Oct 28, 2025
Ooooh, witchertober ! Gweld/Serrit for Hunt ?
Got a little long for tumblr so it's HERE on AO3!
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Ooooh, witchertober ! Gweld/Serrit for Hunt ?
Got a little long for tumblr so it's HERE on AO3!
For the Witchertober 2025 prompt list, how about something Serrit/Gweld with #16. Portrait?
Have a flufflet, below the cut or over on AO3!
A Witcher fic for @domaystic prompt 10, get stuck with someone, also on AO3:
Serrit finishes her furious examination of the cell and finally turns to look at the other inhabitant, who has been sitting quietly against the wall, head tilted back, eyes closed. He’s a tall, well-built redhead in filthy dark clothes.
“Find anything?” he asks softly, and lifts his head, opening his eyes to reveal witcher yellow, clear and startling.
Serrit hisses and gropes for a knife that isn’t there. The fucking asshole noble whose regrettably well-kept dungeon this is also has very competent guards, and they found all her holdout weapons, the whoresons.
The other witcher doesn’t move from his spot on the floor, just spreads his hands out on his knees, demonstrating that he’s neither armed nor trying to make a Sign, and raises an eyebrow at her. Serrit snarls and makes herself relax. “Nothing,” she bites out.
“Damn,” the other witcher sighs. “I was hoping you’d spot something I hadn’t.”
Serrit leans against the wall as far away from him as she can get. “How long have you been in here?”
“Fourteen days,” the other witcher says.
“Fuck,” Serrit mutters. The other witcher laughs softly.
“Must admit I’ve already run through every curse word I know. Don’t suppose you speak Zerrikanian or Ofieri? I’ve heard they’ve got some good ones.”
Serrit eyes him dubiously. “You are far too fucking calm about this.”
The other witcher chuckles again. “Eh, my brothers always say I’m too good-natured. Though I must admit, if I can figure out how to get out of this cell, I’m going to be very tempted to explain to that asshole count exactly why caging witchers is a truly terrible idea.”
“Explain?” Serrit asks incredulously.
The other witcher smiles, showing very sharp canines. “Pointedly.”
Serrit snorts, amused despite herself. “What School?” If he’s a Cat - unlikely, given his size, but possible - this might end up being entertaining.
“Wolf,” he says mildly. Serrit hisses again. Fucking Wolves. Not as sanctimonious as Griffins, and less likely to start a fight than Bears, but still. Annoying bastards. “And you?” he adds.
“Viper,” she says, bracing for the hostility she knows will follow.
It doesn’t. He just nods. “I’m Gweld.”
She’s so startled she responds. “Serrit.”
“I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but honestly the circumstances leave something to be desired.” Gweld grins wryly. “I think I would have preferred a tavern - have you been to that one in Ellander, just south of the temple? The Crowned Fish?”
Serrit stares at him, bewildered. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“There’s very little to do here except count the stones in the wall, unless you’ve managed to smuggle in a Gwent deck somehow, and the guards are regrettably terrible conversationalists.” Gweld shrugs. “I’m bored, Serrit of the Vipers.”
Serrit blinks. That’s…actually rather fair. But she’s terrible at talking to people. After a moment’s thought she crouches down and scratches a grid into the packed dirt of the floor between them. Gweld sits forward, eyes lighting up, and starts grabbing pieces of straw and coiling them up to make game pieces.
Four games of checkers later - Gweld cheats, the grinning bastard, and Serrit must admit she likes him better for it - there’s the sound of guards approaching down the corridor. Gweld hums. “It’s not suppertime,” he says softly. “I wonder if they’re going to let us out?” He grins. “Truce til we’re both out of this damned county, Viper?” He offers a hand across the makeshift gameboard.
“Truce,” Serrit agrees, taking his hand. It’s broad and warm and roughly callused, and his grip is firm but not too strong; he’s not showing off or trying to establish dominance the way some idiots do. “And I’ll give you dibs on the count - long as I get the last piece.”
Gweld chuckles, showing those too-sharp canines again. “Deal,” he murmurs, and rises to his feet, rolling his shoulders.
Serrit stands, too, and meets his grin with one of her own. These assholes are about to learn how bad an idea it is to cage a witcher - much less two.
And, hours later, as she and Gweld slip into the woods with their gear on their backs and the count extremely dead behind them, she decides that while most Wolves are more trouble than they’re worth, this one - well. This one’s not so bad at all.
