outside well enough. He nodded and pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “You should go to bed then, I’ll join you in a few hours…” ‘He’d already been working for seven,’ Aiden thought. 

He made a grumpy sound and gave Jaskier no time to push him away or protest his next move. He bullied his way onto his boyfriend’s lap, blanket still wrapped around him, planting himself firmly on Jaskier’s thighs. Aiden sat facing the other man so they were chest to chest, allowing him to curl forwards and burrow into Jaskier’s comforting warmth and scent. His head found its way to Jaskier’s neck, resting against his shoulder whether Jaskier wanted it there or not. 

Jaskier laughed softly, Aiden bouncing up and down on his chest a little with the movement. He didn’t try to push him away though, instead leaning back to make Aiden more comfortable and wrapping his arms around him, rubbing his back softly. “I’m working, darling. Like I said, I’ll be free in a couple of hours if you still want cuddles then…” A kiss was pressed to Aiden’s wild hair. 

“You can still work like this.” Aiden mumbled against his skin petulantly. Now that he was finally where he wanted, he wasn’t about to give that up. “Your arms are free…” 

Jaskier snorted, arms going lax. He admitted defeat. With all the work he’d been doing, Jaskier was exhausted and having a sleepy Aiden on his lap seemed to be the best thing in the world. Sure, he wouldn’t be able to type as quickly and might lose the willpower to do so entirely, but with how much he’d already completed, he knew he could afford to slow down a little. Usually, Jaskier was the more stubborn out of the pair but didn’t have the energy to spare this evening. 

“You’re like some kind of lap dog, maybe you were in another life…” He murmured with a smile into Aiden’s hair. At once, Aiden grew back with a theatrical, albeit a little tired, gasp. “I’m offended!” It was well known that Aiden disliked dogs. He’d always been more of a cat person. “I’ll settle for a housecat and nothing less.”

Full fic now avaliable here

[narniaandplowmen]

undone again

Fandom: The Witcher  Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier  Also on AO3 10059 words.

Mature / Graphic Depictions Of Violence Chapter 3/4 (2735 words)

chapter one - chapter two - chapter three - chapter four

Summary:

Look at him now, the offspring of the King's most obedient followers, knee-deep in mud and covered in soldiers' blood. Saving the ass of the person he had sworn never to follow again. See, not obedient at all. Though Fate was still a– a– Jaskier sighed. He'd come up with a proper insult when he wasn't actively ruining his favourite doublet. Maybe after a long bath and a night's rest. And after a decent fucking blowjob.

* * *

Jaskier had once met Fate. She had predicted mountain-side confessions, deep kisses, mutual desire. And with that, Fate had vanished, leaving behind a sprig of yarrow, two sharp, silver daggers, and a piece of Cintran-blue string. That summer, Geralt had gone dragon hunting. That summer, it all had come undone.

and the sharp bramble bushes

Kear Morhen was old, and cold, and beautiful. And above all, it was safe. Or, well, as safe as any crumbling castle could be. For all the years Jaskier had dreamt about being invited for the winter, about joining Geralt in his home, he had been terrified when he had actually walked through the doors. By the time they arrived, snow was already falling, and, as Geralt reminded them multiple times as they rushed the final part of their journey, it would be impossible to reach the Keep once the Pass was blocked. Impossible to reach, but also impossible to leave. And with Jaskier no longer needed as a familiar face – for Geralt fulfilled that role now – he knew that it was not a matter of if, but when he would overstay his welcome. So Jaskier withdrew, and kept quiet. 

As easy as it was to fall into a rhythm while travelling, as easy as it was to fall into a rhythm in the Keep. Jaskier would get up early, but not too early, so by the time he arrived downstairs the others had already finished their breakfast. He would clean up the Hall, do the dishes, tidy the kitchen, prepare lunch. He would then take the long way round to the library, eating a slice of bread as he walked, and spend the afternoon cleaning, repairing and recategorising the old, dusty, and abandoned tomes. And on some days, in the late afternoon, if she hadn't been trained to exhaustion by the Witchers, Ciri would arrive in the library for her lessons. He would teach Ciri politics. Government. How to satisfy complaints without making promises. Court etiquette, healthy farming practices, manipulation, poetry, art. Anything he could think of, until they were fetched by Vesimir or either two of the three other witchers staying the winter. Because it was never Geralt who knocked on the library door shouting for them to come down, who popped in to announce the time, who snuck up on them and grabbed Jaskier suddenly, carrying him over his shoulders laughing boisterously the entire way down as Ciri, giggling, followed. 

