IMAGINES: THE WITCHER x READER - Geralt of the Land of Fools (on Wattpad)
themes: from friends to lovers, hidden love, hurt-comfort
sneak peek: “Because I’m stuck in the past, where Anna is still that carefree young witch with cherry juice on her lips and messy curls.” Geralt gave a bitter smile, shaking his head. “Instead of moving forward, I keep looking back and asking myself, ‘What if I’d realized it all sooner?’”
He fell silent for a moment, staring into the darkness ahead as if hoping to find an answer there.
“And I just…” The man sighed and reluctantly flicked the ash from the tip of his smoldering cigarette. “I see Anna moving forward, building her future, and I can’t just wreck it all because I realized my feelings too late. I’m a monster hunter—I’ve never lived a settled life. But Anna… Anna is different.”
2969 words of Jaskier/Lambert fluffy smut | Rated E
Prompt: Breaking up*
Relationships: Jaskier/Lambert
Rating: Explicit
Content Warnings: None
Summary: Jaskier has a problem, Lambert has a very creative solution, and they both get banned from the Kaer Morhen library for the rest of the winter.
Jaskier dropped his head onto the table and whimpered a little.
“Something wrong, Buttercup?” Lambert asked from where he leaned in the library’s doorway.
“I can’t - I can’t - Melitele’s talented tongue, I can’t word right,” Jaskier groaned in embarrassment, gesturing above his head as if to illustrate the criminal lack of muses currently flying above it to drop sweet words of inspiration directly into his ears.
“You can’t what?” Lambert asked in concern, striding over with a confused look on his face. He had heard of attacks humans could sometimes get where they started talking nonsense.
“I’ve got writer’s block,” Jaskier hissed in frustration, indicating the parchment in front of him that was half-filled with crossed-out starts and a few entertaining doodles of stickmen in various salacious positions together, but little in the way of actual headway. “I’ve been sitting here all afternoon trying to write this anniversary ballad for a Duke who wants to surprise his wife with a song about their engagement.”
“Okay…so what’s the problem?”
“I don’t know,” Jaskier growled in frustration. “It should be a cakewalk. He’s given me a very healthy incentive and broad artistic license. It only has to somehow mention a lake like the one they were sailing on, some elven ruins on the shoreline they admired, and the boat where the engagement party actually took place. All very romantic imagery and brimming with metaphoric possibility! But I’ve been sitting here for hours now and I’ve got fuck all to show for it.”
Lambert dutifully leaned over Jaskier’s chair to see what he had been working on. Presumably, his snickers were at the erotic doodles and hopefully not at Jaskier’s complete lack of progress so far.
This close Jaskier could tell Lambert had been down in the little reinforced workshop just off the armory where he worked on his bombs and other explosives. The faint scent of gunpowder and metal still lingered around him. There was even an adorable smudge over the bridge of his aquiline nose, which Jaskier was in no way tempted to alert him to.
Instead, Jaskier snuck his fingers into Lambert’s shirt collar - as much as anyone could sneak around a witcher that is - and tugged him down for a kiss.
Lambert’s eyebrows nearly met his widow’s peak when they finally parted. “What was that for? Not that I’m complaining Buttercup, but you usually don’t like me to interrupt you when you’re working.”
“Hrm…Maybe I need some inspiration?”
Lambert’s lips curled in a slow grin as he reached a hand out to cup Jaskier’s chin. He swiped his thumb across Jaskier’s bottom lip, tugging slightly at the bow before continuing on to press gently against the corner of his mouth in silent question.
Jaskier flicked his tongue out around it, swirling, before catching it in his mouth and sucking.
“Fuck, Buttercup,” Lambert whispered, his cat-slitted pupils blown as wide and round as saucers leaving only a faint ring of gold left to be seen. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as Jaskier hollowed his cheeks before sliding off with an audible pop.
Suddenly - delightfully - Jaskier had a lapful of witcher as Lambert’s mouth pressed hot kisses along his throat, those oh so clever fingers running through his hair.
Lambert nuzzled his ear, a deep indrawn breath tickling across it. “You smell amazing.”
Jaskier chuckled, “I smell like old books and spilled ink.”
“Like I said,” Lambert replied between little nips and bites under his jaw, down his throat, at the join of his shoulder. Then before Jaskier knew it, Lambert had wiggled underneath the table and was picking slowly at the laces to Jaskier’s breeches.
“Wha - ?”
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* Well, they worked to break up the writers block anyways. I just could not properly angst this prompt, it defied all my other attempts. So what’s a poor writer to do other than pull a reframe? 😅
“Y/N! You need not go.” Your ailing father called out from where he was sat by the fireplace. Though you lived in a cramped quarter, the main room was always the warmest. And due to his injury, keeping his temperature up was best. “From the looks of things, a storm is brewing. Did you hear me, Buttons?”