Hi inex! For the cozy fall prompts, can you do gweld/serrit and "unexpected family gathering"? Either gweld's or serrit's family!
This one's a little long for tumblr, so it's HERE on AO3! During a brief quiet interlude on the Path, Gweld gets to meet Serrit's brothers.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Gweld coaxes Serrit into attending a village festival. It goes...surprisingly well, if also very surprisingly in general.
💛 (reunion kiss / relief) + Gweld/Serrit?
This is AWAU 'verse, well before Geralt calls the Schools together, and Serrit has not transitioned yet or even realized she wants to, so uses he/him pronouns.
Serrit has gotten used to seeing the Wolf every few months. It’s not regular as dwarf-made clockwork or anything, but somehow they run into each other at least twice or three times a year while out on the Path. It certainly has nothing to do with Serrit asking around about a redheaded Wolf Witcher with a startlingly cheerful demeanor, and Serrit has no idea if the Wolf does the same sort of thing. Probably he does. He certainly never seems terribly surprised when Serrit turns up.
But it’s been six months, and Serrit hasn’t seen hide nor red hair of his…occasional bedmate and hunting partner.
He goes south to Gorthur Gvaed for the winter feeling slightly unsettled. Not that he’d ever admit to that, nor to the reason. The Wolf is a good fuck and a good fighter, and that’s all there is to it.
He does ask around in the spring, though. Even drifts up into the lower reaches of Kaedwen - Wolf territory, where Vipers are not usually welcome - to see what there is to see. It’s just because the contracts are decent in that area, that’s all.
The contracts are decent, and Serrit makes decent money and even finds a merchant selling elf-made pigments that she hasn’t seen before, which means his sketchbook is even more colorful than usual when he makes it back to Gorthur Gvaed in the autumn. But there’s no word of a redheaded Wolf, either living or dead.
Serrit doesn’t actually care, of course. But he’s a little more irritable than usual that winter, and he wears himself out sparring against Ivar at least once a week, which is a lot more often than most people prefer going up against the Viper of Morgraig himself.
He doesn’t bother going up to Kaedwen in the spring. Cintra has plenty of monsters.
It also, he discovers somewhere in the middle of Litha, includes a certain redheaded Wolf he’d assumed was dead.
Gweld shows up in the middle of a really rather annoying bullvore fight - the damn thing is smarter than it ought to be, and keeps dodging - and demonstrates his usual trick of being exactly in the right place at the right time, so when the bullvore dodges Serrit’s attack it manages to walk right into Gweld’s, and once it’s wounded it’s not hard to finish off. Serrit even gets the killing blow.
And then he whirls and grabs Gweld by the collar of his armor and slams the Wolf against a tree. “What the hell,” he grits out, not entirely sure why he’s so angry but absolutely willing to gut the Wolf if he gives the wrong answer, whatever that might be.
Gweld blinks down at him for a moment, and then, bafflingly, smiles. “Ran afoul of a pack of bruxae on my way back to Kaer Morhen,” he says calmly, as if there’s not an angry Viper up in his face. “I won, obviously, but I also broke most of my ribs and all the bones in my right leg and foot.”
Serrit suppresses a wince. That’s a bad injury. Even for a Witcher, that’s almost always going to be fatal.
“One of my brothers found me and dragged me home, and I spent the whole winter recovering; wasn’t quite back to full strength in the spring, so Rennes assigned me as a trainer for a year.” Gweld smiles more broadly. “It was fun, but it’s good to be back on the Path. And good to see you again. I -”
Serrit kisses him to make him stop talking. He has a faint, worrisome feeling that if he actually hears whatever Gweld was about to say, it will change - something. Something Serrit isn’t ready to change, just yet.
Gweld makes a small startled noise and then huffs a soft laugh and takes Serrit’s face in his absurdly gentle hands and deepens the kiss, and when they part, he’s still smiling, but he doesn’t say anything at all.
(Or here on AO3!)
💜 for Gweld and Serrit?
Have a lovely day!
Gweld puts his sword through the last of the barghests on his side and whirls, grinning with battle-joy and exertion, to see the Viper fling a long knife with vicious accuracy and nail the last of her barghests to a tree. Gweld whoops and catches her hands, twirling both of them around in a tight gleeful circle, and then out of sheer exhilarated relief he does what he would do with any of his own brothers-in-arms after a battle like that and leans in and kisses the Viper square on the lips.