The first evenings, Jaskier had been asked to perform. With a glance at Geralt, he had politely refused, using the excuse of exhaustion from travel, an upcoming cold, a lack of instruments. Eskel had searched through the Keep on that third night, convinced he had once seen a lute somewhere. He had been unable to find it, though, and so they stopped asking.  Jaskier withdrew more and more, remembering the lessons he had learned at his father’s house: don’t be seen, don’t be heard, escape notice and all will be fine and safe. Now, several decades later, he found he was much better at it than he had been as a child. And, he bitterly realised, it made him strangely proud to discover this. 

They had been there for three weeks when the script was broken and Vesimir came into the library before dinnertime. 

“It’s still light out, it can’t be dinnertime already,” Jaskier said absentmindedly, focussed on carefully looping the needle through the spine he had just resewn. 

“Am I not allowed to enter my own library save for dinnertime?”

Jaskier blushed, apologised, felt his heart break. Without his lute, without his possessions, without anything he had earned himself, he had started to consider the library as his. It was the sole place he could fully find shelter, feel comfortable. None of the others had ever come inside except briefly, when fetching him. Vesimir’s words rang true, however. Jaskier was merely a guest, an unwanted intrusion, a temporary feature of the Keep, to be removed as soon as the snow melted. 

“No need to apologise.” The eldest Witcher walked in, inspecting the shelves Jaskier had already restored. “You’re talented, bard, even when you don’t sing.”

“I took an elective tutorial in bookbinding when I was studying in Oxenfurt.” Too many words, don’t overshare, he immediately berated himself. In the Hall and throughout the Keep Jaskier managed to keep his head down, stay invisible. But here, in his – not his, he reminded himself – sanctuary, he felt thrown off his rhythm.

“This work is the result of more than a mere elective,” Vesimir replied. He had come closer now, staring at Jaskier as he pushed the needle through the parchment one last time. 

Jaskier bit his tongue, forced himself to stay quiet. don’t be heard. don’t be seen. escape notice. 

“You are also talented when you do sing.”

At that, Jaskier looked up, confused.

“I have seen you perform, once. Years ago.”

“I did not know you left the Keep.”

“Only when I need new supplies. Or when I am curious to meet the man one of my Wolves won’t shut up about.”

“Oh.” Jaskier wondered how extensive the complaints must have been to provoke that kind of curiosity.

The library fell silent again, but Vesimir did not leave. Though Jaskier did not look at him, he could feel the man staring. It seemed like ‘escape notice’ was out the window. Jaskier reattached the cover, put the book back on a clean shelf, grabbed a new one, carefully leafed through it to assess the damage. Names. Numbers. Dates. It seemed like a ledger of some sort.

“It’s how we kept track.”

“Of what?”

“New recruits. Coming in. Treatments. Death.”

Jaskier nodded. “The ink is fading. Want me to make it legible again?”

“Thank you. Make sure they aren’t get forgotten.”

With that, Vesimir finally left. 

Jaskier was alone in the library for the next two days. On the third, Vesimir returned. This time, however, Jaskier was prepared. He stayed quiet, stoically continued his work, mentally thanked the strict librarian at Oxenfurt who had berated him so often for absentmindedly humming that he was now able to keep it in. don’t be heard. 

So it continued, for several days. Jaskier would wake alone, clear the tables alone, do the dishes alone, make lunch alone, eat his slice of bread alone, enter the library alone, but somewhere during the afternoon Vesimir would join him. He would sit and stare, or inspect the books Jaskier had restored, or, on one occasion, grabbed a book and restored it himself. But, to Jakier’s relief, he no longer spoke. 

Until he did.

“We’re concerned,” he proclaimed out of nowhere, putting down one of the bestiaries he was reading. 

