#GERALT IS THE ONE WHO *SENT* OTHER WITCHERS THERE | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nickfowlerrr · 4 months

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sit me on your throne.

pairing: geralt of rivia x curvy!reader

warnings: i don't know what i'm writing about but if you're here for smut, there's smut. 18+ only. probably ooc - i've only seen season one. if i'm missing something that needs to be tagged please let me know.

words: 4.3k

notes: i really truly do not know. forgive me not.

thank you in advance for reading! any thoughts, comments, and reblogs are so appreciated. let me know what you think. (unless its mean then pls don't).

"You kneel before me?"

Your question is born of nothing but pure confusion as you tilt your head in bemusement at the bulking behemoth of a man before you.

He hadn’t done as much when he first arrived, not to your displeasure, so it was odd to see him do it now - especially after the battle he has just fought.

He is at your feet, his long white hair darker and dingier now, dirty as his clothes and skin; marred with caked mud and what you can only assume is the blood and guts of the beast he has defeated.

The stench he carries with him is pungent, nothing but putrid, and yet that somehow doesn't take from his striking good looks; those paired with his brevity and bluntness have held your attention from the moment he stepped foot in your kingdom.

He is a man of little words, this Geralt of Rivia. His jester of a companion having done much of the speaking - perhaps too much - for him since they arrived.

Geralt says nothing still, only meets your gaze as he takes steady breaths. His yellow eyes, feline and harsh, cut through you in a number of ways - none of which you'd care to share aloud. You have a feeling he knows, however, just how affected you are by him no matter how well you think you hide it.

You are alone together, no guards at the ready, no advisors by your side. Most of your kingdom is now quiet and abandoned, including the halls of your once flourishing and lively home. The halls of this castle have been eerily silent since the night your men went on their mission to save their homestead. You had already sent word for The Witcher, you implored them to keep safe indoors until his arrival. They did not listen. Most of them still having seen you as the young princess you once were, the others simply following the orders of their leaders. You may have been their "Queen", but their faith in their commanders was stronger.

Those commanders who led them to their deaths... You still sigh at the loss.

Those who were not taken, slain, by the beast have long since fled for their lives. You cannot blame them. But you certainly could not join them. Your castle once held many souls, but now it is only you and a handful of others. Titles of servants, but you really never were one for titles.

"Your friend?" you wonder.

"Somewhere," he answers shortly, his voice low and deep as he speaks.

You quirk a brow, "Safe?"

"For as long as he keeps himself from trouble."

You hum, a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of your lips. Their relationship amuses you, you must admit.

"You needn't kneel, Witcher," you implore as you sit back on the throne. It is yours in name alone. It has never felt right to sit in. He seems to sense your unease, but he doesn't speak it. You continue, "You have done what you said you would, I will do the same."

Still, he doesn't stand. Not until you flick your eyes and move to stand yourself. He rises easily as he stands before you still. There is not much distance between you, and the stench of him stings your eyes and threatens to gag you. Your face scrunches in disgust as you turn it away from him, grimacing.

"I've had a bath readied for you, and new clothes set aside," you inform him, moving to pass around. He follows you, and you can feel the weight of his gaze as his eyes cling to you. "Your meals will be served as soon as you're done. I don't imagine anyone would be able to stomach a bite with that smell coming off of you."

He says nothing but lets out an amused "hm" at your words, still following as you lead him to the bathing room.

You thank Amaleah as you enter and she leaves with a nod to you, her breath catching when she smells Geralt enter behind you. It's as fast an exit as you've ever seen.

You move toward the bath and wade a hand in the water. It's a bit hot for your preferences but it should get him clean. You ensure the soap Amaleah brought in is fragrant enough and still look for some nicer oils to add to the water; when you turn around to ask your guest his want, you find yourself stunned silent as you're met with the sight of his broad, bare chest. His muscles flex under his pale and scarred skin as he moves, his solid chest is covered in dark hair, trailing down his torso. His arms are strong and big and a thought at the back of your mind wonders how comfortable he must be to lie with.

You blink, mouth parted slightly as you take a breath. You watch his clothing fall as he discards them and your gaze follows his hand as he begins to strip himself of the rest of his garments.

He is completely shameless as he watches you watch him. You feel as if you are in a trance, you cannot bring yourself to look away despite the heavy weight of his gaze assuring you he sees you staring.

It’s not an act of brazenness, truly you would look away and leave him at once…if you could.

“I’ve slain your monster,” he speaks and your eyes rise back to his chest, trying to ignore the heaviness of his thick cock as it hangs so temptingly before you. No, not temptingly…Shamelessly. He has put himself entirely on display before you, without an ounce of shame or concern, and you are still frozen to your spot. “Was there something else you required of me, Your Highness?”

The title gets your attention, the breath caught in your chest finally flows and your eyes flick up to meet his. You can't tell entirely if he meant it as an insult or if he thought you'd prefer it to Queen.

You remain quiet for a moment as you try to gather a response. Either way...

“I told you that wasn’t necessary, Witcher.”

“Geralt.”

You swallow hard as he takes a small step forward, and you will yourself to not break his intense gaze.

"Geralt. I thank you, for saving what was left of this ruined kingdom, but I consider myself not princess, nor Queen, any longer."

"Did you ever?" he asks, staring into your eyes a moment longer before he steps closer still, looking you up and down then nudging you aside, eliciting goosebumps along your skin, rising under his touch.

You glance over your shoulder as he continues past you, lowering himself into the tub.

You think.

You know your answer, but you won't say it aloud. Clearly he knows it, too.

You can hear the water sloshing with his movements as he begins to clean himself.

You take a deep breath.

"The clothes will be brought in shortly. You might tell Jaskier when you're done that the food is ready."

"Ah," he says amid his washing, "so you do know his name."

"Of course I do. I've grown quite fond of the bard in the week since you've arrived."

"I couldn't tell," he says plainly, yet still biting - his words sharp with sarcasm.

You furrow your brow at his meaning and then there's a laugh at the door and you look to see Jaskier as he leans on it. "You sound jealous, there, Geralt," he taunts, holding folded clothing in his hands as he pushes off the door to saunter in. "I wouldn't worry. I don't believe I'm the one who's caught her eye." He looks to you with a smirk, bowing before you, "Your Majesty."

"I am no longer queen," you repeat for what feels like the hundredth time.

"My Queen, none the less," he simpers before standing to his full height.

You smile tightly, eyes narrowed playfully at him before you finally move to exit, leaving them to their inevitable quarreling. And trying not to focus on the tingling still affecting you between your legs.

You eat with the women in the kitchen; the dining hall one of your least favorite places to be.

There is a calm yet solemn energy around you all. A peace in the slaying of the monster who took your kingdom, and still the grief from the loss of it all, your people, their families, friends...

Calliope readies the plates for your guests as you bid them all a goodnight, kissing Amaleah's son on his head on your way out with a 'sweet dreams'. Since his father was killed, the poor thing has nightmares recurringly. You only hope with the monster's demise, they might ease for him some. He is far too young to be in such pain...

You think to pass by the dining hall on your way to bed to thank Geralt once more and wish them both a goodnight as well but think better of it.

You will see them in the morning before they set off. You still owe him his coin and you know he won't be leaving without it.

You open the heavy door of your chamber and once you are inside, begin to undress.

Slipping into your shift, you swiftly make your way into bed. You thought you'd fall asleep quickly, but as you lay there, your mind wanders to thoughts of only one.

You have one hand on your lower belly, the other resting on the soft skin right above it.

You sigh and close your eyes, but all you see when you do is his built form. His dark, firelight stare set on you. His clothes left on the ground as he stands strong in his glory.

You breathe deeply, your hand starting to slowly drift down your stomach as you tickle yourself. You're so tempted to touch where you want it most, but you can't bring yourself to do it. Not just yet.

You slip your hand between your spread thighs, softly running your fingers across the sensitive skin you find there.

It'd been a week of torment, having Geralt so close and not being able to act on your most base feelings. You know he knows what you think when you look at him, if Jaskier can see it, surely, he can too.

You might feel embarrassed but with the way he's managed to get closer and closer to you with each passing day as he awaited the beasts' return, you would wager he feels similarly.

It feels like an age that you lie awake. All the noises about the castle, not that there were many, have settled and it assures you everyone has retired for the night.

Sleep begins to nip at you but the stronger pull is to the dissatisfaction that weighs on you. The emptiness that echos through your body and soul.

Your fingers twitch, and you begin to glide closer to your uncovered core, the need to be touch too much to be ignored for much longer. Your eyes are closed and you imagine it isn't your hand running over your skin, but rather his large, rough palm feeling you, teasing you just so...

Just as you inch closer, your eyes snap open in the dark as a heartbreaking scream cuts through the night air. You sit up, pulling your hands off of yourself. You know immediately where the sound comes from and who it belongs to.

You get out of bed, intent to make sure Hartley and Amaleah both are okay.

You open your door just as the one across the wide hall does the same. You frighten at the unexpected movement but are then unsurprised to be across Geralt.

He is shirtless again, and his eyes are wide as his chest rises and falls with his heavy breaths.

"Are you alright?" he asks, voice hard.

"Yes, I'm fine. It was the boy, Hartley. He has nightmares," you explain, keeping your voice quiet as to not disturb the renewed peace of the night.

The flick of the flame that lights the hallway allows you both to see one another. You say nothing for a moment as your eyes fall to his bare torso.

"Did the clothes not fit?"

He looks down at himself briefly, then back to you. He shakes his head, "I prefer to sleep naked."

You burn at his words, swallowing hard. "Oh. Well, I- I'm going to check on them, make sure they're fine."

"I'll go with you."

It's not a question, it's a statement. You stop in your start, turning to look at him. You say nothing, just blink and quickly carry on as you were.

You make your way down the stairs and down the hall until you see the flames licking at the end of the hallway.

You follow the glow to Amaleah's room and knock gently as you look in the open door.

She turns and looks to you, her eyes tired and cheeks damp as she rocks her toddler in her arms. He is sleeping again as she rubs his back gently, more to soothe herself than anything.

She sniffles, "Your High-" she stops herself, "sorry, forgive me," she whispers.

"Don't apologize. Please," you implore her. "I know it's habit."

"Are you two alright?" Geralt asks from right at your back.

"We are, thank you. Just another nightmare," her voice gets thick at the explanation. You know it hurts her that there isn't anything she can do but be there to comfort him when they come.

You smile sadly and nod. "We'll let you be, then. Do try to get some rest. He'll be okay," you reassure her.

You pull the door nearly closed and wind up with Geralt firmly at your back.

You turn into him but he doesn't seem to mind as he just looks down at you nearly pressed against his chest. You try to budge him to turn and move back down the hall but he doesn't waver. After a second, he relents and steps to the side, allowing you to go back down the hallway first.

It isn't until you come up on the throne room that Geralt speaks again.

"Might I have a word with you?" he asks.

You stop and turn to eye him as he stands at the entryway of the door.

"Now?" you question.

He nods once, "Now."

You approach him trepidatiously, and as you near, he gestures you in the room before him, extending his arm, "Princess."

Your eyes narrow again. And you turn on him, watching as he enters the room behind you. "Why do you keep doing that?"

"What am I doing?"

"Princess? Your Highness?" you quote him.

"I assumed you preferred it to your true title," he tilts his head at you.

"True title," you scoff, rolling your eyes. "I prefer no title at all."

"And what shall I call you then?"

You remind him your name, not that he really needs to be reminded. You know he knows it full well.

He considers you, then closes in on where you stand in front of the throne.

You don't move back, no, you quite like the closeness when he doesn't reek of death and innards.

Geralt seems to appreciate your resolve, his lips twitching with the beginnings of a smile as he studies your face.

"It's a beautiful name," he speaks lowly, taking another step into your space and raising his hand to gently caress your cheek before he leans in to speak against your ear. Your hands touch his solid stomach in an attempt to keep yourself upright, you can feel the muscles as they flex under your delicate graze. "I think I might prefer princess," he husks.

He slips away from you, turning to take a seat on the throne instead. You follow his movements and turn yourself to face him. You're stunned and completely set ablaze all at once.

"Well I don't."

"No," he smirks, agreeing with you, one large hand settling on his thick thigh as he spreads his legs, "you don't."

"It's too bad," he tsks, his voice a smooth rumbling. "No title, no throne."

"I don't want any throne."

Your eyes are glued to his thighs as he brings attention to his lap by rubbing the muscle there.

"None?" he asks before his gaze shifts directly on you, his mesmerizing stare burning into you. His voice lowers deeper than you've ever heard as a desperate longing shoots through you once again, resounding deep in your core. "Not even mine?"

Your mouth goes dry and your brain fuzzy as you take in his meaning.

Unthinking, you step toward him closer.

"You mean to defile the very one you sit on?"

"You don't seem to care for it much anyway."

Another step.

You are nearly stood between his spread legs, carefully you reach out a hand, your fingers light on his thigh. You feel his muscle then, flicking your eyes up. His gaze is dark and heated.

"That's true enough," you say, your voice breathy in a near whisper.

You gasp as your suddenly pulled closer by Geralt's rough hands around your waist. You can feel him through the thin fabric of your shift and its only then you realize how much of your figure he has seen thanks to your nightwear.

"Truer still," he speaks, "I don't mean to defile this throne." He squeezes your plush waist, groping you through your shift as your hands latch onto his solid shoulders. "I mean to defile you."

He manages to pull you onto his lap with little effort, leaning in to crash his lips into yours.

You kiss him back hungrily, chasing his lips as you settle on his lap. Your fingers wind in his hair and you can feel his cock growing beneath you through the material of his pants.

His hands slide down your waist and over your wide hips, reaching for the hem of your shift and pulling it up. His tongue slips past your lips and you moan, shifting your hips atop him.

You pull away, reaching for your dress and pulling it over your head, discarding it behind your back.

Geralt holds you closer, letting his lips explore your heavy breasts as you allow your head to fall back in pleasure, your hands returning to his hair.

"Geralt," you breathe, pulling him off you after a moment.

"Mm," he hums, kissing the swell of your breast once more before he moves to free himself from the restraint of his pants. He knows what you’ve both been wanting for days. What you need.

One heavy hand returns to your back, holding you by your waist while his other grips his red, throbbing cock.

He moves his tip up and down your slick center, making you whimper as he teases you - his cockhead rubbing delightfully against your sensitive clit.

He watches your face scrunch in rapture and holds you tighter to stop your wiggling about as you whimper.

He smiles smugly to himself and when you're just about to open your mouth to protest his teasing, he finally pulls you down on top of him. The sound that escapes you is music to his ears as you grasp onto him, your nails digging into the muscle of his back as your walls squeeze and stretch to accommodate his thick length, the size of him almost too much for you to take.

"Fuck," he groans as your walls tighten around him. He gives you a moment before he begins to urge you to move. He guides your hips, slow and sensually. The feeling of his hands on you motivates you to try and ride him yourself. And you do try, but you cry out again at how big he is, how fully he is stuffing you. You can barely move.

Geralt kisses you as he holds you closer, taking pity on your tight cunt and instead he moves his hands to your soft hips again. He holds you on top of him securely before he begins to fuck up into you.

You mewl as he jostles you, bouncing you up and down his cock, your breasts moving in time.

You pull on his hair, forcing him to look up from where his gaze was fixed, watching his own cock as he stretched you out for him, watching as your cunt took as much of him in as she could, up to your hooded lust filled gaze. You lean into him, chest to chest as you kiss him fervently. His lips follow yours as you taste one another. You nip at his lip and he growls, his hands gripping the ample flesh of your ass, "Keep that up," he snarls.

"And you'll what?" you breathe heavily, eyes screwed shut, jaw tight as you deadbrain on the pleasure coursing through you.

Your answer is a harsh thrust of his cock inside of you, stealing your breath while he slaps your ass, your flesh stinging from the force.

"Oh, fuck," you whimper debauchedly, your velvety walls squeezing him ever tighter as you feel yourself growing closer with every bounce. The tip of him hitting exactly where you need it to. Your body is on fire and you are loving every second of it. The feeling of him inside of you, of his hands squeezing and caressing you everywhere he can, of his lips demanding yours for more.

His grunts are growing louder and his thrusts more powerful, you kiss him hard in an effort to quiet him some, but you can feel what is coming.

Geralt is near slamming you down on top of him, the sound of your ass slapping against his thick thighs mix with the salacious sounds coming from you both and of your slick wetness as you're worked up and down his shaft, your cunt taking him better and better with each thrust.

Your hands move to hold his face, your noses brush as you breathe each other's air, lips touching just slightly.

"Geralt, I'm,"

"I know," he pants harshly, concentrated before taking your lips in his. You whimper pathetically as the coil in your belly winds tighter and tighter. He keeps you moving a top him, your clit being stimulated with every brush of your hips over his, and then with another deep thrust it snaps before you can speak. Your voice is an empty high then silent squeak as your legs tremble and your eyes roll back. Are you even breathing? Your walls clench down on Geralt's cock and he finally allows himself to reach his own high as your tight walls flutter around him, squeezing him perfectly. You ride the waves of ecstasy as his come spills inside of you. You feel him shudder beneath you and it only adds to your feeling of weightlessness, stars in your eyes as you feel, think, breathe nothing but him.

You part from his lips and your bodies are slick with sweat as you both pant heavily. Geralt holds you to him as he softens inside of you, his forehead pressed to yours as your hand comes behind his neck, holding him to you in kind.

Your lips mimic a kiss but neither of you lean in close enough to actually do it. You work to catch your breath and settle for a minute before you finally break the quiet.

"Do I still owe you your coin?" you breathe, smiling when Geralt laughs in your face. You reach to move a stray strand of hair from his face, holding his cheek gently once you do.

Your stare into one another's eyes for a long moment, just breathing and being close.

"Where will you be off to in the morning?" you ask, hoping your solemn tone isn't as audible as it sounded to you.

"Don't know," he shakes his head, eyes straying to your lips.

You take a breath and pull his face closer to kiss him softly.

"I envy you, you know."

"Don't."

You huff a humorless laugh, readjusting yourself on his lap. "Not because you're a witcher. You may not have the most enviable life, but at least you have one. I've never made it past the most exterior gates," you smile sadly, playing with the hairs on his chest as you avoid his eye now.

"I suppose I'll have the chance, now, though. Thanks to you."

"And where will you go?" he asks.

Your gaze floats up to his and you repeat his previous answer. "I don't know. But I won't stay here. This kingdom is..." you shake your head. "I don't belong here. Never felt like I did. But I made a promise to my mother when I was young, and another to my father before he passed. I know I've let them down," you swallow the rise of emotion threatening to overcome you, "but alas, the fall of a kingdom is ever inevitable. Especially under such rule as my own."

"I've heard word of your rule from many. You're known to be kind. Caring. Protective, even. I don't believe you've failed. I think you were exactly the kind of ruler you should have been, who you needed to be. But perhaps it's a good thing you won't be forced any longer into holding power you don't desire. You're now free to do as you wish."

"I am," you nod lightly in agreement. "If only I knew where to start,” you muse with an uneasy laugh.

His hand runs up your back comfortingly; he's pensive, deep in thought for a long moment before he speaks.

"If you ready your things, I don't think Roach would mind a travel companion of her own. She seems to have taken to Belfast… I'm not sure she'd be ready to part with him so soon, anyway."

"Is that so?" you ask him, faux curiosity playing in your voice.