Then, of course, he realizes exactly how stupid that was and steps back hastily.
The Viper snorts and raises an eyebrow at him. “I know old Ivar always says Wolves have got no fuckin’ survival instincts, but that’s pretty daft even for a mutt.”
“Well, to be fair, you haven’t stabbed me yet,” Gweld points out, grinning. He’s still high on having survived that - the biggest damn pack of barghests he’s ever seen, and without the Viper’s help he would be dogmeat right now, but then again, she probably wouldn’t have survived without him.
The Viper snorts again. “That could change,” she says dryly.
Gweld bats his eyelashes at her. “Even after we fought back to back?” he asks, hamming it up on purpose. He wants to see if he can make her actually laugh. “Against hordes of foes, like the heroes of a bard’s best winter song?”
The Viper bites her lip to stifle a sound that might actually have been a giggle. “You are absurd.”
“Well, yes,” Gweld agrees. “One of my brothers is stoic as the day is long and the other is terminally sensible; someone had to be the ridiculous one, and I have done my best to shoulder that burden.” He puts the back of a hand to his forehead and pretends to swoon under the weight of a harsh duty, and - yes!
The Viper laughs. It’s a short, sharp, surprised little sound, but it is unmistakably a laugh. Gweld beams.
“Oh, you’re dangerous,” the Viper says, sounding rather appreciative.
Gweld winks. “Yes, but it’s so much more fun to be underestimated.”
“Is it now,” the Viper says thoughtfully, giving him a long look. Gweld tilts his head and flexes a little, posing, and earns himself another bark of laughter.
He has a good feeling about this. The barghests are dead, he’s alive, and hey! He might have made a friend!
(Or here on AO3!)
💙 Gweld/Serrit?
“You’re drunk,” Gweld says, rather startled. Serrit doesn’t get drunk. She doesn’t like the loss of control.
“Yep,” she says, and sits on his lap, which she never does in public. Or in private, for that matter, except when they’re both naked and she’s not exactly sitting still. Gweld rests his hands very warily on her waist to keep her steady. “Fuckin’ Manticores,” she adds, and leans forward to rest her forehead against his shoulder.
“New recipe?” Gweld asks, grinning ruefully. He’s run afoul of the Manticores’ creativity a time or two himself.
“Mm-hm,” Serrit agrees. “Ice White Gull.”
Gweld blinks at nothing for a moment. “Like…White Gull, done like ice wine?”
Serrit nods.
“...Oooooh that is a bad idea,” Gweld marvels. “Why the fuck did you drink it?”
“Fuckers dared us,” Serrit mumbles.
“Of course,” Gweld says, grinning. “Want me to pour you into bed?”
“Mm,” Serrit says, and nods.
Gweld gathers her up and stands, nodding to his tablemates. “Someone else play out my hand, yeah?”
“Sure thing,” Gardis says cheerfully. “Do I get your winnings, too?”
“Sure,” Gweld says easily. They’re playing for acorns; he thinks he can stand to lose a few.
Serrit doesn’t object to being carried like a damsel in a tale, which is how Gweld knows she is extremely drunk. He’ll have to tell Eskel to tell the Manticores not to make any more Ice White Gull, because the stuff is dangerous. If it can knock Serrit out like this, he doesn’t like to think what it might do to any of the Witchers with slightly less iron livers - much less any humans who might drink it by accident.
He makes it back to Serrit’s room without any trouble; she’s still awake, but only barely. He puts her down on the bed and kneels to unlace her boots, setting them aside; the rest of her clothes he leaves alone. Sure, he’s her lover, but there’s trust and there’s trust, and knowing where a Viper keeps her daggers is a level of comfort he’s not sure he’s reached as of yet.
She makes a sleepy, grumpy noise as he stands and pulls the covers up over her. “I’ll go get you some water and a White Honey,” Gweld says, grinning. “You’ll want ‘em when you wake up.”
“Mph,” Serrit says, and reaches up to grab the front of his tunic and haul him down. Gweld goes easily, of course, wondering what she wants, and then is genuinely startled when she kisses his forehead before letting go.
“R’diculous puppy wolf,” she mutters. “Too fuckin’ sweet.”
Gweld smiles helplessly down at her as she shuts her eyes and starts to snore. “Your ridiculous puppy wolf,” he murmurs, and makes his way quietly out of the room to find her that White Honey. She’s definitely going to want it when she wakes up.
(Or here on AO3!)