“Nilfgard is a formidable enemy.”

The Witcher frowned. “We’re concerned about you,” he specified.

Oh. Oh. Jaskier put down his tools and looked up. “I- I–” He swallowed, tried again. “I apologise for being an intrusion, but I can assure you that I will leave the moment the Pass is cleared. And I will make sure to send you coin to repay for the resources I have used. I am sorry I can give you little more than my word, but I swear I will keep my promise.”

The frown deepened. “I don’t need your coin, bard. Your labour here is payment enough.”

Jaskier looked down, nodded his assent without any intention to let go of his plan of payment. 

“You are a bard, right?”

Jaskier nodded again. 

“Yet I have not heard you sing a single word since you’ve arrived.”

“I did not wish to intrude.”

“We specifically requested it.”

“Geralt-” Jaskier halted. Damnit, traitorous mouth. 

“Doesn’t like your singing?” Vesimir finished.

Another nod.

Jaskier jumped as the man in front of him slammed on the table. “Bullshit.”

“What?”

“Bullshit. Tonight, you’re performing.”

And with that, Vesimir stormed out. 

* * * 

The first morning in Kaer Morhen, Jaskier had gone exploring. While Geralt and Ciri had gone outside to start training, Jaskier had wandered through the hallways, climbed up the stairs, tried rusty doors with broken handles and explored dust-filled chambers. In one of them, he had found an old lute, clearly unused for several decades. He had taken it back into his room with him, cleaned it, and placed it in the chest next to his bed. In a Keep filled with keen-eared Witchers he had been careful to ensure the instrument made no sound. He wasn’t even sure why he had taken it, but knowing it was there made him feel calmer, more whole. 

He tried to sneak away after dinner, the night of Vesimir’s demand. He should have known it was of no use. In Kear Morhen, there is little sneaking to be done. Lambert had walked with him when Jaskier had said he needed to fetch something from his room first. Eskel had yelled at him when he had revealed the lute. And he had lifted Jaskier onto the makeshift stage he had created in the time it took to fetch the instrument, cheered, and sat down to listen. And Jaskier had sung. He had sung shanties and ballads and the epic he had written about an underwater war. He had sung lovesongs and, when the fire burnt low and Ciri had looked at him, pleadingly, he had sung about Calanthe’s feats. And, at the very end, because Eskel threatened to never let him off the mountain if he didn’t, Jaskier had sung Toss a Coin. And Geralt had sat unmovingly throughout it all, polishing and repolishing and repolishing his armour. He had not looked up once.

Now that everyone in the Keep knew he had an instrument, Jaskier spent his evenings in his room writing up the songs he had not allowed himself to hum for so many months of being on the run. Old hurts, those which had originally sparked the anger that had written Burn, Butcher, Burn, were now not dulled – never dulled – by time, but had, rather than exploding outward, started festering inside his heart. And with Geralt so nearby, the Keep around him, and Ciri growing stronger by the day, the so painful words made themselves even more comfortable there, nestling in every crevice and wrinkle with the promise of further hurt and pain if he were not careful, if he overstayed his welcome again, if he did not leave the second the Pass was clear. And rather than vengeful pub songs, the hurt put on a coat made by solemn ballads, mournful dirges, and even a confessional hymn. Jaskier sang them quietly, barely vocalising the words even when he knew all the others were enjoying their evenings far downstairs, with several layers of stone between him and the ears of the men below. 

His performance, Jaskier later learned, had been on midwinter, but he noticed little of the lengthening days. This far North, the sun barely rose above the horizon – for as far as you could speak of a horizon visible from the Keep, surrounded by miles and miles of endless mountains. The empty hallways were filled with moving shadows, the castle’s original inhabitants moving from fireplace to fireplace, navigating quietly through the spaces they had grown to know so well over the years. Only Ciri carried a candle with her when moving between rooms. Jaskier let the darkness envelop him, hug him, embrace him into its folds when he made his way from his bedroom to the Hall, from the Hall to the kitchen, from the kitchen to the library and back to the Hall. It reminded him to be silent, unseen. And every day he would look outside, measure the snow, and conclude that no, he could not leave yet. He would have to remain a burden to those who belonged at the Keep for a little longer.