With a smirk you threw his cowhide overcoat atop your woolen pullover. It wasn’t as nice as the fur-lined cloaks most girls wore. But it kept you warm despite being unfashionable. After grabbing your gloves, you bounded into the main room. Peering out the window, you realized the skies were indeed overcast.
However, you couldn’t stay home.
Rain or otherwise, you had to earn some coin. Especially since the sum your Uncle left was depleted. He had given all he could before leaving for a nearby town to sell his wares. And since you had no inclination of when he would return, you had to be resourceful.
“Just look at you, Buttons….” Your father exclaimed as he did his best not to chuckle. “You look like someone cast a shrinking spell upon you.”
“The coat may be ill-fitting, but it’s warm. So, if you keep taunting me, I might never give it back.”
“Please, stay.” He said as his smile began to fade. He then pointed his walking stick in your direction. “As my only child, I have no desire to see you fall ill.”
“Papa, I cannot sit around hoping Uncle is on his way back. He is far off, and your medicines are finished. And what’s more, we are in need of foodstuffs.”
“We are not.” Your father countered. “What of the red yams and potatoes? We can get by cooking them with cabbage and carrots.”
“First off, we have two red yams and no potatoes. And as for cabbage and carrots, I used the last of them in last night’s stew. So, like it or not, I must venture out.”
“It’s times like these I wish we still had our chickens. The eggs would bring in good coin.”
“Don’t fret, Papa. I’ve been saving what Uncle gives me for my upkeep. I intend to buy at least four of them. Soon, we could even own a nice milking cow again.”
Your father’s gaze went to fireplace.
He was a proud man, and it truly hurt your soul to see him dejected. But it made sense for a former Kings’ Guard to feel inadequate. At one time, your father provided a very posh lifestyle for the family. But once he was maimed in battle, he was forcibly discharged with a paltry severance. Once that was spent, your father had no choice but to start using what had been saved.
As expected, hardship followed. So much in fact, your mother decided to abscond with the little coin that was left. That was nearly three years prior. But for you, the betrayal felt like it had occurred only yesterday.
“Papa, please do not guilt me going outdoors.” You said, walking to him and taking a knee. “If I promise to come home should the weather should take a turn, would that ease your mind?”
Reluctantly, your father nodded.
“And take my dagger.” He said, pointing to the table nearest the front door. The weapon was a magnificent piece of military craftsmanship. Something only most decorated of fighters were ever bestowed. Still, your father wanted you to have it. “From now on, it is yours.”
“But Papa, that is a relic of your service. You earned it with much blood and sweat. I cannot possibly think of wielding it. Besides, it’s far too valuable to be taken out of the house.”
“Y/N, the only thing of value that I have, is you.”
You couldn’t help smiling. After sheathing the dagger, you informed your father that you would soon return. As you exited the cottage and approached the stables, you were suddenly filled with great hope.
You made your way to the town square on the back of your Uncle’s trusty steed, Moss.
Being a thoughtful man, Gadin left town in a hired wagon so you would have transport. So, as you tied the horse to a wooden post, you gave him a soothing pat.
“Have no fear, boy. We shall not stay for long.” You said before reaching into your leather satchel. After grabbing a handful of apple slices and oats, you fed Moss. “Well, things are really bustling today. No doubt I will make some coin.”
And you had good reason for being confident. Aside from the handmade gloves you made, you intended to sell some jewelry. The silver necklace and earrings had been intended for your mother on her Naming Day. But since she abandoned the family prior to him surprising her, your father passed them to you.
When Moss suddenly whinnied and stomped his hooves, you grabbed hold of his bit.
With that, you turned on your heels and began walking toward the marketplace.
Trade was truly flourishing because you had never seen so many foreigners in Stillwell before. But it was a good sign. It meant that soon, there would be expansions and all the other benefits that came with being a thriving village.
“Move your corpse, jackass!” A gruff voice bellowed.
When you turned to see who had spoken so rudely, a grey-haired elderly man pushed past. He was in such a huff, he nearly knocked you over. It was enough to make one angry had it not been so amusing.
Because though he appeared exceptionally frail; the man hauled his cartful of wares with the strength of twenty men.
“Magic.” You mused. “Everyone that wields it or buys it, is a nuisance.”
Suddenly, something else caught your attention. From the corner of your eye, you spotted a foreboding man cloaked in black. Naturally, this piqued your curiosity. From what you could assess; the armor signified his status as a formidable warrior. Likely a mercenary or something along those lines.
You knew this because the symbol that hung from the stranger’s neck didn’t appear to belong to any King.
When you noticed the tufts of white hair peaking from his hood, you promptly realized he was no mere mortal. Mostly because such a hue was not be found amongst your kind. As he walked, the stranger behaved as if he didn’t wish to be amongst people. But despite this, he had a traveling companion. A pleasant looking fellow who seemed to be relaying information in a lively fashion.
