#geralt gets a surprise

[dapandapod]

Concept:

Geralt works in an aquarium, near the biggest fish tank.

Jaskier is a newly hired mermaid performer

Geralt was not told about this

In my dreams, it's still Mermay 2023. Husshhh time is fake. ANYWAY here it is! Thank you @magdelanesingerin helping me beta read <3 and thank you Ella-la for the prompt! It was a lot of fun! Please enjoy <3 On Ao3 here

Technically, Geralt does not work with humans. As in, he’s not there to provide care to humans.

Most of his coworkers are human, yes, but that is not the point. He did not start working here to serve people stale sandwiches and sparkling water.

Geralt knows every inch of the aquarium, knows every work position available.

He knows how to do everything, despite actually being there for the more excotic species of aquatic animals, usually with many teeth. Pros and Cons of working with the family, he supposes.

The years he has spent out in the field and all the late nights he worked with his doctor's thesis, all the scars from times he spent crawling through knee deep water that stank of sulfur and decay, only to find his arm swallowed to the elbow by something very small with big hubris-- all of that is put to perfect use as he wraps yet another dry, overpriced sandwich, or scoops yet another ice cream.

The reason he actually stays, despite the screaming children and the sweating parents and the bored teenagers and the entitled grandparents and the weird work tasks he gets assigned, is the way a young girl's face lights up when Geralt holds up a frog, big enough for him to have to use both hands.

Or the way the sullen teen beams when one of their rare giant butterflies lands on their hands. Or when he can hold an audience captive while showing them something new and exciting and incredibly nerdy about his sharks.

Geralt loves his sharks.

Due to every summer reason ever, Geralt has sadly been called away from his animal related daytime tasks to cover shifts where their usual summer employees are out sick. Which seems to be most of this month.

Where he stands right now, in the very small and very understaffed little kiosk, he has an excellent view of the shark tank, at least. As the aquarium has grown in popularity, so has their shark tank, his pride and joy.

Coën had explained to him excitedly that their new tank would have a much bigger viewing area, and seating area, almost like a little theater. To allow for future opportunities, he had said, and Geralt thought of the way he would be allowed to show off his beauties through the window and almost got excited himself.

It is unusually crowded today, and a lot of people are gathering around the viewing area and are chattering.

It's so loud, their voices bouncing around the room and amplifying, and it's hard to hear the woman in front of him inexplicably order their largest latte and a lactose free cheese sandwich.

Luckily, Milva is coming in soon to cover the rest of the shift, so Geralt can finally get back behind the tanks, out of sight of all the people.

But before he can, the clock strikes one, music blares through the speakers the speakers, and one of the employees he knows from birthday parties steps out with a microphone. It makes Geralt frown, because this is new.

Usually, the show around the big tank would involve a kid friendly lesson about the fish and aquatic animals in their tank, sometimes accompanied by a sweaty Lambert in a mascot suit.

This time, however, there is dreamy music, the lights are lowered even more, and the employee is talking about the magical beings living in the deep, out of sight of human eyes.

See, Geralt is a man of science.

He knows there are mythical and magical things in the depths, having been up close and personal with a few. But this sounds like they are setting up for some kind of misinformed children’s movie.

Which is why Geralt's jaw is somewhere around floor level, when an actual mermaid- wait no, merman, swims up to the glass, waving at the children.

Milva has to elbow him out of the way so she can serve the next customer, while Geralt stares at the Merman flitting around in his beloved shark tank.

The sharks stay clear, because even if the merman's tail is beautiful, it is still striped much like a dragon fish, warning all of them not only with his size, but also with his pattern and coloring, that he is dangerous.

Yet his smile is wide, his claws retracted to tap a smooth fingertip at the glass and wave at the crowd with a webbed hand.

His hair is chestnut brown, matching the pattern riding up along his back, with specks of gold dancing on his skin and in his blue, very blue eyes.

Geralt somehow finds himself by the rail to the seating area, and the merman's eyes lock with his.