It was a week after midwinter when he heard Vesimir and Geralt yell at each other. It was a week and a day after midwinter when he saw Eskel and Lambert hack into the man much more aggressively than their playful training normally allowed. It was a week and three days after midwinter when Jaskier, when he arrived downstairs at his usual hour to take his breakfast, found not the expected empty Hall, but a white-haired witcher holding a piece of raw meat against his eye. It was a week and five days after midwinter when Jaskier noticed Geralt’s plate was clean after breakfast, and that no one was seated in his spot during dinner. It was two weeks after midwinter when Jaskier became really, really concerned.

“Vesimir, is the Pass clear?” Jaskier had asked that afternoon.

“No. It will not be for at least another moon. Why? Do we-” the old man cut himself off, clearly believing that whatever joke he was wanting to make would not be appropriate.

“I was wondering where Geralt went. I have not seen him in a few days.”

“Ah.”

It stayed silent for a while.

“Bard.”

“Yes?”

“You care for Geralt.”

It was a statement, not a question, so Jaskier stayed quiet.

“You travelled with him for over a decade. He insults you and hurts you. You do not see him for many years, yet you give up your own plans and jump right back into danger the moment you see him again. Why?”

“Because-” Jaskier sighed. “Because he is a good man. He might not see it, but he is. And when I grab hold of something I hold dear, I don’t quickly let go. Which- Yes, he hurt me, but it was deserving. I ignored all his boundaries and warnings, waltzed all over his life and claimed a place in it without stopping to consider if I was even wanted. He had the right to–”

“No, he didn’t.” In a blink of an eye, Vesimir had gotten up from his usual chair, stepped up to the table where Jaskier had been reattaching a half-torn book cover, and grabbed Jaskier’s shoulders. “He had no right to treat you like he did, nobody ever does.”

“How do you even know–”

Jaskier could count on one hand the times he had seen a witcher blush. Vesimir’s sudden red cheeks and refusal to make eye contact, therefore, were both a surprise and a sign of guilt.

“My new songs. I thought I was quiet enough–”

“Lambert likes to sit outside of your door and listen to you compose. He told me what he heard.”

“Oh.” The yelling. The training. The injured eye. “What did you–”

“We told him to apologise.”

Jaskier sighed. “I– I appreciate the gesture. But it has been years, he does not have to–”

“He does.” 

“Okay, maybe he does. But if he is to apologise, I would rather it came from him, not because his brothers told him to. Leave him alone. I will be fine.”

Vesimir simply raised an eyebrow, but said nothing else. The next morning, Geralt’s breakfast plate was used, and the man himself appeared for dinner.

* * * 

The Pass was clear, or, clear enough. The winter had been longer than usual, colder than usual, like the world itself needed its time to mourn the state it had come to. Lambert had been the one to discover it, anxious as he was to rejoin the Path. And now, though it was only two witchers leaving this season, it felt like the Keep was in a frenzy of packing, preparing, getting ready to go. A gathering of potion ingredients, the collecting of extra clothes, exclamations of where is that damned saddle ring gone and has anyone seen my– seemed to fill every room, every nook and cranny of the ancient castle. And in the chaos, Jaskier, upon hearing the news, quietly went to his room and packed. A tunic, three pairs of breeches, two doublets… He vaguely wondered what happened to the supplies he left behind, what felt like years ago. It had contained a fair bit of coin, too. It took him five minutes to pack, another ten to restore the room to the state he had found it in – if not a lot cleaner. It took him seven minutes to say goodbye to the lute, carefully wrapping it in a blanket and placing it safely on the bed, another five to write down a thank-you-and-goodbye note to leave in the library. And less than fifteen minutes later, he had managed to get away from the Keep unnoticed, unseen and unheard. Less than fifteen minutes later, the main gate of Kaer Morhen was out of his sight, and the long and winding path down had embraced its first visitor of the season – no experienced Witcher, but a lonely bard, unsure of what would be waiting for him in the world beyond.

next chapter

[crispyliza]

Have you guys ever been in a fandom where the majority of its fanfiction was really high-quality? If so, tell me which fandom it is in the tags. For me it's the Witcher.

