#witcher 3 fanfiction

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

@emys-123 prompted me with "Emhyr and Geralt from the pov of Corvo Bianco workers". With pleasure, here you go, take it as my Christmas gift if you're celebrating, or simply as a treat over the holidays (of which I hope you have any these days). 3085 words, T, under the cut or on AO3.

In his family, Delron was the youngest link in the chain of several generations of servants – in other words, he began his career as a kind of gofer. It was tradition, and tradition was sacred in Toussaint, after all. 

However, it was somewhat unusual that he ended up in a witcher’s service. Exciting, to be sure, but Ambre, his second degree cousin, had given him the earful, inculcating him not to stare. "He's a good master, this witcher," she had said. "There are truly worse."

That was an astonishing opinion even in the oh-so-tolerant Toussaint, but Delron soon found it was true. 

Geralt of Riva – "Just Geralt," as he always insisted, but that was too reprehensible even for the simplest of servants – may have been a witcher, but not one like in the stories, and certainly not one like in the rumors. 

Sure, those eyes took... getting used to. The scar on his face, well, you got the hang to that quite easily. Even Delron had seen worse (peasants who had made an inglorious acquaintance with the wrong end of the scythe due to carelessness). At the end of the day, the man didn’t have a second head, nor did smoke come out of his ears, nor did he speak with a voice like from the depths of hell. Delron was already a serene fourteen year old; he scolded himself for ever believing such things. 

The witcher didn't talk much, but he worked hard, and that actually meant something to the people here. Corvo Bianco was resplendent: fresh paint, additions, an herb garden... even a horse stable. This was Delron's first task when he entered the witcher’s service, and although it was a modest stable, inhabited by a single horse only a few months a year, it was an almost pleasant job. Everything was great, only the wine was still lacking in Corvo Bianco. But considering that, until the witcher’s arrival, corpses had been kept in the cellar of the estate, everything was a vast improvement – one could overlook a vineyard without a harvest. 

And then... things actually became storybook. 

Delron may have been in the witcher’s service for a year, when one sunny day he was mucking out the stable, pausing every now and then to stroke the master's horse. It was a very good-natured horse that seemed to enjoy caresses very much, and this prolonged the time for Delron until he was to assist his cousin with the much more boring weeding. 

Delron was working leisurely when suddenly he noticed some kind of light out of the corner of his eye. It made him look up. The stable was in the lower yard; stairs led up to the main house. Delron almost dropped the shovel when, at the bottom of those stairs, just a few steps away from him, he perceived a huge blue light in the form of some kind of gate. Magic, clearly. 

For a moment he wondered if he should throw the shovel away and flee, or if it would be a suitable weapon to defend the manor. The witcher was truly a good master, Ambre had been right. Delron did find it questionable that a stable boy of all people would be suitable to defend his master from magic, but his grip on the tool strengthened. In Toussaint, people believed in miracles, and also that the simplest peasant could become a hero. 

Two people stepped out of the magic gate. First, a woman with flaming hair (a witch, for sure), and then... Delron hit the shovel handle against his teeth in surprise (he suffered a swollen lip for three days afterwards, and his cousin teased him that he had kissed a cow). Behind the woman, a tall man stepped out of the mysterious light, a man whose portrait even Delron had seen before, for it had hung for some time next to that of the gracious sovereign Anna-Henrietta in the offices. 

There was no doubt about it: it was Emperor Emhyr var Emreis himself, who was now standing in Corvo Bianco's courtyard, looking skeptically up the stairs. The light flickered and died, and the emperor straightened his shoulders and climbed the steps with determination. 

Was this a dream? Hardly. Delron wasn't suffering from a fever, either. He wondered if his master had any trouble with the law. But, what was more likely – after all, he was a witcher – perhaps there was some great, secret task for him. A fierce monster maybe, something that threatened the capital? Oh, the possibilities were endless – and Delron couldn't figure out the secret, because the emperor and his escort disappeared into the house, and then Ambre came and pulled his ears and scolded him for not helping with the weeding. 

"But the emperor came," Delron stammered, which earned him another slap in the face – this story was really too fantastic. 

Except it wasn't a story. 

During the following summer, Geralt spent time at his estate again, which was managed by Master Faulty for the rest of the year. It was already clear that there would be no wine this year either, but the witcher’s cellars were nevertheless well filled. That summer, he received several visitors, which Delron found quite understandable, for word of how the witcher had saved Beauclair must have spread far and wide. Surely, Delron thought, all these people came to seek his master's advice. One could not be quite sure – the elderly gentleman with the receding hairline, for instance, who smelled of an entire herb garden, was perhaps a merchant, and the giant with the furrowed face was probably a witcher as well.

And then it happened again: one evening, the air flickered, it smelled like just before a thunderstorm, and a gate of pure light appeared. Delron, actually already on his way home, quickly squeezed into one of the house entrances below the main house and watched as once again the pretty redhead and the emperor appeared just below the stairs.

"Why do I have to walk up the stairs in this heat? It must be possible to do this more precisely," the emperor's voice rang out. 

"You may have forgotten that I put a protective spell on the house," was the rather flippant reply. Afterwards, the woman added that she would reappear tomorrow shortly before noon, then stepped back into the light, and it disappeared with her.

The emperor stared at the place where the witch had just been, muttered something, and then went up the stairs. He had hardly taken two steps when something amazing happened. The door of the house opened, and with a broad smile on his face (that, according to Delron's cousin, could be called very attractive, despite the scar) the witcher opened his arms wide and asked, "What kept you?"

Delron held his breath. Rumor had it that the duchess had one of her maids thrown into the dungeon for three days after making a remark about the mistress's dress. Of course, one could never be sure what was truth and what was fiction when it came to such gossip, especially from women, and yet, in Toussaint, people were convinced that moderate severity was the right of rulers and the proper way to maintain tradition and decency. How would the Emperor of Nilfgaard react to the fact that a witcher addressed him in such a familiar manner? Delron feared for his master (and a little for his simple life, too, for Ambre claimed that the servants of the former owner would have had to lift the coals from the fire one by one if they were lazy like him, or something like that). 

"State business," the emperor replied tersely, "and a court sorceress who wanted to go over every detail of it until the last second."

The witcher started to reply, and it almost seemed as if he intended to extend a hand – was he going to help the emperor up the stairs? – when his yellow eyes suddenly fixed on Delron. Delron's heart was in his mouth. Did the master really see him? In any case, the witcher lowered his arms, took a step back, held the door open for the ruler and spoke a few words so softly that Delron could no longer understand anything. The two disappeared into the house. No matter how hard Delron tried to sneak around the courtyard the next day, he never saw the witch (a sorceress, he corrected himself) or the emperor again.

If the witcher had indeed noticed him, he did not let on. For the rest of the summer, everything was the same as the year before: the master answered calls for help from winegrowers whose vineyards seemed to be infested with strange monsters, had the house renovated, and gained a reputation as a man who might be a bit odd, but... kind-hearted. This was a quality one would hardly ever expect from a witcher, but it was true: he treated everyone on the estate with kind respect, and so they treated him. Moreover, he was modest, because the fact that he had won the tournament, and was actually a knight (although knighted in northern lands, which did not have the same value in Toussaint), spread late in Corvo Bianco. 

The witcher's modesty, however, had quite different dimensions, as became evident the following summer. 

That year it was Delron's job to instruct a pimply-faced milksop named Fabien, who was indeed long as a bean to match his name, in menial tasks. He himself was now less out and about in the estate's courtyard, and even though he had told no one what he had observed in previous years, he was curious to see if something similar would happen again. 

But this summer, the witcher stayed away from the winery. The work did not diminish, and so it was not noticed for a while, but when the rape had passed its flowering and the master had not yet appeared, the rumors rumbled on Corvo Bianco. One of the craziest of these was that the witcher was getting married. 

Delron's cousin found the idea absurd. She chattered about how there had never been any ladies on the estate, except for the visit of a white-haired young woman whom the man had supposedly introduced as his daughter ("Sorcerers are sterile, that's why they steal children," Delron had said, getting slapped in the face for supposedly being too young for such talk and because the master really didn't steal children, which was true). Delron did not mention the sorceress, but in principle that might be true: it was strange that there was no woman in the house. But Geralt was a witcher, and what did one know if they ever married? It wasn't that the women on the farm didn't stare at him, but he treated them all the same and didn't care if they ogled at him. 

So, whom should the witcher marry? The answer came just before midsummer, and it was a shock. 

Every now and then things had to be procured that were not available in the surrounding villages or from passing merchants, so someone was sent to Beauclair. This was a big task, even if the person was only given a note and a purse, with the strict requirement to go only to this or that store. This year the choice fell on Delron, who could read and write reasonably well, but above all could calculate quite well and was reliable enough not to get ripped off, as his cousin put it. 

The city was a madhouse for someone who rarely visited it: far too big, too noisy, and too garish, and it was no wonder Delron got lost despite Master Faulty's detailed description. He knew that the store he had to go to was not in one of the large squares, and yet he was intrigued when he ended up there and saw the hustle and bustle. Then, however, his eyes fell on the bulletin board at the edge of the street, and he squinted his eyes, shook his head, and for a moment thought he was dreaming. The heat of summer was much more unbearable in the city, and perhaps he had sunstroke?