"And Jaskier is easier to take when I'm not the only one he has around to bother."

"Right," you nod, fighting your soft smile.

"And of course your coin would be useful as well."

"Of course," you exaggerate your agreement. "…Geralt, are you getting at something here?"

"Just that, if you want to join us…you might."

You lean into him again, thumb rubbing along his stubble lining his cheek, and this time he kisses you first. More gently than you expect. You can’t help your smile now.

You part lightly and breathe,

"I hope you mean that, Witcher. Because I just might."

#geralt x curvy!reader #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia x curvy!reader #geralt of rivia smut #geralt x you #geralt x y/n #geralt of rivia x y/n #geralt of rivia x you #geralt smut #geralt fanfic #henry cavill characters

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anim-ttrpgs · 27 days

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Why I Dislike PbtA Games, and How Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy is Their Opposite

@tender-curiosities

It is no secret that I hate PbtA games.

Though due to a recent misunderstanding regarding another post, I’m going to preface this post by saying that this is going to be a very opinionated post and

I do not seriously think that PbtA games are inherently bad, though I may sometimes joke about this.

While I do often question the taste of people who make and play PbtA hacks, I do not think poorly of their moral character.

While I am going to call for PbtA to be used less as a base for games in the future, I’m not saying that the whole system and all games based on it should be destructified. It’s good for what it’s good for, but unless you’re doing that, I really think you should use something else.

Now that that is out of the way, here’s what I have to say about it.

My first experiences with PbtA games were pretty rough. Monster of the Week was not the first, but it was one of the first ‘indie’ TTRPGs I played after having previously played mostly only D&D3.5e and 5e. I really appreciated that the use of 2D6 over a D20 meant that the dice results would be more predictable, and I really liked the various “classes” I was seeing. (At this time, I didn’t really understand that they weren’t really “classes” at all, though I think I can be forgiven for this because many people, even people who like PbtA games, still talk like “classes” and “playbooks” are interchangeable.)

I was very enthusiastic to play, until it came time to start actually “making” a character, and found that I couldn’t “make” a character. I wanted to make a nuanced, three-dimensional PC who was simultaneously stereotype-affirming and stereotype-defying, with a unique backstory and dynamic with the other characters—but when I went to actually fill out the character sheet for basically any “class”, I found that most of the backstory and most of the personality for my character was being set for me by the playbook. It felt like the only thing about the character I really had a say in was their name, and that two PCs of the same playbook would actually turn out to be almost identical characters. At the time, I thought this was very restrictive and very bad design.

Later, now that I understand the design intent behind it, I still think of it as very restrictive, but I think of it as very bad design for me, not inherently bad.

When I play a TTRPG, I want more freedom in who my PC is. That doesn’t mean I want less rules, in fact having more rules can often increase freedom, but that’s a different post. I want to create original, unique characters, that I won’t see anywhere else. If it’s a class-based system, I want that class to barely touch the details of my character’s backstory or personality, so that I can come up with something original and engaging for why and how this “Fighter” fights. This means that two level-1 Fighters, despite having almost the same mechanical abilities, will potentially be very different people.

PbtA games don’t let you do that. In a lot of PbtA games, you’re not playing your own original character, you’re playing someone else’s character, that every other player that has picked up the same playbook before you has played. It’s more like “character select” than “character creation.” I think I could liken it to playing Mass Effect or The Witcher. Every player may pick a few different dialogue choices in those games that change the story, but we’re still all playing Shepherd or Geralt. No one is going to experience a new never-before-seen story in Mass Effect or The Witcher, which is very much a factor of them being video games and not TTRPGs, and therefore limited to the amount of code, writing, and voice-acting that can go into them.

This anonymous asker who sent a message to @thydungeongal seems to feel pretty similarly to me about PbtA games, and @thydungeongal's response is a very good response about how people find this appealing.

I have more respect for PbtA now than I did, but I still don't like it because to me it seems to play so much against what I consider to be the strengths of TTRPGs as a medium, much like how video games like The Last of Us and David Cage games play against the strengths of the medium of video games, and I will never like it. But other people clearly do, so to each their own.

Then another reason I don’t like it is because I think it’s oversaturating the TTRPG space. I’ve referred to PbtA before as “indie D&D5e”, and i do think that’s a reasonable comparison, because in much the same way that you always hear “D&D5e is a system that can do everything”, I think a lot of people seem to be under the impression that the PbtA system is a system that can do anything. It’s kinda the système du jour for indie TTRPGs right now, and many iterations of it make it clear that many designers do not consider how PbtA differs from more traditional TTRPGs, and how it is specialized for different types of TTRPG gameplay. Just like how I feel PbtA isn’t playing to certain important strengths of TTRPGs, I think that many—maybe even most—PbtA hacks don’t play to the strengths of PbtA. But this isn’t really PbtA’s fault, that comes down to any individual indie TTRPG developer on a case-by-case basis. And the cure for that is something I’m always saying: If you are going to be a writer, you have got to read lots of books. If you are going to be a director, you have got to watch lots of movies. If you are going to be a video game developer, you have got to play lots of video games. And if you are going to be a TTRPG designer, you have got to read and play lots of TTRPGs. That and you have to understand that TTRPGs are specialized. Even "agnostic" systems like PbtA are somewhat specialized, and therefore might really not be a great fit for the game you’re trying to make.

That and, to get more subjective again, there’s like an ocean of them, and I don’t even like the ones that are actually good.

Now that I’ve talked about how I don’t like PbtA games, I’m gonna talk about a game I do like: Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy. Obviously, I like it because I’m the lead writer for it, but I would also like it even if I wasn’t the lead writer for it, because it’s just my kinda game. Eureka is the opposite of a PbtA game. I wrote it to play to what I feel are the strengths of the TTRPG medium.

Eureka’s character creation uses personality traits as a mechanical element of the character, but it does so in a deliberately freeform way. You build your character’s personality out of a list of traits, so who your character is is very much linked to what your character can do, but we aren’t just handing you a pre-made character.

Eureka is designed to incentivize organic decision-making by the PCs, most often by the mechanics of the game mirroring the world they live in. Every mechanic aims to create situations wherein “what will the PC do next?” is a question whose answer can be predicted - it doesn’t need to be ordained by a playbook.

One of my favorite examples of this is, rather than a “Fear Check” forcing the PC to run away if they fail, or “Run Away from Danger” being a “Move” on their character sheet, Eureka opts for the Composure mechanic. The really short version is that one of the main things that lowers a PC’s Composure is encountering scary stuff, and the lower a PC’s Composure, the more likely they are to fail skill checks, and the more likely they are to fail skill checks, well, the less brave they and their player probably feel about them standing up to this scary monster. So if the PC has low Composure, they are more likely to choose to run away. The lower their Composure, the better idea that will seem.

This system really really shines when it comes to monster PCs in Eureka. Most monsters benefit a lot more from having high Composure, but have fewer ways to restore Composure than mundane PCs. Their main way to restore their Composure is by eating people. The rulebook never says “your monster PC has to eat people”, but more likely than not, they’re going to be organically steered towards that by the game and world itself. Sure, they could decide to be “one of the good ones”, and just never eat people, just like you reading this could decide to stop eating food. You technically could, but when your body starts to fail, how long would you? (This is a big part of the themes of Eureka and what it has to say about crime, disability, mental illness, and evil. People don’t just arbitrarily do bad things, it is often their circumstances that leads them down that path until they see little choice for themselves in that matter, and “harmful” people are still just as deserving of life as people who “aren’t harmful”, but that really deserves its own post.)

It has been said that Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy actually arrives at much the same end as the PbtA game Monsterhearts, and I actually don’t disagree, but it gets there from an entirely different starting point and direction. The monster PCs in Eureka are very likely to eat people and cause drama, but it won’t be because they have “Eat People and Cause Drama” as a “Move” on their character sheet.

Monsters in Eureka have a lot of abilities, which they can use to solve (and create) problems as the emergent story emerges organically.

(Oh and Eureka is about adult investigators investigating mysteries, and sometimes those investigators are monsters, not about monster kids in high school, to be clear. The same “end” that Eureka and Monsterhearts reach is that of the monsters being prone to cause problems and drama due to the fact that they are monsters, though this isn’t the sole point of Eureka, just one element of it.)

You can pick up the free shareware version of this game from the download link on our website, or the full version for $5 from our Patreon.

And don’t forget, Eureka is fundraising on Kickstarter starting on April 10th, 2024! We need your support there most of all, to make sure we hit our goals and can afford to make the best version of Eureka we can make!

Interested in branching out but can’t get your group to play anything but D&D5e? Join us at the A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club, where we nominate, vote on, and play indie TTRPGs, all organized by our team with no strict schedule requirement! Here's the invite link! See you there!

We also have merchandise.

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kiritella · 10 months

Text

Birds and Stones

Pairings: Geralt of Rivia x Fem!reader

Words: 3.1k~

Warnings: A monster fight (rather non-descriptive), a little blood, hypothermia, worried Geralt

Author's Notes: Sorry this one is a bit off my usual and if it is weird. I recently powered through The Witcher on Netflix and had a thought. Writer's block is still rough, but getting better!

-------------------------

“Geralt—”

It wasn’t his name that cut through him like a jagged blade when the kikimora’s talon hit his chest, it was the scream that came with it. It was the sound of her voice shifting from complete confidence in him to utter terror. The look in her eyes as she fell from the remains of the collapsing bridge, his hand wrenched from hers, the hope in them dying into realization. He couldn’t save her. This was his realization. Harrowing pain ripped through him when her body plunged into the river and her heartbeat, once a constant reminder of her presence, became indistinguishable from the rapids and ice carrying her body downstream. The kikimora took hold of him as her body vanished beneath the water, and a sound he hadn’t heard himself make in years tore from his throat: desperation.

Flung by the creature, his body collided on the other side of the fallen bridge, cushioned by the thick layer of snow. His head snapped back as the beast lunged for him, its blood staining the ground from its severed arm. Geralt’s hands tightened around the sword’s hilt as pain twisted out of his chest and sank into his limbs, turning his vision red and black. His mind didn’t register the fight, only a vague sense of movement as he swung his sword, a burn in his lungs, his muscles moving of their own habits and years of experience. His sense of time dulled as each second pulled out a year’s worth of life from him. He hadn’t heard her gasp for air. The red and black slipped out of his mind when his blade sheathed through the kikimora’s throat, retrieved only to cut off its head. Then he ran.

The rapids sent white mist up into the air when he found his way to the base of the cliffside, the sound of rushing water invading his ears to the point it was difficult to hear anything else. He scanned down the bank, but for as far as his eyes could reach, he saw nothing. No body, no footsteps, no indication she had pulled herself from the icy water. His breath came in short as he tried to focus, eyes becoming wild as he started downstream, his steps becoming quicker with each second passing that he couldn’t see a trace of her.

Focus.

The body goes into shock when it hits the water, forcing you to gasp for breath. If she wasn’t careful, she could inhale water or fall into a spell of rapid breathing, losing control. She would need to control her breathing in under a minute.

After 10 minutes of immersion she would lose the ability to fully use her limbs. However, body heat would be lost faster the more she moved. She would need to flow with the current and glide herself to shore using as little movement as possible. How long had it taken him to kill the monster? How many minutes was that?

In under an hour, her body would become too weak and cold, forcing her unconscious and—

His jaw clenched. It wouldn’t take that long. Still, though he knew in his mind without a doubt, he would find her, he couldn’t settle the cold hands clenching around his lungs. The fear gripped at his chest like nothing else and drove his feet to move faster, his eyes to strain a little farther. It was a fear known only for those who were his.

She was his.

—

Her body struggled when her hand gripped onto the jagged rocks along the bank, her vision spotting as she heaved her chest out of the frozen water. Her lungs coughed up the remnants of the river behind her, limbs collapsing as they lost feeling. The pins and needles once sparking beneath her skin were gone, though her body shivered uncontrollably. It was a good sign, at least, the shivering, but the gust of deep winter air cut around her and she wondered how much longer her body would hold out against it. Rocks dug into the palms of her hands as she crawled further out of the water, her feet at last pulled onto the ground as the weight of her body grew. A cry broke against her teeth as pain erupted up her leg, curling even into her belly.

It had to be broken. Given the height she fell from, she wasn’t entirely surprised. It did, however, shatter her hopes of walking out of there, of finding Geralt. Gritting her teeth, she pulled herself up and looked around. Cliffs rose on either side of the river, leaving maybe a rod’s distance of graveled land between her and the nearest wall. Ice grew along the waterline, building up along the cliffs and its ledges as snow mounted upon them, and if she hadn’t been frightened of the cold allowing it to exist, it might have been beautiful. Perhaps if her mind wasn’t hazy and her vision growing dark, she would have admired them, but with growing numbness it was all a miserable shade of gray taunting her stubborn will to live. There were divots, though, small, but enough to shield her from the brunt of the wind if she could reach them. It was a bit of luck, she supposed. She smiled grimly, but it quickly dissolved when a shrill sound echoed through her memory.

Geralt. His hand gripping her wrist when the kikimora appeared, the bridge shaking under the creature’s weight, the sheathing ring of Geralt’s sword, the old ropes snapping—and weightlessness. So close to the ledge, to solid ground, and then nothing but a yank of her wrist as his hand was ripped from her by the swing of the kikimora’s arm. The sound that had ripped from his lungs—pain, desperation—she had never been cursed with the knowledge of it until now. Frustration, annoyance, gentleness, and care, those were the sounds she had a loving collection of, but this one—it sent violent tremors through her body. Fear. Fear for him. All at once, the pain in her leg, the weakness of her body and mind were insignificant. She dragged herself to her feet.

She huffed on a choked breath, her eyes squeezing closed against the wind as she hauled her body toward the cliffside. Her cries echoed along the stone when she stumbled against the wall, using its rugged face as a crutch to lean her weight on. Stubbornly, she walked, limping past the pain as she forced her numb legs to move, to find purchase, but all too soon she collapsed. Overtaken by the cold and the slippery, frozen ground, she fell to her knees near the mouth of a small cave, her head colliding with the wall to leave her more dizzy than she had already been. Just as quickly as the strength to stand had come to her, it left, leaving her hollow.

“—ralt…” she mumbled, his name sounding wrong coming from unfeeling lips and a heavy tongue. She huffed in frustration as pain swept over her skin with the wind, collecting the powdery white snow on her clothes.

Her clothes....

Clothes.

Shit.

Limply, her hands clawed at her soaked tunic, attempting to pull it over her head but failing miserably. Groaning weakly, she tried again, the garment slipping from her grasp as her fingers couldn’t hold onto the material, sliding over her body instead and falling to the ground. How long had she been out there? In the river? It was in this she noticed the stillness of her hand, and her heart sank. It wasn’t moving. She wasn’t moving.

When had she stopped shivering?

—

“Fuck—” Geralt cursed, his voice raw like the ground edges of a stone, his wide eyes latched on her collapsed body, snow beginning to pile upon her. His knees dug into the gravel as he dropped to her side. “Dove?”

She was limp, her skin descending into a pale grey-blue as he rolled her onto her back, cradling her head. Clotted blood trailed down the side of her face as his hands flew to inspect the gash along her temple, his thumb sweeping over her cheek. The vines twisting around his chest tightened when her half-lidded eyes shifted, trailing up his body to meet his eyes, empty, lacking a sliver of recognition before they closed entirely. His lips pressed tight as he glanced to the mouth of the cave some distance away, and he hastened.

“Forgive me,” he spoke, laying her head back on the ground as he began to strip her body of her soaked clothes, his hands lingering along her skin to leave a trace of warmth in his wake. He paused at her legs when a purple swelling wrapped around one of her calves. Broken. He swallowed thickly and removed his cloak, wrapping her body within it and pulling her up against him.

He tried not to focus on how cold and limp she was, her nose like ice against his throat, or how still she was, not a shiver trembling within her, her chest hardly moving with each breath. Rather, he leaned his head over hers to hide her from the wind, tucked an arm beneath her knees and hauled her into his arms entirely. Lifting her with him, he rose to his feet and carried her the last bit of distance, into the mouth of the cave. He was quick, feet rushing as the snow storm grew, the afternoon sky darkened by the swells of ice in the atmosphere, spiraling down to the earth like a curse.

The wind howled as he pushed past the dead vines trailing over the cave’s entrance, taking her to the back where the air was still, settling himself on his knees a few feet from the furthest wall. Holding her, he reached out a hand in a sign, igni, and fire erupted violently over the stone. Lacking kindling, the flames soon died out, but their heat remained to act as a furnace. Carefully, he laid her cloaked body on them, an unsettling frustration building in his throat as her body limply settled.

He stormed off, returning after only a minute, her clothes tossed to some edge of the cave as he tore down the vines and bramble, the fallen branches at the foot of the cliff. He brought them beside her, using igni to get the wet wood to ignite, forcing them into a roaring flame. Shifting the sign once more to the rocks, he reheated the floor, sparks and flames blackening the stone. Quickly, his leather jerkin was removed, his tunic to follow before he brought her closer to the flames. Letting the cloak lie beneath her, he settled against her bare skin, his arms and legs wrapped around her with the flames at her back and the warm floor beneath them.

“Come on now, dove,” he said, and it was now, as he was unable to do anything more than hold her and pray, that he was overwhelmed. His nose buried in the crook of her neck, his arms curling around her tighter, his fingers digging into her skin as his jaw set and released. His golden eyes squeezed shut as he listened to the only sound keeping him tethered: the gentle thump-thump dwelling in her chest—too slow to give him any true comfort.

He hadn’t realized he had shifted, his leg sliding over her hip to pull her closer, his arm tucked beneath her head and crossing over her back as he rocked them back and forth. The movement was hardly perceptible, his gentle sways as he tried to soothe the ache growing within him.

“It’s alright, you’re safe now.”

Thump—thump

“You’re too stubborn to give in to some cold water.”

Thump…..Thump

“Come on…”

Thump………..thump

Too slow—too slow, too fucking slow—

Geralt strained as pain ripped through his chest, tearing through his body and escaping him past grit teeth. He curled into her, hands gripped tight enough to leave bruises in their wake, pulling her into him as if he could sink into her, give her every last bit of himself. His warmth, his strength—everything. Again, the desperation took hold.

His voice was wretched and marred. “Come back. Damn you, come back to me.”

He waited. He waited and waited and waited, casting igni over and over until the floor radiated heat like a summer’s day. Sweat rolled down his back, both from the heat and physical strain of casting so many signs. His body ached, his mind warped, but as time collected minutes like gold, he heard it. Her heartbeat steadied, slowly increasing, her body warming. Relief flooded him, and his whole body went lax. Lifting his head from the crook of her neck, his eyes trailed over her. Her skin was shifting back to its normal hue, and her chest moved with every breath now passing her parted lips. Though her brow was furrowed, she shifted, and he didn’t care that the first sound she made was pained. She’d moved. The heavy breath caught in his lungs released, fanning over her cheek as her eyes cracked open.

—

Gold. It was the first thing she saw, two eyes so familiar and close she thought she was still dissolved in a dreamy haze—granted it had been a rather painful dream. The rest of him slowly formed in the blur, Geralt’s face framed by his dirty white hair, sweat beading along his hairline. One of his arms rested beneath her head, his other was wrapped snugly around her waist—her bare waist, she realized. Steadily, so very slowly, her memories trickled in and the fog lifted. A sigh escaped her as her eyes closed, fighting back the tears welling in them.