[tielmamon]

A mage kidnaps Jaskier and sets him with a sleeping curse as a way to prove that witchers are heartless, bloodthirsty monsters themselves who know nothing but to kill-

Geralt swifty makes his way to Jaskier, who is currently laying dramatically on the ground near a tree. Just as quick, he places a soft almost playful kiss on the bard's sleeping lips and-

"Get up, come on." Geralt rumbles unhelpfully, smacking the bard's face a few times, smirking down at Jaskier who yawns right in his face.

"Shit, again? What is with you mages and true love kiss curses? And always around this time of the year too! Are you all just collectively lonely and bitter nearing Belletyn?" The bard hauls himself up, yawning once more while he leans on his witcher's side. A warm, armoured hand clasps the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

"Are you complaining?" With a bark of laughter, Jaskier answers with a kiss on the cheek.

"Hardly. Just wish there was a bit more variety, you know? Say, oh i don't know, true love's blow j-" He receives a smack up the back of his head and a chuckle at his side.

"Fuck off and find the amulet for the contract-" With a flourish, Jaskier pulls the amulet out of his coat pocket

"All done, darling. Do keep up." The mage watches from the sidelines, still tied up and horrified and embarassed. The two turn to him, one looking menacing and the other smiling brightly down at him. He's not quite sure which one he fears more.

[gregre369]

Y’all ever been reading some fanfiction and you just randomly check back into reality. And realize you’ve been reading 100k words of domestic bliss and fluff about two make believe people. Like no action, no violence, no plot, just two people living their lives and having conversations about home renovations.

Does it make you question yourself…?

…cool me neither

[jxsmindoodles]

More Witcher!Yennefer

I really can’t stop 😌 all credit to @brazenedminstrel & @greypaws6896 for cooking up this wonderful AU!

[ultralightpoe]

Spellbound Part 3- Geralt of Rivia

Authors Note: Y'ALL I AM SO SORRY! I thought I scheduled it and I do monthly breaks from all social media! Omg I really screwed y'all over! I AM SO SO SO SO SO SORRY. How can I make it up birdies?

Word Count: 3093

Description: Part One and Part Two

Warnings: Heavy smuttt y'all

Enjoy!

Before Geralt had lost his entire life he was told as a child that there was always a beginning, middle and end. And though most people always thought that this merely pertained to stories his parents always told him that they belonged to humans too.

Every human had a beginning, middle and end.

Every monster had a beginning.

Every Saint had a beginning.

But none of them mattered right now, because all Geralt could think of right now was you. Your beginning, middle and end. He wanted to know more of your story more than he ever had before. 

You had both settled down at a rundown inn, him covering his hair and you covering the bruises someone had left on your neck. The innkeeper, a straggly old lady that could barely turn to grab the key to the rooms, barely cast either of you a glance. 

You kept close to him as you both made your way up the stairs, and Geralt was embarrassed to admit that a surge of pride crossed through him at this. You seek his warmth and protection, and he would give it. He would give you anything you wanted. 

Yennifer had left as soon as she could, saying that she would be going to find Jaskier and letting him know they found you. 

Geralt would keep you with him in the inn, per Jaskiers request. The bard pretends to worry about you with all the traveling, claiming that it would be best if he came to the two of you. Geralt saw the lie, he just could not give a shit. 

Instead he started a fire, setting you in front of it and mumbling that he would be right back. You snatch to grab his upper arm when he moves to leave, but he merely nods, letting you know it is okay to let go. So you do, swiping your fingers under your eyes quickly, but it was too late and he had already seen the tears.

He makes the trip quick, buying you warmer clothes and heading back and ordering some hot stew from the innkeeper, heading back to the room when she tells him she will bring it. 

You are right where he left you when he comes back in, this time a little closer to the fire and curled up a little tighter. Geralt, who had always struggled to sneak around, tried to lighten his footsteps as he neared you. 

“I brought some fresh clothes. How about a bath and a change?” He asks, his voice scratchy from lack of use, but he does his best to keep it gentle. 

