#tragic geralt face

[ro-is-struggling]

Safer In His Arms || Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Requested by anon

Summary: Since you were little you always dreamed of meeting a noble and brave knight, falling in love and marrying him to rule your kingdom together until the end of your days. But as you looked around at the men that had come to the banquet to ask for your hand in marriage, it was clear that those dreams were nothing more than a fantasy. Or at least that's what you thought until fate crossed your path with Geralt of Rivia. The witcher, with his hard expression and cold stare, was the last person anyone would describe as warm or chivalrous. But not you. From the moment you met him, you saw nothing but kindness in his eyes. And when he managed to rescue you from the hands of bandits, you knew that maybe there was still some hope that your fantasy could come true —just maybe not in the way you had always imagined. 

Warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, mentions of sexual assault (nothing happens but if it’s triggering for you I wouldn’t read it), protective!geralt, SMUT MINORS DNI, virgin!reader, inexperienced!reader, loss of virginity (not accurate this is just porn!), dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving), penetrative sex, creampie, aftercare, fluff

English is not my first language

Word count: 13500 (not even sorry)

Notes: I don't know why I keep giving every princess I write a sad/tragic story, sorry about that. Also this ended up being way more smutty than I anticipated, sorry about that too (not really). It was supposed to be a fun little hurt/comfort fic about Geralt saving the reader but it developed a mind of its own and ended up being another excuse to write more smut. I tried to make the smut a bit more fluffy than normal since it's supposed to be the reader's first time, but I didn't want it to be too fluffy given that they technically barely know each other, so there's no actual love between them (if that makes sense?). So, sorry if it's a bit all over the place!

The cold breeze of the summer night hit your skin the moment you set foot outside, reminding you that you should have taken a coat. While the days tended to be hot this time of year, once the sun set over the horizon a cool breeze embraced the entire kingdom, courtesy of the ocean forces that surrounded the borders of the land. It was quite peaceful. On a quiet night you loved to sit in the courtyard listening to the waves crashing against the rocks and smelling the scent of the salty water that was carried by the winds and mingled with the sweet perfume of the garden flowers. It seemed to always bring peace to your troubled mind, and that was exactly what you needed right now.

You could still hear the noise coming from inside the castle, though it was slowly getting lost in the sound of the sea. The laughter, the chatter, the joyful music, it all faded into the background as you plopped down on one of the seats in the courtyard, allowing yourself a moment to take a deep breath and let the beauty of your kingdom impart some of the wisdom you so desperately needed. All the guests were there for you —to talk and dance with you, to make unattainable but romantic promises in exchange for your hand in marriage— and yet all you wanted to do was disappear. You were tired of the politics, the diplomacy, tired of feeling the pressure of having to decide the future of your life and your kingdom in one night. The choice of a husband was very important to your parents, to your people and it should be to you too, but all you wanted was for the day to be over.

"I'm glad to see I'm not the only one feeling overwhelmed in there." A deep voice startled you. 

Looking up you were met with a tall man leaning against one of the stone pillars supporting the roof of the covered section of the courtyard. His arms were crossed over his chest, muscles showing through the fabric of his clothes. His white hair hid part of his face, though you could still make out his hard expression and defined jaw. But what caught your attention the most was not the size of his muscles or the fact that the clothes he was wearing seemed too elegant for someone like him. No, what caught your attention the most were the amber eyes that watched you, admiring you from a distance, hiding behind a few rebellious strands of hair. You had never seen such beautiful eyes before. They were piercing, and yet there was a softness in them. Like the sun on a summer afternoon, they shone with an intensity that would have blinded anyone. But you were mesmerized by them, unable to look away. 

"Though I must admit I did not expect to find you here, your highness, given that you are the center of the party."

"I needed some fresh air." You managed to say, forcing yourself to look away from his eyes. "I lost count of the number of men I danced with tonight...I just needed a break."

"That bad, huh?" His lips curved upward slightly, giving his hard expression a softer look. "I suppose if any of them had made a good impression at least you would remember their name."

"It wouldn't matter anyways. My parents have a very strong opinion about the one I should choose." You let out a bitter chuckle. "This banquet is just a formality, a contingency plan.... Give everyone a false sense of hope so they won't attack us for feeling left out."

"I'm sure you still have some sort of control over the whole thing. You're the one getting married after all."

"Since when does a woman's opinion matter when there's wealth and power involved? I'm just a pawn in their political game." Your gaze dropped, focusing on the embroidered details of your dress to avoid facing the intense gaze of the man in front of you. "When I was a girl I used to dream of growing up, meeting a brave and honorable prince and falling in love with him... now I know that feelings come after marriage, if they come at all."

Geralt watched you walk arround the courtyard, your fingers tracing the petals of the flowers that decorated the place without paying much attention to your movements. You had a blank stare and a sad expression adorned your delicate face. He was not a big lover of royalty —he didn't care about politics and didn't like the arrogant tone with which most of them used to speak—, but you were different. When he looked at you he didn't see a spoiled, arrogant princess or a manipulative political figure capable of anything to get their way. He only saw a sad and disillusioned young woman, confused about her future and the responsibility that fell on her shoulders. 

Geralt felt bad for you and had an inexplicable urge to hug you, though he restrained himself. He opted to move closer to you, just took a couple of steps forward and he was already able to breathe in the scent of your perfume. His nostrils were pleasantly assaulted by the sweet scent emanating from your skin and hair. It was special, a blend of jasmine, vanilla and a hint of sea water. It was like nothing he had ever smelled before and he was sure that your scent would linger in his memory for a long time.

"It is still your life." He spoke behind your back and you turned to look at him. He seemed much bigger now that he was closer to you. His figure towered over you imposingly, yet his eyes were soft. "You can always take back your control over it." Your lips curved upward slightly and Geralt thought the smile suited you much better than the grimace of sadness. 

You appreciated his effort to improve your mood. He was a complete stranger who had no reason to listen to your complaints about a life that many considered privileged. And though his words were simple, they accomplished their purpose. You felt so helpless and trapped that you were unable to see that things didn't end there. Yes, you were forced to marry someone you did not love for the sake of your kingdom, but that was not the same as giving up your life, your control and power over it. There was still hope.

"Thank you..." you trailed off, realizing at that moment that you had opened yourself so sincerely to a man whose name you didn't even know. 

But before he could introduce himself, a voice in the distance interrupted you, answering for him.

"Geralt! There you are! I have been looking everywhere for you. You are supposed to protect me, you know."

Geralt let out an irritated sigh as the man you recognized as one of the many musicians hired by your parents to play at the banquet approached you. You had to stifle a chuckle as you realized that rather than escaping the noise of the party, he had come there to get a break from his friend's vibrant and cheerful personality. They were an odd pair, but you had no doubt that there had to be trust between them from the way the bard addresses him.

“I’ve been doing the impossible to hide from Lord Kaius for ages! What the hell were you doing out her–” The artist's complaints were cut short when his eyes finally rested on your figure. "Your highness." He gave a subtle bow, the tone of his voice changing to a lower, more subtle one from one second to the next.

"I'm afraid it's my fault. I was preoccupying your friend with the problems that afflict my mind on this fine evening and he was too kind to interrupt me. He was a great help, but you can take him back now. You clearly need him more than I do."

"Won't you come inside, your highness? You wouldn't want to miss your own party." The bard asked and you smiled at him. 

"In a moment. I'd like to enjoy the peace and fresh air for a while longer."

Geralt didn't know why, but his eyes kept searching for you in the crowd of people dancing and eating like there was no tomorrow. After Jaskier dragged him back to the banquet hall —and after saving him from the fury of the man whose daughter had lost her innocence in the hands of the bard—, he kept his eyes on the big dark wooden doors, waiting to see you enter. But the minutes passed and there was no sign of you anywhere. He hadn't seen you come through the door and he couldn't find you in the crowd of people or see you at the royal table sitting next to your parents. You had disappeared and some people were beginning to notice.

For a moment, Geralt wondered if perhaps his words had encouraged certain behaviors in you. Maybe your way of taking control of your life was to run away from there, leaving your parents, your suitors and your responsibilities behind and start from scratch. He was wondering if perhaps he should go out to look for you, when his thoughts were interrupted by the sudden entrance of a man running towards the king and queen waving a paper in his raised right hand.

"The princess has been kidnapped." He announced loudly, causing the entire room to fall into a deep silence. 

The musicians stopped playing, the people dancing stood motionless in the middle of the room and the queen almost fainted at that very moment. There was a collective sigh and then nothing. Pure silence while the king read the note that had been left behind by the bandits, establishing a payment for the recovery of the princess.

However, the silence did not last long. It was a room full of princes, knights and lords who were there to win the heart of the princess —or at least, the political interest of her parents— so chaos was bound to break out at a time like that. Lord Einar, the one who had found the note in the courtyard, was the first to offer his services to save the princess. His bravery set off a chain reaction of man after man appearing before the king to justify why they were the best suited for the task and not their competitors. And as they fought among themselves, Geralt decided to take matters into his own hands. 

He finally felt comfortable as he inspected the courtyard and its surroundings for some sort of clue as to your whereabouts. For the first time since he had arrived at the castle he felt as if he actually had something to do there. Banquets and politics weren't his thing, but tracking down and hunting evil was. And while his area of expertise was monsters, he was willing to make an exception —anything to find an excuse to get him out of the political mess unfolding in the banquet hall.

His senses enhanced by the mutation allowed Geralt to follow the path that your scent had left in the air. He only had to take a couple of deep breaths and he immediately caught the fragrance of jasmine and vanilla that he had smelled on your skin. It stood out above any other scent near him, almost as if he had you in front of him once again. All he had to do was follow it to the outskirts of the castle, where his tracking skills allowed him to form a clearer picture of the situation.

They were heading north, away from the ocean and into the forest. The four pairs of footprints in the dirt indicated the presence of three heavy men who were accompanied by a fourth subject that was not so pleased to be there. The footprints were more shallow and imperfect. They belonged to a person of smaller build who was being dragged by those men. Geralt found no blood on the path, so he felt optimistic. You were conscious and had no serious wounds that would leave traces of your blood on the road, so there was a high chance that he would arrive in time to save you.

Following the path became a little more complicated the deeper he went into the woods, but fortunately for him the vegetation was not so lush and the bandits had not hidden very far away. Soon he was able to hear their angry mutterings in the distance. The night wind carried your sobs with it and Geralt followed them as if it were a map straight to your whereabouts. 

You were being held captive in what appeared to be abandoned land. There was a dirty old shack and behind it, in the distance, Geralt could make out a barn that he had no doubt was in the same condition. A dim light was escaping through the half-open wooden door, so he knew that was where he had to go. 

Two of the bandits scattered around the property to control the perimeter while one remained inside with you. Geralt was able to slip past them unseen with ease. Clearly, they were not men of great intellect and wisdom. Only a fool would kidnap a princess on the one night she was surrounded by strong and capable noble knights looking to prove themselves to her. Although glancing around, he was the only one there, so perhaps the bandits had a point.

Geralt was very careful with his movements, seeking to stay in the shadows as long as possible to assess the situation. He knew he could take out those men without breaking a sweat, even if they attacked him all three at once. But he had to consider that you were in the middle and any mistake he made could end badly for you. So he took his time, stealing a glimpse of the barn through the cracked door. His vision was limited by the odd angle from which he was forced to observe the scene, as well as the dim light that illuminated the room. Geralt was considering going in with his sword held high and end it all, when a sudden movement forced him to retreat so as not to be found.

Still, he got to see the way the man was mistreating you, pushing you violently against a pile of hay while you cried and begged for your life. And he got to hear the string of degenerate words he spat at you, enjoying the fear in your voice as you struggled to keep your distance from him. It made Geralt angry. Very angry.

The next sequence of actions happened so quickly that it was hard for you to process it. Although, to be honest, your mind wasn't quite there either. A part of you was completely missing, preparing to face the worst. When your captor lunged at you, effectively imprisoning you against the hay and almost completely restricting your movements, your mind transported you to another place. You could still hear his voice in the distance, smell his unpleasant odor and feel his weight on your body, but it all felt distant, muffled by the sounds of the ocean waves crashing against the rocks and the smell of salt water. Your body was still struggling to break free and tears were still streaming down your cheeks, but your mind was preparing to face the horror you knew was coming.

"You can cry all you want, no one is coming to save you." The man clicked his tongue, an evil smile forming on his lips. "A castle full of people and not a single man in sight, what a shame! But don't worry, princess, the time has come for you to know what a real man is." He moved his hands to the buttons of his pants, his leering gaze roaming over your body. You felt like screaming, crying and vomiting all at the same time, but you remained immobile, not knowing how to react. You simply closed your eyes, concentrating on the images of the sea you loved so much, waiting for the moment to pass.

But instead of feeling the weight of your captor's body on you again, you felt the splatter of warm liquid on your skin. Droplets rolled down your cheeks, mixing with your tears, and streams fell on your clothes. When you opened your eyes you found the sharp point of a sword poking out of your captor's pierced stomach. It was his blood that drenched your body, his blood that stained your clothes. It poured down on you from the wound in his stomach and from the cut in his throat that prevented him from producing more than broken cries as he drowned in his own blood.

It took you a few seconds to understand what was happening. Your confused mind, on high alert for new dangers, was not able to comprehend that the death of your captor was something positive for you. You only saw blood in quantities you had never seen before and could not help but scream as you watched in horror as the sword disappeared inside the bandit's body —splashing a few more drops of blood on its way out.

In the blink of an eye, the dying body of your captor was removed from above you and was replaced by a hand that pressed over your mouth to silence you. You struggled against it, your own hands snapping out of their state of shock to clutch at the arm of the new danger in an attempt to separate it from you. But then your eyes focused on the man leaning over you, the one who had saved you and who was desperately asking you to keep quiet.

A surge of calm ran through your body as you made contact with those golden eyes that intrigued you so much. You knew then that you were no longer in danger for Geralt had come to your rescue. Your heart was still beating almost inhumanly fast, pumping adrenaline throughout your body, and your breathing was still rapid, but you were able to calm your whimpers of protest under his hand. You stopped fighting him, trusting that you would be safe under his care.

"There are more-" You tried to warn him as he removed his hand from your mouth, but Geralt shushed you.

"I know, they're outside. That's why I need you to stay quiet and hide while I deal with them. Can you do that, your highness?" You nodded slowly, letting Geralt lead you to the back of the barn. He settled you behind a pile of hay that was large enough to hide your crouched figure, asking you to stay there until he came back for you, no matter what you heard outside.

"Wait! Don't leave me!" you panicked as he took a step away from you. Your hand flew to his arm, clinging to his clothes in an attempt to keep him from leaving. You knew what he had to do, but the thought of being alone again terrified you.

"Everything will be fine." Geralt tried to calm you, his voice a soft whisper. "I promise I will come back for you." 

He gave you a moment before trying to leave once again, waiting for you to let go of his arm willingly rather than forcibly push you away. Geralt knew you were terrified and needed support, and he was more than willing to give it, but first he had to take care of the bandits that were still on the loose. And it would not be wise to fight them while you were present. It would only distress you further and put you in unnecessary danger. So, with a slight nod, he left you in the barn once more, disappearing into the night to finish what he had started.

You curled up in your place, listening to the distant sounds of the fight as you let another wave of tears roll down your cheeks. The smell of blood and dirt surrounded you. You were covered in it —in dirt, from being pushed back and forth around the place; in your captor's sweat, after he threw his body over yours; and in his blood, thanks to Geralt's fierce but effective attack. It made you want to vomit. The reality of the situation was starting to sink in, and your mind was slowly beginning to understand the great danger you were in and how lucky you were that Geralt showed up when he did.

“Princess?” 

His voice brought you back to reality. He was kneeling beside you, looking at you with concern in those beautiful yellow eyes. The skin on his face was stained with a few drops of blood, as you imagined yours to be, but that did not lessen the softness of his expression. You threw yourself into his arms without a second thought, hiding your face in his neck as you sobbed in relief to know that the danger was over.

"It's okay, you're safe. I'm here, it's going to be okay." Geralt muttered against your hair, pulling you into his arms hoping that would be enough to help ease your nerves. 

He held you against his body for as long as you needed him to, stroking your back with his hand in a slow, delicate way to inspire some sense of calm in you. He didn't move for a moment, not even when your sobs began to fade and your breathing became regular. No, Geralt waited for you to make the first move, breaking away from him when you were ready to do so. 

"It's all right. You're fine. Just breathe with me. In...and out...in...and out. All right." 

You let the soft but deep tone of his voice slowly wash away the paralyzing fear and nerves that plagued you. You focused on the warmth of his body and the way his arms wrapped around you, making you feel safe. You mimicked the rhythm of his breathing, letting him slowly guide you back to normal. 

When you opened your eyes again the world around you was no longer spinning. Your vision was still a little blurry from the tears, but you could make out perfectly the yellow eyes, bright as the summer sun, watching you carefully.

"There you are!" Geralt gave you a small smile. "Did they hurt you?" You shook your head. Most of the blood on you at that moment wasn't yours, thankfully. Beyond a couple of bruises on your wrists from the bindings, and a split lip from a slap, you weren't injured. Your head hurt and you had twisted your ankle in an attempt to escape but it was nothing you couldn't handle.

"Who were they?" You asked in a shaky voice as you tried to stand up. You winced in pain as you put weight on your injured foot, but Geralt caught you in his arms before you lost your balance.

"Trust me, you're not going to like the answer to that."

A collective sigh was heard as you and Geralt entered the war room, where the king and queen were coordinating a rescue party with some soldiers and half of the suitors present at the banquet. It was a sigh of surprise rather than relief. It was clear that no one expected to see you there, much less with the disheveled appearance you had. 

Your mother was the first to react, running up to you with tears in her eyes. Although she couldn't bring herself to hug you, the blood that stained your ball gown was still fresh, so she settled for holding your cheeks in her hands while repeating over and over again how happy she was that you were safe. Your father reacted by sending the guards to arrest Geralt as his worried mind believed that the witcher somehow had something to do with your kidnapping. You had to stand between them, taking your savior's hand in yours to make your position clear. 

"What you imply is ridiculous! He saved me, father. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for him." you stated firmly, keeping your head held high and holding back tears in your eyes. 

"He very well could still be behind all this. He's a witcher who wasn't officially invited to the festivities and conveniently vanished in the middle of the night without a word. No one can attest to him but that bard..."

"No offense, your majesty, but I just felt as though the situation was not being treated with the necessary urgency." Geralt interjected, speaking in a calm and slightly defiant tone. "I knew for a fact that she couldn't be far away and that time was of the essence, but everyone at that feast seemed more interested in proving themselves worthy of glory and respect than saving your daughter's life. I just did what had to be done."

"How dare you speak that way about these noble men, witcher! Any one of them would be more than willing to give his life for my daughter!"

"He is right, father. If you want to find a culprit, you should direct your gaze to Lord Einar."

The room fell silent as all eyes turned to him. But his gaze was focused on you, staring at you with a fury you didn't know if the others were able to detect. He took a step forward and you tightened your grip on Geralt's hand, instinctively seeking his support. He stuck to your side, silently letting you know that he was ready to come between him and you if necessary —though he seriously doubted that Einar would be stupid enough to try to hurt you in front of the king.

"This is absurd!" Lord Einar complained with exaggerated outrage. "I will not allow myself to be disrespected in this way! I was invited to this feast to formalize my interest in the princess, which is greater than that of anyone in this room, if I may add. Have you forgotten that it was I who noticed the princess's strange disappearance? If I had not gone out to look for her, perhaps the news of her disappearance would have come too late. And may I remind you, your majesty, that it was I who first offered my services to bring her back safe and sound."

"That was the plan, wasn't it?" Geralt spoke through gritted teeth. "To pay some coins to a bunch of desperate bastards to take her so that you could rescue her and thus win her and the king's heart."

"I will not allow this... thing to disrespect me like this!"

"Your scent was on their clothes. Your name was the last thing they uttered before I slit their throats. You knew you didn't stand a chance with her, so you found a way to force your name to the top of the list."

Intimidated by Geralt's cold, hard stare, Lord Einar turned to look at the king. "These are nothing more than baseless accusations made by someone who clearly wants to distract us from his own guilt and involvement." he said, keeping his head held high as he lied through his teeth. "I beg you, my king, to consider punishment for this insolent witcher."

"Is this proof enough for you?" you snapped, tossing an object on the table. 