“Those two cannot be from any of the nearby townships.” You mused. “Perhaps they hail from some of the wealthier domains.”
Realizing that you were getting distracted, you returned your thoughts to selling your wares.
As luck would have it, your devotion to Ryrdohr, the God of Wonders, paid off.
Not only did you manage to unload your mother’s earring and necklace, but the silver merchant gave a fair price. Mainly, at the behest of his partner. As you were haggling, the man had taken one look before exclaiming that you reminded him of his late niece. For that reason, he forced his miserly friend to cough up more coin.
What you received, eighty Denars, was equal to a month and a half worth of wages. Thus, you were feeling quite blessed as you walked down the pathway toward The Bargainers Lot. It was where people that didn’t own traditional stands or storefronts conducted business.
As you passed a barrel-lined walkway, you heard a faint whistle. There, stood only yards away, a shabbily dressed boy, no older than twelve beckoned.
“Lass, might you have any food to spare?” He asked, glancing over his shoulder before looking at you again.
“Do not take me for a heartless person, little boy. But why ask such a thing whilst standing in an alleyway?”
“Apologies…….” He said as he rubbed his hands together. “But I must take care. I do not want the Sentries to see me begging. They are quite rough with street children these days.
Your father was right. It did appear that a storm would soon come. For that reason, you wished to give the child something. Enough to buy some food and even bestowing a pair of the gloves you intended to sell.
However, you had no desire to enter the alleyway to do so. After all, nothing good ever came of venturing into secluded places.
“If you want food..…..” You said, reaching to your coat pocket and producing eight Fenning. It was coin to buy two meat pies and some peach ale. But the boy needed it far more than you. “I am willing to be of help. But you must come here and------”
The first shove cut you off midsentence. But the second swiftly knocked you to the ground.
Before you grasped what was occurring, you were set upon by three other children. As you struggled to unsheathe your dagger, one kicked you in the shoulder as another seized your satchel. Infuriated, you quickly realized that you had to fight back or risk losing everything.
“I am being set upon by bandits!” You screamed. “Help!”
You had expected your words to bring someone to your aid. But after a few seconds, you realized it was for naught. In Stillwell, as in most townships, people preferred to keep to their own affairs. That meant unless a Sentry happened upon the attack, you were on your own.
When you rolled onto your back, you managed to break the buttons on your coat. With shaking hand, you finally unsheathed your father’s dagger. Taking note of this, the three children stared, wide-eyed.
“Now, you little monsters! Return my belongings before I cut your throats.”
“You will do nothing of the sort!” A raspy voice countered.
Peering into the alleyway, you spotted the owner. A man with a crescent moon upon his left cheek was now stood next to the boy that had beckoned you. Only a foot away, a fiery-haired woman aimed an arrow in your direction.
“Let’s kill her and be done with it.” She suggested.
Mercifully, he didn’t seem eager to comply. After pondering a moment, he motioned for one of the children to take your dagger. Alarmed at losing your father’s prized weapon, you pointed it menacingly.
“If you prefer, we can kill you and take it, all the same.” The man threatened.
From his tone, it was apparent that he was not simply mincing words.
He spoke very much like an experienced butcher. Still, you could not compel yourself to hand the dagger over. As the three children stared wearily, awaiting their next directives, everything suddenly went black.
“Aye, she finally returns to the living.” An amused voice announced.
As your vision adjusted to the light of day again, you winced. For whatever reason, a dull pain within your head became more prominent. Indeed, even looking at your surroundings proved difficult. Still, you managed to lift yourself off the bench and sit upright.
Since the pressure seemed to be concentrated at the base of your neck, you attempted to feel it. However, a hand swiftly caught you by the wrist.
“Do not go touching the wound, jackass.” The old man commanded. “You’ll only smear the Black Mares ointment that’s been applied.”
“Wha…………………where did those children go?”
“What children?”
It was then you realized whom you were speaking to. The old man tending you was the very same one that had nearly bowled you over. For whatever reason, he was the only person that came to your rescue.
“Sir, did you happen to see which direction those bandits went in?”
“I do not know what you speak of. But here is your eight Fenning.” He replied, shoving the coin in your palm. “It was scattered about your person when I found you.”
“But what of my satchel? Those people took everything!” You exclaimed as all that had occurred came to memory. “I must find a Sentry.”
The old man cackled as if you had said the silliest thing in the world. After stating that the Sentries did their job well, he added that they only did so for the affluent. However, someone of your caliber would have to pass coin to their hands.
“And from the looks of it Lass, you hardly have enough to sway them.”
After securing the kerchief to your head, he practically jumped his feet. You could only stare in astonishment as he then took hold of his loaded cart.
“But sir…………I have not even properly thanked you.” You said, scooting forward on the bench. “At least take this, for your trouble.”