She opened them again when Geralt’s hand cupped the side of her face, fingers reaching to the back of her neck. His jaw clenched, his body rigid as if the notion of her eyes being closed once more pained him. She could see it in the way his eyes flicked between hers, his breaths shallow.

“Hey there, handsome…” she said through heavy lips and tongue, and Geralt softened, huffing out a short laugh before his forehead leaned in, resting against hers.

“You’re delirious…”

“‘M not.”

“Confused, then.” He smiled, a narrow, crooked sort of thing just touching the edges of his lips with a slight tug. “Are you warm?”

She hummed, shivers running down her spine uncontrollably. “I’m getting there,” she whispered, lifting her heavy arm and resting it along his side, trailing her fingers along his skin. “Are you alright?”

He laughed again, but she couldn’t find the humor in the hollow sound this time. Rather, it sent an ache curling around her heart. A crease grew between her brows as she tried to sit up, stopping sharply as pain spiked up her leg. She grit her teeth, a stifled cry pushing up against them and Geralt was quick to press her back down.

“Don’t move. Your leg is broken.”

“Fuck…” she groaned, allowing herself to fall back against him. Still, her hands trailed over his torso, his chest, leading up his back and over his shoulders and arms. She hadn’t forgotten the bridge, the kikimora, the sound that had torn from him, and yet, she found few remnants of the fight. A light bruise, a cut, but no broken bones were to be found beneath her searching fingers, no true injury.

His eyes never left her even as hers wandered over his body, their intensity caressed her skin like she was about to slip out of sight, and he was desperate to remember every dip and curve. Haunted, like a nightmare on the verge of its precipice. Her breath caught when she found them, wide and gripping, almost as if—

“Geralt,” she whispered, sitting up onto her elbow. Her hand traced over his shoulder before her fingers passed over his temple, brushing back the tendrils of hair falling against his cheek, tucking them behind his ear. His lips tightened as his frightened eyes fell closed against his will, his brow furrowing with her touch—pained. “Are you alright?”

The fire crackled behind her, the licks of flames stirring with her shadow and sending waves of gold and yellow over his features. His hand swept up along her spine and over her neck to hold the side of her face, pulling her closer. The tip of his nose brushed along her cheek, his breath unsteady.

“I’m alright,” he said with a voice laced with something heavy and raw before his lips caught hers for a chaste moment. Like a grounding breath, a gust of fresh air, she was settled. “I’m relieved.”

Her hum was soft, sweet, and it washed over him, enveloped him, but not nearly as much as when she pressed her lips to his again, kissing him and solidifying him in the present. The touch of her hands, her scent, her heart—her heart—beating within her chest. She brought him back from the sharp edges of what could have been, what almost was, and gave him something soft to embrace.

Her thumb soothed the crease in his brow as she parted from him, pressing her forehead to his. And as he held her beside the fire, she grew warm. The shivering slowly subsided, the ache within her bones melted. With time, her lover, a man of too few of words to be able to tell her of his heart, was finally at ease. She could feel it as his calloused fingers ran along her skin, hear it as she laid on his chest, his heart falling back into its natural rhythm.

“No more precarious bridges for you,” Geralt said after some time, and she couldn’t help but laugh. His own was soon to follow, though she felt it more in the tremors of his chest more than she heard it.

She lifted her head, resting it on her hand as she peered up at him with a raised brow. “I would hope it is the last of precarious bridges for the both of us.”

He opened his mouth as if to argue, probably to spout some Witcher madness, but he thought the better of it. “I thought that was self evident,” he said, voice tilted in amusement.

She giggled, and this time, she was able to see the fullness of his smile as it reached out and softened every one of his features. Her fingers trailed up into his hair as she leaned in, kissing the cleft of his chin. His golden eyes held on to her as she tried to settle back against his chest.

“You missed.”

Scoffing, she leaned over him, letting him watch as she rolled her eyes playfully. “Demanding,” she grumbled, and his smile only grew. Unable to refuse him, she brushed her lips against his. “I love you too, Geralt…” she whispered, and at last, she kissed him, knowing well the words he held in his throat, the ones he was trying to convey. She could feel them in his hands, taste them on his tongue.

Even though the snow piled outside, the wind howling as the sun set, in that cave, in his arms, she was warm.

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fangirleaconmigo · 2 months

Note

Hello dear! i asked this once but it was as a chat response so asking here just in case it got lost, no hurries! Bookverse! Dandi and geralt, Geralt gets turned away at the brothel (again) and Dandi decides if no one is gonna treat his witcher like he deserves, he'll have to.

(plz ignore if this is not relevant to your interests!)

Pan, my dear. I know you sent this almost a year and a half ago. I ADORE getting prompts, but inspiration strikes when it strikes, the fickle ho.

Geralt x Dandelion. Rated Explicit. Bottom!Geralt (first time bottoming).

Geralt is turned away from a brothel, and Dandelion takes care of him. This is porn with feelings. Love and smut ahoy. 7k words(ish)

-----

The woman at the door whispered something in Dandelion’s ear.

In other circumstances, Geralt might have heard what she said. He was standing only a few feet behind the poet, and his witcher hearing was certainly capable of it. But he didn’t hear, because he wasn’t paying the least bit of attention. His mind was occupied.

He and Dandelion had been drinking in a nearby tavern. When Dandelion suggested a brothel to relax him, Geralt happily trailed after him like a trusting pup. On the way, the witcher let his mind wander in and out of a series of increasingly vivid, sexually charged visions. He was already aroused and bristling with excess energy when they arrived at the door.

Dandelion tilted his head towards the girl. “Milady,” he responded, “why are you telling me this? Are you proud or something? Are you also proud when you get a canker on your ass? It’s a personal situation if you ask me.” He glanced back at Geralt for support, laughing haughtily. “It is lucky that my erection is more insistent than my convictions, and that I have already promised my friend an unforgettable night in your establishment which I am loathe to renege upon.”

Geralt was at a loss, trying to put together what was happening with context clues. He didn’t need to wait long. The woman looked desperately at Geralt and leaned closer towards the poet. “I said. Humans only.”

Geralt heard it that time. His stomach sank. He felt a familiar mix of humiliation and anger, which he promptly suffocated until he felt nothing. He tugged on Dandelion’s sleeve. “Come on, Dandelion.”

Dandelion ignored him. He threw his arms out. “And? We are men,” he said to the girl. He looked around melodramatically and declared a bit too loud, “I didn’t bring my horse to partake!”

The girl at the door nervously avoided Geralt’s gaze. “Master Dandelion,” she whispered strenuously, “the witcher cannot come in.”

Sometimes the ‘humans only’ rule applied to Geralt. Sometimes it didn’t. Clearly, at this place, it did. He tugged again on his friend’s sleeve, to no avail. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

To his frustration, Dandelion ignored him yet again. The poet drew himself up to full height and stuck his nose in the air. “I pity your lack of education, dear girl, but witchers are human beings. That is just a fact. But luckily for you, I am feeling generous. If you let us in right now, I will not alert your madam to this offensive gaffe.”

“Shut. Up. Dandelion,” gritted out Geralt. This time he grabbed the poet’s arm.

Dandelion yanked his arm free. He briefly glanced at Geralt. “Let me handle it. I understand these types.”

Geralt groaned and looked around desperately. A few men were wandering up the footpath towards them, customers, no doubt, who would be witnesses to the whole ordeal.

The madam appeared next to the girl at the door. She was an older woman in a lovely burgundy gown. Dandelion brightened and leaned forward conspiratorially. “Oh, I am so happy to see you, my dear lady. I hope you can clear up this misunderstanding. My friend is 100% human, I assure you,” he glanced back at Geralt. “He was born to a woman, magic though she was, and a man. Well,” he corrected himself, “we don’t rightly know who his father is.”

Geralt cringed.

“But,” the poet lifted a finger, “if you required confirmed paternity for everyone in this establishment your building would be empty as a pair of testicles after they’ve had a run at the place. You’d be in the poor house by Thursday.” The poet was picking up steam. “Half the nobility in this town claim to be descendents of great emperors, but they were secretly sired by a particular beefy blacksmith who lives two doors down, or a certain wiry goatherd who is quite randy, and one count I know of personally,” he leaned in even closer, “was sired by an actual goat, I can tell you that story…”

“Master Dandelion,” the madam hissed through her teeth, “I would if I could, but it’s a party for the warden and half the security forces will be in tonight. I’ll be shut down! You can see he’s…different!”

“What?” yelped Dandelion. Turning and looking at Geralt, pretending to be gobsmacked, then returning to the madam. “Because of his mutations? Why, that’s sheer ignorance. Mutations are endemic to life itself. We’ve all got them!” He batted his unusually blue eyes. “Some find mine quite charming.”

The madam was not nervous like the door girl. She looked straight at Geralt, though she had the goodness to be apologetic. “I’m sorry.”

Geralt dragged Dandelion away successfully this time, but the troubadour did not go quietly. One of the men coming down the path caught his attention. “Duke Heyward has a third nipple!” He shouted over his shoulder. “That’s a mutation! Can’t have that! Better turn him away! Errant nipples might ruin the mood!”

The man steadfastly ignored him and bowed to the madam. He was granted entrance, nipples and all.

“They’re all such tiresome, small minded, unimpressive donkeys,” Dandelion seethed as they walked back to the tavern. “Count Vamonet can’t tell a sonnet from a scrotum. Prince Galino farts when he comes, and he has to pay the girls extra for it. And the Algloval family are a bunch of inbred--”

Geralt’s attention turned inward as Dandelion ranted about the wretched local nobility and their many failings. The witcher returned to his thoughts as they made their way through the streets.

These kinds of rants usually made him feel better, and it did, somewhat. But there was still that tension, that pent up frustration. He was still rock hard in his trousers.

“Pathetic, the lot of them. Pox on them all,” finished Dandelion, waving at dismissively at the air. He stole a look at Geralt. “You’re awfully quiet. You haven’t told me to shut up yet. Do you feel quite alright?”

Geralt sighed. “Fine. It’s fine.”

“Well, your face still looks sour.” Dandelion brightened. “Do you want me to see if Helen is interested? I can make myself scarce.”

That was the second time that night that he’d offered the same. “No!” Geralt almost shouted it. Dandelion stopped in the street. Geralt took a few steps before he realized it and he turned to face his friend.

Helen was the server girl at the tavern, who had set the night in motion. Dandelion first performed a set, then sat down, damp curls stuck to his forehead, open tunic flaunting the dusting of blonde hair on his chest. Helen, who he’d been winking at during his performance (along with every other person in the audience), informed him that she was off work, and plopped right down his lap. The poet happily spread his thighs to give her a better seat, and wrapped his arm around her waist.

Geralt had been enjoying the evening, but at the sight of the two of them together, was seized by a growing frustration. Helen’s breasts spilled nearly out of her top and hovered near Dandelion’s face. His friend leered at them, lips so close to their gentle swell. She ever so delicately opened her legs under the table.

She wasn’t wearing anything under her skirt, and Geralt watched Dandelion’s hand creep up her thigh. Her cunt was probably hot and wet, just waiting for him to--

“Geralt?” Dandelion had abruptly asked, stopping what he was doing. “What is the matter?”

Helen looked up. When she saw Geralt’s expression, she visibly shrunk away.

“Oh pet,” Dandelion protested, turning his attention back to her, “he isn’t angry, please, that’s just his face. He’s a big pussy cat, really.”

Geralt, realizing he was scaring her, forced a smile. It only made matters worse. She scurried away.

Dandelion seemed to be conveniently forgetting that fact at this very moment. They faced one another on the dark street.

Helen is terrified of me, Geralt thought of saying. That was what Geralt meant to say. But something else came out of his mouth. “I don’t want you to make yourself scarce. I don’t want you to go anywhere.”

Dandelion looked surprised, and then intensely interested. He shoved his hands on his hips and looked down at where Geralt’s trousers strained to contain his cock. His tongue darted out and wet his lips before making eye contact with some effort. “Well. What do you want, Geralt?” He asked it casually, lightly. “There are other girls that don’t work in brothels. The night is young, yet. Tell me. What were you imagining for tonight? Talk to me.”

What were you imagining?

Geralt tried to remember the thoughts that excited him on the way to the brothel. Why had he been so very distracted that he’d missed the door girl’s whisper?

They were visions of pretty girls servicing Dandelion, right? Perhaps those visions should have been of the girls servicing him. But...Geralt stood, taking a moment to recall his fantasies. Well, pox on it. Fuck. The girls weren’t even in them.

It was all Dandelion sprawled out in bliss, with his trousers shoved down to his ankles. It was Dandelion with his head lolling back, eyes half lidded, lips open. It was Dandelion thrusting languid and whining up into welcoming lips.

Surely, he, Geralt of Rivia, didn’t want his friend that way. He didn’t think he was that kind of man. True, there had been youthful experimentation at Kaer Morhen, but it was all boys there, what else were they going to do? When he’d fallen for Yen, he thought....well he thought that was that. But now. Fuck. He was beginning to doubt.

Geralt looked into the quizzical eyes of his dearest friend. Then he turned on his heel and fled. He could hear Dandelion chuckling and calling out to him. “Geralt, come back! Blast it!”

But the witcher made a beeline to their shared room at the tavern. He was dressed for bed and under the covers with the candles out by the time Dandelion returned. Dandelion came in humming, carrying a lantern, and two glasses of wine.

“Good evening, Geralt.” Dandelion said loudly, shutting their door with a graceful tap of his heel. “I see you are already in bed for the evening.”

Geralt didn’t know what to say. “Helen wouldn’t have you?” He muttered bitterly. “She looked so eager.” But he dragged himself up to lean against the headboard. The covers fell around his waist, so he grabbed them and clutched them to his chest.

Dandelion set the lantern and glasses on the side table, and shrugged off his coat. He was still humming to himself. His lightness of spirit was slightly insulting, when Geralt was so obviously set on brooding.

The poet came to sit on the edge of the bed. Geralt’s heart raced as the mattress dipped and the warmth of Dandelion’s body filled his space.

It all felt different now, the shared room, the shared bed. All of it. The air crackled. The witcher was terrified. That was why his pulse was racing, right?

His friend sat in uncharacteristic silence for a few moments, contemplating the bedspread and then Geralt. After a moment, he spoke softly. “Geralt, those idiots were pricks to you tonight.”

His compassion caused a warmth to blossom in Geralt’s chest, but that was the kind of thing that makes a man lose control. So he shoved it down and avoided his friend’s eyes. “It’s fine.” “No, it’s not,” said Dandelion. “But well,” he smiled, still looking softer than usual, “you’ve always got me, and about a thousand other friends, to whom you are as ordinary and human as a person can be. Boring even. And the whores at that place are rubbish anyway.”

Geralt half smiled despite himself and looked up. “You said their advanced techniques would change my life.”

“I lied to make you feel better.”

Geralt gasped in sarcastic shock.

“You know,” said Dandelion. Now he was the one looking down. “I haven’t told you this yet Geralt. But I was once a harlot myself.”

Dandelion raised his eyes and for a brief moment, they looked into one another, trying to read what the other was feeling. The air between them was fragile, as though a wrong word could shatter whatever was changing between them.

Geralt wanted to be sensitive, but he was overcome with images of Dandelion naked and in compromising situations. It was the same images that had plagued him earlier in the day. “Did you... like it?”

It was the right thing to say, at least for now, because Dandelion relaxed. “I did.” He shrugged. “Most of the time anyway. Like any other job in that regard. I don’t want to brag,” he said, in his characteristic way that indicated he very much did want to brag, “but I was too popular. I got too successful. And I preferred to be famous for my music. So gradually, I-” he picked at the bedspread, “-stopped.”

“Too successful,” Geralt asked, unable to keep the curiosity from his voice. “Were there enough women to keep you busy?” he asked. “Seems like they wouldn’t have to pay for services.”

“You’d be surprised,” the poet answered. “They don’t pay you to fuck, Geralt. They pay you to leave without a fuss.”

Geralt nodded. He supposed that made sense.

Dandelion picked up his wine glass from the side table. He took a sip and swallowed primly with pursed lips. Geralt watched his throat bob with fascination. He realized that he was staring, so he picked up his glass to give himself something to do other than gape.

“But truth be told,” Dandelion’s voice lingered on the words casually, “my specialty was other men.”

Geralt should not have picked up his glass. It was a mistake. He was taking a sip the moment Dandelion said ‘men.' He coughed, and pounded his chest.

Dandelion chuckled richly. “Are you alright?”

His friend was laughing at him. Geralt was a mess of righteous indignation, hope, and desperate desire.

“‘M Fine,” he said, putting down the glass. He wanted to avoid his friend’s gaze, but that would be admitting defeat. He met Dandelion’s mirthful, predatory eyes. He immediately lost composure.

He was looking at the poet’s lips. His collarbone. The way his shirt was slightly transparent, and how every time the poet took a deep breath, his chest rose and Geralt could see his nipples.

“You’re blushing.”

“No, I am not,” mumbled Geralt defensively. “Witchers can’t blush.”

“Sure, my darling, if that is the story you prefer.”

It was the first time Dandelion had ever called him darling. He called him my dear all the time. Geralt loved it every time, but darling was just a little more...romantic.

Geralt had no idea what to do with his face, his hands, or his rebellious cock, which was every bit as hard as before.

“What are you thinking about Geralt?”

Why did Dandelion sound so blasted smug? The prick. Geralt’s fingers trembled, his pulse raced. He decided to just let his body speak for him, without thought. “If I came to your brothel. In those days.” He tried not to stammer, but he sounded halting. He decided to just push the words out. “Would you have serviced me? A mutant.”

He was staring at his own hands now. He almost jumped when Dandelion’s hand covered his own, warm and tender.

Geralt looked up, relaxing into the touch.

Dandelion looked amused, but fond. “That depends.”

He was toying with him, the fucking bastard.

“On what,” Geralt asked flatly.

“I’d ask to take a look at your cock.” His eyes sparkled. “To see if it is mutated of course.” He moved his hand to the side of the sheet and pinched, as if ready to pull it aside.

Geralt tried not to smile. A smile would be an admission that the charms of his friend had vanquished him yet again.

“Well, go on,” teased Dandelion. “Answer me. Will you let me inspect your prick to see if it is too mutated to fit in my mouth?”

“You’ve seen my cock,” Geralt grumbled, wriggling, trying to hide how the aforementioned anatomy twitched at the forthright, confident manner of his friend.

“Yes, but I don’t remember what it looked like,” said Dandelion with faux innocence that did not suit him. “I’ve only seen flashes. In and out of baths, that kind of thing. And of course, I have always been too gentlemanly to sneak a peek.”

“Liar.” Geralt bit his cheeks. He nodded at where Dandelion’s hand held the corner of the blanket. “Well, go ahead.”

Dandelion’s face broke into a shit eating grin. He took the edge of the sheets and pulled them aside. Geralt inhaled fast and held his breath. He had on a flimsy undergarment with an opening at the front. His excitement was extremely apparent.

Geralt wriggled a little again, repositioning himself. He felt utterly exposed. Why was it making him more aroused than he had ever remembered being in his life?

It was Dandelion’s reaction to his body. Geralt could smell lust, and the wave of it that came off his friend was so powerful, the witcher was instantly intoxicated by it. Furthermore, the poet was looking at him with such a ravenous expression that Geralt blinked. It called to mind a wolf staring at a cut of raw meat.

