The Witcher Fic - Tumblr Posts

I saw your need for requests, and I come bearing a request! Could you write a Geralt/Male!Reader in which Geralt comes home super dirty and very tired but his boyfriend takes care of him ( I.e. bathes him, bushes his teeth/hair etc. pretty much whatever you feel like writing 😂); And then brings him to bed and tucks him in? Just anything super sweet and fluffy because he deserves all of that and more! Plus I’m a sucker for reverse comfort fics. Hopefully more requests come your way and you can get back into your writing groove! 💖💗

Pairing: Geralt x M!Reader Words: 337 A/N: So I decided to merge these two together since they’re kinda similar and I went off the top of my head, I don't know what I did

With his boots shuffling against the floorboards, he toes them off, noting in mind to clean the mud and blood off of them later on as he can’t be bothered right now. 

As he lifts his head up, he sees steam come out of the bathtub, knowing that his husband ran it for him. 

Geralt knows not to deny your love languages for him, so he strips out of his armour and clothes as he walks over to the bathtub. He eases his body into it, groaning in satisfaction as the heated water relaxes his muscles. He feels his eyes become droopy, so he closes them and rests.

He wakes up moments later to feel you brush his hair. Moaning a bit, he tilts his head to the side, feeling the plush of your thigh against his cheek as he closes his eyes again.

You smile, tying his white hair into a ponytail. “Food’s waiting for you.”

Geralt groans tiredly, meaning that he doesn’t want to move. “I’ve gotta clean my boots, clothes, and armour.”

“Already done, out on the line.”

He lifts his head off your thigh to look over at his said clothes and armour near the fire on a line, his boots clean of mud and blood. He opens his mouth to say something, but Jaskier runs in, going on about something.

“Jaskier!” Geralt growls out, making the bard shut up.

“Oh, sorry, coming back later.” Jaskier is out of your sight within seconds.

Geralt plops his face back against your leg, not liking how he got disturbed. He groans in disagreement as he feels you move out from the back of him. “Bed, now. I’ll bring you some food.”

As he’s about to say something again, you interrupt him. “Roach is fed and brushed.”

He finally gets out of the bathtub, feeling you dry his body with a warm towel. “Mm.” He leans his body against you, pushing his face against your neck.

“The scary Witcher going soft for his husband.”

“Shut up.”

Henry Cavill + Characters Tags @enchantedbytomandhenry

The Witcher Tags @justreadingficsdontmindme @chrisevansangel

Let Me Take Care of You ; Jaskier

Summary: Jaskier is cute when he’s red in the face and stuttering under you. You won’t tell him how cute he is when he cums in his pants, you’ll show it to him instead.

Pairing: Jaskier x Reader

Word Count: 898

Genre: Smut, PWP

Warning(s): NSFW, PWP (Porn without plot), No vaginal penetration, Non-penetrative sex, Premature ejaculation, Dry humping, Dominant!Reader, Submissive!Jaskier

A/N: Jaskier is cute. This is cross-posted on Ao3 at ItsAutumnHereFriend.

For a person like Jaskier, who is all confidence and charisma in performance in singing and bedding alike–after all, as much as he is the one boasting about his capabilities in sex, so are the women, only in hushed whispers and red faces–to feel the tremble in his legs and touch is like liquid courage coursing through your veins.

Naturally, the want to feel it more is the only thought that bothers to run through your sex-addled mind.

Your thighs squeeze against his as you grind your hips against his.  Fingers purse against clothing, two sets of hands both equally wanting.

He can write sonnets and songs about yours, but you much prefer the taste of him–the sound of him.  His whines are heavenly in your ears as they arise in cacophony as you kiss up his neck.  He captures your lips first, and his songs are just as sweet as the taste of his lips.

When he pulls away, his face is flushed, breathing deeply with his hands purchased on your clothed hips.  The very look of him has you biting back a moan.  He bucks up against you, unable to pull away from the blossoming pleasure in the pit of his stomach and yours.

“Can you-” he hums as you press your lips to his.  He isn’t the only one unable to chase his pleasure.  He nearly groans at your fucked-out look.  With you on his lap, riding away as if he were already inside you–to every god who cares to listen, his songs of you would surely reach the heavens at this rate.