The man eyed the four Fenning in your hand before sneering. With a gruff tone, he advised that you keep it. Adding that he did not assist you because he lacked the means to care for himself. Apologetic for offending him, you stated that you had not intended imply such a thing. Nevertheless, he had already begun walking away.
He moved so swiftly, you could only shout words of gratitude as he disappeared into the crowd.
As you entered the small shop marked ‘The Long Caravan’, you pulled your coat closer to your body.
The light rain had already begun. Thus, you knew you only had a short time before the full gale set in. Though you had been robbed, you simply couldn’t go home empty handed. Especially without your father’s necessary medicines. So, if nothing else, you meant to buy the herbs.
“I accept no beggars in my establishment.” The snobby shopkeeper announced upon seeing you. “The soup house is down the road by the Great Sawmill.”
Incensed at the insinuation, you glared at her.
She then snapped her fingers at her young assistants, ordering them to set down two massive bags. One marked ‘corn’ and the other, ‘oats’. And that’s when you saw him by the Alchemy portion of the shop. The massive stranger clad in black. Even now, he appeared disinterested in his surroundings.
This was quite peculiar since he was apparently making purchases. But as for his companion, he was gingerly conversing with the shopkeeper’s husband.
“I said, no beggars!” She said once more.
“Then it’s a good thing I’m not one!” You fumed, tired of her relentless assumptions. “I’ll have you know I’m here to purchase medicines. Or do you no longer take coin?”
Distracted by your words, the more jovial of the strangers stopped chatting.
He then leaned against a banister and folded his arms over his chest. Pardoning herself from the cloaked stranger, the woman sized you up before asking what you required.
“Four packets of Pearl Moss, two packets of Lakebarberry Leaves and four packets of Sour Quassia”
Despite wearing a spiteful expression, the shopkeeper went behind the counter. She then began measuring things out as you glanced around the shop. It was then you noticed the sizeable fruit display. From dragon pears to apples, there was good variety available.
“I’m so famished. I hope there is something left over.” You thought, pulling the eight Fenning from your pocket.
When you realized you were being watch, your head jerked in the direction of the white-haired man. At first, he appeared to be looking directly at you. But as you studied his expression, it became clear that he was looking past you.
Taking notice of his fascination, the shopkeeper’s husband went to him. He then began explaining that they had purchased the mounted head on the wall from a passing tradesman. As always, the stranger remained quiet. But suddenly, he actually glanced at you for the first time.
“Demon eyes.” You thought. “He is no mortal. Of that, there is no doubt.”
“That will be twenty Fenning.” The shopkeeper announced. “And do not dawdle, girl. I have other customers.”
You sighed. Apparently, the cost of herbs had gone up significantly since the last time. Placing all you had upon the counter, you eyed the woman.
“I……………I only have eight. However, look at these gloves I’m wearing. I made them myself. Pure cowhide with rabbit fur lining. Surely, they are worth the remainder.”
“Does this look like the trade-in post?” She snapped. “Either you have the coin, or you don’t.”
With tense jaw, you asked that she remove two satchels of Pearl Moss since it was the most expensive. But unexpectedly, the nicer of the two strangers walked over. After asking the woman to wait a moment, he looked at your hands.
“I know a lady that would really fancy those.” He said with a smile that reached his eyes. “I’m Jaskier, by the way. Nice to meet your acquaintance.”
Though your day had been nothing but terrible, you couldn’t help giving a smile in return.
“Y/N.” You replied, shaking his hand.
You then removed the smartly made gloves and set them down. When you asked if he was truly serious, Jaskier nodded firmly. After placing twenty Fenning on the counter, he took possession of his wares.
“I now have my gloves, and you, have your coin,”
Utterly beside yourself, you couldn’t help thanking him several times. Truly, he was an answer to your silent prayers. Such a show of kindness not only lifted your spirits but gave you a more optimistic outlook. While the moody shopkeeper finished tying the bundle of herbs with twine, Jaskier informed you he was a Bard.
A renowned and much sought after one, at that.
“You?” You exclaimed in astonishment.
“What’s the matter? Do I not look the part?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just that you appear……..………you know….”
“Appear what?”
“To be quite honest. From your style of dress, I swore you were a Lord or something of the sort.”
From nearby, his companion made an odd grunt.
“Pay him no mind.” Jaskier said, looking in his direction. “He isn’t known for his manners.”
“If you take your time, I will leave you.” The cloaked man replied, ignoring the insult.
Though his tone of voice was cold, there was something within it that held some humanity. Perhaps, the Bard was his charge.
“Is that man your Hired Sword?” You asked.
The question sent Jaskier into a fit of laughter. However, his companion was not amused. In fact, he appeared meaner than he had been already. Leaving your side, Jaskier went to the shopkeeper’s husband and pointed to the waterskins.
It was then the woman finally handed you the satchel of herbs.