Geralt was used to being the hunter. He had never been the prey. A thrill ran through him the likes of which he had never experienced.

“Geralt.” The poet was suddenly earnest, tight, and controlled. The switch made Geralt dizzy. His friend pulled his hands back, and squeezed his own thighs.

“Yes?” Geralt rasped.

“I cannot restrain myself any longer.” His voice trembled. “If you want me to stop now, you’re going to have to throw me out on my neck”

Geralt tried to respond, but only an airy squeak of nothing came from his mouth. He tried again. “Good. Don’t. Don’t restrain yourself that is.”

“Fucking hell. Sweet Melitele’s milky tits.”

Dandelion scrambled to straddle Geralt’s lap. Eyes shining, he cradled the witcher’s face in his hands. Geralt’s arms, of their own accord, wrapped around the poet.

Dandelion kissed him with such ferocious tenderness, Geralt felt his eyes prickle. That ferocity...Dandelion had wanted to do this for a very long time. Maybe years. And the tenderness. Dandelion kissed him like he was the most fragile, precious creature in all of creation.

The thought that Dandelion might have been harboring a hidden love for him was a shocking revelation. But Geralt could not fully grasp it. Not when his body’s reaction to Dandelion’s tongue and his weight on Geralt’s lap was leading him to yet another shocking revelation.

“Dandelion,” he cleared his throat and tilted back just enough to leave a sliver of space between their lips as they panted.

“Yes, Geralt.”

“Am I...this kind of man?”

Dandelion threw his head back and laughed. It was a bit rude actually. He ground his hips ever so slightly on Geralt’s hard cock. Geralt made an aborted noise of pleasure.

“Oh, I quite think you are darling,” Dandelion said smugly. “Wait. Does that vex you?”

Once again, Geralt didn’t want to think. He just wanted to respond. “I don’t think so,” he said. Then he realized the truth. “No. Not a bit.”

“Ah, well then. Shall I proceed?”

“Please do.”

Dandelion slipped off of his lap. Geralt found it difficult to abide the loss of his body. “Wait.”

Dandelion’s response was muffled by his shirt slipping from his head. “Apologies, my dear, but I must make haste, in case you change your mind.”

His dearest friend was pulling off his clothing at a blinding rate, vibrating with an air of disbelief and excitement.

“I won’t change my mind.” After it came from Geralt’s mouth, he realized that it was true.

Dandelion flashed him another smile. “Still. I won’t take any chances.”

Dandelion was quickly naked and scrambled back onto the bed without much grace. “Hips up.”

Geralt lifted his hips. Dandelion stripped away Geralt’s underclothes. Then, they were naked together.

What shocked Geralt the most was that it felt like the most natural thing in the world. He felt nothing but pleasure at the sight of Dandelion’s full erection, nestled in a puff of blonde curls. He felt nothing but excitement when the poet straddled him yet again, his solid but soft torso in Geralt’s grasp. The witcher groaned at an embarrassing volume when Dandelion wrapped his nimble fingers around his cock.

“May I, love?” Dandelion licked his lips.

Geralt’s heart almost stopped. “Say that again,” he whispered.

“May I....love?”

“Please. Yes. Anything.”

Dandelion scooted back and dragged his warm tongue up the entire length of Geralt’s erection, lingering on the tip, kissing it messily.

Geralt writhed. “Please.”

“Please, what?” Dandelion batted his lashes then sucked Geralt’s entire cock into his mouth. Geralt almost shouted, but managed to clap a hand over his mouth and turn it into another moan.

He wanted a release. He wanted to explode.

His mind may not have realized his feelings for his friend, but his body was certainly aware that this was something he’d been holding in for a very long time.

But Geralt didn’t just want to cum. He wanted to do it on his friend, in his friend, it didn’t matter how.

“Let me. I wanna.” He gasped. “Fuck.”

Dandelion looked at him with soft but hungry eyes as he bobbed on his cock. At the sight of the poet’s expression, the way he looked stuffed with Geralt’s cock, the witcher thought he would lose it. But his friend expertly stopped just before Geralt’s peak.

He toyed with the witcher like that for some time, bringing him to peak, then pulling away. As he did, he ran his hands all over Geralt’s body. He murmured sweet nothings to him.

“You’re so gorgeous like this love. Look at you. Oh, fuck you’re stunning. I can’t believe I get to look at you like this.”

Geralt melted. He melted into his mouth, he melted against the bed. He became a blubbering, begging mess of a man.

“Please, oh, please. Just let me. Just. Oh, fuck.”

Just when he thought he had reached the height of pleasure, Dandelion began to use his fingers.

“Spread your thighs, darling.”

Geralt thought to protest. He felt self conscious. But he had said that Dandelion could do anything, and he’d meant it. Allowing himself to act without overthinking it had gotten him here, so the strategy was clearly working.

He spread his legs obediently.

Geralt fell apart when Dandelion cupped him, caressed him, and massaged him firmly in places he’d never even seen.

Vaguely, he thought that the room next to them could probably hear him whining. If he were allowing himself to think about it, he might have been embarrassed. But he wasn’t.

When Dandelion returned his lips to his cock, he also grasped his shaft, moving both his hands and his mouth expertly, Geralt came. His body locked up and his moans were silent and airy. He covered Dandelion’s head with his hands and thrust into the eager lips of his dearest friend. He shoved and shoved until he released in a haze of animalistic desire.

Then he fell back, slackened and panting.

Dandelion kissed his softening cock. He licked up all of Geralt’s spend and made a show of swallowing it for him.

Geralt stroked Dandelion’s damp locks lazily. “Fuck.”

“Fuck, indeed.”

Dandelion crawled into his arms, placing a sweaty kiss on Geralt’s temple. They were both damp, from sweat and tears. Geralt squeezed him tight, waiting for the thudding of his heart to subside.

“Fuck.”

When Dandelion’s erection brushed his thigh, Geralt wanted to kick himself. He had been so wrapped up in his own pleasure, he’d been selfish. He needed to make sure Dandelion got satisfaction as well.

“What can I--” the witcher stopped, realizing he had little idea what the fuck he was doing. What could he even offer? Back in Kaer Morhen in his teen years, there had mostly been furtive yanking and sucking in closets and dark dormitories. And here he was with a proper expert, a former professional. What skills did he really have? How did you fuck a man without hurting him? Shit, he couldn’t fuck anyone right now anyway. He leaned forward and kissed Dandelion. “What do you want, poet?” He figured that was a better question, instead of promising something he couldn’t deliver, at least not in a competent way.

Dandelion had a half smile, like he was up to something. “Well, since my wildest dreams are coming true today, I’m just going to ask for it.”

Geralt barked a laugh, and felt slightly, deliciously self conscious. “Alright. Spit it out.”

Dandelion leaned closer, kissed Geralt’s cheek, and whispered provocatively in his ear. As he did, he traced languid circles on Geralt’s chest and stomach. This, Geralt thought, was what made Dandelion so popular. That and the expert cock sucking.

“Witcher mine, I have been following behind you for years,” he murmured sensually. “And do you know what has always confounded me?”

“What?”

“Having to stare at your round, juicy looking, perfect peach and never being invited to fuck it.”

Well. Geralt hadn’t expected that. He��d never really thought of himself that way. As an object of such fervent desire.

“My. Ass?”

“Oh yes, love. You’d better believe it.” Dandelion’s eyes fluttered closed and he hummed in bliss, like one did after taking a big bite of a pastry fresh out of the oven. “The shapeliest ladies have nothing on your delicious plump looking posterior. Has no one told you?”

Dandelion had called him love again. Geralt was beginning to understand that every time Dandelion called him love, the witcher felt willing and able to scoop out his own organs and gift them to the poet if he so desired them.

"No."

“That is a tragic story indeed.” Dandelion ground his rock hard cock into Geralt’s thigh. “How someone with such a perfect ass has never been told about its charms.”

Geralt allowed himself a slightly smug smile and he squeezed Dandelion tighter. He kissed the side of the poet’s head and hummed into his hair. “Really? That good, huh?”

The poet growled and rolled his hips again. “Please, Geralt. Don’t make me beg.”

Well. Shit. Geralt’s heart beat faster. “I want to, but. I don’t. I’ve never.” Then he just blurted it out. “Does it hurt?”

Dandelion stopped what he was doing and rolled over, propping himself on arm. He looked absolutely gleeful. “You mean I would be the first? Me?”

Geralt looked away and flushed a bit. He hummed his assent.

Dandelion practically whooped. “I will be taking Geralt of Rivia’s virgin ass? Have I died? Is this heaven?” The poet caught himself. “I mean, of course, only if you want to.” He tried to sound sexy and soft again, but his leering smile looked ridiculous.

It was a pathetic effort, but it still pleased Geralt for some reason. He was doomed, wasn’t he?

“I’m not a virgin. Obviously.”

“Still. May I?”

“Just. Be careful. You will, right?”

Dandelion took one of Geralt's hands and nuzzled it. Managing to find gentle sincerity within himself, he said, “Of course I will, love. I will be gentle. I will be tender. I will make it so very lovely for you.”

Geralt nodded. “Alright. What do I do?” He felt a bit moronic asking, but he would feel worse if he did something wrong.

“Well, I was rewarded by the sight of your handsome face in ecstasy. Now, since for all I know, this could be my only chance, I would be honored to enjoy the sight of your perfect, round ass jiggling as I fuck it.”

Geralt swallowed. “So, I turn over?”

“If you please.” Dandelion scooted back on the bed, kneeling, watching rapturously as Geralt agreeably turned over. The witcher was rewarded with a low whistle. “Oh, yes. Sweet mother of mine, what a specimen of a posterior.” Geralt could feel Dandelion’s soft, strong hands gliding over his body and squeezing his ass. The effect, along with Dandelion’s evident enthusiasm made him prickle with pleasure.

“Shut up.”

“I will not. I am already writing the ballad as we speak.”

There was no use telling him to shut up again. Geralt closed his eyes and reveled in the sensation of being caressed. His scars were particularly sensitive, and Dandelion was sliding his hands over every last bit of him.

“Hands and knees, my dear witcher.”

Geralt obediently rose onto hands and knees. Dandelion moaned, gravelly and wanton. Geralt could hear him stroking his own cock as he squeezed one cheek then the other. Experimentally, Geralt arch his back, and enjoyed the strangled groan-laugh behind him.

If he had felt exposed before, that was nothing compared to what he felt now. Now he felt completely, utterly vulnerable. And yet? His body buzzed with pleasure low in his abdomen.

Geralt could hear Dandelion shift. Then he felt a kiss, followed by a playful nibble the back of his thighs. Dandelion leaned away to reach for something.

“Relax, love.”

Geralt heard Dandelion remove his rings, and then he heard a tin of something open and close. Then Dandelion’s fingers were at his entrance, slippery and wet. Geralt shivered. He flinched.

“Shhhhh,” Dandelion quieted him and patted his haunch as though he were a skittish mare. Geralt relaxed.

“It’s alright,” cooed Dandelion. “The famous poet Dandelion will be your first. Think of the stories you will be able to tell your grandchildren.”

“You’re an idiot.” Geralt chuckled but his laugh turned into a drawn out ‘oooo’ as Dandelion entered him with a finger. “See, that’s nice isn’t it, Geralt?”

It took Geralt a moment to answer. It was a new feeling.

“Y-y-yes?” he said.

“Is that a question or an answer, my witcher?” Dandelion asked playfully. He slid further and Geralt released a sigh. His body wanted to scoot away, and shove backwards at the same time. But Geralt decided not to do either. He just held still and allowed himself to feel.

“Yes.” He answered breathily, but with more confidence that time.

Dandelion scooted closer. Geralt could feel the warmth and the softness of the hair on the poet’s legs as they pressed against his. How his friend managed to slip in a second finger at the angle, Geralt wasn’t sure. But the tightness, the fullness, made him whimper.

“Oh, that sound,” growled Dandelion. “I cannot wait another second, Geralt, my dear, I am going to fuck the sense out of you.”

He could hear slippery noises as Dandelion quickly slicked his own cock. The poet grasped him with one hand. Geralt stole a glance back and saw his friend’s ravenous, predatory face. He saw the blonde poet grasping the base of his cock, lining himself up. The tip of his tongue was stuck out, and he was lost completely in the moment.

Dandelion felt Geralt’s attention and he looked up. They locked eyes right as Dandelion pushed. Geralt whimpered and his body jerked, but Dandelion held his hips stock-still with surprisingly strong hands as he pressed inside with an excruciatingly slow gentleness. “Here you go, love. You can take this, can’t you?” he purred.

Geralt sensed that taunting Dandelion right now might yield some interesting results. “I won’t break. Fuck me already.”

Dandelion’s eyes ignited and he squeezed Geralt so hard, he knew he would be bruised. “You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes. Fucking do it already.”

It was daring talk for an amateur, Geralt knew. But he had stopped thinking. He was just spouting off now.

Dandelion bent over him and wrapped his arm around his hips like a vise and thrust. Geralt could tell his friend was still holding back, but the motion made him feel such shocking fullness, that it chased all rational thought away, emptying his mind.

Dandelion pulled back then. Right when Geralt thought he would slip away, Dandelion thrust again. Geralt marveled at how tight he could feel, the sounds the poet could punch from his throat. The sounds were cut off every time Dandelion’s hips made impact, but grew louder and more frantic with every stroke.

Dandelion’s hair brushed his back. He could feel his friend’s lips by his ear. “You love it, don’t you. Your ass is the perfect vessel for my cock, isn't it?” he whispered, his necklaces slightly grazing Geralt’s shoulder blades. The poet was beginning to sweat and his chest dragged down Geralt’s back.

Geralt nodded. It was difficult to manage while bouncing on another man’s cock.

“Say it,” Dandelion challenged him.

“Yes. I’m yours.”

Dandelion tenderly brushed Geralt’s hair away from his neck, and kissed the back of his neck as he fucked into him.

As the witcher’s body became more lax and able to accept the intrusion, Dandelion thrust with more power. Geralt had to brace himself against the wall to keep from slapping into it.

Dandelion was no longer treating him with kid gloves. Geralt had no idea that his body would allow anything inside that deep. He bounced and shook and cried out. He felt like some kind of rag doll.

“Dandelion,” he whispered into the dark.

“Say that again,” came the response from behind him.

“Dandelion.”

Dandelion’s pace grew more furious and punishing. Geralt was shocked by what his body could take. Dandelion began to sound like him, grunting, and moaning.

But right when he thought Dandelion would peak, he stopped and pulled out.

“Don’t stop,” Geralt begged. He writhed and reached back, grasping to pull his lover back.

“Be still,” Dandelion chided.

Geralt obeyed. He quieted himself and became still, waiting on hands and knees. His thighs trembled. His hair stuck to his sweaty, sticky body.

Just when he was ready to ask Dandelion what the fuck he was doing, he felt the poet grasp both sides of his ass and part him. The cool air caressed Geralt on his sensitive skin and he shivered.

Dandelion swore a filthy oath in several different languages, only some of which Geralt understood.

“I’m going to watch myself cum in you, witcher.”

Dandelion leaned forward and pushed down on Geralt’s back. The witcher wasn’t sure what the poet wanted, until his elbows buckled and his face was smashed against the pillow.

Dandelion hummed, ever so pleased with himself. He whistled. “That’s better. What a view.” He grasped the witcher, trapping his hips.

Geralt closed his eyes, determined to feel everything, to remember everything. The fat head of his dearest friend’s cock nudged him. By now, Geralt was fucked, slick, and ready.

Now it was the poet’s turn to whine like an animal when he slid inside Geralt.

“Look at you, swallowing my cock. You were made for me to fuck.”

The pillow under Geralt’s face grew damp, and he groaned into it as Dandelion took his pleasure.

The poet shoved as deeply as he could when he came, and the sound he made was cathartic. He held Geralt still, draped over his back, as he rode out his pulsing orgasm.

“Oh, Geralt. My darling.” He whispered it so quietly into Geralt’s back, that if Geralt were not a witcher, he might not have heard it.

Dandelion collapsed next to Geralt and pulled him close. They held each other in the dark, by the flickering lamp. They lay intertwined, clinging to each other, allowing the enormity of what they had done to settle over them.

What if everything changed.

What if nothing changed?

“Geralt?” Dandelion’s voice was surprising small. “Kiss me?”

Geralt ran his fingers through Dandelion’s hair. And he kissed him.

They would start there.

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #dandelion #gerlion #geraskier #book!verse though #these are book boys #descarada writes

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joelslegalwhre · 1 year

Text

Her Sweet Kiss

oh i would love to request one where the reader is the dragon queen (a bit like daenerys from game of thrones) and geralt is sent to kill her which he refuses in the end

(Requested on Wattpad)

pairing⁀➷ geralt of rivia x fem!dragon!reader

word count ⁀➷ 3.2k

summary ⁀➷ You're a golden dragon and the king sent Geralt to kill you… (I’m shit at summaries i’m sorry-)

warnings ⁀➷ spoilers for s1 ep6, violence, (short) mention of blood/wound, mention of killing someone, fighting, kissing, angst (not much)

a/n ⁀➷ As always pls tell me if I missed a warning! And if anyone knows why my “read more” messes with my text (it doubles the first paragraph) i’d be thrilled to know how to fix that🫢

Jaskiers song

🥤my kofi if you’d like to leave a tip🩷

Geralt came out of the cave, throwing some monster head right in front of the man's feet. You felt the fear the old man had of the white haired Witcher.

Geralt looked at him with a stern look, a little confused but still as if he'd rip the man's head off if he'd do anything stupid.

„I believe those are mine." He said in a low voice.

When the Witcher came down the small hill to his horse, the man hurriedly let the bag fall to the ground and ran away.

„This woman just killed a man with her bare hands for trying to steal your horse!" Jaskier shouted to Geralt.

You couldn't just walk past the men on your way to the village, already sensing the fight.

It really wasn't as dramatic as the bard told though, the man chose his fate when he chose to be ignorant and thought of himself as something better. Stealing a man's belongings, was the lowest another could do. And you didn't really want to have a bloody scene, so a snapped neck was the… well, best option.

The bard behind you was still in shock as he propped his hands to his sides and looked at the Witcher. Said one turned around and studied you with an intense look.

You just looked him straight in the eyes, a small smile spreading across your lips at his next words.

„Maybe she'll make a better travel companion, then." he dryly answered the bard, tilting his head to the side.

He put the bags back on his horse and turned around to you and the bard, Jaskier.

„Who are you?" he asked. You felt the curiosity he tried to hide as he asked.

„That is something you don't have to know." you answered sounding polite yet your answer clearly wasn't. But something about it made the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia as you knew, want to know more about you.

Normally he would just turn around and continue whatever he was onto. Not this time, though.

You smiled at Geralt. „I guess you'd like that back.” You threw one of his viles at him that had fallen out of the bag earlier. He caught it with ease, looking you up and down in surprise. Maybe there was even more to you than he could guess.

„Good luck with whatever you're doing!" you shouted, already continuing your way to the village. Jaskier's gaze followed you, his eyebrow raised, shaking his head.

„What the..." he mumbled to himself. Geralt on the other hand was completely thrown off by the way you behaved.

„Wait!" he shouted after you, his deep voice echoing through the air. Jaskier turned his head to Geralt. What had got into him? He never did anything like that, ever.

The strong white wolf, feared Witcher and butcher of Blaviken, shouting after a girl? Out of desperation? You clearly left Geralt completely and utterly confused.