Almost as if delirious, he plodded to the bulletin board, ignoring the numerous notes there and staring only at a single piece of parchment that seemed to outshine all the others. There was a drawing there, or actually two. One clearly showed the witcher, his light hair and the scar were artfully carved out. However, he was wearing stately robes in this picture (in Corvo Bianco, he usually wore a simple shirt and linen pants like a peasant, sometimes even no shirt, which seemed to make the ladies very uncomfortable). Even more astonishing was that right next to it... the emperor was pictured. A little soft-focused, but clearly Nilfgaard’s ruler. Both of them were smiling in these portraits, which seemed strange somehow, even if Delron couldn't have said exactly why.

Even stranger, however, were the words. 

After Delron had laboriously deciphered them, he immediately read the whole thing again, could not believe a word, and finally, after looking around furtively three times, tore off the note and took it with him. 

Back at the winery, the news made the rounds. Delron, who did not let go of the parchment, had to read the text so many times that in the end he knew it by heart. 

"This is nonsense," said his cousin, and the other servants standing around her laughed, claiming Delron was pranking them. 

Ambre did not laugh, she turned and hissed at the others that Delron might not only lose his position, but end up losing his head should this find its way to Nilfgaard. 

"That's the emperor's seal," Delron claimed, pointing to some sort of stamp at the bottom of the parchment that looked really official and important.

"Why would our master marry the emperor?" his cousin exclaimed, annoyed. 

To this, Delron had no answer. All attempts to get something out of Master Faulty failed. He remained stubbornly silent, which made many wonder, for Master Faulty was a great advocate of the witcher, and yet did nothing to dispel the rumors.

Summer gradually passed into a gentle autumn, without the witcher having visited the winery. Yet everything went on as usual, and provided he liked to check on things at some point, he would find everything in perfect order. 

One morning, shortly after the first cockcrow, the new lad, the beanstalk, ran like mad all over the estate to gather all the remaining farmhands in front of the main house. There were only a handful left, as always at the end of harvest time: Delron, his cousin, and a few other women and men; enough to take care of the house and yard, and no superfluous servants to stretch the duchess's generosity. 

Master Faulty greeted them all with a serious face. "We have received some surprising news," he began, "which requires each of you to take on some extra effort."

And then he dropped the bomb. 

"As you may have heard, our master is getting married," he said, and the surprised murmurs of the bystanders revealed that no one had really believed it. 

"The emperor, really?" someone shouted, and Master Faulty looked sternly over his spectacle lenses, clicking his tongue. 

"Surely I don't have to remind you of Toussaint's traditions," he replied, "which embrace tolerance and hospitality."

"Hospitality?" Delron blurted out. "This wedding is taking place in Nilfgaard, after all."

Everyone stared at him, including Master Faulty, although he knew that rumors had spread among the servants. And he also knew that few of the inhabitants had much sympathy for Nilfgaard's appropriation of the duchy – they considered it a personal affront to the duchess, although she had not suffered any disadvantage so far, on the contrary. 

"Unfortunately, that is currently not an option," he replied stiffly. 

Much later they learned of a fire in the palace shortly before the wedding, and that the witcher had heroically saved the emperor. It was probably not the whole truth, but it was enough. 

"We will receive the wedding couple here," Master Faulty added, and from then on, things really got wild. 

Every hand in Corvo Bianco was kept busy, everything spruced up, last-minute supplies were procured, the yard and garden decorated as if for the summer solstice. Guests were only a handful, and they all appeared through a magical gateway, and everyone who saw it almost fainted (except Delron, who was now observing this almost detachedly). 

It was an amazingly quiet little wedding, considering who was getting married. Most of the women sighed, a few men grumbled, but Delron watched the couple leave the house sometime just before sunset (honestly, it looked like they were trying to sneak away). He watched as they walked, their hands clasped tightly, toward the garden. An unusual couple, to be sure. 

Ambre stepped up beside him, headbutted him, saying, "Don't stare."

But she, too, looked behind them almost dreamily and finally whispered, "Pepper and salt."

Delron looked at her in surprise, but he understood. Black and white, purely on the outside, and certainly just as opposite. But with luck, they complemented each other, were irreplaceable. Who cared that it was a most unusual union? Delron hadn't even begun to grasp the basic tenets of love, but he saw the looks the two gave each other before they disappeared from his sight, and perhaps he sighed a little. 

"You'll figure it out some day," Ambre said softly. "Let's go home."

They set off, walking up a little beside the path the newlyweds had also taken, but with enough distance between them not to run into them by chance. The evening was crisp, the air crystal clear, and the chirping of the crickets could be heard so loudly that one could believe it resounded all the way down to the house, which was now a good distance below them. 

It was not the only sound that was well heard that evening. 

A flock of birds suddenly burst from the undergrowth and flew away scolding. The echo of soft laughter was heard, and then something...

Ambre blushed, which was easy to see even in the approaching darkness, and she muttered, "Oh dear."

Then she drove Delron relentlessly forward, faster up the hill, away from the couple and the sounds, and Delron laughed.

His master was happy, love was sacred, and Corvo Bianco could be content with that.

[windflowerofskellige]

Gilded Cage Update!

Alright guys gals and nonbinary pals I'm not dead and fics can and DO get updated! Chapter Four of Gilded Cage has been published! It has political intrigue, Adda the White, and Arabella being a teenager. Check it out!

[ultralightpoe]

Spellbound - Geralt

Spellbound - Geralt

Authors Note: I’m back because I quit my job and have a better schedule at the new job 

Warnings: semi smut 

Word Count: 4012

Description: geralt fights his feelings until you get trapped in a spell 

brothel worker! reader x geralt 

Enjoy!

Geralt was going to tear whoever did this to you to pieces. He would gouge their eyes out and make them eat them. 

That was just one of the thoughts that rang through his mind as he cradled you in his arms, your nose bleeding onto his now naked torso, the shirt you had torn off of him a mere moment ago nearly in the fire. 

This was not supposed to be how this happened, this wasn’t supposed to happen at all. He had made himself stay away for this exact reason, everything he loved was destroyed. 

The witcher had always been against you joining the group. 

You had been a brothel worker when you came upon Jaskier six months ago, walking the streets with achy legs from a long shift, smelling of the salt water you had bathed in when you saw a group of men holding him up and beating on him. 

A yell had crossed your lips and without thinking you picked up a log near your feet, launching at the men and swinging anywhere you could to scare them off, hitting a couple of them harshly before they finally scampered away leaving you standing in the mud with a log and the poor fool laying bloody and beaten on the ground. 

You had brought him to your tiny rooms at the brothel, helped him clean up and soon enough he was asking you to join them. You hesitated for a moment, watching him use one of your rags to dot at the cuts along his face before shrugging. 

Anything is better than the life of a brothel worker, right?

Wrong. 

Brothels didn’t have the annoying attitude of Geralt the fucking Witcher. Okay well some did since Jaskier admitted to Geralt being a frequent guest of them, but you had never seen him and you wished you never met him either. 

He spent every waking moment snapping at you, or blatantly ignoring you when you were trying to ask questions. It was either you didn’t exist or everything you did was wrong, and you could never figure out why the way he treated you bothered you so fucking much. 

Men had done far worse to you in that brothel, but Geralt giving you the cold shoulder nearly brought you to tears? What?

Then again none of the men that came to the brothel were like Geralt at all. None of them had those melting golden eyes or the firm touch of a protector, none of them could turn a sword in their hands the way he does or make anyone feel at ease in his presence. 

Well……anyone but you. 

Maybe he knew you had feelings for him, maybe he hated your guts. Many reasons why he never wanted to talk to you filled your head and none of them were good. 

You spent your days obsessing over a man that barely glanced back at you, your horse in the back of the group with Jaskier always a force between you both. 

Geralt takes a moment to tie the corset of your dress so you weren’t exposed before pulling you into his arms and laying you on his bed, moving to grab a cloth from the basin in the corner of the inn room. 

When he returns to your side he takes a chance to slide the hair from your face, swiping the damp cloth along the blood trail your nose left in soft strokes as he watches you sleep. He would make sure you were breathing and comfortable before he went out and broke some limbs. 

It had been six months of that behavior, and it was truly beginning to wear you down. 

The days were spent either passive aggressively ignoring him back for scoffing at any mistake of yours he pointed out. Today was a passive aggressive silent game. 

He had woken you up by snapping in your face and the months of travel and anger were beginning to catch up so you had slapped his hand out of your face, watching a small amount of shock fill his face before his eyes narrowed in anger. 

“You overslept….again.” In the beginning you would have a snarky retort, something mocking his breath or face, but now you merely rolled your eyes and turned your back to him as you packed up your bedroll. He doesn’t seem to understand your silent game since he tries to piss you off once more. “We are going to be behind if you keep sleeping like this.”

It would be so easy to turn around and tell him to shove off, but then he would know he had that effect so you simply picked you belongings up, fixed your boots and walked to the horses where Jaskier sat atop his own. 

The bard gives you a knowing look as you mount your own horse after fixing everything onto it, legs swinging with a natural ease and a slight warmth on your thigh. When you look down you see Geralt's hand placed on it, and you realize he had helped you up. “Are you angry with me? Or have you lost your voice?”