After the bandits were dead, Geralt had searched their bodies for some kind of proof that their words were true. That's how he had found a ring in the pocket of one of them that clearly didn't belong to them. It was made of a fine metal and in the center, engraved in gold, was the seal of a noble family: the Blakesley family.

The ring rolled against the dark wood, exposing Lord Einar's lies with each flick of the ring before the gaze of all present. There was nothing he could say to avoid the punishment that was coming, so when your father gave the order and the guards took him by force, he decided to take his rage out on you. His voice echoed through the corridors as he was escorted to the dungeon, shouting a string of insults at you. He questioned your honor and your ability as a ruler, claiming that he only wanted to marry you to ensure that the kingdom would not perish when your father died. 

Those were nothing more than the words of an unstable man who was filled with spite, angered by your rejection. You knew it meant nothing, but you still couldn't help but feel humiliated as he shouted all those things in front of so many people. Your eyes filled with tears and you clung to Geralt almost instinctively, hiding your face in his neck so no one would see you cry. He wrapped his arms around you, ignoring the very unfriendly looks that several of the men in the room gave him. 

Your mother ordered the room to be emptied, realizing that the crowd was doing nothing to help your condition. The last thing you needed at that moment was to feel watched and judged by a bunch of people, so she personally closed the doors behind the last guard to leave the room.

"You should take a long bath, my love. I'll send someone to prepare the tub and clean clothes for you. That will certainly make you feel better." Your mother spoke in a soft voice, placing a hand on your back. "And you, witcher, are more than welcome to stay tonight. I'll have a room prepared for you and bring you some clean clothes. We can talk more in the morning."

You gave your mother a smile as you wiped your tears with the back of your hand, trying to convince her that you were fine. She knew you weren't, but she also knew you well enough not to push you at that moment. So she left the room without adding anything else, leaving you alone with Geralt once again.

"Thank you... for everything." Your voice broke the silence, your eyes traveling from the door to Geralt's face. "I just realized I didn't thank you yet." 

"You don't have to." He didn't need to hear it from your mouth, he could see in your eyes how grateful you were. Your expression hadn't changed much since he had found you, even though you tried hard to hide it, there were still traces of fear and distress in your eyes.

"Of course I have to! You have saved me from a terrible fate, not only at the hands of those bandits, but also at the hands of that... man." There were other words with which you would have liked to describe him, but you decided it was not appropriate for you to utter them. He didn't even deserve that from you. "I'm glad you were dragged here... I don't know what would have become of me without you tonight, Geralt."

The room fell silent as you looked into each other's eyes. You lost yourself in the amber that surrounded his pupils —which seemed to be more dilated, although it could well be an effect of the light, you thought—, trying to discover the secrets hidden in his eyes. Geralt was not easy to read, no matter how hard you tried, you had no idea of the things that could be going through his head at that moment. And yet, there was something in his eyes that calmed you. When he looked back at you, there was a softness in them that invited you to continue to admire them forever. It was a connection unlike anything you had ever felt before. It piqued your curiosity and some other things you didn't quite know how to explain. 

Your hand was still intertwined with Geralt's and you weren't entirely sure for how long. Although you weren't complaining, you found the warmth of his skin against yours extremely comforting. It made you feel less alone, less vulnerable. You trusted him with your life, you knew that as long as he was around nothing bad could happen to you. And boy did you need that at that moment. You were still quite affected by everything that had happened and the idea of being alone terrified you. You needed company, but not just anyone. You needed his company.

"Would you mind escorting me to my chambers?" you broke the silence, clearing your throat to make sure your voice sounded firm. "My foot still hurts a little and I wouldn't want to fall down the stairs."

It was a foolish excuse. You knew it. Geralt knew it. The twisted foot you got while struggling with your captors was not a cause for concern. It hurt a little, yes, but you could still walk normally. All you wanted was an excuse not to be separated from Geralt and luckily for you, he played along. He allowed you to take his arm for stability and walked with you to your quarters. You appreciated his proximity, enjoying the feel of his body pressed against yours as his warmth enveloped you. But unfortunately it only seemed to aggravate his absence when he pulled away from you, willing to leave you alone so you could rest.

Your hand closed around his arm almost as an unwilling reflex. Your body craved his closeness. Your mind needed his company to be at ease. As much as you wanted to, you couldn't let Geralt leave. Not tonight at least. His eyes lingered on your hand, admiring how small it appeared when compared to his arm, before he looked up into your eyes, searching your expression for an explanation.

"Stay, please." Your voice was almost a whisper. Your eyes had trouble making eye contact with him for the first time since you had met. Geralt knew then that you were embarrassed of uttering those words. "I need you. I... I don't want to be alone tonight."

"Are you sure?" He said after a few seconds of silence, his expression firm but gentle. You nodded, looking at him with pleading eyes as you released his arm from your grip. Geralt sighed and finally crossed the threshold of the door, closing it behind him. 

Geralt allowed you to guide him across the room to a door that hid a large private bathtub on the other side. It was already filled with water and salts, ready for you to use it. Everything smelled of you, of that delicious combination of jasmine and vanilla that Geralt found so special. It was intoxicating, like he was breathing in your scent straight from the source. 

"Would you mind helping me with the lace?" Your voice brought him back to reality. Geralt watched as you turned around, gathering your hair over one of your shoulders to expose your back to him so he could unfasten your dress. He knew it was inappropriate and that he was probably breaking some rule —not to mention, taking advantage of the king's hospitality—, but he couldn't bring himself to stop. Not when you were offering yourself to him like that.

Geralt's hands caressed your back first, his fingers slowly tracing a path from your shoulders to where the lacing of your dress ended. You closed your eyes, holding your breath as you felt him slowly loosen your dress. You could feel his imposing figure towering over you. He was so close that you could hear his breathing and feel the heat radiating from his body. You liked the proximity, probably more than you should.

When Geralt finished his work and your dress began to slide down your shoulders, you knew you should have been embarrassed. You were used to being naked in front of servants, but they were always women you trusted, handmaidens who had taken care of you since you were little and helped you dress or bathe. You had never been so exposed in front of a man before and you should definitely feel ashamed, but you were not. You simply let the dress fall to your feet and stepped into the tub as if there was no man present.

The water was warm and the tub was deep enough to hide your modesty if you sat in the right position. The dim candlelight also helped, though ultimately you really didn't mind feeling Geralt's gaze on your body.

"Join me, please. The water's nice and there's room enough for both of us."

Your curious eyes unashamedly traced the muscles of his arms and torso as he revealed himself to you. You noticed the scars that marked his skin, some smaller and some larger, and you couldn't help but wonder what the stories behind them were. Geralt was an exceptional man, unlike anyone you had ever met in your life. He was so rigid and reserved, and yet he had shown nothing but kindness and gentleness in your presence. He was a mystery and you wanted nothing more than to discover what he hid behind those beautiful amber eyes.

Out of respect —and some embarrassment—, you looked away as his hands undid the buttons of his pants. You focused your attention on the jasmine petals floating in the water, feeling your cheeks grow warm as a small voice in your head encouraged you to look up. 

Geralt settled next to you in the tub, avoiding being too close or sitting in front of you so that you wouldn't feel uncomfortable or self-conscious in his presence. However, you needed his closeness, so you shortened the distance as much as you could, pressing your arm against his. When he didn't complain, you went a step further and rested your head on his shoulder. Geralt stood still for a moment, debating once again whether his actions were appropriate, but in the end he relaxed. 

He put his arm around your shoulders, effectively pulling you closer to him. A smile formed on your lips as you adjusted yourself in the new position, hiding your face in his neck. Geralt's fingers traced soft lines on the skin of your arm, a caress that both relaxed and excited you. That kind of intimacy was something new to you. Feeling his naked skin against yours, inhaling that musky scent mixed with something you couldn't describe as anything but his own essence, feeling the soft caresses of his calloused fingers, everything made you feel a certain way inside. You didn't have the exact words to describe it. It was like a flame, a warmth spreading through you that was both comforting and exciting. Ultimately, you didn't care about being able to put a name to what you felt. You just wanted to stay close to Geralt for as long as you were allowed.

Without even realizing it, your hand traveled up to his chest, your curious fingers tracing the jagged lines that marked his skin. You used the scars as a map to his body, letting them guide your path as you explored his chest with your touch. And as your fingers moved, you imagined the heroic stories behind each one, wondering what kind of monsters had inflicted them and if there were any that were human-made.

"I wonder how many princesses you've saved to end up like this." You broke the silence, your voice soft as you got lost in thought. It was mostly a joke, but there was some genuine curiosity hidden in it. 

"Surprisingly, less than you're probably imagining."

You didn't quite know why, but hearing Geralt say that put a smile on your lips. It made you feel special, in a way. He hadn't been hired to save you —technically he hadn't even been invited to the party—, he had no obligation to you or your family, and yet he had risked his life to help you. There was something in you that awakened in him his noblest instincts.

"I'm sure that's what you tell everyone." You laughed, looking up at him from your position on his shoulder. You could admire his profile, his sharp jawline and the way his lips curved upward slightly as he let out a huff.

"Often delicate young women like you find my methods to be too... grotesque. They don't see me as being much different from the monsters I kill." Geralt spoke honestly, remembering the horrified expressions on the faces of the maidens he had sought to save from danger in his past, when he had little experience as a witcher. He was young and naive at the time and believed he could use his skills for more than just hunting monsters. After all, evil came in all shapes and sizes, even in humans. It didn't take him long to understand that humans didn't see a knight of noble spirit when he intervened in such situations, only a mutant designed to kill.

You noticed his thoughtful expression, his eyes looking straight ahead as if his mind was transporting him to another place. You wondered what kind of memories he might have swirling around in his head at that moment, outraged to think that someone could treat him badly after he saved their life. You admitted that he had quite an imposing figure and that his expression wasn't very friendly most of the time, but you still couldn't understand how anyone could be afraid of him. Even before he saved you —when he was just a stranger who took the time to listen to your problems— you saw nothing threatening in him. His beautiful yellow eyes inspired nothing but trust in you from the first moment you made contact with them.

“Then they were all fools." You sat up straight, one hand resting on Geralt's cheek to force him to look at you. "I don't understand how anyone could look at you and see danger in you. Even covered in blood, all I see is... safety and comfort." You gave him a small smile as your finger carefully wiped a small spot of blood from his cheek.

"Or maybe you're being naively nice."

Geralt took a cloth that rested on the edge of the tub and dipped it in the warm water. Then one of his hands cupped your chin, tilting your face slightly so he could get a better look at you in the candlelight. The flames danced in the air, creating shadows on your delicate skin. But even in the dim light he could still see the splashes of blood that stained your beautiful face. They made such a contrast that it was impossible to ignore them. The implication of such a violent act had no place on the delicate face of a princess like you. He hated to see the scratch on your lip, the dirt on your cheeks, the dried blood on your skin. You should not have been subjected to such horrors and he wanted to do everything in his power to erase the evidence from your body. So Geralt took the trouble to wipe the blood away, carefully running the wet cloth over your skin until it was all gone.

You remained silent as he worked on you, completely immobile while you watched him closely. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed, but his expression was gentle. His hands moved delicately over your skin, as if he was afraid of breaking you if he wasn't careful. You could barely feel the cloth brushing against your cheek from how slow and gentle Geralt was being. But his fingers... his fingers were another story.

They were warm against your skin, caressing every little spot the cloth passed through to soothe any possible irritation the fabric might arouse. They awakened a tingling sensation as they traveled down your face. When they reached your neck, you knew that Geralt could feel the accelerated pulsing of your heart against his fingertips. It was impossible that he couldn't when you could hear the beating in your ears yourself. His hands felt so big against your neck. If he wanted to hurt you, he could probably do it with just one hand. That should have scared you, considering he was a man you barely knew, but it didn't. You knew he wasn't going to hurt you, not when he caressed the sensitive skin of your neck and collarbones with such gentleness.

"Maybe I'm naive," you broke the silence, your voice barely more audible than a whisper. "But I honestly don't think a mutant designed to kill, as you say, would go to the trouble of caring for me the way you are doing."

Geralt's eyes looked up at you, that intriguing yellow you loved so much capturing you in a transe. They were calling you, daring you to dive into the ocean of honey and mystery that was his gaze. And you obeyed without the slightest resistance, letting your heart take the reins of your body. You leaned towards him, slowly. His hands were still on your neck, but he didn't use them to stop you. On the contrary, he leaned towards you too and when your lips finally collided, he used his grip on your jaw to deepen the kiss.

The kiss started slow, a quick brush of your lips as you finally let yourselves indulge in your deepest desires. But as you became more comfortable in each other's arms, the kiss intensified. You let Geralt guide you, knowing that he would undoubtedly have more experience than you. You surrendered to his lips and the caresses of his tongue, giving yourself to him completely as you struggled to keep up with him. 

That wasn't your first kiss, however, it was the first kiss that felt like this, so... intense, passionate. You barely remembered the boy who had given you your first kiss, but you knew you would remember Geralt for the rest of your life. You didn't know how he did it, but the simple touch of his lips and the strokes of his fingers on your skin turned you to mush between his hands. You had never felt anything like it before and you didn't want to stop. But despite your protests, Geralt suddenly pulled away from you.

"What are you doing?" He didn't sound annoyed or confused, more concerned. 

"I'm taking control of my life." You leaned into him once more and Geralt accepted your kiss, his desperate lips demonstrating his true intentions. He let his desires consume him for a moment before regaining control over his body and pulling away from you again.

"Are you sure?" It wasn't that he wanted to stop, but the voice of morality in the back of his mind compelled him to make sure you wanted the same. He needed to know that he wasn't taking advantage of you, that you weren't throwing yourself into his arms as a result of your vulnerable state after the attack.

"For as long as I can remember, I have always dreamed of meeting a noble prince who would protect me from danger. We would fall in love and live a long and happy life together after our marriage. Now I know that is impossible. I cannot choose who I marry. I cannot choose to marry for love. There's nothing I can do to change it, that's just the way things work." You paused, your hands reaching for Geralt's to entwine your fingers. "But I can still choose who to give myself to, body and soul, for the first time... and you're the closest thing I have to that fantasy."

There was a sadness in your eyes that made Geralt feel bad for you. He didn't know you very well, but he knew you deserved better than a future you didn't want. The inability to choose your own path in life was something that seemed to affect you greatly, and if he was able to bring you some peace he was willing to do so. But the tub full of dirty water was not the place for it, much less considering it would be your first experience of something like that. 

"Speak freely." You said after a few seconds of unbearable silence. "If you don't want to be with me because you don't like me I'll understand. But please don't turn me down just because you think you're guarding my honor or something. I want this... I want you."

Those last words seemed to do the trick, because Geralt's lips joined yours once again. Only this time the kiss was different, much slower and more sensual, though just as desperate. His lips moved in time with yours, tongues intertwined in a sinful dance as Geralt allowed his hands to slowly explore your body. His fingers ignited flames on your skin in their path, pleasure and anticipation building inside you. 

The water in the tub swirled violently as Geralt lifted you into his arms, moving you to sit on his lap as if you weighed nothing. You clung to his shoulders for support, feeling his fingers dig into the sensitive skin of your hips. But it didn't hurt, at least not in a bad way. It was a pleasant ache that made you feel alive. Just like his kisses, which trailed down your jaw to your neck, sucking and nibbling on the sensitive skin. 

Geralt's kisses continued their way down and you couldn't help but buck your hips against his when his lips closed over your nipple. You pushed your chest into him instinctively, giving yourself to him as one of your hands got lost in his hair. Pure pleasure traveled through your veins as his tongue played with your breasts, giving attention to one before moving on to the other. He held you tightly against his body, one strong arm stretched across your back while the other wrapped around your waist, pulling you against his growing erection. 

You both moaned as your cunt made contact with his cock. The sensation you felt when the tip brushed against your little bundle of nerves was unlike anything you had ever felt before. The pleasure was much more intense, much more raw. You could feel it spreading through your body and into your bones. So, naturally, you sought it again, creating a rhythm that had you panting in no time. 

You were forced to stop when Geralt suddenly stood up, carrying you in his arms. Your moan of pleasure turned into a cry of surprise, the water in the tub moving violently, flooding the room as he moved towards the exit. You clung to his shoulders, afraid of falling, as you asked him what he was doing.

"We can't do it here. It has to be done properly, in a bed where you’ll be comfortable, and not in a bathtub full of filthy water."

You couldn't help but smile to yourself as you understood the meaning of his words. Once again, Geralt was looking after you, worrying about you and your well-being more than any other man in your life had ever done. He wanted to make things right, to make sure that your first sexual encounter was a positive experience. And while he wasn't exactly the man you had imagined doing it with, he was quite close to it. Every thing he said, every gesture he made to you, made you feel more confident in your decision.

Geralt carefully laid you down on the bed, making sure you were comfortable before continuing his assault on your body. He kissed you again and, as you let his tongue explore your mouth, you couldn't help but think how much bigger he felt now that he was leaning over you. He had one arm on either side of your head, holding himself up so he wouldn't crush you with his weight. One of his toned legs rested in between yours, keeping you open and exposed to him. You were essentially trapped under his body, completely at his mercy, and you liked it.

The pleasure building up inside you was starting to feel too overwhelming. As much as you enjoyed Geralt's wet kisses, you needed more. You needed relief. So you pushed your hips into him once more, seeking that intoxicating pleasure you'd felt in the bathtub. Your wet pussy slid easily up his thigh and a wave of pleasure coursed through your body. 

"Fuck!" Geralt moaned as he felt your wetness trickling down his leg. You looked so sensual moving your hips against him with adoring desperation, struggling to find some relief. The little moans that fell from your lips in between ragged breaths drove him crazy, making it difficult for him to control his instincts. He had to be gentle with you, it was your first time and no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't pin you down and fuck you until your legs shook.

"Tell me, princess, have you ever touched yourself?" Geralt spoke against your skin as his lips continued their path of wet kisses down your body. "Perhaps when you were alone at night, hidden in the darkness of your chambers."

It took you a few seconds to process Geralt's words, your mind distracted with the way his kisses slowly trailed down your chest, barely pausing on your breasts before continuing to travel down. It made your body tremble with anticipation, wondering what he was up to. He was watching you from his position on your abdomen, lips barely pulling away from your skin so he could observe your face more comfortably, waiting for an answer. The color of his eyes had darkened, the yellow glowing like the flames of the candles that lit the room. There was hunger in them. Geralt was looking at you like a wolf at its prey. You couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious, managing to answer him with a simple negative shake of your head. 

"So you don't know what real pleasure feels like, huh?" You weren't sure if it was a question for you, but you shook your head again anyway. You felt Geralt's lips curving into a smile against the sensitive skin of your lower belly and a shiver ran down your spine when you heard his next words. "I'm going to change that."

Despite the firmness in his voice, Geralt was slow and gentle with each movement he made next. He was careful to position himself between your legs, pushing them open and revealing your most secret part to his hungry gaze. He noticed almost immediately the way you tensed with embarrassment, feeling vulnerable, so he was quick to spread sweet kisses on your right thigh, while gently caressing the skin of your left. He could smell the scent of your arousal with every breath he took. It was intoxicating, the sweet nectar he had been waiting to taste all this time. But first he had to make sure you were comfortable. He was there to pleasure you, nothing mattered if you didn't enjoy it.

"It's okay, my sweet. You don't have to be ashamed, you're beautiful." He spoke against your skin, his voice a raspy, sensual, whisper. "I have to get you ready for my cock, all right? This will feel so good, I promise. But if it doesn't, I want you to tell me, can you do that?" You nodded, but that wasn't enough for him. "I need you to use your words."

"Yes, Geralt, I will."

"Good."

Geralt gave you a few seconds to relax before diving into your cunt, spreading wet kisses down your inner thighs as he got closer and closer to the place where you needed him most. When his tongue finally made contact with the sweet nectar trickling down your folds, he let out a sound that vibrated in his chest with force. All hint of self-control disappeared then, buried under the primal desire that the taste of your arousal awakened in him.

He ate you like a starving man, his tongue exploring your most intimate place with expert skill. Your hips jolted as his lips closed over your small bundle of nerves, your whole body convulsing as you felt pleasure like you had never felt before. It was so intense it was almost too much. It scared you in a way, as it felt like your own body didn't respond to you —like it didn't belong to you. It belonged to Geralt now, and only responded to the stimulation he gave your body.  You were torn between the need to pull away from his entrancing lips —which were no doubt uttering some spell to claim ownership of your innocence— and your body's carnal desire to surrender to his clever tricks in order to continue to feel such pure pleasure.