You shake your head, the slightest of movement that somehow managed to clench his heart in his chest. “I’m too tired.”

“Allow me.” He whispers, holding out his hand for you. 

“Allow you?”

“To bathe you.”

“You would do that?” You smile, the beginning of a laugh climbing up your throat at the thought. 

“It would be my honor.” His tone makes it sound like he is teasing, but there is nothing but seriousness behind that comment. 

“You won’t jest?”

“Never.”

And at the simple touch of your fingers reaching up to his own has his skin on fire, shaking slightly as he helps your stand, shuffling to the bathroom and leading you to the center of the room and turning to heat the bottom of the tub with fire as he waits for you to get undressed 

But when he turns back to you he finds you waiting patiently, still in the gaudy thin dress, watching slowly. 

You seem fazed out now, eyes shuttering as you reach to him and begin untying his own shirt. A moment of startlement crosses him before he reaches a hand up and stops you by grasping your own in his larger palms. He rubs softly as he tries to relax you, shaking his head. 

“Not me. You.”

“You, with me.”

“I do not want to-”

“I don’t wanna be exposed alone.” It’s then that Geralt knows what you mean. You don’t want to be the only one naked and vulnerable. So he would join you. Anything for you. 

He turns to undress as you undress yourself, and once he hears you get into the tub he turns himself, his heart stopping in his chest at the sight of you. 

Your breasts are just barely covered by the water, and within that moment you managed to tie your hair up with a leather scrap, exposing the bruised neck and collarbone . In this moment you looked broken, and still astonishingly beautiful. It wasn’t fair. 

He takes a moment to climb in, and suddenly he feels the stress from the last few months beginning to fade from his body as he nears you, sitting across from you knee to knee. 

Silence fills the room, and Geralt stresses to find something to say as you lean forward to rest your forehead on his knee. 

“Turn around so I can wash your hair.” He whispers, allowing you room to do so and beginning to work on your hair with the soap. “My parents used to tell me stories.”

“About kings and dragonslayers?”

“No, about monsters.” 

“How so?”

“They used to tell me that the saints and the monsters of the world all had stories of their own, that everyone you come across has a beginning, middle and end.” 

You turn slightly to watch him, and he does his best to seem relaxed. 

“I spent most of my time stressed in impressing and protecting you.” He whispers. “I was gruff, which I do with most people. Keeping you and everyone else at arm's length.”

“I’m trying to see how this relates, witcher.”

“I want to know your story, I want to know your beginning and middle and I am desperate to be with you until the end.”

“Why would you want to know all of that?”

“I have found that, even with you mad at me, that I am nothing in this world without you.”

“I will tell you everything if you tell me everything.”

—------------

You fall asleep listening to him whisper the same stories his parents once told you, rubbing your hair softly as you keep your nose shoved into his chest. 

You awake around midnight screaming, it takes Gerat a couple minutes to calm you down before he moves to start another fire, bringing you closer to it for warmth and letting you lay in front of it. 

The days follow as this, staying by the fire in the cold winter air, whispering back and forth. Eating the stew and roasts the innkeeper made. 

You tell him about your life, and he tells you about yours. 

Finally you ask. 

“Shouldn’t you be out there? Working for the people?” Your head is laid out on his thigh as he watches the snow fall from the window. “I have never known you to sit still, Geralt.”

His heart lurches at the sound of his name falling from your lips. “I have spent the past few weeks working…..for you.”

“What do you mean?” You ask quickly, lifting your head from his thigh, eyes traveling his scarred abdomen before landing to his eyes. 

“I was trying to buy out the contract. For you?”

“Why would you do that? How much money did that end up being?”

“Not enough. It seems that the monster of a brothel keeper and I can agree on one thing, you are priceless.”

“Then how-”

“Yennifer smuggled you out-”

“Then what of the coin?”

“It’s yours. It’s all yours if you want it. Enough to buy a cottage in the hillside for years and-”

“And what if I wanted to stay with you? And Jaskier? Or do you not want me?”

“There is nothing more that I want than you. But I treated you horribly-”

You snap to stand then, hair flipping as you stomp across the room to fling a pillow at him. “How so?”