As you walked to the middle of the shop, you realized it was now raining quite hard. Not wanting to get your purchase wet, you opened your coat and pushed the satchels into the inner breast pocket. After closing the flap, you were buttoning your coat when the apples caught your eye.
Though you had eight Fenning left, thanks to Jaskier, you had not desire to spend it. So, as the storeowners busied themselves with their wealthier patrons, you began slipping a few into your coat. But as you finished taking the sixth and last one, the woman swiftly rushed over.
“Thief!” She shrieked, grabbing hold of your coat immediately. “I knew you were trouble from the moment you set foot in here!”
Though you were caught, you wished to turn the items over yourself. However, the shopkeeper refused to let go.
“I’m no thief!” You protested. “At least…………………….not really.”
“Not a thief, she says! Well, we shall see about that.” The woman mocked, holding your coat more firmly.
She then began shaking the fabric until the apples started coming lose. One by one, they soon dropped to the ground at your feet.
“Hmm. The girl is either an apple tree, or a thief.” Geralt remarked.
He then picked up the bags of corn and oats and hoisted them over his shoulder. As he walked to the exit of the shop, Jaskier stared at you and the shopkeeper. From his expression, you could see he felt your humiliation.
Thus, you averted your gaze.
“Geralt!” Jaskier yelled as he departed into the busy street. Though it was now raining, he made no attempt to seek cover. “Geralt! We cannot leave that poor girl to that woman. She will likely report her to the Sentries.”
“Why do you care?”
“Well, the laws against theft in Stillwell are harsher than in most townships. And she appears quite sweet……….……………. but desperate.”
Geralt scoffed as he kept to his path.
Nevertheless, Jaskier refused to give in. As he tried to keep pace, he confessed that he felt compelled to help. And if he had to convince the storekeeper and her husband alone, he would return to the shop.
“Then, go.” Geralt replied. “But remember, I will not wait long.”
“I swear, Madame, it was not my intention to take from you.” You said apologetically. “I had a great deal of coin a short time ago. However, I was robbed of it, and the rest of possessions. It’s the only reason I didn’t wish to spend the little I have left. That’s the truth of the matter.”
“Do not give me your sad tales.” The shopkeeper snapped. “When the Sentinels come, you may tell it to them, if you like.”
Just as you were about to drop to your knees and beg her mercy, Jaskier returned. With damp hair, he walked over and looked the woman straight in the eye.
“Allow me to pay for the value of the apples, plus a little extra for compensation.” He said. “Surely, that ought to be enough to allow the girl to leave peaceably.”
It sounded like a reasonable solution. But to his astonishment, the woman refused. After stating she was tired of your “type”, she added that you had to be an example.
“I cannot have every thieving liar thinking my shop is a free market. She must be turned over to the Sentinels.”
“Madame, have mercy.” You implored. “I cannot be away from my father for days on end. He is a cripple. If he is left alone, he could fall ill or even worse.”
Jaskier’s expression went soft. The revelation only made him more determined to be of help. But no matter how much he argued your case, his words fell on deaf ears.
“Natasja.” The shopkeepers husband said as he approached. “The girl seems genuine. Besides, she didn’t take anything of true worth. Only food. It’s obvious that she meant no real harm.”
Despite his attempt to defuse the situation, his wife proved hardheaded. With a hand still grasping your coat, she informed both he and Jaskier that she had already sent one of the shop assistants to fetch a Sentinel.
And thus, the four of you waited.
Whilst the time passed, the shopkeeper’s husband stated he would not give a statement. In fact, he wanted no parts of anything should the lawmen ask anything of him. Still, his wife didn’t seem moved.
“Bastien, if that is what you wish, so be it. But I will make sure this girl is made an example of. I will not become a target for every poverty-stricken bastard.”
“How dare you! I’m no bastard!” You seethed. “My father is an honorable man. He was a King’s Guard in Narin.”
“Ah, King Jethofius.” Jaskier mused with an impressed expression. “It’s said that he only commissions the most-skilled.”
“Most-skilled.” The shopkeeper repeated with a chuckle. “You keep listening to her tales.”
Angered by her flippant attitude, you countered that you spoke the truth. Not just about your father, but about being robbed earlier in the day. But none of that mattered. Because it wasn’t long before two well-armored Sentinels entered the shop.
“That is her.” The young worker said, pointing you out.
With annoyed expressions, the two men walked over. After politely acknowledging everyone, they looked you over.
“Your boy tells us that you caught the thief in the act.” The taller of the Sentinels said. “What did she take.”
“Apples.” Jaskier interacted. “Simple, ordinary apples. Hardly anything to take you from your patrol.”
The shopkeeper cut him a mean glare, however, she added that he was correct. You had stolen apples.
“But I would hardly say it is trivial. A thief, is a thief at the end of the day.”
“Do you wish to have her locked away until you can petition the Justice?”