"Does it feel good, princess?" Geralt spoke between your legs, his warm breath crashing against your pussy and sending shivers down your spine. 

"Yes! So good... please don't stop." You didn't recognize your own voice as you spoke. It sounded raspy from all the moaning, and there was a hint of desperation you'd never heard in yourself before. It wasn't the first time you had begged someone for something you wanted, but it was the first time you actually meant it.

"I won't, I promise. I'm here to make you feel good." Geralt assured between slow, long licks, focusing his attention on your clit before continuing. "But if you're going to take my cock, I'll need to stretch your tight hole." You tensed again and once more he used his strategy of stroking and kissing your thighs to calm you down. You knew that penetration was an important part of the whole thing and you were ready to face it, but still, the unknown scared you a little. "I'm going to insert a finger inside you, is that all right my sweet? It might feel a little uncomfortable at first, but I promise it will feel great afterwards. But first I have to know that you still want this."

"Yes, Geralt, I want this. I trust you, please." You gave him a shy smile, looking at him with complete admiration. He saw the desire in your eyes, mixed with anticipation and a hint of fear. But you were confident in your decision, so he continued.

"Relax, I'm going to take care of you." He murmured against your skin, his kisses slowly moving closer to your wet cunt. "Just focus on the pleasure."

Geralt's voice echoed in your mind, your body obeying his commands as if he had cast a spell over you that left you with no other choice. You focused on the fire burning inside you, on the skillful way he flicked his tongue against your abused bundle of nerves and on the knot in your stomach that tightened with each passing second. You tried not to tense up as you felt Geralt's finger press against your entrance, biting your lip and taking deep breaths to calm your nerves. His tongue was doing a good job of distracting you, but you could still feel the slightly painful drag of his finger inside you. 

"You're doing so well for me." Geralt complimented you, keeping his finger still inside you to give you time to get used to the new sensation. You couldn't hide how much it pleased you to hear those words, because your walls clenched around his finger, revealing your deepest desires. Geralt grunted against your pussy, fantasizing about how good your tight hole would feel around his cock. 

It took you a moment to get used to the strange sensation of his intrusion. It wasn't painful exactly, mostly uncomfortable since your walls weren't used to stretching like that. But eventually the discomfort faded into pleasure, bringing new sensations as he slowly began to move his finger inside you. 

Your moans became uncontrollable, increasing in volume with each of Geralt's caresses. If you weren't so wrapped up in your own pleasure, you would have worried about the possibility of being overheard by some servant or guard walking down the corridor. You knew it might potentially ruin your reputation, but you couldn't focus on anything other than the way Geralt's long, thick finger stretched you, making you feel full in the most pleasurable way possible. 

"Geralt I-" You tried to speak, but the air caught in your throat as you felt the knot in your stomach becoming incredibly tight, threatening to snap.

"I know, my sweet, I know." Geralt interrupted you as he noticed your trouble forming coherent sentences. He could sense you were getting close to relief in the way your walls tightened around his finger, your juices dripping down your legs and soaking his hand. "Just let yourself go. I've got you."

Geralt added another finger inside you, stretching your walls even further. He was careful, his movements slow and precise as he both prepared you for his cock and brought you closer to the edge. His mouth focused on your clit, his lips closing around your sensitive pearl as his fingers explored your insides, reaching that spongy place deep inside you and rubbing it until your whole body shuddered with your orgasm.

It felt like your insides exploded, the tension that had been building in your core suddenly snapping as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through your body. Your mind went blank, eyes rolling back as Geralt did his best to hold back the violent spasms of your muscles. 

And then your body fell limp on the sheets. You could barely hear the world around you over your racing heartbeat that throbbed in your ears. You knew Geralt was muttering things against your skin as he kissed his way back up, but your mind was too lost in the pleasure to make sense of his words. Your chest was rising and falling rapidly, your body desperate for oxygen as it struggled to regain control.

"There you are!" Geralt gave you a soft smile as you opened your eyes, his face slowly coming into focus on your clouded vision. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine! That was..." you paused, searching for the words to describe it. Although explaining your feelings proved to be more difficult than you expected. You were convinced that there were no words in any language you knew to describe what he had made you feel. So you let out an airy laugh, hiding your face in his neck and spreading small kisses over his skin.

"Do you still want to go through with this?" Geralt asked you, pulling away from you a little so he could look into your eyes. You kissed him back, tasting the sweet flavor of your arousal on his tongue. It was strangely erotic for you to feel your own essence on him, like a mark that, though temporary, showed to whom his lips belonged. It sent a rush of desire and confidence through your body, igniting the fire inside you once more.

The pressure of his cock was nothing like his fingers. While the stretching sensation was not completely foreign to you, Geralt's cock was much longer and thicker than his fingers so it hurt a lot more when he began to push it into you. The mixture of your arousal and his saliva helped his member slide more easily through your walls, but you still couldn't hold back the whine of pain, which vibrated against Geralt's lips. 

"It's all right... you're all right. Just a little more." He crooned as he rested his forehead against yours. His fingers caressed the skin of your hip, giving you comfort as you clung to his shoulders. "You're doing so good for me, my sweet." His voice was soft, but erratic, laced with the clear pleasure that sliding so torturously slow inside your tight walls brought him. 

Geralt remained immobile once he bottomed out, spreading kisses all over your face and neck as he gave you time to adjust to his size. It was the hardest task he had ever had to do in his life. Facing any monster was easier than staying still when your warm, wet walls wrapped around him so well. He was desperate to move, pull out of you almost completely only to slam back in, thrusting his hips against yours as he pinned you against the bed. But it was your first time, so he had to be gentle with you. You weren't ready for that kind of rough loving, so Geralt pushed his dark desires aside and waited for you to give him the signal to move. 

After a while, your moans of discomfort turned into whimpers of protest, not from pain, but from the growing fire inside you that wasn't being tended to. You experimentally moved your hips against Geralt's, just to see what it would feel like. It was a small movement, but it was enough to push his cock deeper inside you, sparking a pleasurable tingling sensation that spread throughout your body. So you did it again, moving with more confidence this time. And again, only this time, Geralt met you halfway, grinding his hips against yours.

Your walls tightened around his cock and the growl that escaped his lips was so deep and primal that it almost pushed you over the edge once more. Something about knowing that you were the cause of those moans, that your body, your pussy, your caresses, were responsible for such reactions was so arousing. Knowing that even though you were inexperienced you were able to elicit such pleasure in him made you feel more comfortable and confident. You were turning his world upside down as much as he was turning yours.

"You look so beautiful like this." Geralt said as he slightly increased the rhythm of his hips. "So small and fragile underneath me, eyes filled with lust as you try your best to take me in your tight hole." 

You moaned into his mouth, desperately searching his lips for something to keep you grounded as pleasure took over your body and mind. Your cunt clenched at his words, finding the mix of softness and roughness in his action incredibly arousing. His hips moved against yours in a consistent and deep, yet slow and sensual rhythm. His calloused fingers roamed over your body, caressing you in such a subtle way that it gave you goosebumps. His filthy words perfectly balanced flattery and roughness, awakening feelings you didn't know you had. It was all a dangerous, overwhelming mix, slowly getting to you close to the edge.

"Does it feel good? Do you like feeling me deep inside you?" You could only moan incoherently in response, hiding your face in the crook of Geralt's neck as your nails dug into his back. "I like it too. You feel so good wrapped around me, my perfect princess."

"Yes, I'm yours! I'm all yours, please..." You begged, for what, you weren't sure. But that didn't really matter, you just wanted Geralt to do whatever he wanted with you. You knew there was no future in your relationship, but this was no time to think about tomorrow. At that moment you were giving yourself body and soul to him, allowing him permission to use and explore your body as he wished.

"Yes you are, but not just for tonight." Geralt moaned in your ear, his voice a deep hoarse whisper. He sucked a mark just below your earlobe, nibbling the sensitive area playfully before continuing to speak. "You will always remember this night and think of me when your future husband takes you to bed on your wedding night. He's not going to compare to me... to how good I'm making you feel. But that's fine, because at least you had a chance to know what it feels like to be adored like you truly deserve, my princess."

"Fuck, Geralt! I'm-" Your warning was interrupted by a moan as you felt him sink his teeth into the sensitive skin of your neck at the same time he pushed his member incredibly deep inside you.

"I know, I can feel you squeezing me so tight. It's alright, just let go for me, my sweet. I want to feel you as you come undone on my cock." 

His hand traveled south, calloused fingers pressing against your abused bundle of nerves, drawing circles over it. The way your pussy clenched around his cock made it hard to focus, his own orgasm approaching with alarming speed. But he kept a steady rhythm, his hips moving in a slow, sensual way to make sure his cock brushed that special place inside you without causing you any pain.

"That's it, keep making those pretty notices for me. You're doing so good for me, my beautiful, perfect, princess. Just let go, I've got you. You're safe with me, just let go."

It was the softness in his husky voice that finally pushed you over the edge, your whole body shaking with the intensity of your orgasm. Geralt's name was the last thing you uttered before the world around you disappeared behind the waves of pleasure. It was a pathetic whimper, a plea for mercy as you felt frightened by the sheer intensity of your orgasm. Geralt was sure he had never heard a more sensual melody. The way you had uttered his name just before the pleasure exploded inside you was something he was never going to forget.

"That's it, my sweet. You did such a good job for me." He complimented you, slowing down the rhythm of his hips to give you time to recover. "You're alright. I'm here, I've got you. Just breathe... that's it." 

Geralt's voice helped you refocus on the real world, his sweet kisses slowly lifting the fog that clouded your mind. You could still feel him inside you, his cock throbbing desperate for relief. The shallow thrusts weren't enough and you needed to feel him falling apart inside you. You needed to know what it felt like to have a man —and especially him— come inside you. And you knew it was safe with him since witchers were incapable of fathering children as a result of their mutations.

"Geralt, please... I want to feel you." You managed to say between gasps, locking your legs around his hips to keep him in place, pressed inside you. He let out a deep growl as he understood the meaning behind your words, his eyes darkening with lust. You were definitely going to be the death of him.

"Of course, my sweet, how could I deny you anything?" He murmurs against your lips, slowly increasing the rhythm of his hips. "You want to feel my seed deep inside you, is that it? You want me to fill you up, leave a part of me inside you so you won't miss me so much when I'm gone?"

His words alone were enough to ignite that flame inside you again. Your body was tired, but still screamed for more. Geralt's thrusts became erratic with each passing second, desperate to reach his own relief. And in the search for his pleasure he was taking you with him to a new limit. 

"I will give it to you, my princess. I will give you all of me. I could never deny you anything, my sweet, beautiful girl."

His sweet words contrasted with the harshness of his movements, hips crashing against yours in desperate thrusts. He was getting closer to his relief and he could feel in the way your cunt clenched around his cock that you were too. His thumb focused on your clit once more, one, two, three strokes accompanied by his thrusts and you were crying his name again. But he didn't get to enjoy much of the way you tightened around him, because he came seconds later, shooting his load deep inside you.

Geralt collapsed on top of you, his body crushing you against the bed as you both tried to catch your breath. But even though he was much bigger than you, it wasn't an uncomfortable position. The weight of his body felt comforting against yours. You liked the way he hid his face in your neck, breathing heavily against your sweaty skin. It gave you the opportunity to stroke his back and run your fingers through his hair. It felt intimate, in a completely different way than the sex you'd just had. 

You whined in protest as he rolled to the side, feeling the mixture of your arousal and his sliding down your legs now that his cock had left you. It was a strange sensation to feel empty without him inside you. You didn't know such a feeling was possible, for you that used to be normal, the only way to feel. But now that you had had Geralt buried deep inside you, that you had felt his seed filling you to the brim, you would always be aware of that strange emptiness between your legs.

"How are you feeling?" you heard him say and you struggled to open your eyes, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion. He was standing at the foot of the bed, a cloth in his hand, and you wondered when he had moved from your side without you noticing.

"Great! That was... great." You mumbled, still unable to find an adequate word to describe how good he had made you feel.

Geralt gave you a small smile before lowering his face to your legs, placing small kisses on your skin as he moved closer and closer to your center. "Open up for me, my princess. I need to clean you." 

You reluctantly complied, feeling much more exposed and vulnerable now that the deed was done. However, he was gentle with you, moving carefully as he cleaned you so as not to irritate your sensitive, abused cunt. And when he was done, he kissed his way down your face, caressing your skin with his lips, culminating his journey in your mouth.

"What about you?" you tried to sound casual as you spoke, though you failed miserably. "Was it... good for you too?" You immediately regretted your choice of words, worrying that you had ruined the moment.

"I thought I had been quite clear if not with my words, with my actions at least." Geralt let out an airy laugh and you followed suit, feeling a little more relieved. 

Then the room fell into silence. It wasn't an awkward or uncomfortable one, but a peaceful one. You got lost in Geralt's eyes, admiring the yellow glow that was much softer now, though just as captivating. The candlelight reflected in them in a special way, highlighting their unique beauty. You could stare at them for hours if it weren't for the tiredness that was slowly beginning to take hold of you. 

You didn't realize you had closed your eyes until you felt Geralt move beside you. You stopped feeling the weight of his body on the bed, so you opened your eyes immediately. Your hand flew to his arm, fingers closing around his wrist. "Please don't go," you begged as you saw that he had sat up in bed. "I want you to stay with me tonight."

Geralt smiled, the corners of his lip curving slightly upward as he reached out with his free arm to grab the blanket that had been left forgotten at the foot of the bed. His eyes lowered to your hand and his expression turned hard as he noticed the ligature marks on your skin. He hated to know the horrible treatment that someone as delicate and beautiful as you had to go through at the hands of those bandits. Even though he had rescued you before something even worse happened to you, as he looked at the marks on your wrists he feared he had not been quick enough.

Noticing the change in his expression, your eyes followed Geralt's gaze with curiosity. You felt embarrassed when you realized what he was looking at with such intensity and released his grip on his arm, seeking to hide your injured wrist. But he didn't let you. Geralt intertwined his fingers with yours and brought your hand to his lips. His eyes didn't break contact with you as he scattered delicate kisses over the irritated area of your wrist, showing you that you had nothing to be ashamed of with him.

"I'm not going anywhere if you don't want me to, my princess. I'm here to serve you tonight." Geralt said as he lay down next to you once again, covering you both with the blanket.

You took advantage of his words and his desire to please you by curling up against him, resting your head on his chest. Geralt wrapped his strong arms around you, pulling you even tighter against his body as he let his fingers trace invisible patterns on your skin. It was extremely relaxing, his gentle touch and the warmth of his body enveloping you was exactly what your tired mind needed to rest. All the fear, the terrifying memories of your attackers and the feeling of danger completely disappeared as he held you in his arms. 

"Good, because I feel safer when I'm in your arms." You mumbled as you closed your eyes, feeling sleep slowly overcome you.

It was hard to say goodbye to Geralt when the time came for him to leave. He had only stayed at the castle for a couple of days at your father's insistence, but that had been more than enough for you to grow fond of him. He was not a very talkative person, but that only made your conversations more interesting. He was intriguing, a closed book that only opened with the pronunciation of the right words. You had fun unraveling some of his history, hearing about his adventures and the monsters he had faced. He was definitely the most interesting man you had ever met - far more interesting and noble than most of the men who were competing for your hand in marriage. And now you had to see him go.

You always knew that your days were numbered, that Geralt would eventually leave and you would have to go back to reality. You thought you could do it, enjoy his company and the illusion of freedom you had created with him and then say goodbye as if nothing happened, but you would be lying if you said you weren't a little sad about his departure. Especially because you didn't know if you would ever see him again. Maybe on your wedding day, if you invited Jaskier to play at the festivities he would bring him as security again. Or perhaps, if the kingdom was haunted by some evil creature he would find his way back to you. But nothing was certain and that made you feel quite sad.

"I guess this is our goodbye." You watched Geralt settle his horse's saddle, tucking away his swords and clutching his bag as he prepared to leave. You tried to hide the grimace of sadness that wanted to form on your face, but the disappointment in your voice betrayed you. "I'll never see you again, will I?"

Geralt stopped what he was doing to look you in the eyes. You could have sworn you saw a glint of sadness in the golden fire of his irises, though it disappeared as he blinked. "It'll probably be a while, yeah." He sighed. "But nothing is set in stone. Maybe the search for a job will bring me back down these roads."

You smiled. Even moments before he left, he was still making an effort to make you feel good. "I'd like that." You took a couple of steps closer to him, taking his hand in yours to feel his skin against yours one last time. "The gates of this castle will always be open to you, Geralt of Rivia. And as long as I am alive, you will always find safe passage through these lands."

"Thank you, your highness. It is an honor." He bowed slightly even though he knew it was not necessary. Formalities had been forgotten between you since your night together. Then, he took your hand and brought it to his mouth. His lips caressed your skin gently, planting a soft kiss of farewell. "Until we meet again."

You held back the urge you had to taste the flavor of his lips one last time, knowing that there were too many eyes around you that would deem such behavior inappropriate. And perhaps they were right, after all, a respectable maiden like you, in search of a husband to marry and rule with, could not be seen kissing anybody. You knew you would probably regret it for the rest of your life —especially if Geralt never stopped by again—, but it was the right thing to do. Your days of freedom were over, now you had to resume your responsibilities as a princess and that meant holding back the urge you had to run after Geralt, get on his horse and let him take you wherever he wanted. So you just watched him leave, seeing how his figure became smaller and smaller on the horizon while you wished with all your soul that fate would cross your path again.

[witchthewriter]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐌𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐞𝐬

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

𝑪𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝑱𝒐𝒉𝒏 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆

ENTJ

Slytherin

Lawful Good / Neutral Good

Capricorn Sun, Cancer Moon, Libra Rising

The Mentor: A wise and experienced character who guides and advises the hero, providing knowledge, skills, and guidance.

The Cunning Strategist: this character is known for their intelligence, sharp wit, and ability to manipulate situations to their advantage. They excel in political maneuvering and outsmarting their opponents.

The Fallen Hero: The Fallen Hero archetype represents a character who was once noble or heroic but has fallen from grace. They may have succumbed to their flaws, made tragic mistakes, or been corrupted by power. The Fallen Hero often grapples with guilt, redemption, or the desire to reclaim their former glory.

I will always see John as some type of leader. A leader of a wolf pack, or the King's Guard. Even a team of immortals. His task force would shift between each universe, but his station always stays the same. Price is the eldest and the leader of the men.

𝑺𝒊𝒎𝒐𝒏 𝑹𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒚

INTJ

Ravenclaw

Neutral Good

Capricorn Sun, Scorpio Moon, Virgo Rising

The Guardian: A character who protects or defends a person, place, or idea, often serving as a source of strength and support. I can see him taking stray kids under his wing, and taking care of them.

The Knight: Is a character archetype in stories that embodies chivalry, honor, and a strong sense of duty. I think the strong sense of duty is most previlent here. I think he would even be the King's Champion.

The Rebel: A character who challenges authority, norms, or societal expectations, often seeking change or liberation. After seeing all the pain and suffering from the villagers/those less fortunate around him, he would snap. Wanting to help them.

Simon reminds me of both Geralt and Sandor Clegane. I think he would do well both within a group setting (with his teammates) or going out and doing something indepedently.

𝑱𝒐𝒉𝒏𝒏𝒚 𝑴𝒂𝒄𝑻𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒔𝒉

ESFP

Ravenclaw

Neutral Good / Chaotic Good

Aquarius Sun, Taurus Moon, Sagittarius Rising

The Trickster: A mischievous and cunning character who uses wit and deception to achieve their goals or disrupt the plans of others.

The Wise Fool: The Wise Fool archetype is a character who appears foolish or simple-minded on the surface but possesses unexpected wisdom or insight. They often use humor and unconventional behavior to challenge social norms, offer unique perspectives, or deliver profound truths.

The Loyal Companion: The Loyal Companion archetype is a faithful and devoted ally to the protagonist. They offer unwavering support, loyalty, and may serve as a moral compass or voice of reason.

I think Johnny is a bit of a difficult one, because he's both humorous - which can place him in the archetype of jokester & comedic relief. But maybe thast just makes him ... a wild card? Hence I think that' why people often give him the hybrid of werewolf.