As they do, they widen a fraction, and the smile turns into a smirk. The merman winks, and turns, swimming in a pirouetting circle as the employee narrates his movements.

As he swims, the light dances over muscle and bone and scale, the crowd around him making ‘Oooh’ and ‘Aaah’ noises. He is beautiful.

The merman keeps showing off, his many long fins twirling around him like ribbons in the calm water. It is mesmerizing, and as the show is coming to a close, Geralt hurries to the back area and towards the tank.

He gets intercepted by Lambert, of course, who steps in front of him with a shit eating grin spread wide across his smug face.

"Like the new show, did you, pretty boy?" Lambert says, sly eyes watching him.

"I didn't realize we had a new show." Geralt grumbles. "I need to-"

"-Go and ask our new pretty fish boy intrusive questions, yes I know. Just remember he is not a science project."

With a pat on Geralt's shoulder, Lambert walks past him and intothe guest area.

"Oh, and ask him for his number. Literally everybody in the room saw that wink," he throws over his shoulder as he goes.

Geralt feels his ears burn as he moves forward again, because yeah, that wink felt very... yeah. Words fail him, which is a bit unfortunate, seeing as he is just arriving at the stairs to the tank.

Climbing them, he tries to remember what he planned to do in the first place, other than, as Lambert called it, 'ask intrusive questions'.

As he reaches the top of the stairs, the merman is just climbing out of the tank, assisted by Eskel. Once again, Geralt feels his jaw drop, noticing that his tail is now legs.

Long legs. Bare legs, that goes up, up, and lucky for all of them, the rest of the view is quickly hidden by a towel wrapped around a slim waist.

"Figures," he hears Eskel snort, "Jaskier, this is Geralt, our aquatic expert."

They are on separate ends of the room, the tank between them, but the world narrows down to just the two of them.

There is, and always has been, a specific mood to the rooms that houses the the big tanks.

The way the water reflects light, sending it dancing on the walls and ceiling, how it softens shadows, how it can be dark but bright at the same time; Geralt has always did found it a little romantic.

Which isn't something he would ever confess to unless he was swimming in alcohol, or so sleep deprived he didn’tt even know his own name, but it is there, simmering in the back of his mind.

Especially now as he is standing there in the soft, romantic light with a man, who was just a merman, looking back at him as if he has discovered the world anew. He can even pretend that the humming of pumps and gurgling of water filters and dripping of pipes are an orchestra, a symphony to accompany a first meeting.

Alright, that is overdoing it, but still.

Behind Jaskier, Eskel is rolling his eyes so hard his body moves with it.

"Every. Frickin. Time. Jaskier, good job, don't forget to wash off before you get dressed. Let's talk after... after. Later. I do not want to be here right now."

Eskel leaves, patting Jaskier's shoulder, who only nods and waves absently, eyes still fixed at Geralt.

When Eskel is gone, disappearing through another door leading to more, smaller tanks and the food prep area, Geralt finally finds he can move.

It is oddly silent, except for the metallic sound of his shoes hitting the maze of walkways hanging above the tank. He stops, even before he has turned the corner to the final stretch.

"Hi," he manages after a few seconds too long.

The corner of Jaskier's mouth tugs up into a smile, and he reaches for another towel hanging on a hook on the wall.

"Hi," he echoes, his voice just a little raspy. Jaskier wraps the towel around his shoulders, using a corner to dry his hair. "So, you are the Geralt that I have heard so much about."

Geralt blinks. He did not expect people to have mentioned him, but then again, they might actually have warned Jaskier of him.

"Ah. Sorry. I can be uh... less than tactful when something grabs my interest."

Jaskier tilts his head even more and takes a step closer to him.

"So did I? Grab your interest, I mean."

Shit. Fuck. Shit fuck shit.

"I have never met a merman before." Geralt says stiffly, ears burning something fierce, and Jaskier looks amused.