“That night, you were under a spell and I was so close to absolutely defiling you-”

“I wanted it! If you weren’t so pigheaded you would know that those charms only work if the one wearing it is-” 

“Stop.” There was a heavy force in the room, pressing through his chest to his lungs as he tried to catch his breath. 

“Stop what?”

“This will ruin everything-”

“How. So.”

“BECAUSE I CAN’T LOSE YOU!” He yells, rubbing at his forehead. “I would rather not have you than lose you. Do you understand?”

“Do you love me?”

“Y-”

“Do you love me as I love you?” 

“Yes.” And just like that the tight feeling in his gut that formed the moment he had laid eyes on you. His body was lighter and his heart felt like it was righted once more. “I love you.”

“Then what does it matter?”

“You’ve….. You have had a long couple m-”

“I want you.” You whisper, slowly tiptoeing around the room. “I trust no one but you. No one has given me the truth more, and protected me more.”

“I was cruel and-”

“I understand now.” You smile, tears filling your eyes. “I’ve seen terrible terrible men-”

His fists clench at his sides, the urge to find every man that harmed you and smash their heads with a hammer, as he watches you move closer until your own hands find purchase on his chest. 

The warmth fills him the second you touch him. 

“But you, in all your gruff warnings and rude awakenings, have never been a bad man.”

“You deserve better.”

“I am a brothel worker. I deserve nothing. But this is not what I deserve, this is what I want. Desperately so.”

“You want me?”

“I need you, Geralt.”

His hands unclench, moving up until they rest at your cheeks as he gazes down at you. “I need you too.”

“Then show me.” It’s a simple whisper, but one he hears through his being all the same, moving you backwards slowly until the back of your knees are pressed to the bed. He waits for you to show him a sign of fear or that you changed your mind. But you merely smile up at him, fingers moving to slide over the scars on his abdomen. 

“I trust you.” You whisper, the tips of your fingers sliding against his skin until they get to the breaches he wears and begin untying them.

“After what you have been through…”

“I want you to remind me of what it could be.” And he can’t help himself after that, moving to grab the bottoms of the night dress, keeping eye contact with you as his fingers graze your thighs while he lifts it up slowly, his heart hammering in his chest as you smile softly, allowing him to stand once more and remove the dress from you. 

You allow him to watch you, the wild look in his eyes as he traces your skin slowly. 

“You’ll tell me the second you change your mind?”

“The very instant.”  It was like a cord snapping, a leash let go and suddenly Geralt could not help himself. In one quick swoop he reaches to toss you onto the bed, watching you with dark eyes while you scooch backwards to get comfortable.

He prowls above you, enjoying the excited gleam in your eye as he crawls between your legs to kiss at your lips softly, then the softness turns to hunger as his hand grabs your jaw and he devours you. Kissing you like a man completely starved of it. 

A soft moan falls from your lips and he is nearly a goner, his breath lost as he pulls back to admire his work, a string of saliva keeping you both connected as you take a moment to open your eyes, lips swollen and red. He holds out his hand, waiting patiently for you to catch your breath before he orders you to “Spit.”

You comply easily, and he stops himself from growling in pleasure before he takes his hand and slaps your cunt harshly, a smile tearing across his face when you moan out before he is crawling back down the bed to shove his face between your legs roughly and lick a stripe between your folds. 

The moment your thighs tighten around his head he vows that he will spend the rest of his life doing this, no matter where and no matter when. He would suffocate in this spot if you would let him. A low growl releases from his chest as you moan, fingers lacing themselves in his hair tightly and tugging as he laps at your clit.

Over and over, feeling you spasm with pleasure twice before you use your hands and tug him up by his hair, whining. 

He drags his eyes up to you then, seeing the tears from pleasure streaming down your cheeks as he kneels in front of you on the bed. 

“Are you hurt?” Even if he had the carnal urge to take you right here and now your safety and well being came first and foremost. You seem to realize this as you move up and reach to wrap your arms around his neck, his hands flying to your sides to help stabilize you. Rubbing softly as he peers down at you, him being twice your size. 

