Request: Can you do a Witcher x reader one shot about and the reader is like a princess and her father has enlisted his help??? Like an affair au where they have to sneak around and stuff!!!
I made up the kingdom this takes place in, and also couldn’t think of a monster to use so it’s up to your imaginations lmao
And...this isn’t exactly where I saw this one going...but it did so...yeah....
warnings: insinuated smut, language, major character death, also this is super long I’m so sorry usually I do the cut thing when it’s so long but I can’t do it on mobile sooooo yeah
You stood behind your father, nervously chewing your bottom lip. He’d decided to call in a witcher to help with the monster issue your people have found themselves troubled with. It’s been a long few weeks waiting for one to be close enough to Remalia to send out the royal messenger. And who better than the Butcher of Blaviken to handle the problem?
“They’re late,” your father grumbled, shifting his weight in his throne.
“Maybe Fergeson couldn’t find him,” you suggest, fiddling with your mother’s locket around your neck.
“Fergeson knows that if he returns without the Witcher he won’t have a job,” your father growled.
Just then, the doors to the throne room were thrown open, and Fergeson scurried in, a tall, handsome, silver-haired man gliding in behind him.
“Your Royal Highnesses, I present Geralt of Rivia, the Witcher.”
Your father waved the messenger off. “That will be all, Fergeson.”
The mousy messenger bowed before scurrying out.
“I’ve heard much about you, Geralt of Rivia,” Your father greeted, standing from his throne. “I have a job for you.”
“So I hear,” the Witcher said, his deep voice sending a tingle down your spine.
You felt your heartbeat speed up a bit as the handsome monster hunter stepped closer your father, who was a couple feet in front of you. Your felt your cheeks flush as the Witcher’s sharp amber eyes met yours.
“Ten thousand orens if you can find and kill the monster terrorizing my people.”
The Witcher nodded. “You have a deal.”
The Witcher was given a room in the castle to sleep in while he figured out what monster was terrorizing your people and how to kill it. Your father had given him a month to figure it out, and he was a week in. You ran into him often in the halls at night, when he was getting back to bed after hunting down information on the monster.
He’d bow his head while walking past you, “Evening, Princess,” he’d murmur, sending a tingle down your spine.
“Witcher,” you’d respond, smiling slightly as you glided by him.
This night was much the same, but this time you decided to look back over your shoulder at him.
You were pleasantly surprised to see him doing the same, a small smile upon his lips.
You blushed, and turned back around, continuing on your way.
The next day, Geralt had rode Roach out to where he suspected the monster to be living, hoping to be done early with this (projected) month-long job.
He was severely under-prepared.
But at least now he knew what it was.
He rode back to the castle, hunched over Roach as he clutched the wound on this stomach, hoping he can make it to his generously-provided room before he passed out from blood loss.
He stabled Roach and limped into the castle, leaning on the rough stone walls as he made his way to his room.
You approached him slowly.
You ignored his deadpan comment, gently taking his arm to help him walk. “Come with me, Geralt. I can help you.”
“Just help get to my room, Princess. I have supplies—“
“What supplies? Garden variety herbs and dirty rags? I can have that fixed a lot quicker. And better.”
Geralt was silent as you aided him in walking to your chambers.
You pushed the large double doors open, settling the large Witcher down on your chaise before turning to close the doors.
“You’ll need to take your armor and shirt off,” you said, rushing over to your chest of drawers, rifling through looking for your supplies.
You turned back around clutching your herbs and bandages, trying to disguise your shock in seeing what the Witcher had been hiding under his armor. You swallowed thickly, walking back over to him, setting your supplies down beside him.
You offered him a potion. “Drink this. It will replenish your blood and your energy.”
“How did you learn to do this?” Geralt asked, trying to uphold his indifferent façade as he took the vial, when in reality each touch of your soft fingers against his scarred skin fired red hot tingles down his spine.
Your hands were steady as you stitched up his wound. Your stitching far better than any he’s seen or done himself.
“My mother was a healer. She taught me a few things or so before she died.” You applied the healing salve you’d mixed to his wound, so gently that Geralt was shocked he felt very little pain - little worse than a paper cut.
“I’m sorry about your mother.”
You began wrapping his torso in the clean white bandage, blowing your hair out of your face as it tickled your nose.
“Don’t be. The time comes for everyone, doesn’t it?”
He hummed lowly in agreement.
Before he realized what he was doing, he was reaching up and brushing your hair from your face. Your fingers fumbled with tying the bandages before your eyes flashed up to meet his.
His large fingers wrapped around your bicep as he tugged you into his lap, your legs spreading around his hips as his mouth collided with yours.
His hands slid up your back, one pressing between your shoulder blades as one slid into your hair, pulling the pins holding your hair back out and dropping them onto the elegant woven rug. Your hair fell in curtains around your faces, your hands coming up to cup his jaw, and slide behind his neck, to rake your fingers through the hair at the back of his neck, sending goosebumps down his neck and back.
His hands slid downwards, slipping beneath your thighs to lift you farther up his body, closer.
His hands started untying the laces at the back of your dress, pulling the back of the bodice open.
You pulled at the laces on his breaches in response, throwing your head back as Geralt started tracing his lips down your throat in heated, open-mouthed kisses.
He managed to pull the top of your dress down, and you pulled his breeches open.
He stood then, holding you so close you could feel his heart beating against yours.
