Vulnerable (The Witcher Fic / Geralt x Reader
I rewatched The Witcher the other day !! I was really sad to see we probably get another season in 2021, so if you need something to keep you going.. This !!
“What, would you rather y/n do it?” Jaskier asked, scrubbing Geralt vigorously.
“Perhaps she’d have a softer touch,” Geralt growled in return.
Y/n, who was sleeping—or attempting to—on the wooden bench a couple of metres from the tub, opened one eye at the statement, “If you think I’m getting anywhere near you and the disgusting stench you brought in with you, you have another thing coming,”
“You act as if you were the epitome of cleanliness when I first met you,” he replied coldly.
“I was without access to such luxuries,” she gestured at the bath, “you simply neglect them,”
Geralt grunted in response.
“Now let me sleep,” she groaned.
“Oh no you don’t,” said Jaskier, “I’m not entirely convinced you aren’t on the verge of dying,”
Y/n had had a rough day. When Geralt had found her, she was rain soaked and shaking, unconscious. She still shook now, as much as the other two noticed she was trying to hide it, and the wooden bench wasn’t entirely the pinnacle of comfort. Of course, Jaskier had offered she share his bed, but she had declined, very aware of his tendencies with women in his bed. Geralt had felt no need to make such an offer.
“I am not on the verge of dying,” she said, opening her eyes, “I’m just a little cold. And oh so very tired, so if you’d leave me be, perhaps I could remedy at least one of those things,”
Without warning, Geralt stood up out of the tub.
Y/n gave a small outcry of surprise, “My virgin eyes,” she groaned.
“No one’s forcing you to look,” said Geralt, but the laugh in his voice indicated he knew exactly what he was doing.
“You take up half the bloody room, witcher,” she said, eyes now closed, “it’s not as if I was staring.
He gave a low laugh, a truly bone chilling thing.
“Fine, sleep,” he said, pulling a long shirt over his head, and moving towards the bed across from her bench.
Jaskier opened his mouth to remake his earlier offer, but Geralt caught him, “She said no, Bard,”
Jaskier merely shrugged, and got into his own bed.
In no time, the two of them were sleeping, soft snoring coming from both beds. Of course that bastard snored, y/n thought.
But she couldn’t sleep herself. She had been downplaying her ailments to the men all night. She was freezing, and her lungs felt like they were full of razor blades, cutting her every time she dared breath in. Geralt knew that a man had attacked her and that she had fought him off, but he didn’t know of the beating she had received in the process, the bruises on her ribs.Or how long she had lay there, passed out in the snow, slowly numbing. Gods know what could have happened to her if she hadn’t had her dagger. She shuddered even more violently at the thought.
Suddenly, a set of snoring halted. The Witcher was awake, and she didn’t even have to look to feel his analyzing eyes on her, boring into her. She wrapped her arms around herself to cover up her shaking, but she knew he saw it. She tried not to give him the eye contact he clearly craved, but he was not giving up, staring as her until she turned to him and said;
“You’re shaking,” he said simply.
“And the sound of your teeth chattering woke me up,”
He lifted the covers, a subtle move, but one with a lot of subliminal weight, an invite, for her to join him.
Y/n scoffed, but she was truly freezing, still unable to feel the tips of her fingers.
He didn’t speak, just held the covers open, raising a brow.
She was strong willed and stubborn, but he out-waited her, as the cold ate her up, she moved quietly into his bed.
As soon as she felt warmth, she became addicted to it, curling up against his stone torso, that burned like a furnace against her chest. She shamelessly pushed herself against him.
He didn’t even say anything, just moved to wrap his arm around her body, a movement absent of ulterior motive, simply a kindness.
Y/n hissed in pain as he touched her ribs, and he froze.
“What was that?” he said, his voice low.
“Nothing,” she replied, closing her eyes, but he didn’t let her.
“Y/n, show me your ribs,” he growled
“Take me to dinner first,” she mumbled, trying to sleep.
But he was fixing her with that look. That damned look. Geralt spoke with his eyes, she’d noted that a lot in her week with him. And the way he’d stare at her, that patient way, as if he had all the time in the world for her to obey him. The same looked that had gotten her into his bed in the first place.
She sighed and lifted her shirt, revealing her bruised ribs, that looked particularly nasty in the candlelight, all purple and yellow.
His face grew worried, and he looked at it thoroughly before looking her in the eye.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, as softly as she’d ever heard him speak.
“It was none of your business,” she replied.
He put his arm around her, softly and carefully, “You can trust me, Y/n. I thought you knew that. I’ve seen you vulnerable enough times not to judge you,”
“Trust? That isn’t what trust is, Geralt. If only you took your own advice. Then perhaps I’d have seen you vulnerable. But I haven’t, because you’re so damned proud, and you never let yourself be vulnerable. You’re just a man who knows all of my weaknesses, and I know none of yours. That doesn’t make you trustworthy, that makes you a threat,”
He took in what she said for a momend see him do it, mulling over all her words.
“You’re right,” was all he said.
Then, he pulled the covers off his torso, revealing his scarred chest.
He pointed to one of the scars, “Vampire. Caught me off guard. Disguised herself as a brothel girl,”
Then, to another one, “Bloodwolf. I don’t guard my left side as much when I attack. Got me right on the shoulder,”
Then to another, “Strignat—”
“Why are you doing this?” she asked.
“Because these are my weaknesses. The things that have gotten past my guard enough to make a mark. These are constant reminders of my vulnerability,”
She did’t answer, so he continued pointing out his scars, describing the stories behind them, stories about monsters and witches that she delighted in.
At some point, she fell asleep, and he was left there, holding her until morning. He did not sleep. He could not sleep, the sound of his pounding heart—the heartbeat that was to be slowest heartbeat among men—kept him awake until dawn.
And like, a bonus scene. If you want it.
“Really, Geralt,” Jaskier was standing over them. Y/n was still asleep in his arms.
“Did you really have to, do you understand how awkward that’s going to make things in the future?”
Geralt growled, “I didn’t bed her, Jaskier,”
“Right,” said Jaskier with exasperation, “And that’s why you’re half naked. In bed with her with your big meaty claws around her,”
“Good gods,” the other man continued, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you are around the size of Roach. Are you sure she’s still breathing in that chokehold?”
“Jaskier,” he groaned, “I didn’t—nevermind,”