𝑲𝒚𝒍𝒆 𝑮𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒌

ISFP

Gryffindor

Chaotic Good

Gemini Sun, Virgo Moon, Cancer Rising

The Romantic Interest: A character who forms a romantic connection or relationship with the protagonist, often adding depth and emotional tension to the story.

The Underdog: A character who faces significant challenges or disadvantages but ultimately triumphs against the odds.

The Sage: The Sage archetype represents wisdom, knowledge, and enlightenment. Sages are often revered for their insights and serve as a source of guidance or counsel for the protagonist.

God this man could fit into so many archetypes. He is just ... the perfect character. He can still have character development, however, he can still be put forward as a fully formed character. Romantic, loving, intelligent, mindful. He likes to sit back and learn about others. He's diligent in that way (hence the Underdog). I also think he's so wise. Especially for his age. And he feels the most magically inclined out of the rest of the men.

𝑲𝒐̈𝒏𝒊𝒈

ISTP

Hufflepuff

Chaotic Neutral

Aries Sun, Aquarius Moon, Leo Rising

The Outcast: A character who is marginalized or rejected by society, often possessing unique abilities, insights, or perspectives.

The Beast: A character or entity often found in stories that represents the primal, untamed, and instinctual aspects of human nature or the natural world.

The Antihero: is an archetype is a character who lacks traditional heroic qualities but still engages in heroic actions. They often possess flaws, ambiguity, or morally gray motivations.

I think there are many different ways of looking at Konig. Physically he's a powerhouse - tall asf, a tad arrogant (only because of his voicelines), somewhat dramatic. But some have written him as toxic, others like to baby girl him. I think he's a bit similar to Simon but there's more distrust about him.

What would really be great is the task force as the Knights of the Round table. I think I could see Simon or Johnny as Arthur and Kyle or Price as Merlin (obviously Kyle as a young version like the BBC Merlin).

I can also see them as pirates! I actually want to write a Pirate! Task Force. Obviously Price as the Captain, Quartermaster is Simon, Kyle as Bosun (or Boatswain) and Johnny as the Gunner (makes things go boom!)

If I had to give the men shapeshifting abilities (into one mythical animal) I would go: ▪️ John Price | 𝑫𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒐𝒏 or 𝑪𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒖𝒓 ▪️ Simon Riley | 𝑮𝒓𝒊𝒎 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒑𝒆𝒓 or 𝑯𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 ▪️ Johnny MacTavish | 𝑾𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒘𝒐𝒍𝒇 or 𝑷𝒉𝒐𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒙 ▪️ Kyle Garrick | 𝑴𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒂𝒏 or 𝑷𝒆𝒈𝒂𝒔𝒖𝒔 ▪️ Konig | 𝑩𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒌 or 𝑯𝒚𝒅𝒓𝒂

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Part 25

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 24 🟣 Part 26

A reverse harem vampire AU ft. Mikey, Marshall, August and Sherlock

Series summary: Somehow, you've managed to live with your boyfriend and his roommates for months before finding out they're vampires, but the real shock first comes when they find out you have a special quality. A quality the guys would love to make use of...

Warnings: Fluff, ongoing vampire shenanigans, mentions of drug abuse/overdose, mention of attempted suicide, addiction, tragic backstory, more of August's completely unwarranted hatred of jellybeans, angst, Mike being an idiot.

Word count: 4.5k

A/N: So... we'll finally find out about that 'queen' thing, and some more about Mikey (who's also going to cause another angsty moment...) We'll also meet another coven member...

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @ellethespaceunicorn @summersong69 @mis-lil-red

@sillyrabbit81 @livisss @itsrubberbisquit @ktficworld @proud-aroace-beastie

@plaidcat4815 @wa-ni @lovemusicpart2 @lizzystuffsthings @manysecrets2020

@sarcasmoverlordxo

“Queen?” you blurted out as you stood there, practically nailed to the floor, eyes wide, mouth open, shocked. Next to you, Mike had his fists clenched tightly at his sides, and a look on his face you couldn’t quite decipher.

“Vampires are a dramatic bunch,” Melot explained patiently. Yeah, you’d noticed. “I’m sure you’ve become at least somewhat familiar with your role in the coven hierarchy?”

You nodded quietly.

“Ours is a small family,” he continued. “But there were — and there undoubtedly still are — covens so large they could populate an entire town. Which they did. In those cases, the coven hierarchy was of paramount importance to keep the peace, and it functioned much like a court, hence the name.”

“As I have told you before,” Sherlock added, “the job of keeping a coven in check typically befalls two individuals. It is common for those individuals to be the eldest vampires in the family.”

“Or,” Charles continued, “as appears to be our case… a pair that connects on another level.”

“No,” Mike muttered in a broken voice. “No!”

All eyes turned to him, but it was you who asked. “What’s wrong, Mikey?”

“He doesn’t get to have you like that, I don’t want it,” he whispered, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

“There’s not much you can do, Mike,” Melot said. He reached for Mike’s arm, but it got slapped away by a very upset Mikey.

“Why do I never get her? I found her! Without me, you wouldn’t even know her! And I don’t even get to… Why am I nothing special to you?” Oh, good grief!

“Mike,” you hissed angrily, “not this again!”

“But—”

“Shut up!” you cried out, feeling the strange tinge to your words only after you’d spoken. “You do not get to stand there like a whiny little child and accuse me of lying!”

“I’m not accu—”

“What part of ‘Shut up!’ do you not understand?” You were fuming. Beyond angry. But before you could give Mike the tongue-lashing of the century, you had a chuckling August to deal with. You whipped your head around to look at him and stared him down. “Clearly you won’t act your age, so I’ll have to take a page from Sherlock’s playbook. August, go to your room, and stay there until I’m done here. Now.” He vanished immediately, accompanied by a frustrated groan, and you turned your attention back to Mike.

“When I found out you were all vampires, I pushed everything I’d ever been taught about your kind since I was a child aside in less than a day because I didn’t want to lose you. And when the others asked me to enter into this arrangement with you guys, I held it off because I didn’t want to hurt you. I asked Sherlock if I could give you boyfriend privileges to make this whole thing easier on you. When you ran away because you were shocked I kissed Sherlock, none of them would feed because they missed you, and I suffered because of you. And when August un-vampire-married me from you, I was scared to death because — again — I didn’t want to lose you.” It was a miracle you weren’t crying yet.

“And you have the fucking audacity to ask me why you’re nothing special to me? Are you fucking serious? I owe this all to you, Mike! You are the reason I have my family! You brought me home!” Your voice broke on that very last word, and your next words came out as no more than a whisper. “When I tell you I love you, I mean I love you exactly as much as everyone else. Not in the same way, no, but exactly as much. And every time you try to say that I don’t, or every time you act like you don’t believe that, you’re accusing me of lying. And I don’t appreciate it. So, there.”

He looked at you, but didn’t say anything for a while. “You’re right,” he finally mumbled. “I know you’re right, I just…”

“Shh,” you said as you gently trailed your fingers over his cheekbone. “It’s okay. You can’t help that you feel this way, I know that. But the way you communicate it needs work.”

He leaned into your touch and smiled. “Can I stay with you tonight, please?”

You glanced around at the others, until your eyes reached… August. “I thought I told you to stay away until—”

“You were done here, yes,” August snapped. “You’re done here. If you weren’t, I wouldn’t be here, princess. I physically couldn’t leave that room.”

“Sweetcheeks please answer my question or I’m going to get really annoying,” Mike said, wrapping his arms around you from behind.

“You’re always really annoying, Mike,” August grumbled.

“Stop saying that! He’s not, and you know it! You love him too, August!” You reminded yourself that he’d just dodge whatever object you’d hurl at his head, and stood still. “It wouldn’t kill you to tell him that every once in a while!”

“It just might,” Melot chuckled. “We’ve never pushed it, we have no idea of knowing what would happen.”

“Well, I’m pushing it! You, August” — you poked his cheek — “are going to be nice to my Mikey, or it’s wrist and couch for the foreseeable future, because I can guarantee you I won’t be in the fucking mood!” Yeah. You just said that out loud. In front of everyone.

“Speaking of feeding,” Charles intervened before August could blow up at your threat — and maybe rightfully so; threatening to withhold sex was immature and manipulative, sure. But you didn’t want to sleep with a bully, and that was your right, right? “I’m not asking for your services, sweetheart, I’m merely suggesting we relocate to the kitchen, because the two of us are starving, what with Priya feeling under the weather and all.”

It stung, in a way, that Charles wasn’t asking for your services, despite having only just met him. Melot’s polite nod didn’t help much, because one look in his eyes revealed that he would be more than happy to request your assistance. It bothered you that he didn’t ask…

The kitchen was beautiful; bright, spacious, modern, opening into a large yet cozy dining room with the biggest table you’d ever laid eyes on, with more chairs than the family would ever need. One of them was occupied.

“You must be the new addition to the family,” he said as soon as you saw him, and he rushed towards you, faster than humanly possible, but slow enough for you to see him coming. “Napoleon Solo, enchanté.” You got a hug and a kiss on each cheek from him.

“I must say I’m almost disappointed I’m of a dissimilar predilection than my brother,” he said as he let go of you, only after inhaling deeply. “You smell divine.”

“Eh…” you stammered, feeling heat rise up to your cheeks in a staggering tempo.

“Tone it down, Napoleon,” Melot said. “And nice to have you here, we didn’t hear you come in. Please use the front door next time.”

“I’m sure you knew I was coming, darling,” the man teased. Everything about him was smooth to the point of being slick, and maybe even a little beyond that. “Though it’s incredible what you two little hermits fail to notice when you’re off in your own worlds.” He gestured at two large takeout bags on the kitchen island.

“How…” In a house full of vampires, Napoleon just managed to sneak in himself and a mountain of food, completely undetected?

“Incubus,” August said softly. “They — we, if you must — have a tendency to fly under the radar. No one sees an incubus unless they want to be seen.”

“Oh, God knows I have no problem being seen,” Napoleon said with a flirtatious smile. “Though I’m unusually dressed up for the occasion.”

“You mean you’re wearing pants for a change?” you said before you could stop yourself. What the hell were you doing? You didn’t even know this man! The laughter from the others around you, Napoleon included, told you that you were right, though.

“Please, join us!” Melot gestured at the dining room before reaching for the bags on the counter. “This should be enough food for everyone.”

While a seemingly endless stream of boxes and containers emerged from the bags, your curiosity got the better of you, and you asked a question you’d been carrying around for a good while now — ever since August had mentioned that there had been no need to call Charles and Melot about your visit.

“Oh, that,” Melot himself answered when you finally asked about all the ‘already knows’ that had been thrown around. “I am blessed with the excruciatingly splendid gift of clairvoyance.”

“As in; you can see the future?”

“See would not be a technically apt description, I suppose,” he answered in between greedy bites of the dumplings on his plate, “it’s more of a feeling. But in essence; yes. That’s why there’s a room ready for you. Feel free to do whatever you want with it.”

“Wait… I get my own room?” You’d more or less expected to be sharing with… any of the guys, really.

They all looked at you, clearly confused by your confusion. The silence was a little awkward — something that hadn’t happened in a while back at the apartment.

“As far as we’re concerned, darling,” Sherlock answered, “this is your home as much as it is ours.”

“And we understand the need for privacy and your own space as much as anyone else,” Charles added. “Perhaps even better than most. No matter how close your family is, it’s nice to be able to retreat to a space that is completely your own.”

“Use this summer to make it right for you,” August chimed in. “Melot wasn’t kidding when he said, ‘whatever you want’. Paint, furniture… Just let us know, okay?”

They had to be joking, right? Not that it looked like they were strapped for cash in any way, but… Panic suddenly reared its ugly head, and your thoughts were spiraling. Why did it suddenly feel like you were being abducted by five vampires and two incu— eh… Incubi? Incubuses? Either way… In a big, scary-looking house in the middle of nowhere? You didn’t even know exactly where you were… How would anyone ever find you here? And it’s not like you had family to go back to… You—

“It’s alright, love,” Marshall said, gently patting your arm. Mike, who was sitting to your right, took your hand. “It’s a lot to take in, I suppose?”

You could only answer with a nod.

“Okay, so, you’ll just stay with me tonight, and then we can take a look at the room tomorrow, and we’ll give you a tour of the house, if you want?” Mike squeezed your hand, making you look at him, his bright smile almost bringing you to tears.

“That sounds great, Mike… It’s kinda been a long day.” You sighed, squeezing Mike back before letting yourself fall against him and leaning your head on his shoulder.

“We can watch movies in bed?” he suggested. “I’ll scavenge for snacks!”

“Jelly Beans are in their usual place,” Melot noted dryly while August, clearly fighting to hold back a response, dropped his head into his hands with a loud groan. “Dip is in the fridge, tortilla chips are in the drawer opposite it.”

“How did you kn—” Right. Clairvoyance. Melot smiled back at you. He was handsome, he seemed kind, but he looked so… “How old are you?” you blurted out, much to everyone’s enjoyment.

“I’m sure they’ve mentioned I was born somewhere in the seventh century,” Melot answered, an amused smile faint on his lips. “So I assume you’re referring to my age when I was turned into a vampire?”

You nodded quietly, still scared that you had in any way offended him with your question, even though his behavior suggested nothing of the sort.

“I was just about nineteen when that happened,” he answered, his smile widening. “Don’t worry, I get that question a lot. I’m technically younger than Mike.” August couldn’t hold back a scoff on that one. “August, that’s not fair. I’ve had fourteen hundred years and change to grow up. And to say I grew up in a different time than he did would be quite the understatement.”

“Right. Seventh century…”

“I’m from Cornwall, born and raised in the Dark Ages,” he continued with a smile. “I’d been married for nearly six years when I died. Or… didn’t die. Ask me about all of it, later, I’ll gladly answer any of your questions. Right now, I’m fairly sure Mike needs you.”

Mike’s room was everything you expected it to be: Dark walls, LED-strips in rainbow colors, and more tech than was reasonable for anyone but a guy in his late teens or early twenties. The only thing missing was a TV, but upon closer inspection you formed the suspicion that the outrageously expensive-looking piece of furniture at the foot of the bed would play a major role in the solution to that problem. Seconds later, Mike reached for a remote on the bedside table and… yep. TV ascension commenced immediately.

“Hey,” he said almost apologetically when he saw your ‘this is fucking outrageous’-look. “I used to have one just standing there, but it broke!”

“And what were you doing that caused it to break?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. It wasn’t hard to guess, but it was always fun to watch him squirm and wriggle his way out of the predicaments he created for himself.

“Ehm, I’d rather not say,” he tried, but you were having none of it.

“Who were you fucking?” His eyes widened at the question, and his ears turned red the same way they always did when he was world-class embarrassed.

“Don’t get mad, but…” The perfect recipe to make someone mad in advance, honestly. “I don’t remember their names. It was years ago.”

“Their? Their? Names, plural?” you squealed, hoping the others wouldn’t hear too much of this conversation. Before you left the kitchen, August had been kind enough to let you in on the fact that this house was significantly more sound-proofed than the apartment — it wasn’t much of a surprise: the apartment was a rental, and the walls were barely thicker than a slice of prosciutto — but you weren’t entirely sure what that meant…

“I’m really not sure how you didn’t expect this at least a little,” Mike teased you as he dropped the snacks on his bedside table. “Oh no, the kinky little fucker I’m dating has experience with the odd threesome. Foursome… Actually, I’m pretty sure some of them qualified as orgies, or at least gangbangs, I—”

You lunged forward, pushing him down on the bed and sealing your mouth over his. “Shut up,” you said when you eventually had to come up for air. “I don’t need to know the names, or the stories! You’re mine. You’re my kinky little fucker, understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said in a serious voice that he could hang on to for about a tenth of a second before breaking down laughing. “Come on, Sweetcheeks, let’s get snuggling!”

You ended up in a familiar position: snuggled into Mike’s side, in the middle of a comfortable pile of pillows and blankets that he had gathered in the blink of an eye. For the first time since you had arrived at the house — mansion, whatever — you felt at home, although your thoughts kept racing as you tried to process everything that had happened that day. But it was okay. You had your guys, no matter how confused you were on the subject of exactly how many of them there were at this point.

It wasn't too long before one of the ones you were sure were yours — Marshall, to be specific — knocked on the door of Mike's room.

“Everyone dressed?”

“Even if we weren't, you could still come in,” Mike answered.

The door opened slowly, and Marshall carefully stepped into the room, as if he was afraid to disrupt whatever you had going on in here. “Hey,” he said to you, “how are you doing? It's a lot, we know… Maybe we should have given you more of an introduction?”

“I'll be fine,” you assured him. “I just wasn't expecting this house, and then Priya, and the fact that I now have my own room here…” You weren't entirely sure why that got to you the way it did, but it was weird to you in a way. When you moved into the apartment, you'd had your own room —although it had taken some serious work to convince Jenelle and Rose that you weren't, like, moving in-moving in with Mike. Not in that way, anyway. It had been a matter of convenience; they’d had a spare room, and you'd needed one since your bitch of a landlady had decided to kick you to the curb. Back then, you had even insisted it was a temporary solution. It wasn't. Not anymore. And especially not now that you had been given a second room in another house. One you also didn't have to pay for…

“Please don't worry about the money,” Marshall whispered. He was next to you, his arms wrapped around you, and his head resting on your shoulder. “I'll just leave the two of you to it. Get some sleep. Oh, and… Sherlock wanted me to tell you to take any time you need to get used to this, and to get to know the others. No need to rush into anything.”

He pressed a kiss to your temple, and then he was gone.

“I know you're already starting to feel it with Mel,” Mike said softly. You couldn't help but feel that he was judging you somehow. “I do get the feeling you're not entirely sure about Charles.”

“August would be ecstatic if that never happened, right?” you chuckled nervously.

“Oh, I don't doubt it. But everything will work itself out on that front in whatever way,” Mike replied. He pulled you closer, tracing soft circles on your back with one of his fingers. It tickled, made you shiver — which, in turn, made him laugh.

“Mike,” you started, somehow almost desperate to change the subject. “Why is your bed in the corner?” Back at the apartment, his bed was in the corner of his room as well, but that was to make room for his desk. This room was big enough to fit a desk on either side of the bed if he put it in the center of the wall.

“Eh…” Mike hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with whatever story was attached to the answer to your question. “Alright. I was homeless for a while, before Marshall turned me. It was right after things went south with Hedwig. I guess I just feel unprotected when I don't have a wall behind me. Or in front of me, that's okay too, weirdly enough.”

“That sounds fair,” you said. “It's not that I thought it was weird, by the way. I was just curious.”

“I know, Sweetcheeks,” he chuckled softly. “Can I tell you the rest of my story?”

You nodded furiously — you were in a curious kind of mood, after all, even after all the information that had already come your way. You just didn't seem to be able to stop yourself.

“I'll spare you the tale of Hedwig and the Downward Spiral, if that's okay with you? It's mostly drugs and partying, anyway… There was this one night that's kind of important, I suppose.” He sighed. “It was May 24th, 1985, I don't know why I remember that, but I do. Things were bad, really bad. You can't imagine how bad, honestly… That particular day, I OD'd on heroin. And before you ask: It wasn't an accident.”

It was like the ground — the bed, everything… — had been taken out from under you and you were freefalling into darkness. “No my God, Mikey!” Turns out that, entirely conform your every expectation, fighting back tears was pointless when the love of your life — one of them, anyway — told you that he'd tried to take his own life at some point.

“It's okay, Sweetcheeks,” Mike said as he put a hand against your cheek, wiping a tear away with his thumb. “In the end, it was the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Until you showed up, anyway.”

“That's really sweet,” you said, not wanting to ignore that comment, but there were more pressing matters, as far as you were concerned. “But what happened next?”

“Marshall found me,” he said with a smile. “I'm still not entirely sure how I'm still alive… I don't think he knows, either. I remember waking up in his bed. He told me he took me home because he didn't want me to die there. He never really expected that I would survive.”

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered after you finally sucked in a breath. It was Mike's turn to cry now, and you gently kissed away a tear that ran down his cheek.

“After I woke up, I begged him to kill me. I just couldn’t do it anymore… Obviously he didn’t. Instead, he offered me a way out — a real one. A permanent one. Said he couldn't bear to lose me.” When he inhaled, you noticed how shaky his breath was. It wasn't something you'd heard in his voice yet. “He promised me forever without drugs, and I knew he meant ‘forever’ literally.”