Jaskier steps closer; his feet probably hurt from walking barefoot on the metal grating of the walkway but he doesn't stop until he is close enough to Geralt to stretch out his hand.

"Well then. My name is Jaskier, as you might have gathered. Nice to meet you! Though, I am not full mer, actually."

Interesting.

Geralt shakes his hand, noticing the tips of Jaskier’s fingers are a little rough against the back of his hand.

"Is that why you have... uh..."

"Legs?" Jaskier supplies helpfully. Geralt is still shaking his hand. "In part, yes. Some Mer have a splash of elven blood, granting them the ability to choose."

Geralt should stop shaking his hand. He really should. Their eyes are still locked, and Jaskier is still giving him that amused smile.

"You can stop shaking my hand now," he reminds Geralt, but doesn’t pull his hand back.

"Right. Yes. Right. Sorry." Geralt manages to let go, and is infinitely happy Eskel has left the room, though no doubt Lambert will look at the security footage for later. Shit.

As soon as Geralt manages to break the stare into the man’s eyes, he notices the next problem. Jaskier is pretty much naked, barely covered by the towels, revealing skin, chest hair, and the hint of a tattoo along his ribs and on one thigh.

He wants to ask about that, if it transfers to his fins or not. But as he stares, he also realizes Jaskier is shivering slightly. He's an idiot.

"I uh. Should leave you to get dressed. There is a shower in the changing rooms. Uhm. Can I get you a coffee or something? Later?"

Jaskier smiles that amused smile of his while Geralt is kicking himself internally. Words never were his thing, no, but this is ridiculous.

"As in bring me a coffee, or drink a coffee together with me?"

"Whichever you are comfortable with. Sorry, I am not making a good impression here."

"You are very cute, if that helps." Jaskier says, and Geralt blinks, stunned.

When he fails to reply, Jaskier pulls his towel tighter around himself, and nods.

"Right. So, I'll go shower, and we’ll pretend I never said that. And I'll see you later. For coffee."

Jaskier’s ears are slightly red, and Geralt wants to pretend it’s from their conversation, not from being cold.

Geralt nods, and flees before he can put his foot in his mouth any further, and only after he is half way down the stairs does he realize that he forgot to ask if Eskel showed Jaskier where the changing rooms are.

Too late now, he absolutely won’t go back and risk walking in on a very naked Jaskier. Nope.

When Geralt steps into the public area again, the crowds are slowly thinning out, now that the show is over.

Parents are herding kids towards bathrooms and other viewing areas, and Geralt decides that he needs to find something just a little better than the staff room coffee machine.

It feels a little cheap to go with the aquarium café, and he realizes he doesn't even know how Jaskier likes his coffee. Geralt himself has a sweet tooth, and very few ever believe that at first sight.

He decides to stand and awkwardly waits until Jaskier comes back out.

He manages to work himself up as he waits, overthinking until he’s standing there frowning and glaring at the wall when Jaskier emerges at last.

Quirking an eyebrow, Jaskier hoists his dufflebag a bit higher on his shoulder.

"You good?"

"Hmm. What kind of coffee do you like?" Geralt asks, before he can say something dumb.

"Black as tar, so anything is good." Jaskier smiles. See? You never know what to expect, even with sunshine incarnated.

Geralt nods, and leads the way to the little kiosk where he was working just a few, life-changing minutes before. .

Milva smiles gleefully at Geralt when it's their turn, and hands them a coffee black as tar, and for Geralt, coffee with milk and three sugar cubes.

Instead of sitting down, they put away Jaskier's bag and wander around the aquarium. It turns out he never had the chance to look around before diving in for his first show.

Geralt tries to not ask all the intrusive questions bubbling up in his head, his scientific curiosity temporarily pushed down by the way Jaskier coos at tiny crabs and little fishes in weird shapes and colors.

At last, Jaskier informs him that he can't stay any longer, that he has band practice after his show, and should have gone already.