“Just matching the treatment given to me.” You snark, a feeling of pride in your chest when you see him all but snarl. You kick the horse into gear after that, this time taking the lead as his hand slips from your thigh and he rushes to Roach. 

By the time he catches up he makes Roach walk alongside your horse, his face furious. “The treatment I gave you?”

You hum out, moving to speed up your horse but Geralt is too quick, within moments he has the reins of your horse in his hand, pulling on them until you are close enough for your thighs to touch. 

“Answer me.”

You hum again, your heartbeat rising and you wonder if he can hear it when his eyes cast down to your chest before looking back at you. 

“Humming is not an answer.”

You hum once more, moving to snatch the reins but his hand reaches out to grab your jaw. “I need to hear your voice.”

You slap his hand away once more and snatch the reins, giving him a glare before moving forward. 

“I don’t understand.” He grunted to Jaskier later that day, fixing his travel pack on roach as the bard leans against the same post the horses were tied to. You had gone to the market to grab some necessities and when Geralt demanded to go with you he had been met with another empty hum and Jaskier had told him to back down. 

“She’ll avoid attention if she isn’t traveling with a witcher, not to mention she knows how to bargain for cheaper prices when she isn’t flanked by your glare.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He growls, watching the bard smirk.

“The market workers like the attention she can give them-”

“We agreed she didn’t have to do any of that stuff if she traveled with us.”

“She does this willingly, and even so it’s not the same as in the brothel. She doesn’t have to offer up her-” A heavy growl slips from Geralt and Jaskier chooses not to finish his sentence, instead rolling his eyes and moving to his own horse. “I think you would be better off if you just told her you love her.”

“I do not-”

“Oh hush. I see you watch her sleep every morn, then I see you yell at her for waking up late because you forgot to wake her up.” He laughs. “And I see you hover whenever she mounts and dismounts Lugo. Not to mention the way you give her the bigger rations of whatever we eat and-”

“Fuck off.” 

Jaskier takes the win and turns away from the witcher, fiddling with the lute while Geralt tries to make himself look busy. 

After a moment of silence the witcher stands quickly. “Why won’t she speak to me?”

A laugh escapes the bard once more. “Because you ignore her any chance you get?”

“I do not.” 

“Well I know that. But she doesn’t, because you never even bother talking to her. You’d rather silently pine like a lost-” He trails off when he sees you emerge from the hills, sacks of produce in your arms with a small smile on your face. “Fresh hells.”

“The men were ready to lose their money today boys!”

“Did they bother you?” Geralt growls and you give him a glare back before shoving the sack of apples into his chest. 

Once he is sure you are breathing properly he covers you with the blanket, before moving to grab his sword, careful not to wake you up. 

You spend the rest of the day simply ignoring them both, too busy being proud of the way you scammed the merchants and all you had to do was lift your skirt to your knee. 

Geralt kept Roach near your own horse, and Jaskier took the back for once, all of you traveling in silence until Jaskier begins to whine. 

“It has been forever since we slept indoors.”

Silence follows for a moment before Geralt turns to glare at him. “And Y/n just saved us so much coin we can each get a room in the next town.”

“This is true! I did!” You laugh, turning to look at Jaskiers mopey face. 

“Fuck.” Geralt grunts, turning back to the road so he doesn’t have to look at either of you again. 

Jaskier is still sitting in the hall with his lute, strumming softly in the drunken daze as the crowd they had gathered earlier has finally died down. 

“Bard.” Geralt grunts, trying to get his attention. But Jaskier doesn’t move, simply keeps his eyes closed as he plays a chord. So Geralt kicks his chin. 

The bard before him jumps up with a shout before his eyes land on the white haired witcher before him. 

“I got us all rooms and I found you in a hallway.” 

“I was merely resting for a moment.” He sighs, reaching down to grab the ale mug filled with coins he earned from his performance. “It’s hard to be a -”

The silver amulet is shoved in his face before he can finish the sentence, eyes widening as Geralt grunts. “Who gave this to Y/n?”

“The charming blonde who had been dancing with her all night while you sat in the back and glared.”

“Where did he disappear to?”

“You mean after you snatched her?”

By the time the three of you made it to the next town your ass was worn from the saddle and you were a bit wobbly when you got down, Geralt standing behind you and you scoffed as you looked at him. “Waiting for me to fall so you can lecture me?”

He opens his mouth to respond and you find yourself excited that he is actually about to answer back before he huffs and glares before disappearing. And once more you are left feeling like nothing. 

You watch as he disappears into the tavern before turning to Jaskier. “I asked around at the market…”

“About?”

“About work.”

“Ah!” He smiles, moving to lean on you. “And what did you find for our dear witcher to do?”

“Not for him actually.” Your throat tightens as you struggle to find the words. Jaskier doesn’t seem to catch on to your solemn mood. 

“Oh? A performance for me? I’m sure I can prepare a lullaby or two-”

“For me.” You interrupt, pulling yourself away from him and crossing your arms uncomfortably as he stares at you. 

“For…..you?” You nod at his question, trying to gain some power here. “What do you-”

“Madame Horchels brothel is in this town, she is famous within word and if I met with her then I am sure I would be set up with a room and a hot meal a day-”

“Why in fucks sake would you ever want to go back to that?”

Tears were welling in your eyes as he stared at you and you struggled to find words. “I am just……tired of feeling useless and pathetic……”

“So you would go back to whoring?”

“You don’t have to act so disgusted!” You snap, shame filling you at his reaction. “I never saw you complaining about my past when I was flirting with guards or-”

“I am sorry, I never meant to judge. I just think…..” He sighs out and rubs his face aggressively before moving to pull you into a hug. “It’s been a cold couple days. How about we go in and get a drink, a good night's rest in actual beds before we make decisions? Yeah?”

A hooded figure passes you both to get into the tavern and you simply shrug. “I think my mind is made up Jask.”

“I think it would be a mistake and we would miss you terribly……..okay I would miss you terribly.”

“Why would you miss her?” Geralt snaps out from a couple steps away, eyes squinted in an angry manner. He had originally come to snap at you both to watch your surroundings but had caught the tail end of the conversation instead. 

“Y/n here was just rushing a decision. But we aren’t gonna talk about that, right now a round of ale on me.”

“You spent all your coin two towns ago on new strings for your lute.” Geralt reminds, eyes never leaving your figure. 

“Then I shall make more coin!” He cheers, pulling you into the tavern and snatching the room keys from Geralt. 

Things escalated from there, and any time Geralt asked about their conversation they changed the subject and he was beginning to lose his mind. Were you okay? Why would Jaskier miss you? Why was he so worried about this? He watched you drink all night, ignoring him, and he watched as many of the men in the tavern asked you for a dance. He knew none of the men were a threat, and you knew how to handle them, even if it got out of control he could have his sword to their throat with a mere minute. So he didn’t really pay attention to your dance partners. 

 But one in particular caught his attention, the hooded figure that had walked too close to you both earlier had emerged from his corner and asked for a dance, and something in Geralt screamed for him to go and get you away. But he didn’t, instead he sat back and drank, allowing you room to have fun. 

The blonde stranger whirled you around and spun you and bought you drink after drink. Your eyes glazed over and your smile was wide enough to split your face, a jealous feeling crept into Geralts chest and the urge to punch the stranger grew and grew as Jaskier played song after song. 

“Can I get you another drink?” 

“Hmm?” Geralts attention snaps from your figure to the tavern wench beside him, giving him a small smile. 

“Another ale?”

“I think I am fine. Thank you-” She doesn’t wait, walking away since she didn’t get more coin and when Geralt sneaks his attention back to you he can’t help but slam his empty mug down. 

The stranger had you turn around with you lifting your hair as he placed an amulet on your neck, kissing your shoulder and before Geralt could stop himself he lunged to grab you. 

One moment you are giggling about the gorgeous, the next you are thrown over Geralts shoulder as he shoves the gorgeous fae away from you, hauling you up the stairs of the inn with no care. 

“Put me down!” You shout, slamming your hand into his back as he walks through the first hall then up the next flight of stairs. 

“You’ve had too much to drink.” 

“And you care why?”

“Because that man would take advantage.’ He growls. 

“Well he gave me a necklace, that’s how the business works.” You giggle, reaching up to touch the necklace but the world whirls once more as Geralt places your feet on the ground and pushes you into the wall. His hand stopped your head from hitting the wood but the rest of you was pressed between him and the wall. 

“Don’t do that.” 

“Do what?” You ask breathlessly, watching his face with adoration. Had he always been so…..

“Joke about that. You need something then I will get it for you.” 

“What if I want the prettiest jewels in the kingdom?”

“Then I kill more beasts.” He was dead serious and the hazy feeling was taking over so before you know it you find yourself leaning in to whisper “What is I want an orgasm?”

A red tint crosses his neck but his face remains serious as he leans his head against yours to whisper. “Then you ask me.”

And for a moment you can’t breathe, you find yourself aching, every part of you wanting to touch him suddenly. But before you can he whispers once more. “But not tonight. My first time with you will be sober.” 

Then the wood behind you disappears and you realize he had pressed you against the door to your room. Landing in a ball on the floor he sends a small smile before slamming the door and the heat that had filled you dims for a moment. 