“So, that's when he turned you?” you asked breathlessly.

Mike nodded almost solemnly. “Yep. When we got started, anyway. He helped me stay clean during the process, too.”

“Process?” It only just occurred to you that you'd never bothered to ask how ‘turning into a vampire' actually happened.

“Okay to make this totally weird for a second, because I need that after this complete sob fest of a story,” he said, smiling as he wiped the tears out of his eyes. “You have no idea how accurate your description of garlic as a ‘vampire contraceptive' was. You have to kind of… try. Like you would be trying to conceive, except the end result here was not a baby, but me as a vampire. I'd personally say that's preferable to having a baby, but I'm not sure all the others would agree with me.”

“I’m fairly sure August would propose there's absolutely no difference between the two,” you laughed. “But at least there's no pain involved, right?” Right?

Much to your dismay, Mike laughed. “Ask Marshall about the first time I took a bite out of him. That'll answer your question.” He ran a hand through his hair. “As for the transformation… I can't say it's pleasant, but it sure as hell felt a whole lot better than the aftermath of an overdose of heroin.”

“What does it feel like? Turning into a vampire, I mean. Not overdosing on heroin, I don't think I really want to know.”

“Understandable, it’s pretty brutal — the, eh, the overdosing. But I love your curiosity regarding the other thing.” He winked at you, a cheeky smile on his lips. “I can't explain to you what happens, exactly — but we have a professor who definitely can, so ask him if you want to know — but it kinda feels like… I don't know, it's uncomfortable. The first part feels like the flu, but I got it especially bad because I was also going through withdrawal. That's usually the stage in which people end up at the clinic with Sherlock. The process can be reversed at that point.”

He paused for a moment, screwing his eyes shut, as if he was trying to remember. “After that, I remember the fangs. Wildly uncomfortable sensation, by the way—”

“Your teeth changing? I can imagine…” you interrupted, shivering at the thought. Little did you know…

“Hah! You wish! They're brand new, baby! Which means your old canines are super-duper totally in the way. Remember the last time you lost one of your baby teeth?” You shook your head. That was ages ago. “Right, I didn't remember it either, until it started happening again. And then I also remembered that for those baby teeth it had sucked about ten million percent less. And the amount of fucking time it takes to gain any control over them…”

“How long before you have like… fully functional fangs?”

“Happens over the course of, like, a week, maybe two? Apparently you can feel them forming in your skull, when you're not preoccupied with withdrawal symptoms. Ask Marshall or Sherlock about that. Or Melot, if you dare. I know he had his pulled and/or filed down on several occasions.”

“Sherlock mentioned they grow back,” you remembered.

“They'd fucking better, or you'd starve to death if you lost them,” Mike reminded you. “You need the venom. Can't just suck blood through a straw and hope for the best. Like, with the supplemental approach thing Marshall talked about a while ago, they supplied bags of donated blood, and we had to bite those. It was messy and… Alright, doesn't matter.”

You noticed not only that Mike's storytelling became more and more animated and enthusiastic as he explained more about the process, but also that he'd switched to saying ‘you' — as if he was speaking directly to you. Maybe he was. Maybe you wanted him to.

“So, after they've wormed their way out, your whole face is sore — and then you're left with two completely unmanageable, uncontrollable murder weapons in your mouth… I ate ice cream and apple sauce for at least a month after they first came in: I bit my tongue several times a day, and my lip, too…” He chuckled. “And here's the smart part: The gory cravings kinda stay away until you're mostly done. As if your brain waits for all the equipment to be installed before it flips that switch.”

“And then you ambushed Marshall in a dark alley?” you joked.

Mike shook his head. “Can't ambush him, he can read my mind. Which I didn't know about at that point, by the way. He let me suffer for a week before I finally dared to admit to him that the human food wasn't cutting it anymore.”

“And then you mauled him?”

“Something like that. He told me to give in to my instincts. Apparently, they're usually correct — and they were for me as well, but… In my defense, the instructions were not exactly idiot-proof. When he told me to give in to those instincts, he didn't mean ‘unleash the kraken', but more like… ‘follow the teeth'. That sounds crazy, but I promise… You'll see.” There it was again. You. As in you-you. And you-you wasn't ready to make any promises just yet.

[thedemonofcat]

In his childhood, Jaskier unwittingly resurrected a bird. His memory of the event is vague, clouded by the sadness of seeing his brother kill the creature. Jaskier wept, and miraculously, the bird soared back to life.

Despite lacking overt magical prowess, Jaskier possesses a unique gift: his tears possess the power to heal and revive the deceased. However, this ability hinges on genuine sorrow and the desire to restore life or mend wounds.

Additionally, each instance of Jaskier's magic forges a profound bond between him and the recipient.

Although Jaskier trusts Geralt, he conceals his powers, understanding that secrecy safeguards him. Keeping his ability to resurrect by shedding tears hidden reduces the risks he faces.

Tragically, when Geralt falls to a monster, Jaskier's grief unleashes his dormant power once more.

[sargassostories]

honestly the funniest possible way to transition between cavill and hemsworth is to end season 3 with everyone thinking geralt has died and cavill gets this nice tragic farewell and then BOOM Geralt’s back from the dead. new face new me. like Gandalf the White but now he’s Geralt of Australia

[aifanfictions]

write a story about Geralt of Rivia falling in love with a witch friend of Yennefer's who is (y/n) who saves Geralt from a striga

The Witch and the Striga

The moon hung low in the sky, casting a pale silver glow upon the desolate castle ruins. Geralt of Rivia stood at the edge of the forest, his silver hair glinting like a beacon in the darkness. He had been tracking the rumors of a striga terrorizing the nearby villages for weeks. The Witcher had faced many monstrous foes, but this was different. This was personal.

Geralt's path was set. He would face the striga and lift the curse that bound the cursed princess to her monstrous form. Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled in his chest. There was something he couldn't quite put his finger on—a premonition, a whisper of destiny.

As he approached the castle, Geralt felt the weight of centuries press upon his shoulders. The legends spoke of a tragic tale—a princess cursed by a wicked sorcerer, condemned to transform into a striga every full moon. It was said that only the kiss of true love could break the curse, but such tales were often just that—tales.

Within the castle's dilapidated halls, Geralt faced the striga. Its monstrous form, all claws and fangs, lunged at him. The battle was fierce, each strike a testament to Geralt's unmatched skill. Yet, as he clashed with the beast, he couldn't help but think of the tragedy that had brought them to this moment.

The striga's eyes, once filled with anger and torment, now held a glimmer of sadness. It was as if a sliver of humanity remained within her monstrous shell. Geralt couldn't ignore the feeling that there was more to this curse than met the eye.

With one final, desperate blow, Geralt managed to incapacitate the striga. It lay before him, vulnerable and defeated. But instead of delivering the killing blow, he hesitated. He saw something in the creature—a flicker of vulnerability, a yearning for release.

Geralt knelt beside the striga and whispered words of compassion. He offered the creature his hand, a gesture of understanding. Slowly, tentatively, the striga reached out and touched his hand. The moment their skin made contact, something incredible happened.

A surge of energy coursed through Geralt's body, and he felt a profound connection with the striga. It was as if he could see into her soul, and she into his. In that fleeting moment, he saw the truth—the sorcerer's curse had been a cruel punishment, a betrayal of love, not an act of malice.

As the curse began to break, the striga's monstrous form transformed back into that of a young woman—a woman with striking ebony hair and eyes that held the depth of an ocean. She was breathtakingly beautiful, but her expression was one of gratitude and relief.

Geralt helped her to her feet, his heart pounding with a mix of emotions he couldn't fully comprehend. He had expected a battle, a victory, and the lifting of a curse. He hadn't expected to find himself connected to the very creature he had come to defeat.

The woman introduced herself as (Y/N), a witch and a friend of Yennefer's. She had been trapped in the curse for centuries, her true love's kiss stolen from her by the sorcerer's betrayal. She had fought the curse, yearning for release, and in Geralt, she had found an unexpected savior.

As they stood in the moonlit castle ruins, Geralt and (Y/N) realized that their destinies were intertwined. Their connection ran deeper than mere circumstance—it was a bond forged in the crucible of fate. Love had broken the curse, but it had also ignited a spark between them that neither could deny.

The night that had begun with a battle against a striga ended with a promise—a promise of a future where two souls, bound by destiny, would face the trials and tribulations of a world filled with magic, monsters, and love.

And so, Geralt of Rivia and (Y/N) embarked on a new chapter of their lives, their hearts entwined in a love that had defied curses and transcended time. Their journey was just beginning, and they faced it with the unwavering belief that destiny had something extraordinary in store for them.

NOTE! This story was generated by OpenAI

[the-desilittle-bird]

Greens win AU are my favorite ones and honestly the story intrigues me and I liked the fact you made the reader realistic-tired and numb(who can blame her) and Aemond is so cocky about himself that I want to slap him, grovel for reader's forgiveness.

I wouldn't mind a part 2 of Crimson Lady—where she rules beside Aemond, challenging the patriarchal norms and ensures the peace her mother wanted:she proves she's a good ruler much to the Green's dismay and tries to change the law of succession to allow also girls to rule.

Aemond would be supportive because she has never seen her and any other woman less.

A thing I notice is that she never smiled, a perfect parallel to Aegon III from Fire and Blood-I can see Aemond fighting desperately to earn her forgiveness, to see her smile again ignoring Otto's advices and attempts to manipulate him.

He tries to be a good husband, but to no avail, her attitute doesn't change but she seems only happy with her brother so Aemond decided to bring Baela and Rhaena at court annnd to find her baby brother Viserys and bring him to her.

Would be kinda tragic if before the war the reader tries to remain Aemond's friend but he's cold and unforgiving and now the roles have switched.

The reader doesn't smile, she only wears black and never calls him on his first name but your majesty.

Just my thoughts,eh, I like this Au, kinda depressing😪

Author's Note- Thanks for the request. I had been thinking of a way of moving the story forward but was a bit clueless at first, but after your request, I had a clear idea. Hope you like it and it is upto your expectations. Do not fret to leave another request if you wish for. And I decided to make the end a bit less disappointing since I wished for (Y/N) and Aemond to be happy after all they have been through.

Thank you and Enjoy your reading!

The Crimson Queen

Summary- The war had it impacts and the acts of horrors had to be put aside to move on in their lives...

Tag List- @eliseline, @little-moonbeam-666 , @blackhoodlea, @omgsuperstarg, @shopping, @lizlovecraft, @dayane, @bbgmonsay, @michelle-26 , @all-things-fandomstuck, @hc-geralt-23, @chevelledahuman, @morganastrucker, @shrexy , @helloitsshitzulover, @daringboba, @minaxcarter, @b-tchymoon, @stargaryenx, @hukio, @saraelizabeth26, @targaryenmoony, @moon-light1415, @eudximoniakr, @themaze13

GIF Credits to @bobahwrites

Two long moons had passed and the realm as well as the council had suffered several drastic changes. Most of the council members were changed; taxes reduced to the half of what the people had to pay; new trade alliances were made with the Free Cities. And the biggest of them was the allowance of a female heir. All under the reign of Aemond Targaryen and (Y/N) Targaryen.

Wed for almost two moons, the couple were yet to have a real conversation. While Aemond had tried to make amends with the former princess, (Y/N) had only replied with curt replies.

Aemond only found her softening in the presence of the common people and her younger brother Aegon, flashing an occasional smile when he wasn't in her sight.

The people called her the Blessed Queen, much to Aemond's mother and grandfather's dismay. He had always let her take the charge of the realm, letting her give the final verdicts and decide.

Aemond liked how (Y/N) would command the attention of each and every person in the room without even uttering a single word. But the distances in between them only pained him even more.

"I was wondering if we could bring Rhaena and Baela to court," Aemond said, sitting in the chair beside the fireplace. His eye carefully studied his wife's face as she glanced up from her book. "They are safe where they are," she replied strictly.

Aemond hummed, leaning in a bit. "They are, but I was thinking that they should be here, in the court, as they are the Queen's half-sister," Aemond tried to reason. (Y/N) looked up, setting her book aside. "Is it a part of your mother's plan? Or perhaps of your grandfather?" (Y/N) asked, standing up and walking to the balcony.

"Let me assure you, (Y/N). I am part of no plan of theirs," Aemond said, standing up and joining her on the balcony. (Y/N) sighed, her eyes casted down at her hands. "How can I trust you, your grace?" The Crimson Lady asked, her voice monotone with no feelings.

"You can leave the formalities aside, (Y/N)," Aemond said softly, placing a hand on her back. (Y/N) jerked back as his hand touched her back, eyes wide in paranoia. "Our very marriage is a formality, your grace," she said, wrapping her hands around herself.

Aemond swallowed down the lump in his throat, head slowly lowering as his mind processed the silent resignation. "I will be in my chambers, if you need me, my lady." With the words hanging in the silence of the room, Aemond left the queen with a single glance over his shoulder.

The council room was yet again in a fit of chaos as everyone seemed to shout and cut each other. Only the silent ones were Aemond, (Y/N) and their new hand, Cregan Stark.

Aemond watched as (Y/N) shared a glance with Cregan, before slamming her fist on the table, making everyone stop abruptly. "My Queen?" The master of laws asked, his eyes wide. "I would say that the taxes which are leveled on the common people are just fine."

"But what of the treasury, my queen? How are you thinking to pay the extravagant cost of maintaining the court?" Otto hissed, trying to disguise his frustration. "The extravagant cost of the court, along with other things can be afforded with the amount of taxes we are receiving currently, my lord. I recommend you and the council try to remove the corrupt middle men to avoid the shortage of money."

Otto and Alicent, along with the Lannister representative of the West, looked at (Y/N) with disapproving gaze while the others present in the room nodded understandingly. Everyone were aware of the corrupted middle men who seemingly took a part of the taxes for themselves and gave only the remaining to the royalty.

"Master of coins, will the suggestion made by the Queen work?" Aemond asked, his eye trained on the man who calculated something in his notebook before looking up with a smile. "If my calculations are accurate, my king, then almost 16% of the taxes are missing and if we are able to get the complete percent of the common people's taxes, then everything will work perfectly."

This only fueled the growing frown on the Greens' faces, which seemed to make Corlys Velaryon and the Wolf Lord smirk wider, as they looked at their queen with pride.

"Then, we know what you are supposed to do," Aemond said, his words laced with finality. The men nodded before (Y/N) respectfully dismissed them, before following them out; leaving Otto, Alicent and Aemond in the room.

"Poison her like you poisoned Aegon," Alicent broke the silence, making Aemond's jaw drop to the floor. "She is my lady wife, mother," Aemond replied, his gaze moving to the Valyrian ring in his ring finger. "Your and the bastard Queen's marriage is yet to be consummated. Poison her and marry someone of your choice, son. Perhaps, that Alys River."

Aemond's body stiffened as his former lover's name slipped out from his mother's mouth. "She is my wife and I shall do no such thing, mother. You should be aware of it," Aemond said, glaring at his mother and standing up. "Where do you think you are going, grandson? We are not done yet," Otto said with authority as he watched Aemond move towards the exit.

"But this conversation is over for me, Lord Hightower." Aemond slammed the door shut behind him, leaving a stunned Otto and a tear-filled Alicent sitting in the council chamber.

"Sister!" (Y/N) heard someone yell from behind her as she walked in the garden. The Dragon Queen turned to find herself engulfed in a hug. She felt the strong smell of salty sea water and books fill her nostrils. "Rhaena?" She asked in disbelief.

Another pair of hands hugged her from behind, making her head snap back to find Baela, hugging her closely. "Baela? You two are here?" (Y/N) asked, her eyes wide with disbelief, tears brimming in her eyes. "Aemond send for us to be taken to here," Rhaena said with a soft smile.

"Aemond?" (Y/N) let a frown take over her features, but it didn't make home for long as she was reunited with her family. "Yes, but why are you wearing black?" Baela said, as she parted to take her in.

(Y/N) sighed, something she has been doing commonly now. "Sister, you don't seem happy. Is something the matter?" Rhaena said with concern, making (Y/N) let out a breath. "How can I be happy when I am married to the man who killed my brother and father?"

Baela and Rhaena stayed silent as they hugged the warrior-queen again. "He is sorry for what he did, my dear," Rhaena said, caressing (Y/N)'s cheek softly. "Is he? And why should I accept his apology? It is my decision after all," (Y/N) said stubbornly, feeling slightly betrayed as she saw her own sisters take her husband's side.

"Might I remind you that you killed Daeron, his brother," Baela said softly, her hands making their home on her forearms. (Y/N) blinked once, twice, before she nodded. "Then sister? We are aware of everything that happens during the wars, but keep the bad acts aside, now, my dear. Forgive him and yourself," Rhaena said.

(Y/N) only nodded, humming. "I will later this evening. For I wish to spend time with you two," (Y/N) smiled. "Where is little Aegon?" Baela asked, grinning. "Little Aegon is no more little, sister."

(Y/N) felt like the nerves in her entire body were screaming at her to knock at the door to Aemond's chambers but the usually courageous and brave Queen felt too coward to do so.

'Am I doing the right thing, mother?' She thought to herself as she finally knocked on the wooden dragon. She heard shuffling from the other side as the door opened. Surprise painted Aemond's face before melting in a cold look.

"Your grace," he said with a nod. No smile or even a hint of softness. "May we talk for a few moments... Aemond," (Y/N) said nervously, her usual composure fluttering in front of his sharp, penetrative gaze. Aemond only nodded, stepping aside to let her in.

Once the door was closed, (Y/N) took in a deep breath, turning to face a grim Aemond. "If I may ask, your grace, how is it that you have graced me with your presence?" Aemond asked coldly, making tears well up in her deep eyes.

She was aware that she was only getting the taste of the medicine she had forced him to drink, but it only pained her more. She closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath.

"I am here to apologize, for my behavior to you, Aemond. I understand that it is important for us to put aside all which happened in the past," (Y/N) said, her eyes watched as Aemond moved to pour himself wine.

"Aemond, I apolo-" "Are we done, your grace?" Aemond interrupted her, making her jaw agape. "Aemond?" (Y/N) asked in disbelief. "If you are then you are free to leave, your grace. Your apology is well heard but not accepted, for I always tried to make amends while you so graciously pushed me away."

The Crimson Queen gulped, nodding her head in agreement. "I am certainly sorry for my behavior, Aemond," (Y/N) could feel her tears spilling down her face. She walked briskly to Aemond, kneeling down in front of him.

Aemond tried not to look at the queen who knelt in front of him. "Stand, your grace. My feet are not your true place," Aemond said, trying to keep his emotions from slipping. "You have done a lot for me, but I... I have always done nothing to appreciate it but only criticized them. Give me whatever punishment you think worthy of me," (Y/N) said, trying to keep her hiccups at bay.

"I should be punished, my queen. For I have killed your dear ones, and you," Aemond kneeled down in front of her, grasping her elbows in his forcefully. "You have not killed my dear brother. Daeron. Do you remember him, your grace, or have you forgotten him altogether?" Aemond asked, hatred laced in his voice only triggered (Y/N)'s tears.

She let herself feel. Feel all the emotions she could see coming towards her way. Her head placed itself on his chest, tears staining his leather tunic. Sobs filled the entire room, echoing around the silent walls. Aemond's heart clenched in the worst ways as he felt her bury herself more and more into him.

"It's alright," Aemond whispered, his fingers caressing her hair. "I am so tired, Aemond. All of the blood and violence. I don't wish it anymore," (Y/N) whispered, hiccups breaking her sentences in between. "I know, my queen, I know."

"Do you... do you forgive me?" (Y/N) whispered, looking up at him with red and puffy eyes. "Truthfully, not now, (Y/N). But soon, very soon," Aemond said, letting a reassuring smile take over his face.

(Y/N) sniffled, parting away from the embrace to study the slightly wet leather tunic of Aemond. "I apologize for that," (Y/N) nodded to that, making Aemond bite down a small smile. "Do you feel light now, (Y/N)?" Aemond asked, his hand still on her back.

"Unexpectedly, yes," (Y/N) said with a small smile, making Aemond's eye tear up a bit. "What happened?" The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms asked, voice filled with concern. "This is the first time you smiled at me," Aemond said with a chuckle, his eye shining with adoration.