"But I'll see you again, Geralt," Jaskier promises with a smile. "Next week. Unless you want to grab a bite sometime?"

Jaskier's ears are red again, and Geralt can feel his own face getting warm.

"I'd like that," he mumble, and Jaskier beams. They exchange numbers, just in case Geralt had anything else to ask.

Not one minute after Jaskier leaves, waving over his shoulder, Lambert is on him.

"Getting some tail, are you, pretty boy?" Lambert grins, and Geralt elbows him away.

"If you say anything ever again, I'll show Aiden all your drunk texts," he threatens, which he knows will only work for a few days.

Geralt risks sending a text that same night, and Jaskier replies only a few minutes after.

They have a lunch scheduled in a few days, and Geralt doesn't dare call it a date, not yet, no matter what Eskel says.

When Geralt goes to sleep later that night, he dreams of blue eyes, of chestnut brown and gold specks glimmering in the underwater light.

#geraskier #the witcher #geralt x jaskier #mermay 2023 #marine biologist geralt #part mer jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier the bard #meet cute #fluff #geralt gets a surprise #dapanda writes

[spielzeugkaiser]

Ciri feels a bit like she's been in the way, once Geralt and Milek become closer - like she held him back somehow.

The thing I think is crucial about this - things went wrong and Geralt missed out on seeing Milek growing up - but Geralt is a dad. The parallels are there.

#geraskier #jaskier #geralt of rivia #geraskier lovechild #the witcher #what I want to get at is that Geralt had Ciri pretty much from Mileks birth on #and the thing is #the THING IS if you look at the timelines #with Cintra burning down happening and Sodden and Geralt searching for Ciri - even if he had known #even if Jaskier had told him and he had been happy about it #he probably wouldn't have been there for Mileks birth #because he would have been trying to get to Cintra #and he absolutely wouldn't have taken Jaskier #he even might have not taken them later to KM either (to protect them) #so either way it would have been messy because Geralt would have gotten two kids at nearly the same time #this why that feels a lot like the parent trap in my mind sometimes even if I can't describe how #pfppfpf #OF COURSE it would have been sooooo much different for Jaskier #but I do think all of that is something he learns from Yennefer later #and it stings but he is also glad that Geralt took care of his child surprise #so for Jaskier there is always the thought too of. Geralt is already doing it all #trying to handle things #and they would be... additional

[devil-of-books]

Geralt, sharpening his sword:

Jaskier, sneaking up on him from behind and jumping onto him and hugging him: HII

Geralt, who definitely sensed His Bard but didn’t want to stop him because he secretly likes it: *grunts*

#later geralt: you know you can just ask me for a hug right? #geralt: you don’t have to try to surprise me #jaskier (happy): well yes but it’s fun #Geralt is the lion dad to jaskier’s play-hunting skills #just goes with it #(bc he likes getting hugged by jaskier) #based on an interaction between my friend and i #Her hugs started with me doing my best to wiggle out of them to now actually liking it when she hugs me #✨character growth✨ #incorrect witcher quotes #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher incorrect quotes #the witcher netflix

[jaytodd1129]

ok but like i hadn't actually noticed just how much Emma Appleton and Joey Batey kinda look alike (big eyes, brown hair, full lips, etc) until I read two fics where they are related and now I'm craving more "Renfri is Jaskier's mother/sister/cousin/whatever and now Jaskier and Geralt's story is extra tragic because Geralt is the one who killed someone that Jaskier loved very much PLUS.. perhaps at first Jaskier reminds Geralt so much of Renfri maybe that's why he treats him the way he does at the beginning of their friendship?? because it pains him to just look at his face. And maybe at first Geralt only indulges Jaskier BECAUSE he reminds him of Renfri, but as time goes on, Jaskier starts to become JASKIER in his head, and at some point Geralt realizes he loves Jaskier for who he is, not for who he reminds him of and that the love he has for Jaskier is completely unrelated to his and Renfri's past, but maybe Jaskier has a hard time believing it at this point, seeing as how Geralt has been obviously comparing him to Renfri all this time?? and so when Geralt makes a move on him Jaskier rejects him because he thinks Geralt wants Renfri not him, and Geralt needs to convince him otherwise"