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Kill Your Darlings — Ch. 1 (Jaskier x Assassin!Reader) || Witcher

A/N: So this is the start to my first ever series (yeah im not nervous posting this at all). I’ll be posting one chapter each Friday! This is more of a prologue, but definitely worth the read for the background! Overall, I have to warn you, this story is a very slow burn. I haven’t finished writing it yet, but I know some ~things~ take a while to happen, so stick around!

Anyway, your comments and feedback are more than appreciated, so don’t be afraid to leave me some messages :)

Also, if you’re @ on the taglist is italicized, it means it wouldn’t let me tag you, so you might have to change your settings :)

Summary: Y/N, a skilled assassin, gets their newly assigned target.

Warnings: language, mentions of death/killing/murder, mentions of abuse and r*pe, alcohol consumption

Words: 1,996

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Please Don’t Plagiarize My Work!

Taverns were one of your least favorite places to meet. The stench of the unfortunate man’s breath wafted through the air, on top of the lingering odor of cheap alcohol. Men staggered around with their mouths wide open, yelling obscenities — women pulled down their dresses just enough to gain attention, glaring at anyone who passed. Everyone was way too loud, as if the sound of their slurred words were more valued over anyone else’s.

Your hood hung low over your head, just high enough to leave space for you to see. Your eyes immediately scanned the tavern — it was smaller than the usual ones you met at, but just as packed. The stuffiness of the room practically smacked you in the face as soon as you walked in, almost making you scrunch your nose. The smell was way worse than you remembered.

You kept your face stiff as your eyes stopped at a table near the back. Without a second thought, you made your way past the piles of people and towards the familiar head of hair you would recognize in a mass of a hundred people.

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Like Father, Like Daughter

A/N: Based on a prompt.

Title: Like Father, Like Daughter

Summary: Geralt should have expected his child’s first word to be ‘fuck’.

Words: 640

“Fuck!”

Geralt paused. “What?”

“Fuck!” The little girl bounced on the blanket Geralt had set her on, pointing with chubby fingers across the river. Usually, he’d ignore her senseless baby babble or simply nod along to whatever was coming from her mouth, but that had not been senseless babble. It’d been a word.

He’d been somewhat attempting to gain a word or two from her for a few weeks now, each attempt a valiant failure, considering she seemed to prefer her ‘ga’s and ‘goo’s. It’d been an irritating process, but he’d been told—by who, he couldn’t remember. Probably Vesemir—that babies didn’t start speaking until they reached at least ten months. He would never be sure of course, but Akela couldn’t have been more than a new-born when he’d found her in the woods, making her eight months old now. She couldn’t even walk yet.

But she’d just spoken.

A corner of his lips began to curl upwards, until it froze, and his eyes widened as he realised what she’d just spoken.

He craned his neck to look where she was pointing. He breathed a nervous chuckle. “Duck, Akela,” he corrected, making his way towards her. “That’s a duck.”

“Fuck!”

“Duck.”

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

He sighed and lowered himself beside her, balancing on the toes of his boots. Honestly, he wasn’t surprised that had been her first word. It was his first word every time something went wrong, or Akela decided to use her newfound crawling abilities to hide from him after he’d turned around for a second. He didn’t really care either, but he knew he’d get more looks than he’d prefer when around other people if the baby was constantly cursing.

Akela stopped bouncing long enough for him to gently grasp her shoulders. She blinked at him with those bright blue eyes, pouty lips parted. “Don’t say that,” he said slowly, letting her absorb each word. “It’s ‘duck’. With a ‘d’. Duck.”

She stared, clearly processing, before giving him a two-toothed smile and bouncing again. “Fuck!”

Geralt hummed and swung her up into his arms. He trudged towards the riverbank. “Duck,” he said firmly, pointing at the mallard floating in the middle of the water. He looked back at the baby, not an ounce of confusion on her face. Instead, she stared at the duck for a good few seconds and turned back to Geralt with yet another goofy grin.

“Fuck!” she decided.

“No. Duck.”

“Fuck!”

“Duck, Akela! It’s a fucking duck!”

In the eight months since he’d found the little girl, he had learnt many things. A big one was that raising his voice, even a small bit, would make her cry. It started with a trembling lip, then her big eyes began to well with tears, then she’d start sobbing, and he’d feel guilty. He’d never known guilt before Akela.