(Y/N) blinked, feeling guilty of her behavior directed towards him. "I hope there are more times of it," she whispered, gently placing her head on his shoulder. "I hope the same, dear," Aemond smiled softly, as they sat there in complete silence, basking in each other's presence.

It was in that moment when the story of the One-Eyed King and the Crimson Queen took a right turn and shifted from a story filled of blood and violence to a story of love and peace. A reign so peaceful that the common people called it the Reign of Gold.

[wannastayugly]

Second and final part of this thing I wrote about the Storyteller showing itself to Jaskier as Geralt. TW for hurt character, but they're fine! Thank you very much for such a positive feedback! I'm very insecure about my writing, but I really love putting these little stories in the world and knowing you're enjoying them makes everything better!

-

Jaskier sits on the stool letting out a low groan of pain. He holds his chemise over his lap with both hands and keeps his eyes there, missing the warmth of it as a cold breeze invades the room and touches his exposed injured back.

It's been two months since Jaskier met the Storyteller. Two months of new poetry and ballads he has still not sang to anyone and which are fated to remain only as a collection of words in his notebook, ready to feed the fire.

"Jaskier?" Geralt's voice fills his ears with kindness, and Jaskier looks up as the witcher walks closer and touches his shoulder. He holds a wet towel and a bowl of salve, but Jaskier's attention goes to the blood stains on his black shirt. "Are you alright?"

Jaskier gives an insincere, almost inaudible positive answer and looks away. He remembers the monster's claws hurting his skin and the terror in Geralt's voice when he called his name. The singer had saved the witcher that morning, decided to give his life for him in his foolisher impulsive act of the season. But, together with the pain, Jaskier found a mad and surprising bit of relief when he realized there, again on a bloody floor, that whatever the Storyteller had meant when comparing him to Éile, his story would never follow the same tragic path, for Jaskier would never, in any reality, have the bravery to be the one killing the man he loved instead of letting himself be killed.

"Jaskier."

"Yes! Yes, I am fine." Geralt doesn't buy it. He slips his hand from Jaskier's shoulder to his neck and gives him an unpleased look. He can tell he has a fever by now, although the touch also leaves his cheeks warmer.

Touch. That's something Geralt only offers him every now and then, and Jaskier appreciates the attention now.

While Geralt starts taking care of his wounds, he thinks about the ballads he composed about the bard and her witcher, and how the simple act of writing those two words together in a song made him feel exposed. Every verse of fear, of desire or sorrow, spoke about his own heart. Forbidden to be heard, those words burn in his chest just like the soft touch of Geralt's calloused fingertips do now; like the wood that burned between them during the cold nights among trees and starry skies.

He closes his eyes, wanting to lean into the touch, clutching the fabric in his hands.

"I read your new songs."

The confession comes to wake him up like a bucket of cold water. His blue eyes go wide, his face is molded in shock and the world stops for a second, almost making him wonder if the Storyteller has frozen time again.

"What"

"Some days ago. Didn't mean to." Geralt continues. There's a bit of guilt and discomfort in his voice this time. Done cleaning Jaskier's wounds, he now applies salve to them, lessen the pain; his fingers now travelling the bard's lower back. Jaskier wishes he could still focus on them. "Witchers don't lose control like that. In case you've ever wondered."

"What- shut up"

"The stabbing bit was concerning, though."

"Shut the fuck up!" For Geralt's surprise, Jaskier's tone rises with rage, and, enduring the sharp pain of his damaged flesh, the bard stands up and finally faces him. Geralt stands still, a perfect portrait of regret. He still holds the bowl, unsure about what he should do with it. Now, it's Jaskier's eyes that burn. "You didn't have the right! You weren't- you-"

For a moment, Jaskier's own screams reminds him of their last major fight.

Caingorn.

He remembers letting out a confession when not even him knew what it was. He remembers Geralt's words stabbing him and pushing him away, and how he wished something would come from the woods and eat him alive while he walked down the mountain alone, feeling like he was leaving shards of his heart behind.

"Jaskier, look at me!"

Jaskier doesn't notice the tears rolling down his chin. Panic has now invaded him, bringing all his worst fears into his mind like a sadistic devil and enjoying his shivers when making him travel between all the reasons why he could now lose the little he had and was grateful for.

Not again, he mourns.

Geralt finally leaves the bowl aside and approaches him, too unsettled for a supposed emotionless man. Although the bard takes a step back, he doesn't want to avoid Geralt's closeness. Never really did.

Don't leave me alone again.

"I'm sorry, bard." Geralt's embrace is loose, careful not to touch him on the wrong spots. Jaskier groans in frustration when he sees himself hiding his face on the pale neck of the man who now caresses his hair.

"I didn't want this", Jaskier murmurs.

"I know."

He punches Geralt's chest softly. His eyes shut. Fear now gives space to shame, although he doesn't know exactly what he is ashamed of. I hate you, he thinks. A silly thing to say. Just like the Storyteller, Geralt has already known his truth for a long time.

"I love the fuck out of you, too."

Saying that, Geralt breaks the embrace to cup his face, presses their foreheads together and smiles. Gets lost in the eyes that stare back at him. A love song in blue and golden shades.

It doesn't take much for their lips to meet in an intense, rushed act. Jaskier digs his nails into the other man's skin and every bite, every touch on his exposed skin after that is like a fever dream.

"I should've done this a long time ago" the witcher would whisper breathless into his ear after a while; his hand slipping into Jaskier's now unbuttoned trousers, "right in the first time I heard your heartbeat run. Right in the first time the temperature of your body rose and you smelled like this."

That day, having Geralt with, on, in him; being allowed to taste his sweat, smiling against his lips, feeling his scars under his fingers and laughing of his concerned expressions when he'd touch the wrong places, Jaskier found himself alive for the first time in a long while. And in Geralt's arms, he contemplated in awe his own story, the most fascinating poem he had ever written.

[plotvichka]

! Major The Witcher books finale spoiler !

(Maybe everyone knows this but I just wanna be safe)

I've been thinking how strange it must be for Anya to have shot The Last Wish with Henry and then shoot The Rivian Pogrom with Liam.

Of course the change is gonna be hard for every cast member, but especially for Anya, Freya, and Joey. Their characters have the most number of scenes with Geralt since s1. It's going to be a huge adjustment for them, but I believe they are professionals and they can act just as well as before. What I'm talking about in this post is more about the emotional side of the tragic scene in Rivia and who does interact with whom.

Dandelion/Jaskier is in the crowd in the final scene. He wasn't involved in the scene of Geralt's death as an active participant like Yennefer and Ciri were, but he still was there. A bystander who can only watch his friend dying while Geralt's daughter and wife are all over his dying body.

Ciri is the accuser. Ciri was the one losing her father figure and yelling at her mother for not being able to save him. So Freya's job in the scene is the emotional involvement with Anya mostly. She is watching Geralt dying, but she thinks she can't do anything as long as there's Yennefer who is willing to do all the job.

Yennefer is the desperate savior. Finally, Yennefer is the only person in there who's doing something. She dies/loses consciousness trying to save her lover, the person she met over 20 years ago. It is a long way and they have a long history and it all leads to that moment. Her lying dead next to dead Geralt. The one who saved her from the djinn by binding their lives. Anya is basically the one in that scene who interacts with Geralt the most and it must be wild to act like losing a person who has a different face from the one she met in the beginning.

Idk what this post is about. I just couldn't stop thinking about Anya and Liam in the end, lying there in the mud. It just feels weird to have Yennefer almost die for the face that's not the one she met all those years ago. I know it's only a face and it's still Geralt. I just feel like this is so wrong.

[ro-is-struggling]

Secret Encounters || Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Requested by anon

Summary: They know it's wrong, but they can't deny the desire and lust that overcomes them every time they are together.

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, porn with a little bit of plot (not really), fingering, penetrative sex, mirror sex, rough sex, size kink, belly bulge, breeding kink, dirty talk, mentions of cheating (reader is engaged), fem reader (she’s a princess)

English is not my first language

Word count: 3900

Notes: I promise I'll stop writing tragic princess x witcher stories after this one. Also, sorry for the shitty summary but it's only smut so it was kinda hard to come up with something lol

Geralt had never been fond of royalty, but the moment his eyes fell on hers he knew she was different. He didn't really understand why, but he felt some type of way whenever she was near. Her perfume was intoxicating, a sweet scent that lingered on his clothes and skin and accompanied him wherever he went. He could not escape her even when he wandered alone through the forest in search of the beast he had been hired to kill... not even when he was lying in his bed at night, surrounded by the darkness of the room as he tried to rest. Her scent enveloped him at all times, awakening something deep inside him. It drove him crazy, crazy enough to act on his desires. 

He knew it was wrong, it was inappropriate to take advantage of the king's hospitality like that. And she knew it was wrong too, she was a princess soon to be married, a woman of high value who had no business with a witcher like Geralt. And yet, neither seemed to be able to stay away from the other. It was as if there was some kind of energy force pulling them together, the very will of destiny imposing itself over their own. When Geralt showed up at her chambers she knew she should have turned him away. No matter how much she had been longing for him to take her in his arms and make her his, the right thing to do was to reject him and move on with her life. In fact, she had opened the door with the intention of doing exactly that, but when her eyes met the imposing figure of the witcher, towering over her as his amber eyes admired her face, she could not resist the temptation. She gave in to her desires, crashing her lips against his in a desperate kiss as she slowly pulled him into her room.

The feel of his touch lingered on her body for days, her skin permanently marked by the roughness of his caresses and the warm wetness of his mouth. The sound of his grunts of pleasure as he buried himself in her echoed in her mind at all times. He was all she could think about. She knew it was wrong, but she needed to feel his hands on her body again, exploring every inch of her skin as he showed her pleasure like no other man could.

Despite their desperation, they were able to keep their hands off each other for a while. Though all their self-control disappeared by the time of Geralt's last day in the castle. After slaying the beast —and collecting his reward— the witcher was ready to leave when the king made him an offer he couldn't resist. There would be a feast in celebration of the fall of the creature that had terrorized the town and Geralt, as their savior, was the guest of honor. He would normally have declined the offer, although the promise of free food and alcohol sounded enticing, he hated the idea of being stuck with a bunch of drunken noblemen. However, this time it gave him the perfect excuse to stay there a while longer and say goodbye to the princess the right way —the way he knew they had both been fantasizing about since their last encounter.

The party quickly turned into a game of cat and mouse, defiant yellow eyes meeting hers in the crowd, admiring her lips as she laughed and the way her body moved as she danced. She was doing it on purpose, accepting the proposals of all the knights who bowed in front of her to provoke him. She wanted to spark a reaction in him, see how far she could push him, how far she could push the boundaries of their secret relationship. The thought of being caught filled her body with adrenaline, her heart pounding so hard against her chest that he could almost hear it over the noise of the party.

She waited for the right moment and took advantage of the first distraction to escape to her bedroom. Her eyes met Geralt's before disappearing behind the side door of the great hall, her desire-laden expression a silent plea for him to follow her. She sat in front of the large mirror in her room waiting for him, removing the jewelry from her hair and combing her hair without any haste. And just as she expected, only a few minutes after her arrival, she felt the sound of the door's wood creaking as it opened. She saw Geralt lock the door behind him in the reflection of the mirror and she had to hold back the smile that wanted to form on her lips —a failed attempt to save some of her decency and not look so desperate.

"You're not supposed to be here." She said as if his presence didn't make her heart race. "It's wrong."

"That's not what you said the other night." Geralt's deep voice was music to her ears, his slightly mocking tone awakening that tingle under her skin. He walked up to her, holding her gaze in the mirror as if challenging her. He stood tall at her back, close enough that she could feel the heat emanating from his body, but not close enough to feel the brush of his hands on her skin. 

"The other night was a mistake." She affirmed, setting the comb aside. It was true, their furtive encounter, though pleasurable, had been a mistake. But they both knew well that neither really cared. The desire they felt, the tension in the air, it was all too much, it clouded their thinking leaving them at the mercy of their most primitive feelings. 

Geralt reached out his hands to her, brushing her hair aside so he could caress her skin. He noticed how she stifled a sigh through the reflection of the mirror, his warm touch awakening that flame within her. His fingers moved gently across her shoulders, up her neck until they reached her cheeks. She closed her eyes and leaned into his hand, losing herself in the moment. It felt just as she remembered it, warm and hard, yet strangely soft and comforting at the same time. It was as if his hands had never left her skin, as if his caresses were permanently carved into her body.

"Do you wish for me to leave?" he said, his voice barely a raspy whisper. He knew the answer to her question, he could read it on her face, smell it in the air, feel it in the vein in her neck that throbbed rapidly beneath his fingers. But still, he needed to be sure he was right, hear from her lips the plea for his caresses. He needed to know that she was as desperate as he was.

She didn't give him a verbal response, just rose from her seat and pressed her lips to his. Geralt's hands closed around her waist, pulling her body against his as he quickly took control of the kiss. She didn't bother fighting for dominance, acknowledging her subordination to him almost immediately. She didn't need to win, she just needed to feel his hands on her skin again, gripping and caressing every inch of her body in a rush of pleasure until the early morning sun forced them apart.

There was nothing tender and soft about the way Geralt's lips attacked hers, only lust and desperation, but she loved every part of it. She loved the way his tongue invaded her mouth and how his teeth nibbled at her lips before moving his wet kisses down her neck, sucking and biting at the skin without fear of leaving marks. He knew he could do whatever he wanted with her as she was completely at his mercy, surrendered to the pleasure only he could give her. She didn't care if she had to spend the next week finding creative ways to hide the evidence of their furtive encounter, she just needed to feel him. She wanted him to mark her, to declare ownership over her body. She knew she belonged to him, always would, even if she never saw him again after tonight.

Clothes soon became a problem, a barrier that kept them apart, so desperate hands worked carelessly to fix it. Her dress was the first to go, the expensive fabric pooling around her feet leaving her naked body completely exposed to Geralt's hungry gaze. She should have been embarrassed, but nothing but lust and anticipation pumped through her veins. He was looking at her as if she were the most beautiful and sensual woman he had ever seen, as if she were a goddess he had the privilege of pleasing. Never before had anyone looked at her in that way, so intense, so filled with adoration. She loved it, it made her feel special, powerful. 

Geralt didn't waste a second, calloused fingers caressing every inch of exposed skin. It awakened a fire inside her, a tingling that spread throughout her body, concentrating on her core. His teeth nibbled at the sensitive skin of her neck, sinking his canines into her as his hands moved down to her breasts, earning a couple of sighs from the princess as he showed attention to her nipples erect with anticipation. He smiled against her neck, proud of himself as the scent of her arousal lingered in the air. It was an intoxicating scent, the sweet forbidden fruit begging him to take it.

When his fingers slipped between her wet folds, she let out a moan of pleasure as her grip on the witcher's shoulders tightened. It was as beautiful as he remembered, a harmonious melody traveling through him and going straight to his cock. It was the sound of temptation, of lust, urging him to carry on, to forget all rules of morality and decorum and take what was his.

“P-please, Geralt.” She pleaded against his lips. Her breathing was rapid and she looked up at him through half-closed eyelids. He slipped two of his fingers inside her with ease, pushing them as deep as he could and moving them until he made her moan. She looked so beautiful like this, her eyes closed in pleasure and her parted lips releasing those beautiful desperate sighs, completely at his mercy.It was an image that would stay in Geralt's mind for quite some time. 

"I know, I know," he soothed her, his free hand coming up to caress her cheek. "I have to get you ready for me."

"I-I need to feel you, p-please." She whimpered in a pathetic, desperate attempt to get him to do what she wanted. She needed to feel all of him, his hot skin pressed against hers, his fingernails sinking into the skin of her hips as he buried his cock deep inside her, his ragged breaths in the hollow of her neck. She needed him as much as she needed the air she breathed and could wait no longer.

Thankfully he took pity on her, removing his hands from her body to unbutton his pants. She suppressed the whimper that wanted to escape her throat as she felt empty without his fingers inside her, knowing the sensation would not last for long. Geralt instructed her to turn over and her body obeyed him before she could process his words or wonder what he was up to. Her body no longer belonged to her, it belonged to him and always would.

He held her against his chest for a moment, one hand roaming her body while the other held her head steady facing forward. She could feel his hard member pressed against her lower back as his heat enveloped her completely. Their gazes met in the mirror once more and she saw the darkness of desire staining the beautiful yellow orbs. He buried his nose in her hair, inhaling her intoxicating scent before lowering his lips to her ear.

"I want you to look at yourself in the mirror as I fuck you, princess." Geralt whispered in her ear, his voice firm and slightly deeper than normal. His eyes never left hers in the mirror, studying her reaction in the reflection. "I want you to see how beautiful you look with your face scrunched up in pleasure so you'll remember it after I'm gone and your future husband can't make you feel this good."

He gave her no warning before pushing his hard cock into her tight wet hole, and he wasn't gentle either. A quick thrust of his hips and he was balls deep inside her as her velvety walls struggled to take him. Geralt was big, it was almost hard for him to fully fit inside her despite how aroused she was. But it wasn't painful, not in a bad way at least. She loved the way his cock stretched her, almost impaling her on it when it was all the way in. The burning only added to her pleasure, the knot in her belly tightening with the promise of her orgasm.

Geralt set a fast, torturous pace, earning a string of incoherent moans each time he touched that special place deep inside her. She could feel him twitching inside her as her walls closed around him, desperate to hold him in place. It was almost too much and not enough at the same time, a mixture of feelings born of her need for relief. The sound of skin slapping against skin combined with her cries of pleasure and Geralt's grunts filled the room. It was loud and she wouldn't be surprised if she discovered that someone passing through the corridor could hear them, but she didn't care. She felt too good to worry about anything else.

The pleasure she felt was so intense that she had trouble keeping her eyes open, her heavy eyelids closing involuntarily against the force of Geralt's thrusts. But each time she did, he tightened his grip on her jaw, growling in her ear for her to open them. The image reflected in the mirrored surface was too much for her to take. Her small figure wrapped in the strong arms of her lover towering over her and making her feel even smaller and more insignificant. The bulge forming in her lower belly with each thrust showed just how deep inside her Geralt was. His teeth on her neck, nibbling at the sensitive skin without taking his intense gaze away from her eyes in the mirror. And finally, her face, with parted lips letting out a string of melodious moans, and glassy eyes filled with tears that threatened to escape at the sheer intensity of what she was feeling. The expression of pure pleasure on her face was one she had never seen on her before  —and she feared that after tonight she would never see it again.

It was all too much for her, and the possessive way Geralt was acting didn't help her in the slightest. He was determined to leave a mark on her, both physically and mentally. He wanted her to see traces of him on her own skin after he was gone, but he also wanted to make sure she remembered him. Make sure she remembered the intensity of the moment and the way he had made her feel. He wanted her to think of him every time her future husband left her unsatisfied, touching herself to relieve the pressure inside her as images of him in this very moment flashed through her mind. 

He made sure to let her know his intentions between grunts of pleasure, feeling her walls close around his member with every word that left his lips. She liked it as much as he did and that only egged him on.

"Geralt, please," she begged, not quite sure of what it was she was asking of him. Please stop because the pleasure traveling through my veins is too much to bear? Please keep going and don't stop until I'm passed out from exhaustion and you've ruined me for the rest of the men? She wasn't sure, both options were equally valid.

"I know... just let go," he encouraged her, his warm breath crashing against the skin of her ear as he spoke. "Just let go for me, princess."

Her body took his words as a command and it wasn't long before the knot in her belly snapped, sending wave after wave of pleasure through her insides. Her orgasm hit her like a pile of bricks, leaving her completely stupid. Geralt's name escaped her lips like a prayer as she lost herself in pleasure. All thought left her mind, she could only feel as her lover's thrusts slowed, her body trembling in his arms from overstimulation.

She only had a couple of seconds to recover, whining as she felt empty when Geralt pulled away from her momentarily. Her legs were weak and she struggled to stand, so he took her in his arms and laid her down on the bed carefully. He settled into the space between her legs, taking a moment to admire her and caress her body before continuing. His hands ran over her warm, sweat-covered skin in an almost gentle way, an act that contrasted with the roughness of his behavior so far but was nonetheless welcomed by her.

The tenderness didn't last long, though, because once he slid his cock inside her once more, he returned to the animalistic grunts and punishing rhythm of his thrusts. This time it was more desperate and erratic, letting her know that he was close to his own orgasm. His cock twitched inside her, threatening to paint her velvety walls with his seed. The very idea was enough to have her on the edge again. 