..something like that.

plus, imagine Geralt leaving Jaskier in their camp to go hunting, and when he comes back, he manages to hear Jaskier singing a soft tune on his lute that breaks his heart, since it's so obviously about Renfri, I--

#geraskier #renfri #shrike #jaskier #jaskier dandelion #dandelion #geralt of rivia #the witcher #twn #the witcher netflix #ok but imagine the first time Jaskier uses the dagger to fight off bandits #and surprises geralt because he was sure this would be the time the bard was going to get himself killed #and perhaps up until that point geralt was like physically he may look like renfri but he's nothing like her #and then he sees jaskier's survival instinct kick in #and he witnesses jaskier's fierceness during a fight for the first time #the fire in his eyes when he strikes #the swiftness of his movements #and it's like he's SEEING renfri #omg but ok what if renfri and jaskier are twins and jaskier blames himself because renfri ran away and then all the awful shit happened to #her #and he thinks it's partly his fault because maybe he should've gone with her or maybe he should've protected her more from their parents #and stregobor #WHAT IF GERALT AT ONE POINT GIVES JASKIER THE HAIR BROOCH AND JASKIER JUST FUCKIN BREAKS DOWN #omg and that's why jaskier travels under a different name #different identity as a peniless bard cause stregobor is after him the remaining twin

[devinwolfi]

what if they turn geralt into a doctor whoesque character and just change him up every few years

#i think that would be funky fresh #witcher #i think they should get david tennant in the mix i cant imagine that going poorly at all(hhh) #billie piper could play geralt i bet she could bring that book!geralt energy without breaking a sweat #im just thinking of doctor who actors in the witcher now im sorry #martha would never accidentally get a child surprise unless she really wanted one #god cathertine tate would kill it. she would end it no one would have the guts to follow her

[aeide-thea]

still picking my way thru s3 of the witcher episode by agonizing episode but it's going SO slowly bc every time i watch one it's just like. right. this show is a B movie now and not in a good way

#like it's not like NONE of it has been fun but it's just like. i enjoy the fandom but the source material is. not actually good #and people SO badly want to credit it with all this depth and sophistication it just absolutely does not have #but s1 was at least like. coherent and fun if unsubtle #s2 and s3 have just been this big spiral into like. an attempt at Fantasy Saga #which would be fine if they were good enough at storytelling to do that coherently #but unfortunately it's just like. disconnected scene after disconnected scene strung together by mediocre action and worse humor #all of which have looked weirdly pastede-on-yay in a way i don't know enough formal film language to articulate #but it's just like. it doesn't feel like the characters are actually moving through the world‚ visually #it's just costumed ppl shoehorned into backgrounds that are either (1) cartoonishly stagey (2) dreary irl countryside somewhere (3) bad CGI #and then geralt gets whumped and it's like. wait NOW you want us to care abt him? after sidelining him all season? #like. idk. structurally and emotionally the writing just sucks #and then the acting and visuals are. largely also bad. lol. #jaskier is probably one of the best bits really but then they give him so much material that's absolutely clownish #and it's like. i'm not opposed to humor but it's remarkable the way the juxtaposition of his tone with the overall tone of the show #manages to make BOTH vibes seem stupid somehow. honestly an achievement #however. big fan of predicted-by-me-but-still-good betrayal scene. like. he didn't even seem surprised which was perf honestly #'obviously you lived down to my expectations‚ that's just how life goes and has gone ever since geralt blew up at me on that mountain' #just like. makes total sense and also grants him some actual depth and dignity #now do that the whole time with all the characters challenge… #tvblogging #(i realize no1 currs but like. i do like 2 record my Thots On Media otherwise they all fall out of my head like a sieve)

[alethiaii]

And while I am still sporadically rambling about the Witcher in general, love how they made Yennefer all self righteous and pissy in the show about her 'choice of becoming a mother' being taken away from her when she was clearly told what is what, and the price for making herself look beautiful and her magical abilities increased.