But just for a moment. 

You pull yourself up from the floor, moving to the bed before the aching returns and your body heats up twice as bad. Everything begins going hazy as a sweat covers you and then you lose it. 

“I need to go.” Geralt snaps, shoving Jaksier to the direction of the stairs. “You go watch her. Don’t let her make any more mistakes.”

“Where are you- Geralt? What happened?! Hello?!” Jaskier calls after the witcher, watching him storm through the tavern before slamming the doors on his way out. With a deep sigh the bard grabs his jacket and mug of coins before making his way to find the rooms. 

It had been an hour since he left you in your room and Geralt could not relax himself. Jaskier had just stopped singing and Geralt was still pacing the inn room, back and forth back and forth. 

The aching hard on he had refused to go away, the image of your dazed eyes all he could think about, and the way you whispered to him had him so close to snapping all together. But he didn’t, and you were safe in your room with him just two doors down. But the floorboards creaking by his door caught his attention, and he reached for the sword as the doorknob jiggled. 

Stepping towards it slowly as it creaks open only to reveal you, standing in the hall in nothing but your dress slip and a flushed face. “Geralt-” You moan out and his knees nearly buckle when you rush in and slam the door. 

The sword falls from his hands so he can catch you when you come hurdling to him, pulling him in for a harsh kiss. Your lips melt into his and you moan in victory when he kisses back, pressing yourself against him as your hands fly into his hair. 

His own hands find purchase on you hips, and before he can tell himself not to he moves them to start a grinding motion the both of your would like. It stays like this for a moment until you bite his lip on a particularly aggressive moan, pulling back to catch a breath as you press your hips into his harder than before. 

For a second he admires you, the way your face scrunches up in pleasure and the moans that he is pulling from your lips, letting out a heavy ‘FUCK’ when you circle your hips. 

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease.” You gasp out, hands dragging from his hair to his chest before you start tearing the clasps on his shirt, scratching it a bit in your struggle to get it off. “Ineedyou, it hurtssobad-” 

This makes him hesitate, pulling back a little just as you fling his shirt, your hands flying to undo the slip and he finally catches your eyes. Only they weren’t the eyes he had fallen in love with, instead they were a deep red. 

“Y/n?” He asks, heartbeat racing as he snatches your wrists in one hand, the other coming to grab you chin. “Look at me.”

“Geralt, please. It hurts.” You whine and the gem in the amulet glows the same red as your eyes. 

Dread fills him as he reaches down to tear it off you, the silver cutting you a bit before he chucks it across the room. 

He couldn’t breathe properly as he watched you come down from the spell, anger filling him. You hadn’t meant any of this, this had been a spell. 

He was a fucking fool. 

“Geralt?” You breathe out, taking in the room before looking at his shirtless torso and the small scratches you had made to get the shirt off. “What-”

And just like that you were gone. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your nose started bleeding as you passed out, he barely caught you before you hit the floor. “Fuck.”

You awake mid day- the sun blaring in through the blinds and you do your best to cover your eyes.  “Oh make it stop-”

“There are no covers for the window.” Jaskier sighs from where he is laying on the floor. “I tried stealing the blanket from you and you hissed at me.”

“Serves you right….” You mumble, taking in the room as you realize that last night hadn’t been a dream after all and a deep embarrassment fills you. 

“H-have…..have you seen Geralt?” You ask, leaning over the bed to look at him.

“He left around sunrise in a pissy mood.”

“Did he… did he say anything?” You felt like an utter fool, and you were doing your best not to be sick. 

“Said to watch you so you didn’t make any more mistakes.”  Jaskier shrugs before yawning. 

“He said that? He said mistake?” Your voice cracks as you wrap the blanket tighter around yourself. 

“He did. I assumed he caught you with the blonde gu- Y/n? What’s the matter?”

“I…… I have to go.” You rush out, jumping over him to leave the room. 

- - - - -

Geralt finds Jaskier waiting at the horses when he rides up, tired and cranky, and he gets even crankier when he sees that your horse is empty of all your travel bags. 

“Is she not awake? Do we need to get a healer?” He rushes out, launching from roach to get to the tavern only for Jaskier to hold the lute in front of him. 

“She woke up several hours ago, it’s nearly dusk.” 

“Then where is she?”

“Gone.”

“Gone?” His heart is racing too fast and he’s hoping that Jaskier starts laughing soon and this is all a joke. 

“I told her you said to make sure she didn’t make any more mistakes and she got really sad and started crying as she packed up.” He explains. “She went to this brothel and they wouldn’t let me in but they let her in and she came out to say bye soon after that.”

“She went to a brothel?!” He snaps, grabbing the collar of Jaskiers dress coat. 

“Don’t blame me! This is your doing!”

“How. So.”

“You were the one that made her feel worthless! Never looking at her and always in her business about her mistakes-”

“Her mistakes get her hurt, or worse, killed!”

“Then tell her that! Rather than yell at her all the time with no explanation-”

“Where is the brothel?”

“It’s no use.”

“Where. Is. The. Brot-”

“She made a deal! The madame owns her!”

“Not on my fucking watch.” Geralt snaps, mounting the roach in one fluent move before nodding to Jaskier. “Hurry.”

He had to get you. 

Part Two

[elven-sisters]

Geralt, Ciri and Roach from the old polish The Hexer series (as it is our very fav 🔥). Have u ever seen it? If not you really should 🤗

[scarlet2007]

₊˚꒷꒦︶⊹ The Witcher's Witch₊︶꒷꒦︶

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x reader.

[ Master list ]

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

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

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

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

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Word count: 3.3k

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Speak."

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

"What makes you think that?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What is it?"

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

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

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

"They knew that there was a beast?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's outside the woods."

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

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

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

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

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

"Why? Isn't the town safer?"

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

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

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

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

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

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Burn her!"

"Kill her!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I will keep her."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded in understanding, before cleaning yours wounds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thank you, Sir."

"Geralt." You looked at him in confusion.

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

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

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

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

[xzaddyzanakinx]

FOUND THIS VA ON REDDIT AND HE SOUNDS LIKE GERALT. Currently dying, screaming, crying throwing up.

This is so good.

Geralt if you see this, fuck me with the hilt of your sword please and thank you.

[letmelickyoureyeballs]

Witcher Fic Recs

Wanted to make a list of some of my favorite Witcher fics! Most of these are not Jaskier/Geralt, but I did add some, and they are just as good! A lot are also Explicit, and some need an AO3 account to access. Feel free to message me if you want your work taken off this list.

*I do not claim any of these fics as mine, and I give all the credit to the original authors*

"Bat Out of Water" by @tafkamayle One of if not my favorite Witcher fic! 65k words, Explicit, Jaskier/Geralt Jaskier/Eskel Jaskier/Lambert, Vampire and Pirate AU

"The Songbird of The Cats" by @ohwhoopsok I've read this one so many times I cannot recommend it enough! 28k words, Mature, Jaskier/OCs Jaskier/Aiden Jaskier/Lambert, Jaskier becomes the School of the Cats new obsession, little non-human Jaskier

"The Shape of Love" by @jaskierswolf 17k words, Teen and Up, Shifter AU, Geralt/Jaskier, there's a bunch of works in this series and they're all great!

"Fateful Red" by @tafkamayle again, 16k words, Explicit, Jaskier/Geralt, Soulmates and No Powers AU, I love this one so much!

"That's my Jam(bert)" by @greenbirddraws/GreenBird, 14k words, Explicit, Jaskier/Lambert, I love them together so much!

"So Tight I'd Bruise You" by @sweetpeapod 496 words, General Audience, Jaskier/Lambert, little hurt/comfort and soft Lambert

"Cat Up A Tree(Going Down on a Witcher)" by Hallianna, 10k words, Explicit, Aiden/Jaskier/Lambert, love this one a lot!

"Bring Your Hunger" by @sweetpeapod again, 2k words, Teen and Up, Jaskier/Lambert, teasing and fluff

"Take a Chance on Second Chances" by Caelanmiriel, 9k words, Explicit, Jaskier/Lambert, some courting rituals

"Fingertips" by @ohwhoopsok again, 3k words, Explicit, Jaskier/Lambert, Lambert can't get hard, some fluff, this one is super sweet!

"to the wolves" by @besselfcn 1k words, Mature, Jaskier/Lambert/Eskel/Geralt, Past SA, hurt/comfort, revenge, past Valdo/Jaskier

"I Just Want to Feel You" by @stfustucky 6k words, Explicit, Jaskier/Geralt/Lambert/Eskel, Geralt and Eskel fuck up some aftercare so Lambert has to make things right, super sweet one!

"Soap, and the Scents of Home" by @round--robin/round_robin 32k words, Explicit, Jaskier/Geralt/Eskel/Lambert, lots of touch-starved Witchers, Scent kink, an amazing series!

"5 Times Geralt was Cat-Like (+1 Time He Was Wolf-Like)" by @xrdragonix 2k, General Audience, Geralt/Jaskier, Wolf and Cat traits, super cute and wholesome!

If you enjoyed any of these please let the authors know with comments, kudos, and/or bookmarking it!