He carried you to your bed, the rest of your clothing lost on the way.
You could tell something was off with your father the next morning at breakfast.
He was chewing loudly and brutishly, eyeing you from across the table.
“I’d like a moment with my daughter alone.”
And like that, the servants fled the dining room, leaving just you and your father.
“The scullery maid told me she saw the Witcher leaving your bedroom at an ungodly hour last night. Or should I say early this morning.”
You were silent, finding it better than saying anything.
“I forbid it. You are forbidden from gallivanting around with the Witcher. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, father,” you said, fighting against rolling your eyes in front of him.
You rolled your eyes then, making your way out of the dining hall to make your way back to your chambers. The maids had cleaned up your (very) messy bed and had left you alone for now.
You sat on your bed and blushed as you thought back about what had occurred the night before.
Geralt had awoken before you this morning, very early in the morning, as he always does. The sun had barely peaked over the horizon when his amber eyes cracked open.
He looked down to see you lying on his chest, arm wrapped around his sternum. His own arm wrapped around your back, resting on your hip. He was surprised to find himself almost unwilling to crawl out of your messy sheets and disturb your slumber.
But he had to. Your chamber maids would be in soon, and if he didn’t leave now, he couldn’t see himself mustering up the willpower to leave your warm, oddly comforting embrace.
“A little longer,” you murmured, attempting to hold Geralt down.
He chuckled deeply. “I must leave now, unless you want a scandal, Princess.”
He chuckled again, rolling over so he was on top of you, his long hair tickling your skin as he meant down to kiss your neck, tracing over the love bites he had left from the night before.
“Good morning,” he whispered, kissing your lips gently before sliding out of bed and pulling his breeches and shirt on, making sure to grab his armor before he slipped out the door. “I’ll see you later, Princess.”
After that day, the next few days was spent with you and Geralt running around behind locked doors and secret alcoves.
You dreaded the moment he finished his job and left to move onto the next.
And that afternoon, as you slid into his room during a rare moment away from your handmaidens, you walked in to see him preparing to leave for his mission.
He paused fastening his armor on to nod.
“And you found out how to kill it.”
You stepped forward. “And you’re leaving after you kill it.”
He nodded. “More monsters to kill,” he said, finally turning to face you. The sad look on your face hitting him like a blow to the gut.
“What if I went with you.”
Now you were angry. “And why not?”
“It is for you, too! You allow that pansy bard to travel with you! At least I’m useful! I know how to heal and I can defend myself.”
Geralt took a deep breath, walking closer to you.
“You already said that. Give me a better reason.”
Geralt’s jaw clenched as he looked down at you, the heat in your eyes lighting a fire in the pit of his stomach.
“I don’t want you hurt,” he said finally.
Your face softened a bit. “And I don’t want you to leave me.”
He wrapped his arms around you, tugging you close to his body, one hand at the back of your head the other at your lower back. Your hands clutched at his shirt, willing him to never let go again.
“Let me go with you today,” you said. He pulled back from you, about to protest. “Geralt. Last time you faced this thing you came back bleeding out.”
“I wasn’t prepared then. I am now.”
“Geralt, please. Let me go with you. I’ll stay out of the way, I just—I just want to be nearby in case you get hurt again.”
“Your faith in me is astonishing.”
A smile broke across your face. “Did the mighty Geralt of Rivia just crack a joke?”
Geralt smirked, leaning his forehead against yours. “You will stay by Roach. Only come to me if I call for you.”
“I promise,” you whispered.
You had to make your handmaiden promise not to tell your father where you really were. If he found out, you’d never see the outside of your chambers again.
“Stay with Roach,” Geralt reminded you, his hand warm against your cheek.
If only he’d seen the fingers you’d crossed behind your back.
The beast had taken up quarters in an old abandoned keep. There’d been many other abandoned building surrounding the town, so Geralt had a little trouble pinpointing the exact one. Be he found it, and this time he came prepared.
Except, he hadn’t been prepared for when the beast knocked his sword out of his reach and pinned him to the ground.
It was about to go for the kill when a rock flew through the air and hit it in the head.
“Over here, you ugly bastard!”
You raised Geralt’s sword, impaling the beast through it’s heart as it’s dagger-like claw tore through your stomach.
The beast collapsed dead, and you swayed on your feet, Geralt’s sword clattering you the ground.
He clambered to his feet, running for you as you started to fall to your knees. His arms caught you under your arm pits as he gently lowered you both to the ground, cradling your quivering body in his lap.
“Why, Y/N? You foolish Princess! Why?”
“The world needs you more than it needs another silly princess,” you laughed softly, coughing as breathing became difficult.
Geralt winced as he wiped the blood away from your lips. “Tell me what to do,” he urged, hand fluttering uncertainly over the gaping wound in your stomach.
“Nothing,” you said, shaking hand reaching up to cup his face. “There’s nothing you can do. This—you...you can’t f-fix it. It can’t b-be fi-ixed, Geralt.” He brought his hand up to hold yours against his cheek.
His strong, usually impassive face, screwed up in pain as he fought against the tears threatening to fall. “What can I do. What can I do?”
You shushed him gently, smiling softly at him as you fought to keep your eyes open. “The t-time comes for...everyone, doesn’t it?”
He gently set your hand down, leaning down to press his lips against yours softly.
When he pulled away, your eyes were still closed.
And your heart had stopped beating.