"You feel me, princess?" He said, taking one of her hands and bringing it down to her lower belly. He pressed it against her skin, trapping it between his palm and the bulge forming there from his cock. It added a new sensation and she couldn't contain the moan that escaped her throat. "Feel how deep inside of you I am?

"Fuck," she cursed, eyes rolling back as her free hand clutched at Geralt's wrist to make sure he didn't move it off her belly. The pressure felt too good, wave after wave of pleasure coursing through her with a force that left her breathless.

"I'm the only one who gets is deep, f-fuck, the only one who makes you feel this way." He wasn't asking, it was a clear statement, but still she nodded, letting out repeated affirmations between high-pitched moans.

"I belong to you... My body is forever yours, no one will ever make me feel this good." The animalistic growl he let out at those words almost pushed her over the edge, leaving her on the verge of her second orgasm. She knew he was close too, she could feel it in his erratic thrusts and the way his cock twitched inside her. She needed to feel him come undone for her, to paint her walls white as he emptied his seed inside her. She needed him to mark her, to claim her as his own. They both knew a relationship between them was impossible, but she would always be his in secret. Her body would always miss him.

"Please, I need to feel you." She managed to say between moans and ragged breaths. "I need you to fill me up, please." She sounded pathetic at this point, but she didn't care. All she cared about was feeling Geralt's seed trickling down her thighs as she tried to catch her breath. 

The witcher groaned, a cocky smile playing on his lips. One of his hands flew to the headboard of the bed, the wood creaking under his strong grip as he adjusted his position. The new angle allowed him to reach even deeper —if that was even possible—, impaling her on his cock as she cried out in pleasure. Her nails dug into his back, leaving traces of red marks on his skin.

"You're desperate for it, aren't you?" he teased her arrogantly. "Don't worry, princess, I'm gonna shoot my seed so deep inside of you that you'll carry it for days. Is that what you want? You want me to mark you as mine? You want to feel me between your legs while you swear loyalty to your husband?"

"Yes! Fuck, Geralt, please... mark me, claim me as yours, please." 

The witcher did not expect to find it so erotic to hear her admit her deepest desires, but he did. It awakened something inside him, a primal desire that took over his body. He became an animal, a fierce, possessive wolf that was desperate for some relief. After all, that was exactly what their relationship was, pure animal instinct, pure lust and desperation. An intense attraction they couldn't resist even when they knew how wrong it was.

He came with a loud grunt, emptying his load inside her warm, tight walls. She felt every drop of it, her cunt filled to the brim with his desire for her. The intensity of his orgasm triggered hers, her body trembling under Geralt's weight, her walls tightening around his cock, milking him for everything he had. His name fell from her lips as pleasure consumed her, a prayer begging him to stay with her. He knew it was impossible, but in that moment - mind clouded with pleasure as he felt her crumbling beneath him - he really considered it. He wanted to feel her body against his again, hear the sound of her voice as she moaned his name outside of his memories. He needed her.

But that was just a fantasy, the desire for the impossible. She was a princess who was soon to be married and he was a witcher who had nothing to do with the court and royal affairs. She was not his —even if her body was— and he was not hers. And that was the hard truth. So when he came to his senses he rose from his place on the bed, where he rested with her beside him. The princess watched him as he dressed, trying to ignore the strange feeling of emptiness that came over her at the thought that once he crossed the threshold of the door she would never see him again.

"Will I ever see you again?" She asked in a whisper, as if afraid of being heard. Geralt admired her naked figure on the bed as he contemplated his answer, liking the way the dim candlelight illuminated her skin covered in a thin layer of sweat. As wrong as it was, he would really like to see her again, but the truth was he didn't know if it would happen. The future was uncertain, especially in his line of work, so to give her a straight answer would be to lie to her.

"Only time will tell."

[hannibard]

"I'm choking from the taste (but I can't help but swallow)"

Pairings: Geraskier, Radskier

Summary: "There's too much at stake Geralt, it's not worth it. Go back to Kaer Morhen and forget about me."

"You're more than worth it Jaskier and I'll do anything in my power to get you out of this hell. Melitele help anyone who stands in my way."

Jaskier is taken by Radovid in the midst of his travels with Geralt and Milva. The Redanian king, changed from his recent ascent to power, is determined to get everything he wants, with Jaskier having the misfortune of being on top of the list. Jaskier spends time serving Radovid in the Redanian court, drowning in despair and losing parts of himself in the process, his only consolation being the knowledge that his friend was safe from the Redanian army due to his sacrifice.

Sometime after Geralt has united the north under his rule, he decides to pay a visit to Redania in the hope of reuniting with his bard. But Jaskier is not as he remembers, his psyche having been fractured in their time apart. Will the witcher be able to help him escape his tragic fate?

Inspired by the song "Poison" from Hazbin Hotel

Click here to read on Ao3

---

Chapter 1: How it all started

He had been traveling together with Geralt and Milva for a few months when they took him. The three had made good progress on their way to Nilfgaard, occasionally adding other skilled individuals that were willing to aid in their cause to their group, like the high vampire/surgeon Regis, and the possibility of reaching Ciri was becoming more apt with each passing day. Jaskier was, despite the sharp worry in his gut for the girl he had come to consider something akin to a daughter, relatively content.

Things were in no way easy, but at least he was (finally) at Geralt's side again. Plus, this time around he was actually able to pull his weight. Gone were the days of him being barely more than a burden that slowed the witcher down and made his life harder, as his role had been for the majority of their acquaintance.

(If life could give me one blessing-)

He had been by himself in some backwater village, because they needed to make money somehow and Jaskier was, despite all his faults, an excellent bard. His ability to be useful, even amidst such impressive individuals, filled him with pride. The others had made camp a few miles away in order to not draw attention. It was risky enough for Jaskier to make those semi-frequent appearances in the public eye, even with the new moniker he had adopted in his attempt to pass as different person. He had rarely traveled this far south in the past, so he wasn’t too worried about being recognized.

(it goes without saying that he avoided performing any songs from the vast repertoire he had created centered around his greatest muse, the White Wolf.)

His set was coming to an end, and he was looking forward to drinking an ale after gathering his earnings, before starting his long way back to his companions. He was in the middle of just that when he was approached by a hooded figure. They moved gracefully, weaving skillfully through the crowd before sitting down across the bard.

“Beautiful voice you’ve got there.” Their face was hidden in the shadow created by the hood, which was dark and modest, not carrying any identifiable markings.

Jaskier didn’t let his alarm show. “Thank you friend, I’m always one to appreciate compliments.” He took a long sip from his tankard methodically in a show of nonchalance.

The hooded figure cocked their head to the side and reached their hand out. “With talent such as yours, it’s a wonder you’re not more well-known Master…?”

Jaskier gave a bright grin, subtly wiping the sweat making its way down his forehead, and shook the stranger’s hand. Their grip was firm, and its hold lasted a bit longer than was considered socially appropriate. “The name’s Dandelion. And you are…?”

“A beautiful name to match the beautiful voice.” The figure avoided the question and tilted their head back so that their matching grin could be visible to the bard. Jaskier couldn't see their eyes, he had a nagging impression that he was being checked out from top to bottom. “Of course I can't neglect mentioning the beautiful appearance. Though if you don’t mind my humble opinion, I’d say there’s another name that would suit you more fittingly.”

The bard’s grin twitched ever so slightly. “And what would that be my dear fellow? Do say so.”

The stranger leaned forward. “Jaskier.” they said almost conspiratorially.

The bard’s smile fell all together, and he looked around with the corner of his eye. None of the inn’s patrons seemed to have heard, too busy drinking, eating and chatting loudly with each other. The innkeeper himself was curiously missing from the room.

“What do you want?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“If you want to find out then follow me and don’t make a scene. It wouldn’t benefit either of us.”

Jaskier gulped and slowly stood up. He made sure to grab his lute and not to let his nervousness show. “As you wish.”

They made their way outside, and as soon as they were out of people’s sight the stranger grabbed his arm with a strong grip that left no room for resistance, no matter how much Jaskier tried to pull away. They reached a building that stood tall in the periphery of the village, and the hooded figure surveyed their surroundings before opening the front door and pushing Jaskier inside. The force made the bard fall to his knees and he hissed in pain, his lute thankfully tucked safely against his back. He vaguely heard the door close and lock behind him just as he looked up, his mind too busy short-circuiting at the sight he came across.

“Hello darling.” said Radovid as he stood up from a makeshift throne, making his way to the bard and dropping to one knee in front of him. The newly-crowned king took Jaskier’s chin in one hand and gently stoked his cheek with the other, smiling gently. “Oh how I’ve missed you.” He said wistfully and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

Jaskier was left speechless, his brows furrowing together in confusion. He hadn’t seen Radovid since that fateful day in Aretuza after the Thanedd ball, in the midst of all the chaos. Their parting had been hopeful but it didn’t take long for Jaskier to hear about Radovid’s sudden enthronement, so he had resolved himself to the reality that their story would remain forever unfinished. His regret lessened more and more with the time he spent at his witcher’s side.

“Radov-, Y-your majesty, to what do I owe the honor of this, ah, sudden summons?” he said when he finally managed to make his mouth move.

Radovid’s eyes hardened almost imperceptibly at the bard’s term of address. He let out a defeated sigh and hung his head low. “I never once stopped thinking about you my dear, every day we spent apart was pure torture, and now that my reign has stabilized I though it was the perfect time to pay you a visit." He looked up and stared unblinkingly into the bards blue eyes. "Aren’t you happy to see me?”

Jaskier swipped his lips with his tongue, a motion that Radovid tracked hungrily. “Oh, I uh, I’m elated to see you, truly, but I’m just a tad confused. You see, your buddy over there that escorted me here, let’s just say they weren’t very gentle in their approach. In few words and with no offense, it left a lot to be desired. I was expecting to encounter some sort of Nilfgaardian general ready to chop my head off and not… you.”

Radovid huffed and offered a hand to Jaskier, helping him up. Now that Jaskier was somewhat over his initial surprise he was able to take in the king’s appearance. There were some subtle changes, like the short beard that had replaced his previously clean-shaven face, his once lean body seemed to have filled with muscle, but the biggest change, the one that made Jaskier’s breath catch in his throat, was in his eyes.

Before, Radovid’s eyes were like a window to his soul that only Jaskier had a key to, full of intelligence and softness, specifically towards his person, but now… Now his gaze was guarded. The only thing Jaskier could detect besides the current show of the king’s emotions, was darkness. It was something he was only able to decipher after his years of experience performing in countless courts and dealing with all sorts of people in his travels. It caused a chill to run down his spine.

“You don’t have to worry about Nilfgaard any more my love, you won’t have to deal with them ever again.” Radovid said as he patted down the outrageously large fur that hung from his shoulders.

Jaskier blinked rapidly a few times and raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean by that Your Majesty?”

Radovid looked at him as though he’d asked a very stupid question. “Redania’s power has grown vastly in recent months as I’m sure you’ve heard. Nilfgaard wouldn’t dare take a single step towards us. Also please cut all the ‘Your Majesty’s, our relationship has evolved beyond such formalities.”

Jaskier nodded tentatively “I’ve certainly heard about your accomplishments, but I don’t understand what that has to do with me.”

Radovid rolled his eyes in fond exasperation. “You’re coming with us silly.”

Jaskier’s heart was beating rapidly in his chest. He had been bombarded by shock after shock in such quick succession that he hadn’t been able to calm his racing mind in a minute.

“I appreciate the offer, truly, Your Majes- Radovid.” the bard quickly corrected his words after seeing Radovid’s face twist in displeasure. “But I’m afraid I have to decline. You see, I’m currently in the middle of a very important quest that I must see through to the end.”

The king’s eyes narrowed, his fists clenching at his sides. “So you’d choose that witcher over me? Even after everything he’s put you through? I could give you everything you’ve ever dreamed of, comfort and luxury beyond your wildest dreams, but you’d seriously rather continue following that monster like a lost puppy?”

The bard wasn’t happy with the name Radovid used to describe his dearest friend, but he let it go, choosing to focus on the matter at hand. “I’m sorry Radovid. It is what it is.”

A glimpse of hurt flashed in the king’s eyes and his shoulder’s slumped as he turned away from the bard. He took a few deep breaths before he straightened up again. When their eyes met once more, Radovid’s hardened gaze was filled with resolve. Jaskier waited with bated breath for his response.

“If you won’t come with me willingly… I’ll just have to bring you by force.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened and his blood ran cold. Before he was able to do anything, two guards surrounded him and grabbed his shoulders from each side. He thrashed wildly but it was for naught, the bard being much weaker than his captors. “No-, Radovid- please don’t do this, I’m begging you!” He asked desperately.

The king looked down at him with his chin up and an air of confidence surrounding him, for the first time appearing as ruthless and regal as his title implied.

“I’m afraid I can’t listen to you darling. One of the perks of being a king is that I can do and have whatever I wish for, and nobody can stand in my way.” He waved his hand towards the bard nonchalantly as he addressed his followers. “Bring him a pen and paper. Have him write a letter to the witcher and deliver it to the innkeeper. He’ll know what to do.”

The guards dragged Jaskier towards a desk and deposited him in a chair, writing tools bring placed on the surface before him a moment later. His hand was shaking as he picked up the pen. A tear slid down his cheek as he tried one last time to change the king’s mind. “Please Radovid... Let me go.”

The king crossed his arms and his mouth formed a tight line. “That’s ‘Your Majesty’ to you.”

Jaskier let out a sob and stared down at the paper, blinking rapidly in an effort to clear his blurry eyesight. His mind was racing trying to find a way to leave some sort of secret message to alert Geralt of his situation. Radovid seemed to read his thoughts however, because he gripped the bard’s nape tightly and leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Don’t even think about pulling any tricks or your dear witcher and the rest of your group will leave their last breaths at the camp they’re currently stationed on. My soldiers have the place surrounded as we speak.”

With those words the bards last hope was extinguished. The last thing he wanted to do was put his friends in danger. Even with their combined extraordinary strength, he didn’t want to chance either of them getting seriously injured. If obedience was the price to pay for their safety, then so be it.

“At least promise me you’ll leave them alone.”

Radovid gave a chaste kiss to the bard’s neck and ran what would be considered under normal circumstances a comforting hand down his back. “You have my word. I didn't care about them in the first place.” He gave the bard one last squeeze and went to sit back in his throne.

Jaskier took a deep breath and started writing. The single tear that hit the paper, while certain to be identifiable with the witcher’s heightened senses, would probably be assumed to have been a product of Jaskier’s typical sentimentality and nothing more.

Dear Geralt,

You’ll find me dearly saddened to inform you that our long-standing companionship must come to an end. You see, I’ve had time to think while staying in this lovely little settlement away from you lot, and I've come to realize what it is I truly want. That of course being king Radovid of Redania. I’ve talked to you about our ill-fated relationship before as you might recall. Somehow, things for us two don’t seem as bleak as they one were. I can see a light at the end of the tunnel and thus I’ve decided to go to Redania and try to build a future with him. Love conquers all and the like.

For the first time in my life, I’m putting myself before you. I’m choosing my own happiness. I hope you’re able to achieve your goals and manage to locate Ciri safe and sound. When you do, which I've no doubt you'll achieve, give her all my love. Please inform the rest of our group about my decision. I’m sorry for doing this so suddenly but you know how matters of the heart can be. They leave no room for patience.

Ever your affectionate friend,

Julian Alfred Pankratz.

[kiki-strike]

10 characters 10 fandoms 10 (ish) tags!

thanks @transboyzuko and @fanfic-gremlin-ft-trauma for tagging me ^-^

1. Azula ATLA - she’s a tragic villain she’s a narrative foil she’s a style icon she’s a mean lesbian what more could you want (a redemption arc lol)

2. Geralt The Witcher - AUTISTIC KING i too mostly just talk to animals and myself. i picked up his “hmm” and it got me in trouble for a while until my mom watched it and realized i was just unconsciously copying him.

3. Jinora LOK - i haven’t seen all of LOK so im hoping she doesn’t turn evil or smth but. hooray for little girls who see Creatures by themselves in the woods and are probably hyperlexic and are smarter and know more than all the adults around them !!!!!

4. Sam Winchester Supernatural - he got out of his toxic family situation and then he Went Back. watched his brother die 111 times in one episode. got addicted to demon blood to save the world. literally born to be possessed by the devil. chronic third wheel

5. Charlie IASIP - nuff said

6. Eddie Brock Venom - hated big pharma so hard it made him a divorcee. really hot ex who i’m in love with and so is he. cool murderous parasite best friend. lobster tank enjoyer.

7. Beth Good Girls - i regularly dream about her despite not having seen the show in years. that’s my wife. badass perfect housewife who robs grocery stores and launders money in her spare time.

8. Bean Disenchantment - hooray for teenage alcoholics. has a personal demon meant to make her life hell and the demon ends up making it better because she’s just that miserable. “this is the bathtub, where Bean makes her bathtub gin. and this is the shower, where Bean makes her shower gin.” killed two fiancées in the first 20 minutes of the show. canon wlw.

9. Scarlet Witch Marvel - THEY HATE TO SEE A GIRLBOSS WINNINGGGGGGG

10. Bender Futurama - his name is a pun. his face looks like 😬. occasionally behaves like a toddler/dog. unyielding devotion to homoerotic friendship. lives in a closet. was god once. alloaro.

i’ll tag: @ozais-lobotomist @waterfire1848 @tommyssupercoolblog @juniperhillpatient @kyoshigirl @autistic-katara @sukidude @averageinsomniac

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Part 24

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 23 🟣 Part 25

A reverse harem vampire AU ft. Mikey, Marshall, August and Sherlock

Series summary: Somehow, you've managed to live with your boyfriend and his roommates for months before finding out they're vampires, but the real shock first comes when they find out you have a special quality. A quality the guys would love to make use of...

Warnings: Fluff, ongoing vampire shenanigans, mentions of drug abuse, addiction, tragic backstory, August's completely unwarranted hatred of jellybeans.

Word count: 2.7k

A/N: Family trip!!!

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @ellethespaceunicorn @summersong69 @mis-lil-red

@sillyrabbit81 @livisss @itsrubberbisquit @ktficworld @proud-aroace-beastie

@plaidcat4815 @wa-ni @lovemusicpart2 @lizzystuffsthings @manysecrets2020

@sarcasmoverlordxo

“Tell me something,” you whispered to Mike, who was sitting in the way too comfortable chair next to you, reclining the seat — probably without feeling any guilt towards Marshall and Sherlock, who were sitting behind him. They had plenty of leg room left. “How are we flying first class right now?”

“August refuses to fly coach,” Marshall answered that question for Mike. The answer didn't surprise you. Like, at all.

“It’s not like we can't afford it,” August snapped from the seat in front of you. The one next to him was empty.

“Charles would be proud of you,” Mike taunted. You didn't see the smack that followed, but you heard Mike's pained grunt all too clearly.

“Please don't break him,” you laughed. Mike snuggled into your side, glaring at the seat in front of him and kicking it for good measure. “And you can stop this tantrum right now, or sit next to August.” It was a good thing he was so damn cute.

“He's not wrong, though,” Sherlock pointed out, a hint of amusement to his voice. “Charles is the only other member of our family with the same insistence on certain levels of luxury.”

“Do I count as a member of your family?” you chuckled. All of your guys looked at you as if you'd gone crazy. And it was a silly question; of course you were a member of the family. “Because I think I might just be learning to appreciate those standards.”

“And exactly how expensive are dates going to get now?” Mike asked with a smile. “Because… Just because they are all fucking loaded, doesn't mean I have unlimited access to those funds…”

“Mostly because an ungodly amount would be spent on Jelly Beans, and an even more ridiculous amount would be spent on videogames,” August sneered. Mike just shrugged — he could hardly deny it; the fact that your arrangement meant Mike didn't need his mountains of Jelly Beans anymore, hadn't exactly meant he wasn't still eating plenty of them, much to August's chagrin.

“August, just because you live a boring, joyless, Jelly Beanless life, doesn't mean I have to,” Mike sighed.

“How long has this been going on?” You asked Marshall and Sherlock.

“I'd say since the invention of the Jelly Bean,” Sherlock said, “but Mike wasn't around back then. I believe that happened somewhere in the late eighteen hundreds…”

“As long as Mike has been around, then?” you asked, not wanting to ask them too many invasive questions such as ‘how in the hell do you know when the Jelly Bean was invented?’