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 43

Geralt will never admit it, but he loves when he dreams. It's soft, and weak, and bordering on psychotic, and yet the dreams are the best thing to ever happen to him. It all started when he opened his eyes to find himself in a field of buttercups and dandelions, with a man stood in the middle, playing a tune on his lute. He was a young man, looked to be barely a man, in all honesty. He introduced himself as Jaskier and pestered Geralt the entire dream until he finally woke up. But every time he dreamt, he dreamt of Jaskier again, until he began to look forward to it, every night. It must be some sort of sick lucid dreaming, given that Jaskier also began to grow closer affections to Geralt. Geralt was quite good at dreaming if you ask him. Over the years, he imagined Jaskier differently. He grew into himself more. Looked more 'complete' in a way. More confident. Jaskier begins getting more and more affectionate, until one night he kisses Geralt. They do a lot more kissing from then on. They fuck, and cuddle, and Jaskier plays with Geralt's hair, and sings him songs, and they kiss, and laugh, and talk, and it's all in their sunny paradise. Geralt appreciates the relieve from the cruel realities of world every night. He thinks it must be a bad trait for a witcher, but he watches Jaskier laugh at his own joke for the fourth time that hour and realizes he doesn't really care if it makes him a worse witcher. It isn't until the night Jaskier mutters "Oh Geralt, how I wish you were real." that Geralt realizes their dreams might not be as fake as they had both apparently assumed.

[podcastenthusiast]

"Where'd you learn to do this?" Ciri asks, and Geralt's hands go still in her ashen hair.

He doesn't answer.

"Mousesack... he used to braid it for me," she goes on, sadness creeping into her voice. "When I asked where he learned, he said he would braid his little sister's hair when he was a boy, because his mum was too busy. Did your mother teach you?"

"No," he says after a while, resuming the task at hand. "Witchers don't have mothers."

"Oh. Do you mean like how I don't have a mum anymore, or--"

"I just don't. All right?"

There must be too much anger or bitterness in his voice; Ciri's response is a subdued, "All right."

She doesn't smell afraid, but he has hurt her all the same. She should feel safe with him. Kid's been through hell, and she's only curious. He distantly recalls being a curious child once, too.

Geralt forces himself to breathe deeply, to relax his tense muscles and carry on braiding her hair. His hands weren't made for gentle things. He has to focus.

"Who taught you then?"

Persistent girl, isn't she.

This strange reaction of his isn't about Ciri. Or even Visenna. It's about--

"A friend." There. Why had it been so hard to say the word? He doesn't know if he still has the right to call Jaskier that, now. "He used to braid mine, sometimes. Showed me how."

He thinks about Jaskier's delicate hands touching his hair as if it were finely-spun silk. The bard's fingers must have ached after playing for the inn's patrons all evening, but still he would wash the blood and grime from Geralt's hair without (much) complaint, combing all the tangles out with some kind of sweet-smelling oil before gently braiding it. Geralt, relaxed in a way he rarely ever got to be, was usually half-asleep by the time Jaskier finished his ministrations and coaxed the witcher to bed.

Had Geralt ever thanked him? Did Jaskier know how much those small gestures of care meant to him? How few people ever dared to touch a witcher with kindness, even fewer without the expectation of coin or something else in return? He doubts it.

"Is he dead?" Ciri asks, breaking his reverie. The bluntness of her question surprises him; it befits someone far older than her years. A child should not have had to witness so much death.

"No. He's... somewhere safe."

Although with the war... He hopes Jaskier truly is safe. Damn bard always has a knack for finding trouble. Geralt offers a silent prayer to all the gods he doesn't believe in. Please let him be safe.

"Must be nice," Ciri says, soft and tired.

Geralt finishes the last braid. He pats her shoulder, an awkward but sincere comfort.

"We should reach Kaer Morhen in a few days if the weather holds," he tells her. "Rest now."

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

I may have had an idea this morning (which is rare) and now it’s afternoon and there’s this little Aiden/Lambert thing I have and @scylla-rammshorn did a brilliant job in beta-ing :)

Under the cut and on AO3.

The dreams are awful, and they seem to be getting worse.

He wakes up, drenched in sweat, his hands clawed into his bedroll, fingers so cramped that it takes a few seconds for them to relax. It takes even longer for his heartbeat to slow down, throbbing far too fast in his chest, as if there were a fearful little bird caged there, its wings beating against his ribcage.

Once, he wakes up with a hoarse scream that still hurts his throat hours later. Then a hand stirs beside him, and sleepy eyes blink beneath dark curls, and Aiden murmurs, "You're dreaming, you were just dreaming, Lamb, go back to sleep."

This goes on until one night it’s so bad that the feline peels himself out of the blankets he's curled up in. It was Aiden who started the whole thing in the first place, since they met many summers ago. It was summer, Lambert hasn't forgotten, and the nights were mild, but they were always too cold for Aiden, and he suggested they sleep next to each other. Lambert probably should never have gone for it. Let a cat into your bedroll, and it will own it, that’s what they say. Yet it was Lambertwho was owned by the cat.

The feline peels himself out of his blanket cave, sits up and puts a much too cold hand on Lambert's shoulder. But maybe Lambert's body is just too hot, too heated by this nightmare.

"What was it this time? You need to start talking about it, Lamb."

Lambert doesn't want to talk about it. The dreams are bad, and they're getting worse, and he doesn't want to, but the words tumble out of his mouth as if they've been waiting to be spit out for far too long.

"Maybe it's not a dream. Maybe it's a premonition."

Aiden's curls brush Lambert's cheek as he nestles against him, and close to his ear the feline breathes, "A premonition? You said one of your brothers had some. Geralt, was it?"

They don't actually talk much when they're together, at least that's what Lambert keeps feeling. They meet, somehow they always find each other, and do a contract or another contract together. They share a place to sleep, usually under the stars, sometimes in a cheap tavern if the money is enough. There is always only one bed, and then their bodies speak, and that is enough.

But there are the moments afterwards. The cat is a cuddler, he not only entwines in sheets and blankets, he also entangles himself in Lambert. And he talks,incessantly, an endless stream, and strangely enough, Lambert likes it. The chatter loosens his own tongue, and the sillier Aiden gets, the more serious the issues Lambert raises, it's odd.

He still spends his winters in Kaer Morhen, but he never talks about Aiden. He brags, like everyone else, about his contracts, about the monsters he's killed, though his tales always have that ironic undertone. Look, Vesemir, I'm still alive, even though I ran into a nest of drowners. Even though I ran into a giant centipede in the South and almost shit my pants because its venom went through my armor like your silly butter knife through, well, butter.

He never says what actually happened. That the feline saved his ass, and he saved his, one time after another. That the cat is annoying and funny and fights as elegantly as never a man before. That he has never looked up to another man like this, never known that touch could be so healing, that a kiss could soften him, that wherever he sees dark curls he feels a certain stumble of the heart.

Lambert doesn't talk about Aiden because it's his very own, his very pleasant secret. More than that, it is a piece of happiness; happiness that Lambert has never known. Witchers are not made to appreciate beauty, to give or receive love, to demand anything from the world.

Aiden's eyes are like a calm lake at dusk, so very different from his own, not only because they do not look at the world with this veil of displeasure and anger. Lambert never talks about Aiden, and when the subject of the cat school comes up – because winters in the mountains are so disgustingly long – he never interjects what he might: that not all of them have to be insane, that not all of them have to be nefarious murderers, that maybe they're not so different.

"Yes," he says now, "what if a dream becomes a premonition, and then it comes true?"

"What did you see?"

What did he see? Lambert doesn't want to talk about it, because what if just saying it makes it true? Another thought not worth expressing.

Last winter he searched the library at Kaer Morhen, Eskel laughed his ass off, and Vesemir had brushed around him, stressing several times that he only needed to ask, that he knew every single book (which was probably a lie), that he could help him, yada yada.

Geralt hadn't done anything except find him in the castle courtyard in the evening, although it was freezing cold, it's always freezing cold in Kaer Morhen, and that's why nobody goes out voluntarily. But Geralt knew or guessed where he was, and he came, not speaking a word, wordlessly holding out a jug to him, because the alcohol would warm him even out here.

How was he going to explain to Aiden that he was in his dreams, but now Geralt was too? Except that Geralt wasn't the one who died, not this time. How was he supposed to explain to him that he knew without a doubt that – if something ever happened, something so unspeakable that even in his dreams it was just dark feelings – he will go to Geralt, to no one else?

"You died," he says.

Aiden breathes a tiny laugh on Lambert's neck, and it stays there like an invisible hickey. The feline takes nothing seriously, not himself, not Lambert, not his life or the monsters. Maybe it's what will one day be his death, and maybe dreams are just dreams.

"How did I die?" he asks, as if actually curious about it.

"You were killed," Lambert says, and he finds his words brutal, and he would like to take them back, but it's too late. "I don't know how, I don't know where or when. But it feels real, every time. Sometimes it's just a feeling, sometimes it's like a veil, and then it's almost like... almost as if I can really see it. I can’t, but I know you're there, and something happens, and you die, and it hurts, it hurts me so much..."

Now he's almost sobbing, and he's not sorry, it's not a failure, it's necessary.

He knows Aiden's words will make up for it. He will retort something silly, like, that it can't be that bad if it hurts Lambert and not him. No witcher dies in his bed, so they say, and if it must happen, then a painless death is still the best.