The large door of the tavern opened, and Geralt entered, followed by Jaskier. "I'd like a fresh ale, thank you." Jaskier smiled at Geralt.

The tavern was packed, and the waiters ran back and forth in hurry. Neither of them wanted to wait that long. "Hmm." Gerald grumbled, but made his way to the bar anyway to order two mugs of ale.

"What.." the Witcher muttered to himself as he saw you. He had barely managed to banish you from his mind since you had left. As if in a trance, he walked away from the bar. "Witcher!" the barman called after him, who had already put down the two jugs. But Geralt no longer heard him, no longer wanted to hear him.

He followed after you without paying attention to anything around him. If the fabric of your orange dress hadn't had all his attention, it would have been easy to follow your irresistible scent.

You had already noticed Geralt when he entered the tavern with Jaskier. You led him to the back of the tavern, and opened a door that led into a corridor. Which contained several rooms to store food and drink or other supplies. With a light smile, you noticed that Geralt was still following you. Good.

Geralt didn't even look around as he pushed the door open, and it closed behind him. The voices became quieter, and he concentrated on the sounds of your footsteps. It smelled like old wood... and you.

You opened one of the doors. Not a moment later, you felt his presence close behind you. His breath on your neck and the strong smell he carried.

"I don't know why I can't resist you." he whispered in your ear, and his hair brushed your shoulder. "But I'm done trying to fight it."

You leaned your neck to the side and felt his lips, spreading feather-light kisses. No one needed to know about this encounter, you both agreed on that. He didn't need to leave any evidence behind to remember it. His hands grabbed your hips and urged you further into the chamber.

"Show me." you whispered challengingly. If he no longer wanted to suppress it, you wouldn't stop him.

Not a moment later, his lips met yours. Although there was so much desire in both of you, the kiss was anything but. It was breathtaking. It was gentle, quite in contrast to your desire. It was a sweet kiss. And it was so much more fitting than a wild or hard kiss. It was full of feelings neither of you would admit to.

His hands pulled you to him and your hands intertwined behind his neck. Never before had a kiss felt like this. But even in this kiss, you had to gasp for air at some point.

Neither of you moved. Geralt's hands still held you pressed against him as he looked down at you.

Something on your neck shone gold that he hadn't noticed before. It reached to your shoulder and disappeared under the fabric of your dress. It almost reminded him of dragon skin.

You knew what his gaze lingered on. "It's a birthmark," you whispered. He looked into your eyes.

"It's almost the same colour as your eyes." you added with a smile. His lips parted and closed again. Your hands wandered along his hair, and you twirled a small strand between your fingers. Geralt's gaze followed your every move before he looked you in the eyes again.

"I have to go now.” You whispered, standing on your toes and pressing one last kiss to his lips.

Geralt didn't open his eyes as you released yourself from his grip. Only when he heard the sound of jugs scraping over wood did he look up. With three empty jugs, you left the chamber and your footsteps echoed.

But what he only noticed now, how he could have missed it he didn’t know himself, was the wound on your arm. It looked like it had already been treated, but you still had a cloth covering it.

Geralt had his back to the door. But he couldn't help himself and took a step out of the door to look after you. With light steps, almost as if given wings, you walked along the corridor. But before you left, you looked over your shoulder at Geralt. You looked into his eyes and smiled.

Then you turned around and disappeared through the wooden door.

Geralt looked down at the floor and exhaled heavily. "Fuck." he growled.

When he returned to the table, Jaskier wasn't alone anymore. An old man and two worrier-looking women sat with him. Geralt's gaze went back and forth between the three and Jaskier. The table was set with pies, beer and wine.

"Ah Geralt, we were wondering where you've been." Jaskier announced cheerfully.

Geralt gave him a glance and sat down.

"What do you want?" Geralt grumbled.

„A short while ago, a dragon landed across the border in King Niedamir's mountains." the old men started, „I know what you're thinking. Impossible, dragons are so rare. But it's true. Locals spotted it and went after it in search of treasure. Of course, they succeeded only in wounding the creature. And angering it so righteously that it swooped down from its lair and set half a hillside ablaze.

„Hm."

„Dead sheep everywhere." he continued his story.

„Now, the King is in a blind. He's set to marry the princess of his rival kingdom, Malleore, which means it's bad timing to have a murderous pest lurking about in the mountains."

„What does this have to do with me?" Geralt knew exactly what this had to do with him, but the old man mustn't know that just yet.

„The king sent me to ask you to kill the dragon, dear Witcher.”

„You've wasted your breath." Geralt said. „I'll tell you what l've already told the king myself. he looked up, directly into the old man's eyes. „I don't kill dragons.”

What Geralt didn't tell him was that the king didn't order any dragon to be killed, he wanted the dragon queen dead. Shaking his head in disapproval, the old man sighed. „It's nothing I could do myself.” he chuckled. Geralt did not even seem to grin.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Jaskier interjected into the conversation. „Did you say dragon?" Geralt looked at him from the side,

„What people call green dragons', like the one we have here I suppose, they're the most common. Red dragons, less so. Black dragons are the rarest.” he explained.

„Gold dragons are the rarest." the old men stated.

„Gold dragons are a myth. For a gold dragon to exist, it would... have to be the result of... an accidental, unique mutation. And in my experience, mutations, they're intentional." Geralt said with a wry nod, "But it doesn't matter. Mutant or myth, gold dragons met the same fate as anything too different to endure. They died out." His gaze had turned to the table.

„Hello, Grandfather." you lean on the old man's shoulders from behind with a small smile. At the sound of your voice, Geralt's head shot up. Your eyes met, once again, and it felt like a storm was set free inside of you.

„Oh, no, no, no, no, no. Thank you so much. It's been very nice. Thank you for the wine and the pies, but as the man said, we really can't get involved.” Jaskier said with panic in his voice.

„Geralt, shall we?" he tried to ask the Witcher next to him. But when Geralt answered, his gaze lingered on you.

„l'm in.”

„Mother of. Jaskier sighed.

„What happened here?" Jaskier asked in shock as the two passed a mountain, completely burned down on one side. It was once, full of green grass and most likely many sheep.

„Dragons avoid people." Geralt murmured. „It should have left when they attacked.”

When they had reached the cave the dragon was supposed to be in, Jaskier stopped. „Uhm Geralt…" he breathed heavily. The Witcher turned to the bard and tilted his head slightly. „Wait here." he just said.

Ready to draw his sword at any time, Geralt slowly walked to the entrance of the cave. It was quiet, almost too quiet.

When he saw the dragons, even the Witcher stared for a moment.

He had expected one of the black dragons, or at least a red one. Not a green one.

The dragon laid there, one wing protectively in front of an egg. Behind the green dragon stood a black one protectively, but this one was male.

So he could hardly be the dragon queen the king wanted to get rid of. He came closer, still cautious, listening for any sounds. But when Geralt heard footsteps that could not belong to Jaskier, he drew his sword.

"Get. Away. From. Her." Geralt took a step back. He looked almost startled, surprise visible on his face.

"Hello again, Witcher." you said coldly.

"What are you doing here." It was no question, more likely a request to leave and not put yourself in danger. "Touch her, and I'll kill you." you threatened the Witcher.

The black dragon growled dangerously as you approached Geralt.

Cassius, your guard. He grew up with you in the Royal Court, back when everything was still there, nothing destroyed. He was not much older than you, and acted more like a brother than a guard most of the time.

When you heard his snort, you did not turn to him. "You can go." you said, still looking Geralt in the eyes.

Another growl. "I can handle this. Go now." He understood, this was an order. The green dragon was still lying in the same place when Cassius swept his wings and flew out of the cave through an opening in the ceiling.

"You should go., Witcher." Geralt didn't respond, instead he asked quietly in a raspy voice, "What are you?"

"Don't act like you don't know." You replied, almost a little hurt at the thought of what he would think of you.

Geralt took a step towards the dragon. And no matter what he wanted, no matter if he wanted to harm her or not, you could only see black and white at that moment. In seconds, you had a knife to his throat and were standing in front of him again. "Touch her and Jaskier will have to follow suit."

At that moment, as if you had summoned him, the bard came to the entrance of the cave. "Geralt, what is happening here? I have just seen a dra-" but he fell silent the moment he saw the Witcher with you.

Neither of you paid any attention to the bard.

Geralt turned so neatly that he had his arm around your neck and his hand took the knife from your hand.

"What on earth are you two doing here?" Jaskier stood there as if he no longer understood the world.

"Please." Geralt said softly, but that exactly was his weak spot. You ducked and twisted out of his grip, quick and swift enough to outwit the Witcher and his reactions. Quickly, you had your knife back in your hand. But instead of raising it to his throat again, you placed it at the level of his hip. Geralt looked at you, there was both astonishment and sadness in his gaze.

"Guys..." Jaskier called out to you.

You knew that Geralt would defeat you. Unless you threw him off his guard. He tilted his head, his lips opened and closed, just like he did in the tavern. And your next move was connected exactly with this thought. Geralt was still standing in front of you, he had thrown his sword on the ground when your knife had touched his throat, and there it still laid. He had no weapons except himself, which only confirmed that your idea would make him harmless for a few seconds. At least, you hoped so.

His lips had just closed again, and you didn't know if he would stop fighting or just start now.

Before he could do anything, though, you stood on your tiptoes, your dagger still at his hip. Your free hand reached for his neck and pulled him close enough to you. Then you placed your lips on his. The kiss almost captivated you yourself, and you had to concentrate to continue your plan. Geralt made a grumbling noise, surprised and completely thrown off balance. Just like you wanted. With all your strength, you broke away from him, breathing out heavily. Your lips trembled, it had indeed been a dirty trick. You looked at him apologetically and bit your lip. In the same movement, you turned to the dragon. You took a deep breath. Held it for a brief moment and then blew a protective wall of fire between the two of you and the dragon.

Your breathing became heavy and you swallowed. The fire made the golden scales on your neck glow. As you slowly turned to face Geralt, you could make out Jaskier at the entrance. You looked cautiously back and forth between the two of them. They couldn't hurt you. Their gazes, however, could.

"You're the dragon queen. The golden one." Geralt finally said it.

"The dragon queen?!" Jaskier commented in a shrill tone and shook his head disbelievingly to the right and then to the left."Damn.."

"Yes." your voice was no louder than a whisper as you looked the Witcher straight in the eyes. "But why did the king-" Jaskier started in a confused expression, but you interrupted him at the rage that boiled up inside you at the thought of the king, "King Niedamir hasn't even seen a dragon himself. He knows nothing!"

You walked out of the cave and Geralt followed you.

"No dragon has ever done anything to him. His men started the treasure hunts, they started hurting them,” your anger rose with each word, “He is just scared that he will pay for the things his men did to us." you said, one hand on your almost healed wound. "We don't start fights. But killing baby dragons, for treasure and gold?" You shook your head and tilted it slightly. "I can't let that happen."

You pursed your lips and closed your eyes for a moment, "The sheep- were just a warning. I never had the intention to do more."

Geralt had looked down on the ground while you told them everything. When you'd finished, his gaze found yours, and he exhaled.

You held out a small pouch to them, "Uhm, this is a dragon's tooth. The king won't know it's an old one." Geralt gently took the pouch from your hand, which was trembling slightly.

"Ehm, if I may-"

"It's not mine, Jaskier." you lightheartedly grinned at him.

"I'll tell the king we killed the dragon, and he'll leave you alone." Your gaze went back to Geralt, you nodded with a thankful smile.

"Can I talk to you for a moment, Geralt?" you quietly asked.

"Ohhh, I see. l'I let you two alone. If anyone needs me I'll just.." Jaskier pointed at some rocks and turned around, walking away just far enough to let you have some privacy.

You wanted to say something about the kiss, but you decided against it. It wouldn't help either of you.

„Don't give up." your gaze became serious, and Geralt looked slightly thrown off. That seemed to happen around you more often than he liked. „She is out there. And you have to find her."

Carefully you took his hand and your fingers gently brushed over it.

„Please don't give up, Geralt. You and your child of surprise... are to safe us all."

Your gaze went to your linked hands. A sad smile on your lips as you let go of it. You exhaled. "Goodbye, Geralt of Rivia."

Geralt felt frozen in place. His back still in the direction you had gone. He didn't watch you go, he couldn't.

Jaskier's eyes widened as he looked past him.

„Geralt, you might want to see this." he almost whispered.

Geralt turned around. “What is-“ he grumbled but soon became silent at the sight.

The sight of a golden dragon flying away into the distance.

Geralt exhaled and looked after you until you were only a small point on the sky and then, gone.

The song about the charming girl, the one who was strong enough to fight and win against Geralt of Rivia, spread across the countries. Jaskier made sure it did.

The song about her sweet kiss.

༄ Don't copy, translate or republish any of my works on any app or other platform please. I only post my work on Tumblr and Wattpad.

Reposts are always appreciated, they really make my day 🧡

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fandom-junk-drawer · 10 months

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The Witcher Headcanon - Odd Jobs

Witchers make a living by walking the Path. Every Spring, Geralt travels back and forth across the Continent, offering his services in exchange for coin. Most of the jobs he takes involve getting rid of monsters, or bringing back the pieces of them that mages or healers need for their spells or potions. He's also done bodyguarding, bounty hunting, and even the odd job here and there.

Geralt had no idea that the job he was going to take was going to be one of those odd jobs.

He'd been approached by a boy of barely 8 years, begging him to help him get rid of a monster.

Great. A child. Geralt did not like dealing with children. They tended to scream a lot, and p*ss themselves. Or follow you around and talk incessantly, and they had no sense of personal space, like a certain someone he knew...

"Stop doing that with your face, you're scaring the poor boy!" Jaskier admonished Geralt, who was scowling. Geralt attempted to look a little more friendly.

"Well, now you just look like you licked a nekker's ar*ehole!"

"Hm!"

"Just go stand over there and let me handle this."

Geralt waited by Roach while Jaskier talked to the boy. He had probably been sent by his parents while they ran other errands. How inconvenient. But as long as the job paid well...

Jaskier returned moments later, his expression odd. "He said to follow him, and he will show us where he saw the monster."

Geralt frowned, "Jaskier, what the h*ll is going on?"

"He wants to hire you to get rid of a monster? I mean, I thought it was obvious, Geralt."

"I'm being hired by a child?"

"He said the pay was negotiable. We can always talk to his parents afterwards."

Geralt bristled, then 'hmm'ed and looked away, thinking. There were so many things about this that he didn't like. But what harm could it do to go and look? He could tell the boy wasn't lying, and was truly afraid. Geralt didn't want to leave things to chance.

They followed the boy on foot, having left Roach in town since they weren't going far, according to the boy. Geralt 'hm'ed in quiet disaproval as the small human led them off the road, cut through the grass and led them into the forest. Jaskier's eyes were sparkling with excitement when the boy paused and said "This is the way to our hideout. It's a secret, so you can't tell anyone about it!" He looked at Jaskier.

The bard quickly nodded, held up his left hand and used his right to cross his heart.

The boy looked at Geralt expectantly.

Jaskier looked at Geralt expectantly.

Geralt 'hmmm'ed and crossed his heart.

The boy nodded, satisfied, and led them along a path that was little more than a deer track.

They crossed a small stony creek, turned right at a massive, rotting tree stump, and walked down an ancient sunken lane. Jaskier was frantically taking notes and making sketches in his notebook, babbling on excitedly with the boy about the holloway. Geralt knew he was probably already mentally composing an embelished song about a fae tree tunnel or something.

The path was short, and ended at the remains of an ancient stone wall. There was a large hole in it, large enough for a man to pass through. The boy clammered through the hole with practiced ease.

Geralt walked up to the crumbling wall and 'hm'ed' unhappily.

"Oh, where's your sense of adventure?" Jaskier asked as he ducked through the little tunnel.

"It seems to have b*ggered off somewhere with your common sense."

Jaskier's arm poked back through the hole on Geralt's side of the wall. His wrist did a complicated little twist, fingers doing a fluid little dance, and then, with a flourish, he extended his middle finger.

Geralt slapped the hand down and followed him through the wall.

On the other side was an impressive, if somewhat lopsided, and crooked structure that looked like a woodshed with inexpertly done additions. It was a slapped together conglomeration of stones, sticks, various tree parts, and scavenged bits of building materials from the town.

There was also a pack of children of various ages gathered a healthy distance away from the 'hideout''. They huddled tightly together when they saw Geralt approaching, cringing when his shadow fell over them.

Geralt looked down at them, at their frightened faces, and rumbled quietly, making his tone as soft as possible, "I'm here about the monster. Your friend hired me to get rid of it."

One of the children, a girl of about 6 years, inched forward and quavered, "It's a bogeyman! It came out of the corner by the fire pit and screamed at us! It chased us out and we haven't been able to go back in. Merik tried to go in yesterday, and it was still there! It screamed and came at him from the shadows."

"A bogeyman," Geralt said cocking an eyebrow. He looked at Jaskier, 'hmm'ed and said, "A bogeyman," in case Jaskier hadn't heard the first time.

Jaskier gave him a warning look before crouching down, "Can you describe it for him, love?" he asked the little girl. "So he knows what kind of bogeyman it is?"

The bogeyman was blurry, had big, black holes where it's eyes should be in it's deathly white face. It's body was made of inky shadows and wind. And it screamed like a banshee.

It didn't sound like any monster Geralt had ever seen. He decided to just go have a look for himself.

"Stay with the children." Geralt said to Jaskier as he marched off to the jumble of a house. He carefully cracked open the door and slipped inside. It was dark, but he could easily see what had frightened the children. It was up in the rafters in the corner, watching him.

Geralt rolled his eyes and, since no one was around to see him, smiled. Kids and their imaginations.

Jaskier was entertaining the children with one of those inappropriate songs about body parts and bodily functions that kids love so much, when crashing and screaming erupted from inside the house.

The children screamed and joined Jaskier in hiding behind a fallen log. There were thumps, bumps, scrapes, and thuds overlayed by Geralt's growls and shouted expletives.

Jaskier and the children gasped when Geralt came flying backwards out the door, crashed to the ground, jumped up, and charged back inside, roaring like a bull. There was more screaming, more sounds of struggling. The children were peeking over the edge of the log along with Jaskier, imagining the epic battle that was raging inside.

Geralt crashed through one of the windows on the side of the house, rolling and struggling with a black, shadowy thing that was flapping and flipping in his hands.

They disappeard behind the house as they struggled, and then reappeard, rolling on the ground. Geralt punched and kicked, and slashed at it with his silver sword. He gained his feet, grabbed the thing and started beating it on the ground, then pinned it in the dirt with his sword and cast Igni. The thing burst into flames, turning to ash.

Once the nightmare had been slain, the children had calmed down and came over to confirm that the bogeyman was really dead. Then it was time take care of business.

Jaskier watched as Geralt accepted the payment for his contract. He solemnly held out his hand, and the boy dumped a collection of items into it. There was an impressive amount of coppers, and an assortment of bits and bobs.

"You said the pay was negotiable. I'll take this as my payment," Geralt said, taking a cat's tooth out of the pile. He could give it to Yen for her spells. He handed the coins and other treasures back to the boy, then rose and nodded to them.

He was mentally thrown off balance when several of the children hugged him. He patted their heads awkwardly and assured them that their secret hideout's location was safe, then went on his way.

"So what was it?" Jaskier asked as they navigated their way back to the road.