When the shopkeeper nodded, her husband grumbled. He truly disliked how his wife had forgotten their struggles. There had been times even they came close to stealing. And though they never did so, he understood your plight.
“Let me state this now. I will not participate.” He announced.
Somewhat taken aback, the Sentinels looked between the husband and wife. One then grabbed you by the arm.
“Alright, it’s time to go.”
“Please! There must be something I can do to make things right.” You protested as you looked at the shopkeeper. “I am needed at home!”
“You should have thought about that before you went about nicking things.” The man countered. “Now either you move your legs, or I’ll resort to brute force.”
“I wouldn’t do that.” Geralt said in a calm tone.
When you all looked towards the entrance, he was stood there with an annoyed expression. In an unhurried pace, he made his way over. He then scowled at poor Jaskier, who could do nothing but shrug in response.
“Stranger, this is none of your affair.” One of the Sentinels cautioned. “It’s best you keep moving before you are charged with interfering with the law.”
“The girl is my servant.” Geralt said, ignoring everything he had said. He then tossed the shopkeeper’s husband a small black pouch. “That’s nine Denars. Twenty times the value of what she took.”
Angered by the meddling, the shopkeeper declared she wanted justice, not coin. She then informed the Sentinels that Geralt did not speak truthfully. You had come to the shop alone, thus, you were not a servant of either man. But as she continued raving, her husband suddenly placed a hand upon her shoulder.
“Do not take offense, love…” He began. ‘But for once, shut your mouth.”
Ever the jovial one, Jaskier burst into gleeful laughter.
This caused one of the Sentinels to chuckle as well. However, things quickly subsided when Geralt shot both men a severe look. Approaching the lawmen, the shopkeeper’s husband first apologized for wasting their time. He then assured them that the coin was more than enough to resolve the matter.
“It appears there is nothing for you to do here. But gratitudes, all the same.” He added.
Obviously, the shopkeeper was livid. But as she followed the Sentinels, they ignored her pleas to return.
“So, we may take our leave?” Geralt asked of the husband.
“Aye.” He replied. “The little Lass is free to go.”
“I cannot stay.” You protested as you entered the Blue Raven Tavern with Jaskier and Geralt. “I must begin my journey home!”
As expected, it the place was quite busy due to the storm. As you were guided to a table, the patrons appeared to be mostly traveling merchants, migrants and Mercenaries. All of them in search of a temporary place of shelter until the weather improved.
“Sit.” Geralt gruffly commanded.
Naturally, his tone didn’t sit well with you.
“My Lord, I am no dog!” You protested despite doing as asked. “I’m quite grateful for your show of kindness. And as promised, I intend to repay the coin you parted with. But I must ask that you speak to me like I am a person.”
After staring for a moment, Geralt simply looked away. Frustrated by his odd behavior, you gave Jaskier your attention. Unfortunately, he was too busy staring at the ample breasts of the Tavern maid.
“Look here! Do you intend to ogle me all night or is there something you are in need of?”
“Oh, I am in need of many things.” Jaskier replied cheekily. “But let us start off with a pitcher of Black Mead. And perhaps a platter of rose-honey rolls with fresh churned butter on the side.”
The woman gave a flirtatious smirk before turning to leave. As she walked, Jaskier stared at her equally ample backside.
“You have coin for that?” Geralt asked.
“No, but you do.”
When he took note of your smile, Jaskier stated he had spent most of his coin repairing his lute. He then lifted it for you to see. From the way he spoke of it, you could tell the instrument held great sentimental value.
“It’s simply exquisite.” You remarked. “It makes my Uncle’s own look plain by comparison.”
“Do you play?” Jaskier asked with great excitement.
Reluctantly, you confessed that you did. Adding that music was one of the main sources of entertainment in your household. When you stated that you could play most string instruments, Geralt closed his eyes. Seeing the two of you bonding over your music, made him fear either of you playing a song.
Because after the exploits they had encountered in the last township, he had no desire to hear noise.
“Would you play something?” Jaskier asked, passing you his lute.
You were flattered that he would entrust you with his prized possession. However, you hesitated. Though you knew many songs, you played according to mood. And with how you were feeling, a sorrowful melody was likely to come through.
“Go on, Lass!” A man drunken man shouted from a nearby table. “Help me drown out my talkative companions.”
Carefully, you positioned the lute, finding that your fingers eased about the instrument comfortably. With a deep breath, your eyes shut so you could drown the noise around you. From the pluck of the first note, a sense of peace washed over you.
You were no longer in a dimly lit, packed Tavern. But rather, sat by the scenic lake nearest your cottage.
As you played, the commotion in the establishment began to die down. From weary traveler, to the most imposing of Hired Sword, everyone was soon listening to your haunting melody. As for Jaskier, he rested his cheek in hand as he watched.
It wasn’t often he came across someone like you. Not only were you amiable, but you now proved to be quite talented. After setting down the rolls and pitcher of Black Mead, the Tavern Maid observed a while before getting to her work.