What was worse, though, was that her sobs rarely went into full blown fits. That was reserved for when she was hungry, in pain, or merely in a temper. When she was upset because of something he’d done, she stuck with her tiny hiccups and quiet sniffles, turning her face into his shoulder if her pitiful struggles to be put down didn’t achieve anything.

Geralt sighed and shook his head, the first bite of that familiar guilt prickling his skin. He stared out across the river and turned, walking to the blanket. He sat down, Akela on his lap, and pat her tiny heaving back. “You can say it if you want,” he relented. “Say it, ‘Kela.” Akela lifted her head, cheeks wet with tears, and Geralt smoothed her blonde hair back. He pointed out across the river again. “What is it?”

She followed his finger and chewed on her own. She hesitated. “Fuck…”

Geralt smiled a little painfully. “Right.”

“Fuck!”

Like father, like daughter.

Witcher Masterpost

May I request a prompt from the All genres in one post? Like number 7 and number 18?

7. “Can we get a dog?”

18. “How strangely nonchalant for someone who almost just died a minute ago.” 

NONNIE IM EXHILARATED THAT YOU CHOSE TO PAIR THESE TWO TOGETHER I HAD FUN.

tags: fluff !!!!, family fluff

——

“Can we get a dog?” Geralt hums from where he’s working on the sofa, Ciri looking up at him with Roach in her hands.

“Why? Is Roach not cutting it anymore?” She gasps, holding the stuffed horse protectively to her chest.

“Don’t listen to him Roach, I could never get bored of you.” Jaskier nods solemnly from the other side of the couch, hiding his smile behind his notebook with the pretense of adding the final touches to his song. In reality, he’s waiting for The Cue.

“Good advice, Geralt has no idea what he’s talking about, Roach, pay him no mind,” he says and Jaskier grins as Ciri leans into her stuffie, ear pressed against its mouth.

“Roach says you’re right, daddy Jas, she also says that daddy Ger is a meanie!” Geralt frowns before looking down at her.

“We can’t get a dog.”

Ciri sets her little fists on her hips and Jaskier watches on in great interest as their daughter parts her lips.

“Actually daddy, we can. Daddy Jas told me you needed some con— coninc—”

“Convincing,” Jaskier whispers, ignoring the way Geralt glances at him as if he’d stolen the last bit of chocolate ice cream.

“Convincing!” Ciri yells, her tone victorious. “So we’re going to convince you,” she finishes with a solid nod. And there it is, The Cue.

Jaskier quickly jogs to their room, hiding snickers as he grabs two pillows; he hears Geralt ask Ciri just how they’re going to do that— oh and is his husband in for a surprise.

“Weapons at the ready, Ciri?” She carefully sets Roach on the Tv stand before grabbing one of the pillows, Geralt looking on in mild amusement.

“Ready, Jas!” Their daughter looks utterly ridiculous, one foot forward and the another behind her, her face so focused as he takes up the same position.

“Pillows raised!! And... chaaaarrrggggeeee!” Geralt’s eyes widen as they run the short distance to him, bringing pillows down on him as he curls smaller, laughing as Ciri grunts and trash-talks— you’re going down! Down like Valdo Marx in a singing competition against Daddy Jas!

Fuck, does Jaskier love them both so much. 

“Fine,” Geralt grumbles, a properly put on frown gracing his face though he has tears from hiding his laughs. “Fine!”

“Yield!” Ciri screeches, smacking him again, and Jaskier is so proud of her.

“I yield! I yield, leave me be—” Ciri and Jaskier back away, panting and sweaty as they look on at Geralt’s form still curled up, shaking with quiet laughter.

“You’re a bad influence on her,” he grumbles, and Jaskier raises his pillow in a threat.

“How strangely nonchalant for someone who almost just died a minute ago, Geralt.” Geralt bursts out laughing, shaking and teeth bared as he closes his eyes. He’s so beautiful that it makes Jaskier’s throat dry.

“So?” Ciri asks, her pillow raised to smack her dad again, eyebrow raised in challenge. “Can we get a dog?” 

Geralt groans. “Fine, we can get a dog.” 

Jaskier’s quite sure the neighbors hear Ciri’s squeal before she hides her face in his stomach. Geralt grins and rolls his eyes in retaliation to his wink.

They spend the rest of the evening looking for names.

——

rb if you liked it so other people can read it too!! 

Send me a prompt x