"A barn owl. I cast Axii on it to keep it calm and wrapped it in an old cloak I found in the corner. I let it go when I went around the back of the house."

Jaskier laughed, "So you just stomped around, banged on some stuff, and made a bunch of noise to make it sound convincing. And let me guess, you used Aard to throw yourself through the door?"

Geralt: *Affirmative Hmm*

"Well, it was very believable, especially the part where you were struggling with the bogeyman outside. Very convincing. Have you ever thought of going into theater? You'd make a good actor."

"No. I have too much self respect."

"But you would look so good in hose! You have very nice legs, and such a lovely bott-!"

Geralt bumped Jaskier, causing him to step in a pile of fresh deer droppings.

"My boots! These were new, you jacka**!"

They made it back to town, Jaskier had fodder for his next song, and Geralt had a humorously odd story to tell that winter.

#the witcher #the witcher headcanon #the witcher netflix #twn #geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #geraskier #odd jobs headcanon

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queenxxxsupreme · 6 days

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Rare Encounters (Jaskier x f!witcher!reader)

A/N: hi guys…. I finished Fallout the tv show and it gave me that urge to write that I haven’t had in a while. Now fingers crossed that it works for the long run. Once I can get a good feel for the Fallout universe, my ass will 100% be writing fallout fics 😂

Warnings: nothing outside of canon

Summary: Jaskier meets his first female witcher.

“I swear, you all live like fucking pigs.” You grumbled as you picked up the empty tankards and bowls.

“Oh, just relax, Y/N.” Lambert spoke from across the room. He sat at a table with most of the other wolves as they told stories and carried on. “No one cares what this place looks like.”

“I do, as should you.” You placed the dirty dishes on to the end of one of the empty tables. “Who is going to be doing dishes tonight?”

All of the wolves diverted their eyes away from you.

“Oh come on, boys. It’s just dishes. You’ve done worse, I’m sure of it.”

“I’d rather gut an ekimorra than do house chores.” Coen shook his head.

“Alright. Well then, I’ll just choose for myself who will be the lucky one.”

“When are ya goin’ to get eaten by a cockatrice or something, Y/N?” The redhead wolf teased. “All this nagging you do is–,”

With a flick of your wrist and a sign of aard, Lambert was sent backwards off of the bench. You grinned just a little.

“You fucking–,” He signed aard back at you the second he was on his feet, but you were quick to sign quen, blocking his attack.

“Don’t start that this early in the winter, Lambert.” Vesemir scolded him as he moved to sit next to Coen.

“Me?” Lambert raised his brows. “She’s the one who started it!”

The doors to the keep opened, bringing in a rush of cold wind. You looked up to see Geralt, a man, and a girl walking in.

The wolves fell silent as Geralt pushed the hood off of his head. A fond smile came to his lips.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Lambert stood to his feet and took a few steps towards his brother. Coen followed.

“We thought you were dead, or lost.”

“Not yet.” Geralt embraced Coen first and then Lambert.

All the other wolves soon took their turn greeting their fellow witcher.

“Y/N.” He said your name fondly. “Glad to see you didn’t let Lambert get you killed on the path.”

“I about killed her myself a couple times.” Lambert glared at you. “She’s like having a second Vesemir around, except some how she’s worse!”

You gave him a shove away from you, rolling your eyes.

“That’s the last time I spend time with you on the path.” Your words were directed to Lambert while you gave Geralt a hug. “Now I have to spend the entire winter in this gods damned keep with him too.”

“Have you seen Eskel, Geralt?” Lambert returned to his seat.

“He’s not here?” Geralt furrowed his brow.

“Haven’t seen any sign of him.” Coen shook his head. “Usually he’s one of the first one’s here, but hasn’t made it this year.”

“Hmm.”

“Wolf. You’re home.” Vesemir was the last to greet the White Wolf.

“I had to make a few stops.” Geralt looked back to the girl and the man to his left.

Your eyes fell on her. Your medallion had trembled when she first entered the room and even now, you could still feel the chaos radiating off of her. She seemed curious, bright eyes taking in every witcher around her. Then she looked at you. You held her gaze, lifting your chin just a little in acknowledgement.

You turned to continue cleaning up the mess the wolves left behind as introductions were made between Geralt’s guests and the wolves.

“And who might she be?” Jaskier asked Geralt as you picked up an empty pitcher from the table the wolves sat at.

“Y/N here is the maid of the keep.” Lambert answered for you. His eyes followed you as you moved around the table, a little grin playing on his lips. “Helps keep everything all nice and clean for us men.”

You launched the pitcher at his head. He dodged to the side, nearly pushing Coen off of the bench in the process.

“You’re going to get yourself into trouble this winter, Lambert.” Vesemir warned him.

“This is Y/N.” Geralt introduced you properly. He and his guests took a seat at the table with the rest of the wolves. “She’s our sister.”

“Sister?” Ciri repeated, furrowing her brows. “As in a witcher?”

“It would seem that way.” You confirmed with a slight nod and a sigh.

“That’s absolutely amazing!” Jaskier exclaimed. “A lady witcher.”

“I think calling her a lady may be overselling it.” Coen snickered.

“Yeah, she ain’t no lady.” Lambert added.

You moved to lean in between him and Coen, reaching for an empty plate. As you were turning away from the table, you made sure to purposefully smack both of the wolves in the head with the plate.

“Fuck!”

“Why don’t you boys make yourselves useful and go do these dishes before they get out of hand?” You placed the bin of dirty dishes down in front of Coen.

They grumbled but decided not to fight it. If they did dishes now, they wouldn’t have to do them later. Or so they thought.

“You’ve never mentioned that you had a sister, Geralt.”

The White Wolf grumbled in his chest as he looked at his bard. It was a warning. He knew very well how Jaskier was with the opposite sex.

“Geralt doesn’t like to do such a thing.” You settled with sitting at the end of a bench at one of the tables. “I would take away all the spotlight from the grand White Wolf. If word got out about a lady witcher, why, the White Wolf wouldn’t be so exciting, now would he?”

Geralt rolled his eyes at you as he moved to the table that had a jug of ale and mugs. He poured himself a mug and then returned to sit across from you.

“If it wouldn’t be too much, I would absolutely love to hear more about you.” Jaskier sat down just beside Geralt. He leaned against the table with both hands and his voice oozed with excitement. “You see, I am a bard by trade. Perhaps you’ve heard some of my work.”

You gazed into his blue eyes, a grin tugging at the corner of your scarred lips.

“You’re a brave soul, bard.”

He smiled a bit bashfully, cheeks flushing light pink.

“Why, thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.” Geralt told him. His words made Jaskier’s smile drop.

“What? Of-Of course it was!”

“It was more of an observation, bard.” You said. “Not many could come to a witcher’s keep and ask a witcher to share her war stories just moments after meeting her.”

“Jaskier has no fear.” Geralt sighed.

“Well, I-I wouldn’t say that. I have plenty of fear.”

You smiled a little at the bard.

“How was the Path this year?” Geralt changed the subject. “I can’t imagine spending the whole year with Lambert was pleasant.”

“Oh, it was anything but pleasant.” You let out a small breath, scratching your fingertips over a groove in the wooden tabletop. “I’d rather have my eyes gouged out with spoons than spend that much time with him.”

Geralt chuckled a little.

“Y/N!” You heard Coen shout your name from the kitchen. You turned your head to the side, listening closely to what was going on.

Geralt furrowed his brows a little and tilted his head. He could also hear the roughhousing going on in the kitchen.

“Ah, fuck.” You grunted, pushing yourself to your feet.

“Is something wrong?” Jaskier asked you.

“My brothers are fools. Excuse me, bard. Princess.”

Jaskier watched as you crossed the room and disappeared behind a heavy wooden door. He didn’t realize he had been staring for too long until the White Wolf grumbled.

The bard turned his head to his traveling companion, brows falling and lips pressing together in a line as he found the witcher glaring at him.

“What?”

“Don’t think about it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You get that same look in your eye when we go to banquets. That same look has gotten you nearly killed for bedding the wrong woman.”

“Geralt! Have a little faith in me! That is your sister for crying out loud! I-I would— I would never—,”

“Unfortunately, I know you too well, Jaskier.”

Jaskier found himself looking back to the door you had disappeared through. A sheepish smile crossed his lips.

“She is rather stunning, isn’t she?”

“Jaskier.”

“It’s a compliment!”

Geralt shook his head.

“She will rip you to pieces.”

“Isn’t that the hope?” Jaskier grinned.

“Gross.” Ciri scrunched her nose up. She had been so quiet that Jaskier almost forgot that they were in the company of the young girl.

“Sorry, Ciri.”

***

You carried a mug in one hand as you left the kitchen. It had been a few hours since Geralt and his guests had arrived. By now, night had fallen on Kaer Morhen. Lambert was preparing a late dinner for everyone. Coen and Vesemir were fixing a fallen shelf in the library. Ciri was in the library reading through a few books to pass time.

Geralt and Jaskier were just getting back in from checking on the horses.

“So I see you changed your mind about your Child Surprise.” You spoke. Your voice reverberated off of the walls.

“Didn’t have much of a choice. Cintra was overtaken by Nilfgard. She has no one.”

“Well, now she has us.” You took a seat on a bench but kept your back to the table. Geralt and Jaskier sat the same way, with their backs to the table just across from you.

A door across the room creaked as it was opened. Being that the door was behind you, you had to turn your head and your upper half to be able to see Vesemir.

“Where’s Ciri?” Geralt asked him.

“Left her in the library. She seemed rather interested in an old beastiary.” Vesemir poured himself a mug of ale.

“To think we have a princess here in the walls of Kaer Morhen.” You shook your head, finishing off the last bit of your drink. “This winter is going to be an interesting one.”

“She isn’t the first princess here.” Geralt said. Your eyes met his briefly before you looked away.

“What does that mean?” Jaskier looked to Geralt for an explanation.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter.” Vesemir took a seat next to you. “All that matters is we don’t try to kill each other this winter.”

“Lambert is at the very top of my list.” You told him. “The first chance I get, I’m going to suffocate him in his sleep.”

“Y/N.” Vesemir scolded.

“Where do you hail from, Y/N?” Jaskier asked you.

“Ard Carraigh, though that was more than a lifetime ago.” You looked down at your empty tankard.

The sound of the horses out in the stables made you turn your head towards the door. You furrowed your brows, unsure of what had them stirring.

“Something’s bothering the horses.” Geralt grunted.

“I will go see to it.” Vesemir sighed as he stood to his feet.

“Do you want one of us to come with you?” You asked him.

“No need. I don’t think it’s that much of a concern.”

You watched the old witcher leave through the heavy front door.

“I should go check on Ciri.” Geralt thought out loud.

“There can’t be too much she’d get into trouble with.” You said. “Nothing up there other than rats the size of a foal.”

“You’d be surprised with Ciri. She can find trouble out of thin air.” He stood up. “Don’t stir up any trouble while I’m gone, Jaskier.”

“You have too little faith in me, Geralt!”

The White Wolf rolled his eyes but said nothing as he walked away. Your eyes followed him until he disappeared through a door that led to the rest of the keep.

“How long have you….” Jaskier trailed off, unsure of the right words to use. “Have you been a witcher long?”

“Are you asking my age, bard?”

“No, no! I’d never ask a lady such a thing.” He chuckled nervously. “I assume that if you have been a witcher for very long, I would have known about you. Or heard about you at some point in time.”

You stood up and moved seats, choosing instead to sit beside the bard. He shifted in his seat, clearly nervous by your sudden close presence.

“It’s been decades since I came here to Kaer Morhen.” You looked upwards to the high ceilings. “Before the sacking.”

”What was it like? Before the- Before the sacking?” Jaskier turned his head to you. He admired your side profile, blue eyes mapping out your facial features. The curve of your nose down to the shape of your lips.

Your attention was shifted to him. It was then that you noticed he was practically staring at your lips. You smiled a little, causing him to look up at your eyes. His cheeks turned pink and he chuckled nervously.

”My-My apologizes.”

”It was nothing grand.” You answered his question as you rose to your feet. “I need more drink. Would you like to come with me?”

”Yes.” Jaskier answered a little too quickly.

He followed behind you like a puppy. You looked over your shoulder to him, the twinkle in your eyes making his heart race. Gods, you were a beauty.

You pushed the door to the kitchen open but before Jaskier could follow you inside, Lambert and Coen were coming out.

“What are you doing, barker?” Coen asked.

“Just— I was just—,”

”Leave him alone, Coen.” You called from just inside the kitchen. Jaskier couldn’t see you because of the wall the two large witchers were forming, blocking you from him.

The boys laughed, their boisterous voices echoing throughout the room. Lambert clapped his hand down on Jaskier’s shoulder as they passed him. Jaskier was just a little confused.

”They are, uh, quite the pair, aren’t they?”

”A pair of jackasses is what they are.” You shook your head.

“Big brothers are like that. I have four.”

”Sounds horrendous.” You poured a second mug of ale and passed it to the bard. “Do you have any other siblings?”

”An older sister and a younger sister.”

”Seven children?” You raised your brows as you leaned against the wooden counter. “Yikes.”

”Yeah.” He chuckled lightly. He leaned against the counter beside you. “Always had a big family.”

”I was one of the last witchers to ever be made, so I suppose I’ve only ever had older brothers.” You took a sip of the ale. ”Couldn’t imagine it any other way. They irritate the piss out of me, but they’re my brothers.”

”They are good men.” Jaskier nodded. “Albeit, annoying. But good men.”

You found yourself gaze at the barker. He was stunning. Warm skin, dark curly hair, even darker eyelashes, and bright icy blue eyes that contrasted his features so nicely. He was a pleasure to gaze at.

The door to the kitchen opened and there stood Geralt.

Jaskier hurried to move, taking a step to the side to put space between himself and you.

“Ah, Geralt!”

The White Wolf offered a low grumble before he looked to you.

”Eskel is home. He doesn’t look good.”

“Is he okay?” You furrowed your eyebrows together. Your drink as discarded on the counter as you hurried to leave the kitchen.

”Vesemir has him in the infirmary.”

You slipped past the witcher and hurried away.

Geralt waited until your footsteps had disappeared down the staircase. Then he turned his attention to Jaskier. He crossed his arms over his chest, appearing even more intimidating than usual.

“Oh, come on, Geralt! Don’t look at me like that!”

”Y/N is—,”

”She is your sister! And you, you are my closest friend!” Jaskier moved to stand in front of Geralt. He placed his hands on Geralt’s biceps and attempted to shake the man but Geralt didn’t budge. “I wouldn’t dream of ever crossing you like that—,”

”Jaskier.” Geralt almost rolled his eyes. ”Get your hands off of me.”

”She is rather friendly though.” Jaskier clasped his hands behind his back as he slipped around the stocky witcher to leave the kitchen. “Very chatty too. Unlike you, you cranky old man.”

Geralt turned around to watch his friend as he started to walk away.

“Jaskier.”

”Yes, Geralt?” Jaskier turned on his toes to face him.

”Just be careful.”

The bard didn’t know what to expect, but that wasn’t it. He furrowed his brows and tilted his head to the side just a bit.

“Uh, o-okay, Geralt.”

#Jaskier x reader #the witcher #witcher 3 #geralt of rivia #Jaskier x witcher #Jaskier fic

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lassieposting · 1 year

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So in NOTW Illyana had three daughters with Lord Zerbst, one of whom had just made her a grandmother before the Sacking of Kaer Morhen. As children of a noble house, those daughters would've married into other noble houses across the Continent.

Anyway AU where she survives to see her youngest daughter marry a Pankratz of Lettenhove.

She survives to see the birth of several grandchildren and even more great-grandchildren, including a brood of Pankratzes.

Everyone in Jaskier's family knows that Great-Grandmama had a tame witcher. It's part of the Family Lore. Jaskier - Julian, back then - spent more time in disgrace at Great-Grandmama's lake house than his better-behaved siblings, and he's fairly sure he actually bumped into the witcher - gods, what was his name? - once or twice; tall and strong, golden-eyed and intimidating. He's only ever known Great-Grandmama as a twinkly-eyed, wizened raisin of a woman who walked with a cane, but her witcher looked young enough to be her grandson himself, no older than Father.

(He's fairly sure he only remembers these chance meetings at all because Great-Grandmama's witcher really had been quite startlingly handsome. Jaskier has always appreciated broad shoulders and toned arms. Perhaps this was something of a formative experience for him.)

She told him once that they'd once been children together, and that her witcher had grown boys of his own, but Jaskier hadn't believed her. No way they were the same age.

They seemed happy, though, despite the age gap. He remembers her giggling like a schoolgirl as her witcher swept her off her feet to lift her into her carriage as though she weighed nothing at all.

(Looking back, and with the advantage of knowing Geralt, the swords the monster hunter carried probably weighed more than she did, by then. She really was terribly old.)

He remembers the roll of letters she kept in her bedside drawer - yes, he was a snoop as a boy, sue him - tied up with a silk ribbon. Remembers the stories she told him when he was small, of brave and heroic monster hunters protecting the innocent from a grisly fate.

He finds himself telling Geralt's family this little nugget of Pankratz family history over an evening of ale, passing on Great-Grandmama's stories. The one about the two young witchers teaming up against a manticore. The one about the big battle at some hidden witcher fortress a long way from Lettenhove - the battle that almost killed her witcher, and would've killed her too had he not sent her away beforehand. The one about the witcher and the elf king.

And when he finishes the story, he realises that his audience has gone very quiet and very still

And they're all staring at Vesemir

#the witcher #the witcher headcanons #netflix witcher #nightmare of the wolf #kaer morons #geraskier #jaskier #vesillyana #anyway jask getting emotional as bards do over the parallels between illy's love story with vesemir and his own love story with geralt #'at least i only had to wait TWENTY years for you to get your head out of your arse and realise i was flirting with you'#vesemir #illyana zerbst #ves has gone as pale as a witcher can go

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catscraftsandcommentary · 5 months

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@dahliavandare building on that post about various nobles taunting Jaskier to go full Insulted Bard and Geralt needing help pulling him out...

(That post was getting long, so I started a new one, shh)

Lambert hears through the witcher rumor mill (which is TOTALLY A THING, work with me, okay?) that a) Geralt is nearby with his bard b) the bard will be performing at some fancy party soon c) the bard has A Habit of making A Scene during such parties, and if anyone who knows Geralt is in the area, PLEASE HELP.

Lambert and Aiden share a look. "I really want to, but if someone doesn't kill this chort [or other horrible monster], this village is gonna get wiped out. And I'm better at them than you."

Aiden nods. "I could help your brother. Leave you our bombs and potions, anything you think you'll need, and go be a distraction at the party."

"Just don't let him stab you, or I'll have to dye his fucking hair a godsdamned rainbow this winter."

Which is how Aiden ends up sneaking into the rafters of a nobleman's ballroom just as some idiot challenges a brightly dressed bard to play a certain song.

When a white-haired witcher growls very quietly and starts looking into the shadows of the ceiling, Aiden figures he's found the right pair. So he mutters (just loudly enough for the other witcher to hear him) "Lambert says you still owe him for stealing his devourer teeth last winter" and drops down while Geralt is still getting over his surprise.

(Because how the hell does some random - Cat witcher?!? - know Lambert well enough to know about them borrowing potion ingredients from each other?)

Aiden grins at Jaskier, who has done a masterful job of not showing his surprise st having a witcher land right in front of him. "Hi! I'm your brother-in-law. Let's dance."