Aiden says nothing of the sort. He kneads Lambert's shoulders and mutters, "It's just a dream," but he doesn't sound convinced.

After that, they never talk about it again. The dreams don't just stop, they're still there, and Aiden doesn't stop comforting him, breathing gentle words into his ear, stroking his shoulders. And yet something is different, or it is Lambert's imagination. The dreams come more often, and he is afraid that they will attack him in Kaer Morhen, that he will awaken everybody there one night, roaring Aiden's name.

The latter’s lips are increasingly adorned with a peculiar, wistful smile. It makes Lambert suspicious, he gets a headache from it; as if unspoken questions are gathering inside him, rising into his head and pressing against his forehead because his mouth just won't release them.

This winter he is not searching the library for books about premonitions and dreams, he is looking for information about the cat school, its mutations, its peculiarities. Perhaps he becomes paranoid, as cats are said to do, because he sleeps next to one far too often; but Aiden is quite different, but what is he like, what is he?

The books don't know, they don't know him the way Lambert does. Above all, they can't answer his questions. What if felines also have premonitions? What if Lambert triggered them just by talking about them? What if Aiden also has dreams in which he dies? What if, what if.

Every year since they first met, in Ellander, (what a story he will never tell); every year since then Lambert fears the spring. It's silly, because it was always he who couldn't wait for the snow to melt, he who was the first to turn his back on the old walls, awkwardly embracing his brothers and throwing insults at them, the love language of a man who was never a child.

But ever since Aiden, there's the possibility that when he rides down the mountain the world will have changed. That the skies no longer so blue, the grass no longer so intensely fragrant, life no longer as peculiarly easy as it has been since he met Aiden. Because he might not be there anymore. That thought has haunted him since the very first year, since Ellander, which is a real shithole except with Aiden, just like Novigrad and Aedirn and Cintra and even Beauclair. It’s a place Lambert avoids like the plague, too warm and too bright and too glaring, except with Aiden.

This thought has gotten worse since the dreams started. When they parted last time, at a crossroads in the middle of nowhere, at sunset, in which Aiden seemed the only point of color, words lay on the tip of Lambert’s tongue, very close to being spoken. Come along, he wanted to say, come along to Kaer Morhen, it's not so unusual for visitors to be there, though not as many as there used to be, because there aren't many of us anymore. In his head these words sounded quite reasonable, and he will ask himself later, much later, what actually stopped him from uttering them.

One day, the answer will be fear, and he will be angry, at himself most of all, but also at Aiden, but Lambert doesn't know that yet. One day, he will think that he was darn close to bliss and threw it away.

There are always a lot of what ifs when winter is over. They never arrange to meet each other, as if it were a topic that must not be addressed because no one knows if they both will still exist in the spring. But Lambert looks very carefully at the notice boards in every place he travels through, and he believes that Aiden does too, because somehow they always find each other.

This year is different. Spring is different, much too hot too early, with thunderstorms full of hail that make farmers stare anxiously at the sky, thoughts on the harvest. The air constantly smells of rain. But it also smells of smoke, and that is by no means only due to the thunderstorms, and the fact that it smells of blood and death and decay is not due to the weather.

The world is changing again, only Lambert never changes. He leaves Kaer Morhen with pent-up resentment, like every year. Maybe there is something different this time after all, because fear is mixed in, the nightmares are to blame. They have only gotten worse, a disaster full of hate and fear and blood and death. It would be easy to imagine that many people feel this way these days, but the dreams are not about war, there’s only one death to mourn.

He feels restless. Villagers seem aggressive to him, townspeople crazy. With each new place he becomes more impatient. Whoever he asks, no one has seen the cat. Even when he is not wearing his medallion, Aiden is impossible to miss. That crooked smile, the mischievous look, the curls, heck, and the silly demeanor.

There was this one night at the camp fire; they had done a contract well and there had been good money, and they had shared an expensive bottle, and when Lambert thinks of it he feels the alcohol still on his tongue. No, it's not the booze, or at least not only. He feels the warmth of the fire and of Aiden, who suddenly stands up and bows to him, a proper, courtly curtsy.

"May I ask for the next dance," he says, stretching out his hand.

They actually dance that night, despite Lambert's feigned protest, even though it is crazy and silly and there isn’t even music. He can still feel it, Aiden's hand on his hip, the taste of his lips, and it scares him.

Both fear and memory drive him forward. But this year, everything is different, so different. No one remembers the cat that everyone must remember, no one wants to have seen him, and this is not the fear of the Nilfgaardians that paralyzes their tongues.

It's almost as if Aiden is hiding, from Lambert and from everyone else, maybe especially everyone else. Because the dreams haven't stopped, oh no. They're there during the day now too, he can't close his eyes for a moment. They torture him, dominate his mind until he shrinks, until he is small, a little boy in Sad Albert's grip.

The dreams become thoughts, and even though thoughts can be irrational, they seem much more real to him than the dreams, and that is cruel. The thoughts assault him like a gang of dirty mercenaries, and ironically, that's not a scenario Lambert ever thinks about. The thoughts are different kinds of what ifs.

What if he had an accident? What if he pulled off some nonsense and is rotting in some prison? What if he was gripped by the madness that has caught so many felines; something he spoke of only once; he was drunk and strangely serious back then. What if a contract went wrong? Lambert has no idea how close he is to the truth, not yet.

There is such a vague foreboding, it creeps up inside him like cold wind that always finds a spot where the clothes are not tight enough. The wind of foreboding strokes the back of his neck, blows in his ears until they ache, makes his fingertips go numb.

And still, no trace of Aiden, he is just an idea, but the further Lambert progresses, this idea becomes a breadcrumb, like in a fairy tale. He follows the breadcrumbs, even if his guts are cold. Lambert feels like he's in a dream, even more so since the nightmares have stopped. Maybe he is the dream, and maybe there is no awakening.

Everything that comes after that is just a mist. It's not a story he wants to tell, it's not even one he remembers. Spring is already gone, and the summer heat paralyzes the land, and the duchy through which he rides lies there like a rotten apple, overripe and dead. People always say that autumn is the time of death, probably because the falling of leaves and early darkness reminds them of their own transience. But for Lambert, the summer, this summer, will always be synonymous with death, with a doom that has nothing at all to do with the war or other external circumstances.

Politics, however, has something to do with it, he will learn that eventually. The weeks pass in sweltering heat and with the search for breadcrumbs that are often difficult to grasp. Lambert no longer dreams; if he sleeps at all, his nights are simply slipping into oblivion that brings no relief. But he does not sleep often, he follows rumors, and rumors pulsate at night.

He believes nothing of it, represses every thought, until the day when he is told, yes, a witcher came through here, it must have been a while ago, but. It’s the but that shakes him to the core, as if someone had rammed a knife into his stomach. They're still just rumors, but Lambert knows how to follow rumors, how to loosen tongues.

But, they say, some people didn't want the witcher to lift the curse.

He follows this clue, and it takes a long, long time to put all these little puzzle pieces together. He can't find Aiden, and he knows he'll never find him now. He's known since the nightmares stopped. Now he wishes them back, he wishes he could wake up once again in a cold sweat, gripped by endless fear, because anythingis better than feeling nothing.

He has followed Aiden's trail to its beginning, but Lambert knows there is someone else to follow if he wants to unravel the story. If he wants to bring it to a real end.

That night he dreams again, for the first time in a long time. It doesn't feel like a dream, it's far too real, but a nightmare it is not. There is the campfire, and above it, on a stick carefully freed from bark, roasts a pathetically small rabbit. Small, but its smell is enticing. Even in the dream, Lambert's heart gives a leap, because there is also Aiden. Why did he think he was dead? What a silly idea, a stupid prank of the feline.

Yet there he sits, blowing his unruly curls out of his concentrated face as he tries to string a thread onto a needle to mend a tear in his pants. Lambert just stands there, it takes him a moment to realize it's him holding the stick over the fire to turn the meat, so he turns, glaring at Aiden.

Aiden looks at him, his eyes a calm lake at dusk, his smile mocking.

"Have you seen a ghost, Lamb?"

Lambert feels as if something is smothering his throat, and the words come out half-choked, and he replies, "Yes, perhaps I have."

Aiden's gaze becomes thoughtful, curious, and there's something else in it, but Lambert doesn't want to see it. Aiden stands up, throws down the needle and groans theatrically, "Sewing is really more up your alley," he says.

Then he gets closer, and how can this be a dream, he smells exactly the same as always, pine needles and grass and just Aiden. He puts a hand on Lambert's shoulder and says, "It's just a dream."

Lambert startles when he awakes. He doesn't scream, but his mouth is open, the scream is only a lungful away. He can still feel Aiden's hand on his shoulder. His own hand reaches for it, but there is nothing, not even a breath of wind.

He’s gone.