Just the thought of it makes his stomach clench in anticipation as you lean up to kiss him, allowing him to lean you both back down onto the bed and lay over you, picking up the kiss just as hungrily. 

He only pulls away from your kiss to kiss along your neck and collarbone as you reach down to line him up. He has to close his eyes and take in a shuddering breath the second you touch him and it takes everything not to finish there. 

But it is all worth it as he pushes in, a growl once again ripping out of his chest as you moan out, foreheads pressed together as he pushes until he is bottomed out. 

“So….. fuck.”

“Neverstop.” You whine, pressing your chest up into his with your eyes still closed. But that just wouldn’t do. How could he admire your fucked out look if he didn’t have your undivided attention. So he pulls your hair and orders you to open your eyes. 

You don’t listen, instead moving your hips to gain some friction so he shoves his own hips down to keep you pinned into place as he orders one more. “Let. Me. See. Your. Fucking. Eyes.”

When you finally open them he begins moving, a slow pace at first, allowing you to gain pleasure slowly but the second he feels the tightness loosen up and you get wetter he is unleashed, pounding into you at a heavy pace. 

The headboard hits the wall with each hit, and your face is thrown into one of pure pleasure as he keeps going. And Geralt cannot think of anything he has ever done to deserve this. 

He would never actually deserve this, but he was so grateful that you had given him a chance, because this is what pure heaven was. 

“You’re mine.” He grunts out, one fist tightening in your hair as he kisses down your throat, thrusting into you at a rapid pace as your hands fly to scratch down his back in a way that has him holding his breath to stop from finishing. 

“I’m yours.” You moan out, tears streaming down your cheeks. 

“I’m never letting y- FUCK- you leave again.”

“I’ll never leave again.” 

“I’ll kill any man that touches you.” 

“No one else.” You cry out, and he feels you tighten around him once more and knows you’re close so he reaches a hand and pinches at your nipple harshly. “Only you Geralt. My Geralt!” You come undone around him, eyes rolling back as he keeps you pressed to his chest and finishes inside you, keeping you as close as he can while letting you both ride out your highs. 

By the time you both finish he lays you both down, his head laying on your chest with him laying between your legs as you play with your hair. 

“I love you…..” You whisper, twirling some of his hair softly.

“I love you.” He replies, moving until his chin is laying on your stomach and he can look up at you. “And I will never let you forget that.”

—-------------

You are awakened by a boot pressing into your cheek as you grumble out and move to push it away. 

“Geralt I swear-” But when you open your eyes you see none other than Jaskier with a cheeky little grin over his face as he stares down at you, a mug of what smells like cider in his hand. 

“Not your lover, but your closest friend.”

“Roach wears boots now?” You laugh, moving to stretch as he rolls his eyes. It had been months since you escaped the brothel, and since everything has changed. Jaskier seems more clingy than ever which was something you only pretended to hate, and Geralt has gone from the stoic asshole to the stoic love of your life…… well in public. 

Behind closed doors he spent most of his time worshiping you. 

“Where is he?” You ask after surveying to find him.

“He took little one to get some water.” 

Another thing that had changed, the young girl that you had smuggled out of a brothel months ago, who has slowly become like a daughter to you, well youngest daughter since you considered Ciri your daughter as well. 

“We’re here!” Y/d calls, her pudgy hand held in Geralts as he leads the girls back, Ciri with a small smile on her face while Y/d rushes to you. “We got water!”

“And Geralt says we have to be off.” Ciri sighs, leaning forward to accept your loving touch as you fuss over her hair. 

“Let’s get on the horses.” Your lover grunts, lifting y/d from under her shoulders and setting her on roach, moving to help Ciri before getting to you. A hand finds purchase on your thigh as you lift yourself onto your horse, smiling down at him. 

“Don’t get any ideas.”

“While you look like that? How will I ever break the love spell?”

“Guess your spellbound then.”

“Always have been.” He kisses your thigh while Jaskier is turned before turning to his own horse and jumping on, making sure y/d is comfortable before moving on.

(I AM SO SORRY, I REALLY THOUGHT I SCHEDULED IT BABES. How can I make it up? I'll do anything.....)

@sagelovesreading

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