Also if she just wanted a baby, she could have picked up an orphan and adopt one? Plenty of those in the times of war and the way things are in the world.

#nina is on her witcher bullshit #book yenneffer never went 'i will go up and down the continent in search of non existent magical remedies to grow back my uterus somehow #because i want to have a baby'...like what? did people at netflix not know what to do with her in season 1 before battle of sodden? #or did they go 'you know what? why don't we tackle yennfer by giving her search for motherhood quest in season 1? that will be great' #we can turn that somehow into girlbossing on the way and it will totally be slay queen #while also getting a clear shot at geralt to womansplain to him how he is hypocritical that he gets to have a child surprise while insultin #her because she righteously wants back what she willingly lost aka 'well now i have all of this i no longer want to deal with #the consequence of my decision made long ago'

[frankdelfino]

I finally started watching the witcher and everyone on here has been lying about jaskier… there is literally nothing likable about that man

#he’s annoying 😭 him and geralt both… I do not care for them #I only like yennefer and ciri and even they’re not enough to #get me to continue watching the show. literally gave up after five episodes #also I’ve been pronouncing the J this whole time so that was a surprise lmfao #geralt is hot yes but he aggravates me. don’t gaf about him sorry #personal

[roughentumble]

i think people should take advantage of the law of surprise even more often in fanfiction. i think jaskier as geralt's marriage surprise should be so popular as a trope that it has its own ao3 tag

#i am constantly ''geralt and jaskier are NOT soulmates or fated but they choose each other despite conflicting destinies #and that makes it EXTRA ROMANTIC!! choosing someone else over your fated soulmate!!!'' truthing #but i do think geralt getting marriage surprised is funny. and theres a lot of difcerent routes to take it #and i think everyone should write a fic like this #witcher tag #ogc tag

[littlefreya]

i am DECEASED but now the question is , which one of ur henry boys would do this (and preferably drag it to something more 🥵) , Henry or Sherlock or August !!!!!!!

(the link isn't porn dw)

Oh!!!! You are speaking my brat language. I love denying kisses >:D

And ...

It's not often that Sherlock displays affection. It's not that he doesn't yearn for you. It's just that he likes to maintain a certain persona, pretending that these frivolous games are beneath him.

So imagine his surprise and ire when he leans to kiss you, and you turn your face away to deny him the sweetness of his lips. He sulks, unapproving of your behaviour and tries again with his fingers lightly caressing your cheek.

But before his lips meet yours, you sway to the other side and then quickly step away and attempt an escape. You hardly make it to the door when the hook of his cane locks around your waist.

With a yank, he hauls you back to him, and before you can even whimper, you are flushed against his chest with his arm wrapped securely against the small of your back.

"Don't deny me," he warns darkly and, with his knuckle below your chin, tilts your head up so he can finally devour your mouth.

Geralt is voracious.

And while he can be patient and soft, he is still a wolf, one that doesn't appreciate being denied of his prey.

As you sway your head and avert your gaze, he immediately snarls. You don't get to do it twice. Before you can even step back, his hand is locked around your jaw, and he is shoving you against a tree bark with his body fully pressed into yours.

His mouth ghosts upon your lips, he hums and you can taste ale and danger on his hot breath.

"Mine," he simply growls and then kisses you with the utmost vigour.

Any thought about denying him dies as his tongue penetrates your mouth.

#henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #Geralt of rivia #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia x reader

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: we vibing.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Jazlene comes to with a wispy sigh. You back up and stand as her mother helps her to her feet. The king is back at the table, unbothered by the overcome maiden. Lord Dustan hovers between, torn by loyalty to his liege and his family. New liege, that is. Only yesterday, he was toasting to good King Waleran. 