She too seemed to prefer music over the usual cursing and threats to take fights outdoors.
When you struck the last chord, you were astounded by the eruption of cheers and mugs hitting the tabletops. Your father and Uncle always complimented your playing. However, you had assumed they only flattered you because they were family.
With a bashful expression, you passed the lute back to Jaskier.
“Y/N, you are quite fascinating.” He remarked. “Not only can you sew beautifully, but you have the makings of a Bard.”
“Though I hardly deserve such praise, I will accept it graciously.”
“Good. Now, how about you start eating while I pour us some mead.”
Naturally, you were still quite famished; however, you didn’t want to make a pig of yourself. So instead of taking several rolls, you took one and began spreading the butter. As you were doing so, you realized Geralt staring at you once again.
“My Lord, is there something on my face?”
Though he appeared irritated by your very voice, he replied that you were bleeding. How he could know such a thing was a mystery. Because, at present time, you were sat across from both he and Jaskier.
When you touched the back of your head, and looked at your palm, Geralt was proven correct. Apparently, the wound had begun to seep.
“Oh!” Jaskier exclaimed. “That’s why that fabric is about your head. All this while, I thought it was some new trend.”
“If only.” You replied with a weak smile. “An old man applied ointment to my head before tying this. I only wish I got his name before he disappeared.”
As you removed the kerchief and folded it, Geralt reached inside his cloak. He then produced a small vial and held it towards you.
“Here. Drink this.”
“My Lord, I will do no such thing.” You replied. “First, tell me what it is. Even better, tell me how you knew I was bleeding.”
Despite your words, he said nothing more. Instead, Geralt studied you as if you were an inanimate object.
“My Lord…………”
“For the last time, I am no Lord.”
“Oh, so you CAN put more than five words together.” You jested. “At any rate, since you refuse to tell me how to best address you, I shall keep using the title. My father says it’s best to err on a high position.
Refusing to be drawn into banter, Geralt set the vial on the table.
He then took hold of his mug and got to his feet. When Jaskier asked where he was off to, he nodded towards the door. Despite the storm, it appeared that he was in no mood for company or conversation. As Geralt departed the table, you watched with great curiosity.
“How did he know I was bleeding?” You asked, your gaze following his dominating figure out the Tavern. “Is he part Demon?”
“Demon? Why do you assume such a thing?”
“For one thing, his hair. That alone tells me that he is no mere mortal. But also, his eyes. They seem…………well…………sinister.”
Though he tried, Jaskier burst into laughter. Indeed, he had called Geralt many things whenever they fought. But sinister, was not one of them. Between chuckles, he assured you that his brooding companion was no Demon. In fact, he was one of the few people that stood between such creatures and the innocents.
But from your expression, it appeared you weren’t convinced.
“Why do I get the feeling that you distrust, Geralt?”
“It’s not that, my Lord.” You replied. “However, where I’m from, magic and magical being are not trusted. People are put to death for simply buying magical items.”
“But Stillwell seems quite open-minded.”
“I did not grow up here. I spent most of my life in Narin.”
“Oh, that’s right. Your father was King’s Guard there.” Jaskier remarked, recalling your past conversation. “Tell me, how did you come to reside here?”
Though you stated it was a long tale, he shrugged. Lifting his mug, he reminded you that there was nothing but time. After all, the storm didn’t appear to be letting up anytime soon. Since they had been so kind, you figured it wasn’t an unreasonable request. Thus, you quickly decided to oblige.
So, as Geralt sat in the enclosed stables, drinking his mead beside Roach and Moss, you shared your life with Jaskier.
“Apple thief.” Geralt exclaimed.
He the grabbed hold of Moss’s bit before rolling his eyes.
Though you had insisted on riding, it was apparent that you were too fatigued. Not only had you fallen asleep twice, but you kept saying things that made little sense. Typically, such a thing wouldn’t be cause for alarm. Especially since your Uncle’s steed followed your companions at a good pace. However, you had also nearly fallen both times.
And since a broken neck would do no one any good, Geralt was becoming irate.
“Y/N, you slept again.” Jaskier remarked as he brought his hired mare alongside. “Either you ride with one of us, or risk having an even worse headwound.”
You yawned as you looked about the forest. Though you had given proper directions, your mind was hazy.
“Are you certain we’re headed the right way?” You asked as you stifled another yawn.
“We exited the Western gate and veered left when we passed the guard tower.” Jaskier replied. “So, by now, we are quite deep in the Highland Grove.”
Though he repeated your directions perfectly, you still had quite the time processing your surroundings. Everything felt somewhat………off.
“Perhaps it’s best if you rode with me the rest of the way.” Jaskier suggested. “Otherwise, you are likely to get hurt.”
You wavered, however, you soon brought Moss to a halt. As Geralt held the bit, you dismounted and stretched a bit more. Suddenly, his neck snapped to the left. With a tense expression, the brooding warrior peered into the darkness.