[unbury-the-gays]

Chapters: 6/8

Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Prince Adrien/Kiyan (The Witcher)

Characters: Kiyan (The Witcher), Prince Adrien (The Witcher), Original Male Character(s), Original Male Character(s) of Color, Original Female Character(s), Mention of various canonical characters

Additional Tags: Unbury The Gays, Rare Pairings, Post-Possession, Post-Quest: Cat School Gear Scavenger Hunt (The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt), Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher), I Shook A Witcher And Intergenerational Trauma Fell Out (The Witcher), Witchers Need Hugs (The Witcher), Emotionally Constipated Witchers (The Witcher), sort of established relationship, Birthday, Found Family, compromises, Main Character(s) of Color, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Gifts, Rituals, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Series: Part 5 of Unbury The Gays

Chapter 6 summary:  The scent of Adrien’s joy wrapped around him like a cocoon. Something inside Kiyan turned upside down, a strange, blissful feeling spreading a warm wave across his chest. It was always like this when he managed to make Adrien happy. He couldn't name it, but it felt so good.

______________________

It was almost midnight when Kiyan heard familiar footsteps behind him. He didn’t turn, just stared at the fire that burned in front of him, quietly waiting on the bench for Adrien to join him.

"Hello, kitty," Adrien breathed into his ear, standing behind him and embracing him while his hand slipped under the collar of Kiyan's linen shirt, hungry to touch skin to skin.

Kiyan covered Adrien's hand with his own through the fabric as it stopped at heart level. Adrien gently stroked his collarbone with thumb. Kiyan leaned back against the solid form of his prince and tilted his head up, giving Adrien's mouth access to his neck. He sighed softly, enjoying the warm heat of Adrien’s mouth on his skin.

"You ran away from me again," Adrien grumbled between kisses.

"Not from you, from Klemens," Kiyan corrected, relaxing completely for the first time in months. Under Adrien's hand, a familiar, soothing vibration built in his chest.

Adrien froze for a moment with his lips against Kiyan’s neck.

"Is there something wrong?" he asked gently, but Kiyan could feel the concern in his voice. Purring was part of the healing process, and he cursed himself silently. He’d lost himself in Adrien’s touch and revealed too much.

"Nothing. I'm just happy to see you," he replied, disentangling himself from Adrien's embrace. The prince allowed him, albeit with a disappointed sigh. Adrien straddled the bench beside him and regarded him intently. Adrien wasn't stupid, but Kiyan didn't want to talk about it. [...]

Read on AO3

[windflowerofskellige]

Because witcher flash fic was revealed here you go besties I published A Coronation, A Beheading, From the Funeral to the Wedding! Check it out. Its cute and fluffy Arabella/Radovid content.

[ultralightpoe]

Spellbound Part 3- Geralt of Rivia

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

Word Count: 3093

Description: Part One and Part Two

Warnings: Heavy smuttt y'all

Enjoy!

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

Every human had a beginning, middle and end.

Every monster had a beginning.

Every Saint had a beginning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Allow you?”

“To bathe you.”

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

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

“You won’t jest?”

“Never.”

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

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

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

“Not me. You.”

“You, with me.”

“I do not want to-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“About kings and dragonslayers?”

“No, about monsters.” 

“How so?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—------------

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

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

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

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

Finally you ask. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then how-”

“Yennifer smuggled you out-”

“Then what of the coin?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop what?”

“This will ruin everything-”

“How. So.”

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

“Do you love me?”

“Y-”

“Do you love me as I love you?” 

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

“Then what does it matter?”

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

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

“I was cruel and-”

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

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

The warmth fills him the second you touch him. 

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

“You deserve better.”

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

“You want me?”

“I need you, Geralt.”

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

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

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

“After what you have been through…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So….. fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll never leave again.” 

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

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

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

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

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

—-------------

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

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

“Not your lover, but your closest friend.”

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

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

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

“He took little one to get some water.” 

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

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

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

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

“Don’t get any ideas.”

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

“Guess your spellbound then.”

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

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

@sagelovesreading

@lashipperrubia @freyafriggafrey @cookielovesbook-akie @whatishappeninghere81 @livesinfantasyland @multiifandomhoe @amara-75 @unfxrgetwble @vlynccx @redlovett @yorkeylover @mxtokko @readinggirl29 @mollymal @fullmoonshadowwrites @rileytwenty @glasschampagne @caffieneaddictt18 @kittiowolf210 @purple-blommie @abrunettefangirlnerd @babezawa @mushy-mushroom04 @miss-goldenweek @pookiesnatcher @thslvr @cardi-bre91

[elven-sisters]

Another Ciri and Geralt art, as those two are so cute together and we love them so so so much ✨

[writersblockedx]

The End of What Could Have Been

Pairing - Jaskier x Fem!Reader Summary - Jaskier finally gives in at trying to flirt with his favourite barmaid - something that only makes her fall harder for him. Warnings - alcohol, mention of a brothel? Words - 2.1K

A/n - Hi, I’m back! I know I’ve been gone for a little while; writers block has been killing me. But I’m back at it again, hopefully back at posting regularly again.

Masterlist

It had become the cycle of the night. As the stragglers of the Inn began to make their way back to their own beds - or hay stacks for some of them - he would appear. Far too wide-eyed for this time in the night, lute strapped over his shoulder and a glistening smile most female bar keeps had never been able to resist. Well, most expect for yourself.

Jaskier was sweet, that was true, but he was equally greedy. And the whole town knew of it. The stories of his lewd behaviour with his several different partners were laced throughout his lyrics, right alongside the fantastical story of the Witcher and the many creatures the two fought off together. Though, with that very bard in front of you now, you struggled to believe he had the same strength of a Witcher.

"Same as always, Y/n." His elbows leaned against the wooden bar as he slid a couple of coins across for you. Always a couple extra for your own pocket.

You simply nodded your head in an act to show your acknowledgement of him before turning to gather a pint of beer for the bard. "Not in the mood for conversation tonight?" He questioned while you had your back turned.

You only said anything when the cup that was brimming with frothy ale was in your hand. "Not with you. Not tonight." Ever so bluntly, that snap in your tone slipped from your tongue as you placed the drink down in front of him with a thud.

He flashed his puppy eyes; he had gotten good at doing that. "And whys that?"

Your expression never faulted. You didn't dare. You had told yourself for almost a month while Jaskier had been playing at this pub that you wouldn't be one of the many to fall prey to his sweet smile and his even sweeter words. "Because the only conversation you want to have is one where it ends with you getting into my pants." You said it so sternly. So casual. Without a lick of embarrassment as if it were a passing comment, lacking any source of meaning.

But Jaskier's response had proved different. He stiffened and struggled to swallow the ale that lingered on his tongue. "Can't blame a man for trying." His response came a second too late - attempting to get over the initial shock that had stunned him too much to speak straight away.

"I can when, despite getting your answer, you're still trying." You didn't break. With every word, you lean slightly closer, till there were only inches between you.

"Well," He sighed lightly and leaned back, "I still haven't heard you tell me to stop."

You couldn't help but laugh, "I know you're a bard, but you're not stupid, surely."

"You didn't have to go there."  He quipped. "I personally don't think you want...this to stop." His words were as cautious as one in a sword fight. One wrong move and he was frightened you were about to stab him in the back.

For the first time, you became hesitant. You were uncertain. Of course, you could admit Jaskier did have that sweet smile and the charm to accompany such. He also was easy on the eyes, had a slick manner and was, as much as you hated to admit it, the type of bachelor you could see yourself spending the night with - or several. But he was infamous for such behaviour. He travelled from town to town, bed to bed, and you were not about to the 90th woman on his list. That of such, was what you refused.

So you shifted, and slipped back into your stern facade as if nothing had ever happened, like there had never been a blink of uncertainty. "This," You pointed between the two of you, "Never even started." Words so sharp they cut through Jaskier's heart like a knife to butter. While the man was fine to break others' hearts, his was too just as fragile and sensitive. And to hear such from a woman he had grown to admire over the weeks shook his core. With the words written out in front of him, he knew he could no longer ignore them.

And so you straightened your back and stared at the boy you were forced to resist. "You finish your ale, I'll close up." You announced, without any input from him. Normally, he would last at least another three drinks. But tonight, neither of you wanted the company of the other. The air between you had become tense and rigid. Air of which you were not in the mood to breathe.

So you took it upon yourself to make that decision. You started stacking the chairs around the pub, cleaning the sticky tables and making sure everything was as it should be. The only thing left was Jaskier. He took his final sip. He placed the cup back on the bar and let out a deep breath; he knew this was the end. This was the point in which you had drawn the line, you had told him no once and for all. And you had given him no choice but to listen.

There as he stood, he turned to you. At first, he looked you up and down, taking in the last of what remained—this night marked the end of what could have been. He locked eyes with you. Neither of you moved. Neither of you said a word. After that moment of acceptance passed, he provided a nod. With that, he left the Inn without a trace. That night, in your lonely bed, you struggled to sleep, plagued by the ever-yawning question of if you just made a mistake.

By the next morning, you came to face the consequences of your own actions. You strolled in for your shift as you always did to find the Inn relatively empty. In fact, more empty than it ever had been in the past month. The only ones to occupy the Inn were the same stragglers which never seemed to leave. It didn't take you long to figure out why; the lack of strumming music in the Inn was likely the culprit. And, after that conclusion, you came to assume that it was partly the fault of yourself and a certain encounter from the night before.

"No bard today?" You queried your boss, the Innkeeper, as he stood cleaning the wooden bar.