“My apologies, your highness,” Jazlene fans herself with her hand, “I was only surprised. I didn’t... How could I expect this? To marry a king?” She reaches down to grip her mother’s arm, shakily stepping forward towards the king who doesn’t even glance up from the table of maps, “I promise to you, your highness, I will be a good wife to you.” 

The king tilts his head, tracing a finger along a ridge of mountains, then leans in to examine the riverbeds below. Jazlene looks at her mother, an expression of concern on her pretty features. She is rarely ignored, if at all. She will make sure that she isn’t. 

“Lord Dustan, I expect the dowry will be served along with your men and my kingdom,” the king declares, “but now, I find myself fatigued. A hard day’s ride sees me in need of bath and a bed.” 

Dustan bows his head, “and so you will have it, your highness. I will send down for water--” 

“Have the maid see to it,” the king waves his hand vaguely in your direction, “certainly a servant is a servant.” 

“Yes, your highness, how wise,” Dustan simpers, as he often does to men with titles above his own. “You,” the duke turns and snaps his fingers, “you heard the king. He requires hot water in his chamber.” 

You keep your head down, “yes, my lord.” 

You spin without hesitation. You’re all too happy to be free of the noble intrigue. It is rather easier to be unseen and unthought of. It has ever kept you from envying these ladies and their silks and these lords and their golden signets. 

Your flight is fleet. You rush down the corridor and to the wide stairwell. You descend with your mission and pass Merinda as she paces listlessly outside the kitchens. She stops you with an arm across your path. 

“There are whispers,” she says lowly, “of who visits. Is it true?” 

You look at her. You don’t know if you should say. It isn’t her place and you don’t know what they say. There is rather much gossip in castles. 

“It is,” she hisses, “you don’t need to say it. You are a poor liar and when you say nothing, I know that is the reason.” 

Your lips pinch and you give her a look, “I have been sent to draw a bath.” 

“Oh, is the lady in need of her evening boil?” Merinda snickers. 

“Not her.” 

Merinda quiets and tilts her head, “...him?” 

“The king,” you answer thinly. 

She nods and steps closer, “is he... I don’t understand. His soldiers, they mill about with our own, they cavort together. Not as enemies. Are they not invading? Do they not mean to take the castle?” 

You tear your eyes away. She’s right, you are a poor liar. You lean in, lips right by her ear, you whisper, “Lord Dustan has new allegiances.” 

She claps her hand over her mouth as you back up. She stares at you with wide eyes. She slowly drops her arm and her lip quivers, “he means to get us all killed.” 

You push your shoulders up, “think only of today. It’s all we can do. Oh, do you know where the king’s chambers would be?” 

“Mm, they took his saddlebags to the ivory room. I think there,” she answers, “do you require assistance?” 

“Stay here,” you gird, “he is a brusque man.” 

That only seems to worry her more as her face twists. You can’t help but feel the same inside but you do your best not to let it show. You leave her and carry on to your task. 

You put the kitchen hands to boiling water and send a few others to find a tub to bring to the king’s chambers. You help where you can and take the first bucket up. You pour it into the large tub in the ivory room and return for second, a third, a forth, and fifth. There will be many more even as your arms ache and your nap slickens with sweat. 

Upon the eight, when the tub looks near halfway, the chamber is not empty. You’re surprised by the king’s presence as the door remains ajar. You pour the water with a low apology and diligent ‘your highness.’ He doesn’t respond. 

There is much to go still. Back down, up again, hot water splashing on your sleeves, singing beneath, dumping it over the edge as you keep your eyes on your work. Do not be more than a piece of furniture. You are only air. 

At the last bucket, you pour slowly, careful not to slosh over the edges. As you right the empty pail, you hear a metal chink. The king growls into a long exhale. You turn towards the door. 

“Close it,” he commands, “you will remain.” 

You’re happy he cannot see the look on your face. You obey and close the door. You turn back, standing by the pillar of the door frame, as you often do, and begin your vigil. It should not be unexpected that he may require you to fetch something further for him. 