“At least for as long as they've known each other,” Marshall answered, explaining that that hadn't happened until about thirty years ago. Still, that was a long time to have a whole feud over candy, you pointed out.

“It's a long time to be addicted to candy,” August growled.

“Eh, I guess an “addiction" to Jelly Beans beats all of those other addictions I had,” Mike shrugged. “Oh…” His cheeks flushed when he saw the troubled look on your face. “I guess I never told you…”

“Much of anything, Mike,” you said softly.

“It's not the best story.” He tried to shrug it off, but you could tell something was bothering him. “It's, eh… It's not exactly a version of me I want you to know about, either.” He looked at you, the sadness in his eyes becoming more and more pronounced as time went by, and it took some serious effort to convince him you loved him for the man he was now, not who he was forty years ago.

“Alright, fine,” he sighed. “What do you know? So I know where to start…”

“That Marshall ran into you in the eighties and that you were hanging out with a bunch of goths and goth-adjacent figures,” you summed up quickly, eager to get to the rest of the story.

“Alright, well… What’s important is that you know we're talking about Berlin in the eighties. My dad got a job there, so we moved from here to Berlin when I was six or something. That went well for a few years, and then my dad died when I was fourteen. I didn't think much of it at the time, but over the years… Something about it doesn't check out, and I honestly wouldn't be surprised if my mom killed him because he had an affair with his secretary, but whatever. Water under the bridge, I guess.”

“Mike! The fuck?” He said it so casually…

“Sweetcheeks, it doesn't matter, okay? Dad was gone, mom worked all the time to keep a roof over our heads, and I became completely unbearable—”

“And that never went away,” August said. You could tell he was smiling.

“Hey, thanks!” Mike replied, rolling his eyes. “Anyway. I'm a completely unmanageable teen at this point, and Berlin in the eighties was not the place for that. Like, it goes wrong shockingly quickly. I think I was sixteen when it really started going south.  Like I said; Berlin in the eighties was something else.”

“There were two things the government couldn't exactly get a handle on,” Marshall interjected. “One was vampirism, the other heroin. The two went hand in hand, more or less.” He looked down at his hands, clearly not at ease.

You had just decided not to press the matter when Sherlock offered an explanation. “Junkies were… not simply easy targets, although it would be hard to deny that they were.” It actually took you a while to notice that Sherlock and Mike had switched place, and that while you were looking straight at Sherlock, who was now sitting next to you. “Back in the day, addicts and vampires were connected by the mutual illegitimacy of their existences — although the vampires naturally had several advantages over humans from marginalized communities—”

“Anyway,” Mike cleared his throat and appeared next to you again. “The thing about a junkie is that they'll do pretty much anything for a fix. Including volunteering to feed vampires in exchange for some cash. Now, those were not the people you've heard us talking about up until now…”

Apparently, the goths you'd heard about had been the ones who took Mike in, the ones who tried to get him clean. “And they succeeded,” Mike said with an apologetic grin on his face. “Several times, even. My mom had stopped caring at that point, and then when I was nineteen — a few weeks before Julia, my ex, ran into Marshall — mom died, too…”

“He found out what I was not much later,” Marshall said.

“How?”

“I walked in on them, after Julia and I broke up, except I didn't walk in on what I at first expected to be walking in on, if you catch my drift.”

“Went about as well as you'd expect from the guy who's pretty much okay with everything,” Marshall laughed. “We did really well for a few years.”

“We'll spare you the lengthy, boring part with all the domestic bliss,” Mike swooped in before Marshall could elaborate. “When I was… twenty-two? Fairly sure I was twenty-two, yeah… Anyway, I met a girl—”

“Of course you did,” you blurted out before you could help it, immediately looking up at Mike with what must have been the guiltiest look of your entire life so far on your face.

“I don't blame you for that. Anyway… She was in trouble — the kind of trouble I'd been out of for years, at that point, and I thought I could be to her what Julia and Iris had been for me, but—”

“You relapsed?” you tried. Right on the money.

“Yep… Even years later, Hedwig — that was her name — pulled me right back under. Wasn't her fault, of course. It's not like she put a gun to my head and forced me to stick a needle in my arm or anything. Can't even say it wouldn't have happened if I hadn't met her. Anyway, the point is; it happened… Not a great time. I—” He nervously fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. “I’m happy to tell you the rest, but… later?”

You took his skittish look at the other passengers to mean he’d prefer a more private setting. Deal.

A left turn and the change from smooth asphalt to crunching gravel beneath the tires of the car startled you enough to let out a loud, disapproving hum and lift your head. You hadn’t been asleep, per se, but definitely dozing off a little, your head resting comfortably on Marshall’s shoulder. Mike’s hand was on your thigh, eerily — vampirically — still ever since you’d asked him for the third time if he could stop moving it because it tickled. He enjoyed tickling you, you were not a fan.

“We’re here, princess,” August said from the front seat, and you leaned over to look out the window, seeing nothing but forest, forest and more forest.

“We’re where?” you asked, surprised at the absence of the house you’d expected to see.

“The estate,” Marshall noted calmly. And exactly how big was this estate? “Big enough.”

“Charles likes his privacy,” Mike noted. His fingers were tapping a gentle rhythm on your knee now, and his legs restlessly bounced up and down with excitement. “You’ll love this place!”

The car finally pulled into something that actually looked like a driveway — that is to say, it was the same gravel, the same road, but you could finally see that there was a house attached to it. Mansion. Villa. Actually it was closer to something resembling a small castle, but this wasn’t Europe, so…

“Charles also likes extravagance,” August snarled his answer to your unasked question.

“I can see that,” you muttered breathlessly as you followed Mike out of the car when it came to a halt in front of the stairs that led to a pretty grand front door. “Where is Sherlock?”

“Right here, darling,” he called from the top of the steps, where August was also already standing — holding both of your suitcases and your backpack.

“Wait, how did the three of you travel so… light?” And how had it not occurred to you to ask that question before now?

“We have everything we need here,” August explained. “Mike, get her up here!”

One of the heavy wooden doors opened the second Mike put you down, and a small woman stumbled through it. She was a little older than you, with long, black hair down to her waist, and she looked absolutely exhausted.

“Priya!” Sherlock said, grasping her elbow to steady her. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Holmes,” she replied before turning to you and reaching out her hand. “Hi, I’m Priya. I’m—”

“Dinner.” Oh, for the love of god, why did you have to snap at her? You didn’t even know the woman, but the thought of her feeding your vampires was entirely too much. “Sorry! I—”

“I get it,” she chuckled. “My sister, Nalini, has your… talent. She’s protective of her family as well. And you’re not wrong, just a bit impolite.” You deserved that.

“I don’t know what came over me,” you said. “I’m so sorry.” Not to mention how rude you would have been if you had been wrong… What if this woman hadn’t even had any idea she was visiting vampires?

“Are you sure you’re okay, Priya?” Mike asked, his brow furrowed, and his voice concerned.

“I’m alright, guys,” she laughed — but it took a lot of effort to do so. “I’ve been sick before, I always survived.” With the back of her hand, she wiped the sheen of sweat from her brow, and you noticed an intricate reddish design on her palms. She caught you as you tried to get a better look. “From my eldest sister’s wedding,” she said. “I can show you pictures later this week, but I really have to go. The sooner I get home, the sooner I can start sleeping off this cold, or whatever it is.”

“Please let us know when you get home,” Sherlock said as he walked her to the cab you’d just stepped out of.

“That was unnecessarily rude, princess,” August snapped when the car drove off.

“I said I was sorry,” you muttered quietly, not daring to look August in the eye. “I… You’ve all known her for a while, haven’t you?”

“She’s been coming here for years. About a year before Sherlock and Mike moved away,” Marshall explained. “Now, what’s really bothering you about this?”

“I thought you’d never been in this kind of… arrangement before,” you muttered, also avoiding Walter’s eyes.

“And we haven’t. You heard her; she’s not like you.” Marshall ushered you into the hallway, where the others were already waiting. The sound of the door falling shut behind you made you jump. “Charles was willing to pay a small fortune to drive her out here. Once a month, just as usual. And all the rules of the Bank still applied, just as usual. So, if you’re worried for so much as a second that you’re not special to us, you can stop that now.”

“Did she say she would be back later this week?” you asked softly. Part of you hated the thought of anyone but you feeding your vampires — even the ones you hadn’t met yet…

“She’s a friend of the family, not just… dinner.” The unfamiliar voice behind you startled you more than the closing door had, and you spun around as quickly as you could — but not quicker than the owner of the voice, who had apparently already walked around you, and was now standing behind you. “Would you stand still and let me do the moving, please?”

Two hands descended on your shoulders and gently turned you around, so that you were now face to face with the ‘new’ vampire. He was handsome, his face all angles and edges, with kind eyes and a charming smile. Judging from the sour look on August’s face, this had to be Charles.

“Charles Brandon, pleasure to meet you,” he said softly as he took your hand in his and shook it briefly. Perhaps too briefly? The charm of his smile almost made you overlook the sadness behind those kind blue eyes. Almost.

Next to you, Mike was swaying back and forth on his feet, waiting for introductions to come to an end so he could— Before Charles had even fully let go of your hand, Mike lunged forward to hug the man. “Alright, kid,” Charles laughed, “you’re home. It’s okay.”

“Where’s…” Mike asked as he let go so the others could subject Charles to similar treatment of warm ‘glad to be back’-hugs. Of course, the one between August and Charles was short and tense, but other than that, it was a perfect display of warm familiarity.

“Right behind you,” another unfamiliar voice spoke. This time, you didn’t bother to turn around — a wise call, as a split second later, another man appeared before you.

“Melot,” he said as he reached for your hand, raising it to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. For some reason, it made your heart skip a beat. Melot looked much younger than Charles, or any of the others — younger than Mike, even — and you were fairly sure it didn’t have much to do with the dark, shoulder-length curls that framed his face. “I’m glad you’re finally here.”

“He’d ask you how your trip was, but… he already knows,” Charles noted, adding to your confusion. “I see she hasn’t been told much about him? Does the same apply to me?”

“She knows enough,” August growled, followed by a grunt as Marshall kicked him in the shins.

“August, that’s enough, go to your room!” Sherlock snapped. It was absolutely hilarious to hear those words from him, but what really had you in stitches was the fact that he actually walked away — presumably to the aforementioned room.

You only stopped laughing when Mike gently nudged your side with his elbow, at which point you looked at the others in the hallway, who were all looking at Sherlock in bewilderment. After a strange, tense silence that lasted far too long, August joined you again.

“Would someone fucking explain to me why he got to do that, here?” he sneered.

Melot chuckled softly. “It would seem that our hierarchy changed with the coming of our queen.”

[thedemonofcat]

The peculiarity of a bloodline curse lies in the fact that the event responsible for the curse's origin often fades into the distant past, shrouded in the mists of time, with hardly anyone recalling its true origin. From a very young age, Jaskier was well aware of the curse that plagued his family, a truth imparted to him long ago. The curse had been transmitted to him from his mother, who tragically passed away when he was merely seven years old.

Jaskier's understanding of his family's history was limited to the knowledge that in the distant past, one of his ancestors, driven by a deep obsession with their own legacy, possessed immense power but committed a terrible act that led to a curse befalling their bloodline. As a result, all their descendants inherited this formidable magic, but with a harrowing price - every time they tapped into this chaotic power, a gradual erosion of their sanity ensued, eventually driving them to madness.

Jaskier faced a heart-wrenching ordeal as he witnessed his mother's struggle with the curse. She had always been a kind and loving presence in his life, delighting him with small magic tricks like making the piano play on its own, just to see him smile. However, the curse's toll began to show, and his mother started to transform. Her moods fluctuated wildly, swinging from euphoric happiness to uncontrolled rage at the slightest provocation. Paranoia crept in, leading her to believe that even the cooks intended to poison her. Tragically, one fateful day, Jaskier's mother succumbed to her suffering, ending her life by hanging herself.

In the aftermath, Jaskier's father remarried and had more children with his new stepmother. Jaskier couldn't help but feel that his striking resemblance to his late mother made it challenging for his father to face him, fearing that he might share the same fate in the future. The burden of being treated delicately by everyone took its toll on Jaskier, and he reached a breaking point. Driven by a desire to break free from the stifling atmosphere, he made the difficult decision to run away from home

Attending school at Oxenfurt brought immense joy to Jaskier's life, as he relished the opportunity to learn and acquire knowledge in every possible field. Being a traveling bard suited him well, considering the curse that burdened him; he knew it was unwise to have children. Nevertheless, Jaskier yearned to make his mark on the world, and he believed his songs could be his legacy. This aspiration proved fruitful as he embarked on a journey with Geralt, the White Wolf, and his reputation as Geralt's bard soared.

However, amid the adventures, there were moments when Jaskier contemplated sharing the truth of his curse with Geralt, revealing the inevitable descent into madness that awaited him in the future.

As fate would have it, Jaskier never found the right moment to confide in Geralt about his curse, and after the harrowing events on the dread mountain, they parted ways, leaving Jaskier to travel alone once again. Despite knowing the perilous consequences, Geralt's hurtful words pushed him to the edge, and Jaskier, no longer caring about the consequences, started using his magic, slowly feeling his sanity erode. It was both liberating and terrifying, an addiction he couldn't resist.

News of Jaskier's magical feats spread, and unexpectedly, Yennefer sought him out. They had a heartfelt conversation, and for the first time outside of his family, Jaskier shared the truth about his curse with someone. In the midst of this, Yennefer asked for his help in the upcoming battle of Sodden. Hesitant yet willing, Jaskier agreed, and through some miracle, they became friends as they fought together. Their combined efforts led to victory, with Jaskier's assistance bolstering Yennefer's fire magic that engulfed much of Nifflgaard’s army.

As Jaskier continued to use his magic, his descent into madness became more pronounced. Yennefer grew concerned about the influence of the brotherhood on him and contemplated taking him away, even if it meant facing the dangers of being hunted by time, just to save her friend before he was lost completely.

Meanwhile, during a chance visit to Lettenhove with Ciri, Geralt learned about Jaskier's family curse. This revelation spurred him into action, and along with Ciri, they set out on a mission to find Jaskier. Geralt's sole purpose was to prevent his Jaskier from succumbing to the foolish pursuit of power at the cost of his sanity. And perhaps, deep down, Geralt also longed to embrace his dear friend once they were reunited.

[stromuprisahat]

Expectations were low, but Oh My God!

I intended to write down the dialogues that don't make much sense, but then I figured it's no use to copy/paste all the subtitles. There's rarely anything that isn't plain stupid. The Witcher: Blood Origins is amalgam of badly used tropes I've seen thousand times before. 

The Elves

Forget the beautiful, graceful humanoids with equally stunning culture. The elves here are dirty, rude and equally pathetic as humans. The only difference is pointy ears. Their architecture is massive and angular, their blades, proverbial elven blades, often look like a total amateur with zero skill forged them out of scraps.

Elves are also morally corrupt. Colonization is a huge issue we won’t learn much about, except they’re just as bad as humans will become in future. Given the context the point seems to be they had it coming... in case you were starting to feel for their race in present time.

REPRESENTATION!!!

Recently I’ve read a post about how little representation is in “source” material. Shocking, isn’t it? Slavic fantasy, heavily inspired by mediaeval Poland doesn’t include POCs (read: Blacks and East-Asians, because I’ve never seen anyone complaining about lack of Native Americans... in pseudoEurope...). The show creators obviously decided to fix that by ticking off the proper boxes.

You’ve got Black elves, East-Asian, gay gay, chubby deaf-mute... well, at least this time the different colours came from distinct nations. If only the stereotypes were avoided.

Tropes and patterns

Soft, slightly feminine gay, gullible disabled, wise older East-Asian mentor,  washed out hippie healer, abused genius, forbidden love between protector and his charge, soldier who was done killing untill the enemy wiped out his home, redemption = sacrifice = suicide, two characters arguing about who’s gonna do the sacrificing only for the one, who “lost” to go behind the other one’s back and do it...

... sprinkle some well-known terms and names: chaotic power, Xin'trea, Eredin, Avallac’h... aaand done! Brand new tale from a widely-loved universe is done!

Perhaps try writing less of what could people find cool, and focus on a good story.

Rah, rah-ah-ah-ah!

Four episodes don’t offer much space to develop many characters. Seven good guys, at least four antagonists... personalities, interactions, needless romance... it’s interesting how much can actors express in only so many interactions.

Zacaré and Brother Death are believable. 

Meldof and Gwen's story's tragic, but rather sweet in a way. (Tho they could’ve refrained from that rape aspect.)

Éile and Fjall, flat and boring. One of the unsurprising, disappointing turns of events. Zero chemistry. Made to fuck with the sole purpose of making a baby to artificially connect them to Ciri, one of the MCs in the “original” series.

The WITCHER: Blood Origin

You're telling me that the first version of a witcher was a badass elf? This is really gonna piss Geralt off.

One would hope for something different, after all this fuss, but no. First “witcher" is just another butch guy, only with pointy ears.

How do we know the turning potion's ew? It's black!

How do we know he's really WITCHER 1.0? Yellow eyes!

How do we know he’s not quite himself? Black eyes and veins on his face!

I'm sure this improvised ritual had the same effects as carefully honed procedure sorcerers spent decades perfecting...

Fuck the Coup, free The People!

The story starts with a coup, killing off three monarchs with their bodyguards. Corrupt, elitist leadership’s gone, the new rulers- army, magicians and overlooked princess- plan to invade new worlds to gain resources their world’s lacking. Sounds like a decent idea? Our heroes would disagree. The empress needs to be destroyed, because people suffer.

You changed nothing. You're just another boot looking for more necks.

... reproaches the great Éile new empress. When was she supposed to do that? In a week? Change takes time and resources, Merwyn had none. Am I supposed to cheer, because now it's faceless "people" in charge? Do they have knowledge to rule? The skill? Anything? Or are they expected to wing it? Rule isn't about putting new people to the wheel and hope it will all work out. Talk about freedom won't feed you, run trade, economy, agriculture etc..

The worst thing's we know the Empire is crumbling. We know there's no food to redistribute, even the leadership has barely anything and you can't let the head starve if you want to fix anything. Merwyn's unforgivable sin was being born into the ruling class.

- You've no idea what elfkind even is. You're just another spoiled princess.

~ I am Empress!

- You are a child ~given~ the reins of a warhorse. You don't speak for elfkind.

... the writers try to gaslight us. We’re introduced clever, idealistic, inquisitive princess, who wants to help her people. When she’s confronted with reality, she tries to learn more. She goes from her family’s pawn to schemer, who makes allies and plans, frees herself from role of figurehead and reminds others the most important task is to feed their people. That’s a character I’d love to watch. Not a dumb singer, who rallies a mob, destroys government, helps to cause cataclysm and fucks off to countryside.

The Story of the Seven

What did those fame-deserving Seven achieve? Did they solve famine? Did they end war? Did they offer better way to rule? No, no and no.

But they (unintentionally) caused the Conjunction, brought the monsters and humans into weak, starving, disorganized society. The rightfully forgotten Seven effectively crippled their own race and destroyed any chance for defense they might have had.

I don’t know who is Jaskier’s song about, but it’s not about these Seven.

[red-black-aesthetic-bout]

Round 1: Match 9

Elric of Melniboné (The Elric Saga/Michael Moorcock’s Eternal Champion Multiverse) vs. Naomi Armitage (Armitage the Third)

Elric of Melniboné

- Elric is the OG white-haired black dragon armored antihero. He's albino. He's got asthma. He's on a cocktail of weird magic potions and poisons at any given time just to keep from toppling over like a consumptive Victorian child. He does coke in the bathroom. He's got a tragic past he will tell everyone about within 30 seconds of meeting them. He's heir to the throne of a country that considers "Torturing people" a musical instrument. He loses said throne like 5 different times. He has a Demon Sugar Daddy. He gets bullied by his own sword. He fucks like a champ but WILL wake you up screaming with night terrors immediately after. Without Elric there is no Geralt the Witcher, no House Targaryen in A Song of Ice and Fire, No Alucard in Castlevania, no Cecil in FFIV, He's the granddaddy of all terrible and sad white haired anime boys.

Naomi Armitage

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mod notes: imagine my face when I googled elric and found this image