Evidently, he was observing something neither you nor Jaskier could see.
“Don’t move.” Geralt commanded.
In one swift motion, he dismounted before pressing a finger to his lips. Unsheathing his sword, he shoved you behind his person. It was then the cold of the night finally hit you. As you held your coat about you more firmly, you tensed your jaw to keep your teeth from chattering.
“There are five of you.” Geralt declared into the darkness. “If you wish to live, keep to your business.”
“And whom are you, stranger?” A voice replied in amusement. “From what I see, you appear a foreigner. Therefore, unless you are a patsy of the Magistrate or Town Council, your word holds no weight here.”
You expected Geralt to say something more. But instead, he simply grumbled before looking over his shoulder. After advising you to stay where you were, he began moving in the direction of the voice.
Without warning, the distinct sound of an arrow broke the silence.
It was enough to make you and Jaskier draw anxious breath. But had you blinked; you would have missed what came next. Though it had been headed right for Geralt, he deflected the arrow as if swatting a fly. In fact, not even his expression changed as he pressed forward.
Stopping at the tree line, he suddenly extended his free hand.
At first you were confused. What Geralt hoped to accomplish, you did not know. However, it became apparent that he was casting. Rapidly, an odd blue light formed in his palm. When satisfied with the scope of it, he released the energy into the darkness.
And it must have hit its intended target. Because what came next was a cacophony of agonizing screams and curses. When all the noise died down, three furious men came bounding out from the tree line.
“Damn abomination! You killed my mates with your sorcery!” A man wielding two blades shouted.
In the entirety of your life, you had never witnessed such a battle up close. Sure, your father and Uncle had protected the family on many occasions. However, nothing to the degree of what was before you.
“Keep behind me, Y/N.” Jaskier whispered as he kept hold of the steeds. “If anyone wanders close, I will protect you.”
You wanted to ask what weapon he intended to use. Because from observation, the only thing he could wield was his lute. Nevertheless, since it was the thought the mattered, you remained silent. As things got bloodier, you avoided the carnage by looking to the ground.
Mercifully, the violent commotion began to fade. Before long, it was replaced by the song of crickets once more. When you looked at Geralt, he hardly looked like he had just fought off three men. Not only was he breathing normally, he was calmly wiping the blood from his sword.
“You used magic on them.” You said, peeking out from behind Jaskier.
Ignoring you completely, Geralt commanded you to continue the journey on the Bard’s steed. Incensed at being snubbed, you stared at him.
“Though you are no mortal, my Lord, I must say this. You simply do not understand how things work in Stillwell.” You said as he tied a rope to Moss’s reigns. “You cannot simply execute people here. The law states that one must give opportunity for surrender.”
“Hmmm.”
“Is that it?” You asked. “You just killed five people and all you can do is grunt.”
“Apple thief, get going.”
“Apple thief? I have a name, you know!”
As if you had said nothing at all, Geralt pointed to Jaskier who was stood by his hired steed. Sensing the awkward tension between you, the poor Bard gave a meek wave.
“Alright!” You fumed. “If you will not address anything I have said, at least answer this. What are you, exactly?”
After giving an exasperated sigh, Geralt grabbed hold of you. With little effort, he then set you upon the saddle by force. Hiding a smirk, Jaskier mounted the steed, taking his place behind you. As he took hold of the reigns, you perceived the Bard was on the verge of laughter.
“The absolute nerve of him!” You seethed. “That man is not only a Demon, but a rude one, at that.”
“You know something? Despite being his closest friend, I cannot argue with the last bit.”
Jaskier then snapped the reigns as your little convoy continued down the road.
IMAGINES: THE WITCHER x READER - Defective (on Wattpad)
themes: drama, hurt-comfort, angst
sneak peek: When Geralt touched me, my name appeared on his wrist—but mine stayed bare. They call us the 'born to die,' those whose hearts simply stop if their soulmate’s name doesn’t appear within a year. So here I am, watching him sleep, knowing my death will bring him only pain.
Every night, I pray the gods grant him one more chance at love.
IMAGINES: THE WITCHER x READER - His Night Stranger (on Wattpad)
themes: drama, hurt-comfort, fantasy
sneak peel: Geralt of Rivia, a weary monster hunter, finds comfort in quiet Sunday conversations with a mysterious woman. After his breakup with Yennefer, only she was able to calm him down.
IMAGINES: THE WITCHER x READER - Autumn with the smell of fire (on Wattpad)
themes: drama, comfort
sneak peek: tomorrow, he would saddle up his horse again and ride off with Jaskier to hunt monsters and save villages. Another month of separation awaited them. She had agreed to this life when she first started seeing Geralt, and she didn’t regret it. His heart and soul belonged to her alone, and she knew it, just as her heart belonged only to him.