"No bard anymore." He answered. A part of your brain was tugged with curiosity, the other knew that you shouldn't want to know. You cut the ties. You were at fault. You should leave things as they were. "Get used to how things used to be. Just the regulars again." That was one, if the only, good thing about Jaskier: the customers he brought. You could never deny his lyrical beauty and the lull of his lute. So brilliant, in fact, it almost brought you a pay rise.

Your head dropped in thought. No matter how much you wanted to accept this, a part of you wondered if this decision came from a reaction of the night prior. "Where is he staying?" You spat the words out before you could stop yourself. "The bard?" You added, suddenly aware of how strange that question may sound to your boss.

To be expected, the man raised a brow, "I'm not sure," He shrugged his shoulders lightly. "That cheap Inn up the road probably. Or a bench." With that, the grumpy old Inn keeper turned his back to you, going back to sort out the several types of ales.

For a moment, you stared. But the thought nagged you too much; Why not? He was leaving, what else was there to lose? He was sweet, admirable and you couldn't help yourself. You had only wished you had realised such fact the night before. Without thinking twice, you left. You took off without another word and headed to that cheap Inn your boss had pointed to.

By the time you arrived, you came to realise it was perfect timing. Jaskier was getting ready to depart. He had a couple of bags hung over his shoulder as he slung them over a horse. His expression was, until you came into his sights, set into a stern hold. And then, a glint of wonder reached his face, and the very corners of his lips twisted upright just slightly. He wouldn't admit it yet, but he was happy to see you had come back to him.

"And the barmaid returns." He gleamed, trying to not let that smile on his face grow any more than it already had done.

You tilted his head at him, "You didn't tell me you were leaving last night." You stated, choosing it best to ignore his greeting.

"You think that would have changed how things went?" There. You caught it right as it happened; that flirtatious speck in his pupils that never seemed to leave him - sometimes, no matter who he was talking to. When he received only a stern expression in return, he sighed and changed his tone as if he had never made that comment. "I didn't know I would be leaving until after I left." He answered, honestly.

A moment of silence passed as you settled in the realisation. You only needed confirmation: "Was it what I said?"

Another grin graced his face. But not flirtatious or cheeky, rather bittersweet. "I know you're just a bard maid,  but you're not stupid." He reiterated your own words from last night.

For that, you swallowed the lump which had suddenly grown in your throat. Then, with a breath, you replied, "You don't have to leave, the money's good here, no?" You knew your boss must have been paying him a decent paycheck.

He shifted on his feet, "I don't like staying in the same place for too long." The boy admitted.

"Then why did last night change your mind?"

He took a moment and fought himself so as not to repeat what he had said prior. "Most of the time, I can find anyone to entertain myself with, no matter where I am. But," He paused, thought on his words as if they were of utter importance, "But just the way when I walked into your Inn-"

You cut him off, "You mean when I told you to piss off because we didn't like silly lute music being played?" Saying that now was laughable.

And Jaskier had let out a chuckle, "Yes, then. I thought you were a shell I wanted to break and I found myself not bothered with anyone else. Not even with the mistresses at the Brothal. I wanted to get to know you and, I don't know, I looked forward to every night when I'd finish my set and it would be just the two of us in the bar." He explained, him too going off the idea of what else was there to lose now? "You didn't want me and it made it all the more enticing. To fight with the idea of hatred boarding on love was something intoxicating and it only made me want you more."

And, honestly, you were at a loss for words. It wasn't often many people spoke to you in such a poetic way, with such romance trickled into their words as it rolled right off the tongue like smooth butter. Most of the time, you were only met with drunk stragglers, boarding their words on sexual harassment. So this was only a breast of fresh air and you were indulging in it like it was some sort of drug.

When you looked back to Jaskier, you were at a loss for words. You weren't quite the lyricist he was. "I think-" You took a breath as if it were giving you the courage needed in that very moment. "I think I did want you. Oh, I know I did. But a bard who, as you said is always on the move, wasn't something I could get involved in." Like that, a weight slipped from your shoulders like melting ice.

Jaskier took a step forward, cautious in his action. When you showed no sign of disregard, he settled. "You've no idea what I would change just so you would get involved with me." There, his flirtatious smile return. And, this time, you couldn't resist it.

He started leaning in and rather than stopping it, so did you until your lips met in a soft embrace. It was long overdue and you could see how addicted you could get to that feeling if you weren't too careful. But a part of you had started to put trust into Jaskier - you just preyed the bard would never break it. As now, this was the start of something. Something neither of you wanted to ever end.

[redskull199987]

Of Thoughts and Actions

Jaskier x fem!reader  word count:0.9k Warnings:spoilers for season 3, apart from that just fluff Summary: You didn't see your friend Jaskier for a long time, since he split up from your group after the events at Kaer Morhen. So, when Geralt suggested that you ask the bard for help, you were more than happy to see your singing friend again… Masterlist

You watched the scene in front of you unfold with a smile on your face. Jaskier´s sweet voice was slowly lulling Ciri to sleep, after you had spent the evening playing cards against each other. Jaskier, of course, had lost all of his money to the young girl. Finally seeing her smiling again, having fun again, after all she's been through lately, made you feel like it was still worth fighting for. For Ciri, and her future. “What are you thinking about?”

Your head shot up, as Jaskier suddenly stood in front of you, his slender frame towering above you. “Just thinking about our journey so far”, You mumbled, as you slowly stood up, starting to gather the plates at cups from the small table you had been playing cards at, until a few minutes ago. “Anything in particular?”, Jaskier smiled, as he helped you clean up, picking up a plate. “Oh, maybe the one time, Geralt and I saved your ass?”, you chuckled, playfully hitting his arm. Jaskier mockingly opened his mouth, acting like he was utterly shocked by your words.

“Fine then”, he mumbled, stepping closer to me,”Remember when I taught you how to dance, that one particular evening where you had too much ale?”

You felt your cheeks redden, as you remembered how much of a fool you had made yourself. even Geralt had laughed at your sloppy dance moves, and Geralt never laughed, ever.

Jaskier had seemed to notice your discomfort and slowly stepped closer. He looked down at you for a second, before carefully grabbing your hands. “You know, I always thought you were the most beautiful Dancer, I had ever seen in my life.”, he smiled, causing you to blush even more. Since when were you so easily flushed? You were a great fighter, that had been through many battles along with your companions. But  now you were a blushing mess in front of the smiling bard. When you didn't say anything in return, Jaskier just continued to recount the story:”Not because you were the best at dancing or the most experienced, but because you enjoyed yourself. You were having fun to no end, just being yourself. That's what I´ve always loved about you, Y/N.” You were speechless at this point. You always knew that what you felt for Jaskier was different than what you felt for Yennefer or Geralt. It was more than friendship. But you never believed that he was feeling the same way, in fact you still didn't believe it. 

Against all your better judgement, you slowly pulled your hands away from Jaskier and excused yourself, saying that you needed some fresh air. And within seconds, you had left the small hut, stepping out into the night. 

Taking in a deep breath, you looked up admiring the stars that glistened in the sky. Upon seeing your breath come out in small huffs, you realised how cold it was. You slowly started walking around a bit to conjure some warmth, but it had no effort. After two laps around the hutt, you were still shivering. You debated going back inside for a second, but you didn't quite know if you were ready to talk to Jaskier again. 

The decision was made for you, as you felt how Jaskier´s coat was being wrapped around you. The purple material easily engulfed your form, preventing you from shivering. You turned your head to see said bard standing behind you, one of his hands was resting on the small of your back, as he wrapped the coat further around your form. “Thank you.”, you mumbled, looking back down. “You seemed cold”, he smiled, now stepping in front of you. His hands came up to adjust the collar around you. You felt his touch linger, as his bright eyes shifted towards your face. “Y/N”, he suddenly said. His hand rose to gently caress your cheek. Slowly leaning into his touch, you listened to his shallow breathing to calm yourself down.

“Jaskier.”, you finally said, looking up at him. He only sighed, seemingly not really knowing what to say:”I-I havent been honest with you,Y/N” “About what?”, you uttered quietly. He didn't say anything for a second, just staring at you as if you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

“I really want to kiss you.”, he suddenly blurted out. You only smiled at him:”then do it.”

It only took Jaskier mere seconds to press his lips to yours. You felt his hands pulling you closer by the waist, as he deepened the kiss, his lips softly working against yours. Only as you parted, you actually realised what had just happened. Yours eyes widened, as you looked at his dreamy face. “I've wanted to do that for ages”, he admitted. A smile crossed your lips at his words:”I´m glad that you finally did.” “Oh I could kiss you again a thousand times, my love”, he chuckled, slightly squeezing your waist. “I wouldn't have a problem with that”, you whispered, before connecting your lips with his once more. Bonus: Ciri´s eyes slowly fluttered open, as the soft sunlight hit her face. Upon sitting up in her bed, she started to look around the room in search for her two friends. She expected them to be in their separate beds, still sleeping but Ciri couldn't help but to smile at what she saw in front of her. Right there, just a few metres away from her, you and Jaskier were huddled up together in the tiny bed. She could barely see your smaller form, as Jaskier was laying on top of you, his head resting on your chest. “I knew it”, she mumbled to herself, before slowly getting up to get ready for the day.