And he pulls the bard into a tango just as the White Wolf launches himself forward. The next several minutes are spent in a three way dance, with Geralt trying to either rescue Jaskier or strangle Aiden, Aiden working to thwart Geralt, and Jaskier demanding answers regarding the "brother-in-law" comment.

Eventually Aiden pulls Jaskier through an open window and escapes with him (carried bridal style, of course) to lead Geralt on a merry chase back to the spot where he and Lambert agreed to meet up earlier, once Lambert finished his contract.

Of course, by now Jaskier has the gist of the situation - Geralt's brother sent Aiden to help, Geralt wasn't expecting Aiden, Aiden and Geralt's brother Lambert are both very excited to meet Jaskier - and has moved on to questions about if witchers each have their own hunting styles, preferred monsters, etc.

#jaskier what are your priorities #just let a total stranger carry you off #the witcher #jaskier the bard #geralt the witcher #aiden the witcher

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cinebration · 1 year

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Demonic Shadow (Geralt of Rivia x Reader) [Request]

Sorry in advance if you don't accept requests.

But… Here is my request. It is addressed to Geralt of Rivia with an Umbra Witch. I don't know if you know the Bayonetta games or some concept (a few days ago I found out that many people don't know the games).

Back in context, the newly trained Umbra Witch and her demons at her service are sent to the world of The Witcher, thanks to her training she gets a mercenary job and due to her height (Umbra witches are 2 meters and a little more) people don't mess with her on top of her reputation for controlling beasts.

And she meets Geralt when he accidentally mistakes one of her demons and thinks he wanted to attack her.

If possible, it is better that she does not have a flirtatious personality, since Umbra witches are actually very traditional, and only those who are already experienced and who have been away from their domains for a long time are the daring ones. This is more like a little data.

Thank you very much for reading and goodbye.—Requested by anon

Warnings: blood, violence

Gif Source: lamberts

Geralt froze, the sudden silence in the forest a louder cry of alarm than even the shriek of a human in peril. Roach slowed to a stop, chuffing uneasily as Geralt stilled in the saddle, sharp Witcher senses attuned to any disturbance. In the chill winter air, both his and the horse’s breath plumed in white clouds before them.

SNAP!

Geralt slipped off Roach and shooed her away, steel sword sliding free of its sheath. On near-silent footsteps through the snow, he took cover behind a tree, turning east toward the direction of the snapped branch.

The forest waited with bated breath.

SNAP!

Followed by the soft crunch of snow underfoot, not twenty paces off to Geralt’s left.

The wolf-head pendant vibrated against his chest.

Magic.

The Witcher’s mind raced. The presence of magic meant a much harder fight than he was prepared to have. The injuries he had sustained a few days before while fighting the drowned dead were only mostly healed, and he was embarrassingly fatigued after two days of hard travel. Roach had already moved off, distancing herself from Geralt—and taking his elixirs with her.

Teeth grinding in dismay, Geralt peered around the rough bark of the tree, trying to glimpse the source of magic.

A figure moved briefly through the trees.

Stilling once more, Geralt shifted his stance, muscles coiling for an attack. Edging around the tree, he strained to glimpse the figure once more.

The winter sun sliced sharply through the loose canopy of trees. A shadow slinked toward another tree, extending outrageously tall against the disturbed snow behind it. Geralt managed to keep his heartbeat calm.

The shadow looked like a demon.

Geralt sped through his options. Demons were from other planes of existence, meaning they often followed their own rules in Geralt’s world. The shadow was nothing like Geralt had ever seen. Without specific knowledge of the beast, the Witcher was working in the dark as to how to banish it back to its realm.

To his right, Roach whinnied in alarm and pranced away, the whites of her eyes flashing against her bay skin.

Fuck, Geralt thought, and he slid around the tree, sprinting toward the shadow as Roach cried out again in distress, shying away from whatever approached her.

The shadow’s twisted jaw opened in a soundless snarl.

Geralt flew past the tree blocking his view of the creature, snow kicking up in his wake, sword angled for a strong strike.

A towering woman in strange, tight-fitting garb, your face obscured but for bright, sharp eyes, spun to meet him, strange devices wielded in both hands.

Geralt hesitated.

BOOM!

Pain slammed into Geralt’s chest, stopping him in his tracks.

BOOM!

The impact sent him onto his back, the wind knocked out of his lungs. Molten fire poured through his chest, muddying his senses. The hilt of his sword still weighed heavy in his rough palm, but he struggled to grasp it.

He gasped for air.

You slid into his field of vision. You stood above him like one of the trees, taller even than the Witcher. The object in one of your hands issued a thin wisp of smoke.

“I see this place is filled with savages,” you murmured, a hint of disappointment coloring your voice. “I had expected more of a challenge.”

An inhuman voice answered you in a language of gravelly, distorted sounds.

“Yes, I know. It’s early yet.”

Sighing, you peered down at Geralt’s pain-contorted features. Lips peeling back from his teeth in a snarl, he growled, “What are you?”

You hesitated, eyes narrowing a fraction, before answering, “A witch.”

“You are…no witch.”

The inhuman voice grated against Geralt’s ears.

Nodding, you replied to the Witcher, “Your opinion means nothing to me.”

You strode over him, disappearing from his view. Geralt craned his head, forced himself to roll onto one shoulder to watch you. Pain poured fresh fire through him.

Roach galloped away, her fear palpable, the smell of her sweat tangible on the chill air.

Geralt’s blood spilled onto the white snow.

You headed for the horizon. Your demonic shadow followed.

#Geralt of Rivia x Reader #Geralt of Rivia #Geralt of Rivia imagine #Geralt x Reader #Geralt #Geralt imagine #Henry Cavill x Reader #Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill imagine #The Witcher #requests

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archangelsunited · 3 days

Note

⚜️Roche/Ciri🌹 is golden, but the witcher's fandom is blind sheep.

Hey! Its really cool that you like Roche/Ciri! I haven't seen much on them. I generally ship Roche with Iorveth or with Foltest! I don't usually ship Ciri- but I've read good ones with her and Dettlaff and Ceyrs. My main ships are Emhyr/Geralt and Regis/Geralt.

I don't spend a lot of time in the Witcher's fandom right now, I am currently in BG3 and TES. But one of the best things about the Witcher fandom as a whole is the sheer variety of people and sources we can draw from. I've seen great collaborations that started in 2015 and in 2019 and in 2024. Everyone has something to give that important to the ecosystem- and if people are willing to make room for others, you can find people who really enjoy what you enjoy. There is space there for everyone. I am going to make every attempt to make my fandom space a comfortable place to be in- and I am so excited that you are bringing in Roche/Ciri to the table.

(PS. If it was you who sent the cool art, I really liked it! I just don't want to post someone elses post without permission.)

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marchtothefuckingsea · 2 years

Text

Nothing Without You - Geralt of Rivia

My Masterlist.

Soulmate AU!! But basically just hurt/comfort with a bit of soulmate au to spice things up lmao, hurt/comfort, angst, x female or female identifying reader (for plot, but they use they/them pronouns if any are used at all)

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: Injury, injured reader, blood, canon violence. Not proofread.

Summary: Soulmate AU where your eyes are the colour of your soulmate's; except it's just a bit different for witchers and theirs.

Before Geralt had become a witcher, he remembered the colour of his soulmate's eyes; of his. A striking shade of green - greener than all the leaves in the spring.

I remembered the colour of my eyes: of my soulmate's. They had been a warm brown; the warmest shade of brown I had ever seen. Warmer than all the reds and yellows and oranges of the autumn, and browner than the darkest of chocolates, but when the sun shone on them, they held the most beautiful of golden sunsets; But shortly before my 10th birthday, I awoke with striking yellow eyes. My parents were shocked. My mother demanded to throw me out, to be rid of the witcher child. My father had gone as far as to leave her, taking me with him. He was killed when I was fifteen; by angry townspeople who thought he had to die for protecting me and loving me unconditionally. I was a monster to them.

And so that was what I became.

I traveled, living the way of a witcher and hunting creatures for coin. It was not the life I would have expected or, in all honesty, would have wanted for myself, but it was the life I now lived. I did not blame my soulmate, but sometimes I wondered if I would ever meet the person who had damned me to this way of life.

It was that path that had been the easiest to take. People believed witchers could not have soulmates, that the bonds were broken when they had gone through the trials. Those like me often took to the roads, in search of their witcher soulmate; Once you met them, your eyes would turn their true colour. It was almost impossible to find them, since the eyes of the witchers did not take the colour of their soulmate's. It was completely up to chance whether you met them or not. Very few were lucky enough, but to them it was the only chance at a normal life.

I had taken the route of no return, simply going along with the facade. There were certain perks to the job, the air of fearful respect from the villagers and getting to travel the lands, none of which I would have had as a normal woman back in my village. All because of my eyes.

I gazed at myself in the dusty mirror of the tavern, took in my tattered state and the slight darkened look around the edges of my golden eyes. I had grown accustomed to them, growing to love the colour of my soulmate's eyes as much as I could, given what grief they had forsaken upon me. Living the life of a witcher made me come to have all the more respect for them, whoever they may be.

I sighed, straightening up and shrugging my cloak on, as I prepared to continue tracking the beast I had come here for. It was a vile creature, living mostly in the forests, disguising itself as a fallen tree to the average passerby. It had begun to pick people off at first, just the average villager; but the beast fed off of magical energy, and edged ever closer to the village, searching for a food source. It was soon preying on healers and small-time magicians, people with magical powers. It had even been said to fell a witcher. It grew ever more powerful as they sent sorcerers one after the other, each failing to return as it consumed their magical energy. Soon it wasn't even bothering with the average townsfolk anymore; it was well fed.

I was quite confident with my abilities to slay the creature; I did not possess any sort of magic, so therefore it would regard me as an average villager, hopefully not even bothering with me, I thought as I slung my sword over my shoulder and clipped my sheathed axe to my hip. Unless my witcher eyes counted.

"'It's not very far.'" I muttered to myself, pausing to lean against a tree and catch my breath. I had been told to keep an eye out for a cabin. Among the old, rotten firewood behind it was where the beast supposedly hid. It would be easy to tell from the others, it would have no moss growing and attaching it to the ground like the others. It simply wouldn't have been there long enough for that. I'd find it, chop its wooden heart out, and collect my coin, easy-

My head jerked up when I heard a creaking sound, swinging back and forth, trying to see what it was. I saw nothing, no movement at all, but the sound was unmistakably loud.

I stumbled back as a fallen log to the right of me rose up. Its hollow eyes staring right into my soul. I watched as it grew taller and taller, stretching its branches and limbs out and shaking dirt and leaf litter off of itself.

"Fuck." I guess my eyes did count.

I jumped back, barely dodging its first swing. It swung another branch at me, this time catching me. I managed to duck away from the large branch, but the smaller branches and twigs whipped against my bare forearms, covering them in small cuts. I hissed, pulling my axe out of its sheath.

The next time it slashed at me, I swung the axe in a huge arc. The unbelievably sharp blade sliced through several smaller branches with ease. A horrible screech split through the air, causing me to cover my ears. I scrambled back when it reached for me again, turning and running for the edge of the clearing, just out of its reach. I watched from a safe distance as the beast grabbed for me, growling and crackling in frustration before suddenly stilling, standing upright like a normal tree. Did it think I was that stupid?

A deafening cracking sound echoed throughout the woods, but the 'tree' did not move. It was followed by a rumble, and the ground tremored. I watched in horror as it ripped its roots from the ground, the dirt falling from them. It stomped over in my direction, and a surge of panic went through me.

I dove for the cover of the brush. Just before I made it, a branch wrapped around my ankle, sharply jerking me back into the clearing, hard. I cried out, my ankle audibly snapping. I struggled against it, to no avail. It suddenly let go of me, and I scrambled back for the bushes once again; And once again, it grabbed me and harshly dragged me back. A strangled cry escaped my throat. I felt the bones in my ankle shifting and floating around. If it hadn’t been broken before, it definitely was now.

The tree creature whipped me up off of the ground and slung my body through the air as if I were a rag doll. My body came into contact with the ground with a thud, muted by the layers and layers of leaf litter on the forest floor. If it weren’t for the half-rotten log hidden beneath, it would have been an otherwise cushioned landing; but of course, I wasn’t that lucky. My head whipped forward and hit the side of the log. I tumbled over the log, continuing to rollI several feet through the mud and brush before I stopped. My head pounded, and my vision blurred dangerously. I closed my eyes to blink in an attempt to clear my vision, but I was unable to open them again.

I tossed my head side to side, straining my arms against the branches that held them down. I opened my eyes, lifting my head to see what restrained me. The thick branches continued to wind around my wrists and ankles, and an even larger one emerged from the ground and began to coil around my middle. I continued to struggle weakly against the monster’s ‘arms’ as they sapped my energy relentlessly. My breath hitched in my throat when the branch around my broken ankle suddenly constricted it, causing the fragmented bones to shift.

An axe suddenly sliced into one of the limbs restraining me, missing my hand by less than a centimeter. It chopped into the rest of them, freeing me from the monster’s clutches with a horrible scream that echoed around the clearing. I rolled onto my side, pushing myself onto my hands and knees. Ignoring the way my head spun, I staggered to my feet. I stumbled over to my own hatchet while the beast was distracted with the white-haired man. I fell back onto all fours as I reached down to grab it, wasting precious time to stumble back onto my feet. The man was fighting against the tree still, his eyes unable to meet mine. He grunted when it brought up a large limb to meet his axe, ripping it away when the blade became stuck in the wood.

I suddenly rushed up to the tree, its heart hollow exposed, and sank the blade of my small hatchet into its heart. I stood slowly, swaying on my feet. My yellow gaze darted up to meet his, and I could have swore I saw his own golden eyes flicker a shade of the warmest brown I had ever seen, before I slumped to the ground in an unconscious heap.

The worn bed frame creaked and groaned beneath my weight as I shifted onto my side with a low whine. My head throbbed painfully when I lifted it. The room was old and abandoned, and cobwebs and dust clung to every crevice. I blinked in confusion. How did I get here?

I propped myself onto my elbows, before forcing myself into a sitting position. I ignored the fatigue pulling at my limbs and the pounding in my head, glancing around. Panic began to set in as I came to my senses and realized I had no idea where I was.

Heavy footsteps suddenly sounded from behind the closed door, and I was immediately on defense.

"You're safe here." The man from earlier reassured me, shutting the door behind him. I eyed him warily, though a strange, reluctant sense of calm washed over me with his presence.

"Who are you?"

"Lie back down." I didn't budge, and he huffed in frustration. "Lie down and I'll tell you."

"I'm fine." I argued stubbornly.

"I know you're in pain. Lie down." He demanded, pressing a large hand to my chest. I obliged without complaint this time. My body immediately relaxed into the bed, all my muscles and nerves finally quieting their screams of protest. I watched him curiously as sat on the bedside. I uncomfortably shifted over to put some distance between us.

"Geralt of Rivia." He introduced himself. "You’re not a witcher.” His voice rumbled as his eyes searched mine curiously.

“Oh here we go again with all this sexist bullshit about how women can’t be witchers-” I grumbled.

“Your eyes aren’t gold.” He said matter-of-factly. “They’re green.”

“What?” I asked him, dumbfounded. I began to struggle back into a sitting position, the sudden need to find some sort of reflective surface too much to bear.

“Stay.” He grunted. He dug into a backpack sat by the wall, retrieving a flask and handing it to me. I brought it up to my face, staring at my reflection in shock. My eyes were no longer the striking yellow I had grown so used to. They were now an almost equally stunning green. The unfamiliar eyes gazed back at me.

“I’m your soulmate.” My eyes darted up to his face.

“No, there’s no way-”

“Your eyes were golden when I found you in the woods. They’re not now.” He said simply. I suddenly recalled his eyes flickering brown as I met his gaze before I passed out.

“Your eyes are brown..” My voice trailed off.

“So that’s what they were.”

“I remember, your eyes were such a pretty shade of brown. Then they turned yellow when I was eleven or so, I think.”

“The trials.”

“The witcher trials?” He simply nodded. My eyes wandered unseeingly. I was completely lost in my thoughts.

“I’m sorry.” He said quietly.

“For what?”

“I imagine it couldn’t have been easy for you. Not if you’ve taken up the life of a witcher.”

I shrugged, wincing when the motion pulled at some injury on my shoulder I didn't even know I had. "It was the easiest thing to do."

"Was it?"

"I guess so." I hesitated. "I don't know. I just went where the fates took me."

"It's a curse."

Silence hung heavy in the air.

"I never thought I'd find you, you know? What were the chances?" I admitted, glancing back at him.

"Very slim." He agreed.

"You're free to live a normal life now." He said after a moment.

"Do you really think I'd want to? After everything I've experienced?"

"If I were still in my village, I'd already be popping out kids as a housewife," I continued. "But because of this whole thing–because of you– I've been able to do all this. Hell, I'm known as the one and only badass female witcher, I've convinced people of the supposedly impossible; I'm not giving up that title."

"So that was you." He mused. "What are you going to do now, then?"

It suddenly hit me that I no longer had the one thing that allowed me to get this far: my golden eyes. I could put on my act all I wanted to, but that couldn't save me from the fact that I was now a fraud.

"I…I don't know." I admitted quietly. "I'm nothing now."

"I can't just go back to normal, Geralt. I can't, I'd kill myself out of boredom."

"Come with me." He offered suddenly.

"What?"

"Travel with me. You're more than capable, if you've managed to convince people you're a witcher."

"But I'm not anymore." I argued. "I'm a fraud. A phony. I’d just drag you down further." He snorted at that.

"That doesn't matter."

"You don't seem like the type to make that offer. I thought you'd prefer to be alone."

"I do, but I can make an exception for my soulmate."

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sayafics · 2 years

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Soul-bonds & Heartaches - Chapter I

A.N.// Please enjoy Part I of a series I had alot of fun starting! This was inspired by my fanfiction on Wattpad @theangelradio - The Hunter & The Wolf - which includes the same characters and a very similar storyline. Let me know your thoughts!

Synopsis: Andromeda was a runaway elf taken in by the Royal Family of Cintra at a young age, and with every sign of her elven heritage scrubbed and torn off of her by her father in an attempt to make her pass as human, she was left feeling more alone than ever. Andromeda had thought she would never find a person who would accept her for who she was until the night of Pavetta's banquet, where a Witcher had made two claims as a reward for his bravery. Now the two were tied together by Fate - but if there's one thing everyone knew about Geralt, it was that he did not believe in destiny.

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Masterlist

Geralt made two claims many years ago. One he did not believe he would ever have to face. And the other he spent years running from. It seemed that fate had made it so he could avoid neither.

Accepting Cirilia's presence in his life has been easy enough, but her? She was too much. A burden.

Andromeda was Cirilia's aunt, although not biological - taken in at a young age by Queen Calanthe she grew up alongside Pavetta, her youth seemingly never fading. See what most of Cintra did not know was Andromeda was an elf, her scarred ears from where her own father hacked off the abominations were proof enough of that. Hoping the pain was worth the safety his daughter would get in return as he sent her towards villages and kingdoms.

It was.

That is until the night of Pavetta's banquet. Geralt made a claim, a claim he hoped with all his heart would not bind itself to another - Pavetta was bound to another so surely claiming the one dearest to Calanthe's heart would result in nothing.

Except it seemed Andromeda had weaseled her way into the heart of the woman who had taken her in, had found comfort in her arms and love in her heart. If destiny would not give him Pavetta, they could give him Andromeda.

Calanthe, Pavetta and Andromeda knew the consequences of his words, as he spoke his claims - their fears worsening as Pavetta's pregant state became public knowledge. They would now face the consequences of their gratitude it seemed.

***

Andromeda had escaped Geralt's existence for almost thirteen years, as far as Geralt was concerned his second claim had no effect and Fate had given him a pass. The only surprise he had to worry about was his Child Surprise. A secret vow, bounding him to the person Calanathe held close to her heart and considered a daughter? That was not his concern at all.

And so, Geralt remained oblivious of her existence until it became too hard to deny.

When Geralt had bedded Yennefer, Andromeda felt it, how it tore at her heart and how her soul roiled and burned in its place inside her. The betrayal to the bond and vow he made tying them together punished her for the actions of a man she wanted nothing to do with.

But she was used to it. It would not be the first time she had experienced such pain. So she sat, with Cirilla on one side and Jaskier on the other, her heart sinking in her chest as she forced herself to keep up her cheery charade knowing what was happening behind the closed doors of the inn they were resting at.

Geralt was betraying a woman he had no clue he belonged to.

The pain had subsided, but the feeling of misery only strengthened as she watched Geralt come down the inn stairs with Yennefer at his tail. The two looked perfect together, both warriors in their own image - strong and brave, nothing like she was. She could feel jealousy begin to claw at her throat, the tears slowly beginning to burn her eyes.

Andromeda composed herself, turning away from the duo to face Cirilla instead - "I think I'm going to head to bed."

Cirilla looked up at her in curiosity, knowing Andromeda rarely slept at all, especially during the night. Her fears of the dark outweighed her need to sleep, but as she looked over her shoulders towards Yennefer and Geralt - the two leaning on eachother, engaged in a bout of flirtatious commentary- she nodded her acceptance before agreeing to join her soon. Her aunt needed a moment to herself, and so Cirilla would give her atleast that.

Andromeda pushed herself to her feet, stood there for a moment as she took in a deep breath from her nose, careful to not change her expression. She avoided Jaskier's questioning eyes and breezed passed the distracted duo, unaware of Geralt's trailing eyes and flared nostrils as he scented her - he could hear her heartbeat, it was fast and harsh, but she smelt of the sky when it was about to rain.

As Andromeda made her way up the stairs she made eye contact with a rather slender man who was walking in the opposite direction, he had blue eyes and ginger hair that reached his shoulders, a thick beard decorated his face and scars lined his eyes - one blind and one seeing. But most of all, what caught her attention was the gentle aura about him, his clothes were simple tunics and despite his lumbering size he seemed to be a humble man - everything Geralt was not.

She found herself slowing down in front of him - after all the pain Geralt has caused her seeking his own pleasure, why can she not grant herself this one moment of gratification. Why wait, why save herself for a man who had no care of his own purity or sanctity. Why should she reserve herself, when she could be free like he acted. When she could cause him the pain he had been feeding her for years since he had made his proclamation.

"Hello there," Andromeda's voice had dipped, taking on a sultry tone as she looked up at him through her eyelashes. The coy expression that slid across her face had immediately caught the man's attention, his face heating to match the colour of his hair as he turned to face her - Andromeda's attention only bolstered his confidence as he leaned towards her unconsciously.

"Now who might you be, little lady."

"The best thing that may happen to you tonight," Andromeda laid her hand on his arm, her fingers unconsciously tightening around it as she felt the the muscle that outlined his lean figure. She felt her heart race for a reason that was completely different to jealousy - this was the first time she had given into her desires, and Fortunes did it feel good.

The two continued to flirt, exchanging subtle brushes of skin-on-skin, the man - who she now knew as Elias - tucked hair hair back for her, his fingers trailing her jawline. Until finally, his hand dragged down her shoulder, down her arm until he intertwined his fingers with her own - his head jutted in the direction of the stairs and just like that Andromeda followed his lead.

Unbeknownst to her, and much to the dislike of Yennefer, Geralt had been watching the two ever since she had approached the man, his heart began to thump harshly in agony and anger at the sight of her with another man, at the sound of their hearts whispering to one another, of the smell of his arousal and her excitement. But why?

It did not matter, Geralt gave into Yennefer's pestering and turned her way - accepting the fretted petting and flirtations that came along with it, trying to force his mind off the giggling pair who had escaped to the confines of an inn room.

***

Elias pressed Andromeda against the door the moment they had walked into the room, his lips crashing against her's as his arms pushed her hands above her head and held it there. Andromeda held her breath for a moment - she had never kissed anyone before, and now here she was - she found excitement sizzling at the pit of her stomach, butterflies racing up her spine and down her limbs as she pushed forward to reciprocate.

Elias laughed slightly at her enthusiasm, her lack of experience making her clumsy but endearing, and pressed closer towards her. Andromeda pulled her hands from his, trailing them down the front of his tunic her nails dragging against the fabric slowly. She had never touched a man before, not like this.

I mean, sure she had helped Geralt with the worst of his injuries but even then he wouldn't look at her. Not the way Elias was as she pushed her hands underneath his tunic, fingers grazing against his skin. She rubbed her palms up across the plane of his narrow torso, feeling the coarse hair that decorated his chest and the smooth skin of his body- nothing like Geralt. Good.

Elias stood back for a moment before leaning his forehead against her own, his eyes twinkled in anticipation as his hands moved to her waist to pull her forward. "Do you want to do this? With me?"

Andromeda thought of Geralt, of all the times he had seeked his own pleasure in others despite it causing her pain. Then she thought of his obliviousness and denial to the bond - the times where he would look at her like he was finally seeing her, only to turn around and bed the first woman he saw.

"Yes."

The two leaned forward, their lips touching as Elias slowly made his way backwards towards the bed, their body language more nervous and hesitant before. They broke apart as Elias sat down at the edge of the bed, his hands against her hips slowly pulling her onto his lap as he leaned back against the bed - he was giving her all the control of this situation she may want.

Andromeda leaned down to kiss him once more, her hands brushing against his chest as she moved them into his hair. This was it, she thought, this was where she would get her revenge but finally get to have something for herself too. She smiled in relief as their noses brushed against one another.

***

It was only one moment of pure silence, one moment and just like that everything changed. The door of the room they were in burst open, the handle crashing into the wall behind it creating a hole and causing the hinges to creak under the force.

Geralt.

Andromeda straightened in fear as she turned to look at him, still on top of Elias, she took him in. Geralt was seething, his eyes full of envy and murder, his jaw was clenched and his hands fisted at his side.

Neither her or Elias had enough time to say a word as Geralt launched in their direction, his hand made it onto her wrist as he pulled her off of Elias and into his own embrace.

Andromeda stared at him in incredulity, confused about why he was so angry and why, even now, even after doing this, he would not even look at her. Instead he stood there, glaring into Elias' soul pouring every ounce of hatred he felt into him and making his eyes widen in fear and haste as he stood up from his previous position.

Geralt did not waste his time with Elias, simply looked him over in disgust, as though he was questioning why Andromeda would pick him of all people. 'Because he isn't you,' the incessant voice in her mind whispered and she found herself stiffening at the sound.

As though he felt the thoughts racing through her mind, Geralt's arms tightened around her waist anchoring her back against his front as he sneered in Elias' direction.

"Mine."

Andromeda's heart skipped a beat, then began to race and pound in her chest as she took those words in, she craned her head to look at his face, but he held her tightly - his own heart soaring in relief at the sound of her racing one.

Elias could not look at either of them anymore, and she felt her heart sink as the surprise finally faded. Instead anger now took its place.

How dare he. After everything he has done to her, how dare he stop her from taking the one thing she wanted for herself. She found herself wriggling in his grasp, pushing against his arms in an attempt to escape but he barely moved, so she found herself seething towards him and spewing out hateful words, "let me go, you bastard. You have no right to do this, to stop me."

Geralt said nothing, instead he loosened his grip and reached for her wrist before she could escape his reach. He began dragging her out the room, passed the worried faces of Jaskier and Cirilla and the hateful expression Yennefer had gained.

Despite all her angry words and profanities, he did not stop, not until they had reached his room. He threw her into the room with so much force she fell at the edge of the bed, her hands being the only thing to steady her.

Her arms shook in anger and she shook her head with pained laughter, "how could you do that? Embarass me like that?"

Geralt stared at her mutely, his eyes still holding that look.

"What? You don't feel like talking now? Seriously Geralt? One time. One time I wanted to have something for myself and you take that, and don't even want to tell me why?"

"I did tell you why. You're mine."

"If I was your's, if I was truly your's, you wouldn't have fucked other women when I was right here."

Geralt did not know what to say to that, but she was right. He did sleep with other women. He looked away for a moment, and that was enough to make Andromeda scoff and she pulled herself straight and tried to get put of the room. Only it seemed Geralt was not done, so he grasped her shoulders to hold her in place, his eyes looking into her's as he fumbled with words.

And then finally, "I'm a monster."

Andromeda's struggles died down, she looked up at him in surprise, "what?"

"I didn't say anything, do anything because I thought you deserved better than me. Because you do deserve better than me, more than what I can offer. But seeing you with him... I was going to let you be happy, but I couldn't."

"I let you be happy."

"I know."

"For years."

Geralt looked resigned, "I wasn't."

"But why? You had everything Geralt, you took everything you wanted for yourself regardless of who it hurt."

"I didn't take you. I couldn't."

"And you still hurt me anyway. That stupid prize you claimed hurt me more than anyone else. Do you know what happens to me when you bed other women Geralt, do you know what I feel? The agony? The pain? I could feel nothing but hatred towards you, but you've bound us together so I can't avoid the pain even if I try."

"Prize?" Geralt's expression contorted in confusion, his brows furrowing in question as his lips pulled straight.

"I'm your prize, Geralt. I am your Law of Treasure. We're blood-bound, you bastard." Andromeda's voice came out weak and defeated, as though it hurt her to even have to speak the words aloud, to show that their connection was nothing but the work of Fate and Geralt's arrogance all those years ago.

Geralt felt as though he couldn't breathe. All these years and he assumed his claim was not set in stone, but now it all made sense. The way his blood burned next to her, the way his mind whispered all the things he should do to her, the way he always gravitated towards her. It was those reasons that made him draw back from her, push her away and replace the void with other women. Geralt didn't deserve her, but it seemed Fate had already decided otherwise.

His eyes then widened in guilt, his heart clenching as he realised she knew. This whole time she knew they were bound and she let him do as he wished freely because she didn't want to be a burden to him, even if it caused her pain and heartache. Even if it was him that was the true burden. What has he done?

He reached out towards her, but Andromeda decided to use his hesitance to her advantage as she ducked under his reaching grasp and stumbled through the door. Her face burned in embarassment as she realised how truly clueless he was, and how if it wasn't for the Fate tying them together he would not look at her twice.

Tears began to stream down her face - even when she tried to be happy on her own he couldn't let her have that, and now she had nothing.

She pushed through the crowded faces, looking down at her in pity as she rushed to her own inn-chambers, shutting the door behind her and leaning on it. Her breaths came out in shallow pants as her tears became heavier, but she did not dare make a sound in case Geralt heard her. Instead she slid to the bottom of the door, pulling her knees into her chest and crying silently into them - cursing the day Geralt had taken her as a prize and given her a life of pain and misery instead of the joyous life she was promised by Calanthe before her sister's marriage.

#geralt x ofc #geralt x you #geralt x yennefer #geralt of rivera #jaskier #cirilla of cintra #yennefer of vengerberg #geralt smut #smut #angst #series #LawofTreasure

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fangirleaconmigo · 2 years

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There are a lot of fics in the fandom where Jaskier is a concubine or bed warmer and is gifted to Geralt (usually warlord Geralt) and that becomes his path to freedom and love. Some of them are among the best fics in the fandom. One of them is one of my favorite fics ever.

But I do get to thinking...

Men who are physically strong and skilled in combat (like Geralt) can also be exploited. In fact, physical power is one of the most limited forms of power, and witchers are exploited and oppressed in canon. And by the same token, men who can't wield a weapon (like Jaskier), can be very powerful if they are born into the correct family.

So. What if we flip their roles in the narrative? (I'm sure there are flipped fics out there, but I'm going to spin my own idea for a minute.) Alright. Here we go. My idea for Prince Jaskier/Gladiator Geralt.

CW for references to past sexual abuse. Do not read further if you don't want to read any references to sexual abuse. As I said, it is a reversal of the trope mentioned above, so none of the abuse is between Geralt and Jaskier, but the premise does involve servitude and abuse.

---------

Jaskier is a prince sent out on his very first diplomatic visit. He has been chosen for this task (negotiating a treaty) because he has come of age, and his father wants him to make a match with the princess. His father has managed to keep his country's economic crisis a secret, but it won't stay that way for long. If Jaskier can impress his hosts perhaps he can marry the princess, and his people will be pulled back from the brink of financial ruin.

But before Jaskier goes, his father counsels him that he will see some barbaric practices in this other country. Though this other country is wealthy and advanced technologically, it still engages in things like gladiator fights and indentured servitude. Jaskier says that he understands. He can keep his mouth shut no matter what he sees. He knows that they are counting on him.

The first day of the visit goes well. During a long session of intense negotiations, Jaskier makes a brilliant first impression, so much so that the king invites him to be the guest of honor at a gladiator fight. Jaskier does not have a stomach for violence or gore. So he downs a few goblets of wine to take the edge off and to keep himself relaxed enough to not vomit at the first sight of entrails.

Their prize gladiator is a striking, white haired warrior with mystical powers. He has an enviable streak of wins, and the people love him. Part of why they love him is because he seems to hate killing people. He will do it efficiently and well, in order to defend his life. But when they push someone out into the ring that is ill prepared or a poor match for him, he does everything he can to stall or stop the fight.

Once, the king tells Jaskier, he refused to fight and managed to convince his opponent to refuse to fight. They publicly executed several prisoners in retaliation, so now he fights. But he curses them elaborately after every win.

Instead of it weighing on their conscience, however, the audience moons over him as a noble assassin, a killer with a heart of gold. It's the irony, it's the angst. They love him. Not enough to free him of course, but they love him.

Jaskier worries he is not drunk enough for this, but he manages. As expected, the warrior wins the fight. It is a tough match against a skilled and weathered opponent. But he fights with the mesmerizing grace of a brutal dancer and he wins in a spectacular fashion. The crowd goes berserk.

Though Jaskier finds the warrior incredibly compelling, his eyes drawn to him over and over like a beacon, he is relieved as fuck that the whole thing is over. He can't wait to go back to his room and cleanse away the memory of that horrible pulsing severed carotid with maybe a song or another drink. He can't wait to have more power and ban some of these horrific practices.

But before he can get back to his room, the king makes him an offer that he is entirely unprepared for. He has taken such a liking to Jaskier that he offers to send the champion up to his room.

That is when Jaskier learns that the royal ladies (and some of the men) take great pride in partaking of the warrior after a match. It is the highest honor.

It's partly his beautiful physique. They have special clothing made up for him that resembles his armor, but offers more access. It's partly the danger and the thrill of conquering such a violent beast. They bind him and they station guards close by so he can't retaliate. But the thought that he could kill them with the twist of a wrist is part of the appeal. It is also partly the exclusivity. The entire kingdom loses their mind for this warrior, but it is only they who have access to him. It gives these wealthy, bored, royals a rare thrill.

When his host explains all of this, Jaskier's stomach drops almost to the soles of his shoes. His first instinct is to be outraged. To say no. His kingdom has done away with bed warmers and...well...sex slaves, really. He has been brought up to believe that ravaging someone, anyone, is a base, cruel, horrible thing to do.

So he almost says no. He almost shouts it. Frankly, he would like to slap the king across his smug beastly face. Obviously he can't do that. But he wants to. But then a thought flickers across his mind. If he says no, then this warrior will be sent to someone else. And who knows who that person will be and what they will do to him.

Jaskier feels sick to his stomach when he accepts the king's offer. He hopes his disgust isn't apparent. He tries to make it sound lusty. To his own ears, he fails at it. Besides his disgust for the idea, he is also incredibly inexperienced. If he has to feign an intimate understanding of the specifics of sex, he'll reveal himself to be the young amateur that he is.

But the king is so drunken and self absorbed that he doesn't even notice. He claps Jaskier on the back, calls him my boy, and motions to his guards. The guards jump to attention. The king points down to the arena at the warrior. The warrior is slick with sweat and blood and grime. He is quietly cleaning his sword with a far away look on his face. The cheers of the crowd weigh on him.

Just then, the warrior looks up at Jaskier. His golden eyes feel like a punch to the solar plexus. He sees what is happening. He knows who is being conferred the honor of his body tonight.

Jaskier wants to mouth an apology. To explain himself. Of course he can't. They are too far apart and there is too much noise between them. Besides. Jaskier is currently pretending to be into this. But his eyes slide away guiltily. He feels queasy and he is regretting the wine right about now.

The king asks Jaskier if he wants the warrior grimy or clean. They can bathe him before they send him up, or they can just walk him up as he is, for a more authentic experience. Jaskier feels a cold fury bubbling inside. He shoves it down. He says to send him as he is. Jaskier will draw a bath in his own room and give the gladiator privacy.

The king makes a crude joke about Jaskier liking it dirty, and he almost bites through his tongue in order to hold it. He tastes copper.

Soon, Jaskier is alone in his room, pacing the marble floors, clenching and unclenching his fists. He is deep in concentration, trying to figure out how to play this. When the guards bring the warrior, will they leave? Or will they insist on staying close by? How will Jaskier hide his true intentions from them? Whatever they see, they will undoubtedly report to the king.

Jaskier chews his bottom lip and whispers to himself, practicing what he will say to the warrior if he can get them alone.

You'll be safe tonight.

You don't have to do anything.

Would you like to bathe yourself? I won't look.

Do you want...other clothes?

Suddenly Jaskier feels like the inexperienced, sheltered young prince that he is. His success during negotiations this morning feels like a fluke. He has never taken charge of anything. He's not even fully finished with his second decade of life. Why did he think he could do this? He can hear his own heart beating so hard that his chest cavity is vibrating. He is terrified. Terrified what this grizzled warrior will see when he looks at him. Terrified he will fuck it all up.

When the guards drag in the champion, he has to duck to pass through the doorway. His broad shoulders fill it almost entirely. He comes to stop in the middle of the room, his chains settling and his shoulders stiffening. They have changed him into his costume, which is little more than flimsy strips of leather. Wide expanses of skin glisten with sweat. He lifts his chin and his eyes bore quietly into Jaskier.

Jaskier swallows hard. He can feel his fingers trembling, so he clasps them at his waist. There is something about this man. He isn't like anyone Jaskier has ever met before. There is honesty and nobility but also flint and defiance in his eyes.

The young prince is indeed inexperienced, but in that moment, he understands something very important. He knows the truth in his very bones, and the truth is this...

He is in way over his head. He is utterly doomed.

Not because of the guards or because of his host, the lecherous king. He isn't even doomed because of his father or his obligations.

He is doomed because he already knows in his marrow that he will give anything, sacrifice anything, maybe even his own people, to give this man anything he needs.

PART TWO IN THE REBLOG

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fic idea #might be my darkest one #and i already have wips #but i'm gonna let this percolate here #lets see how far i get #descarada writes #descarada writes geraskier

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