Your eyes catch the bottom of his mail as he lifts it over his head. No, don’t look. He undresses, leather creaking, fabric rustling, pacing as he strips away each piece. You grip the rope handle of the bucket. He circles the long tub and nears you. You cower, bracing. You are not noticed, you are not approached, unless it is for rebuke. 

He grabs the bucket by the brim and tugs. You let it go. He turns and sets it on the floor away from you. You push your hands together, stilling a tremble. He wears only his breeches and you catch a glimpse of the thatch of hair along his thick stomach. You gulp and twine your fingers through each other. 

He turns away and crosses the room. You listen to the fabric fall from around his hips. Your eyes bore into the floorboards. The water shifts as he climbs into the tub and you listen to him groan as he lowers himself into the depths. The steam mingles with the tension of his silence. 

He sighs and stirs the water. The lull persists as you wait. He will need wine or food.  

“Come,” he bids and your eyes flick up. The tub conceals much of his lower body as his thick shoulders and arms stretch around the brim. “I have a knot.” 

You approach hesitantly, unsure where to aim your eyes the closer you get. He gestures around his head, “stand behind me.” 

You do as he tells you. 

He sits up slightly and bends his head forward, lifting his white hair out of the way, “here.” 

He points along the muscle beside his neck. It’s thick, just like all of him. You’ve never seen a man built like that. There are stringy barn boys and tubby cooks.  

You stare and raise a hand, hovering it over his muscle. Are you supposed to touch him? He is a king and you are a servant. You are a servant sold out of pig shit into servitude. 

His large hand reaches for yours and he guides it down. You shake before he lets you go. You feel the muscle, almost curious, and rub lightly. He makes a noise but you’re unsure of its tenor. 

“Harder,” he demands, “squeeze,” he shows his hand, making a kneading motion, “you cannot hurt me.” You do as he says. You squeeze and he rests his hand against the tub, “harder,” he repeats. 

You obey. 

His head hangs as his long strands touch the water. You bring your other hand up as your efforts make your tendons sore. He lets out shallow breaths and hissing groans. Your chest thumps at the sounds that rise from him. 

“Your master has broken his oath and sworn a new one to me. And you, does that make me your master as well? If I am your master’s master?” He asks slyly. 

You focus on your hands, “your highness?” 

“Answer, don’t be afraid. Liars bore me.” 

You sniff and mull your reply. You don’t know. You don’t have much of a choice in the matter. 

“Lord Dustan is my master. I am bound to serve him.” 

He snorts and lifts his head. You rescind your touch but he reaches back to latch onto your again. He tugs you forward, placing your hand back on his shoulder. 

“Softer now,” he instructs. You rub his damp flesh as he bends a leg, his knee poking above the water. “You, a servant, so low, and you are more loyal than any man with a title.” 

“Your highness, I must serve.” 

“As he must. Did he not swear himself to the old king? Eh? War does muddy the waters,” he muses, “coin does test old ties.” 

You say nothing. Your comment isn’t warranted or wanted. You know better. Jazlene taught you only to answer when asked. 

“Very well,” he taps your fingers, “I feel better. You have a kind touch.” 

You back away and wipe your hands on your apron. He hangs his head back and puffs. He closes his eyes. You watch the white waves made wilder by the humidity of the bath. 

“I hate sleeping in strange places,” he says, “you will stay for the eve.” 

You tuck your chin down and fold your hands together. Your scalp sweats beneath your cap, your shorn locks itchy with the heat. You wet your lips and force out the air trapped in your chest, “yes, your highness. As my master bid, I will serve you.” 

He says nothing more as he leans back against the tub completely. His large arms frame the metal and his hands wrap around the edges. He closes his shining eyes in recline, the water still and steaming. He stays that way until the damp heat dissipates. You stand locked in his thrall. 

He sits forward suddenly, the water stirring with his movement. He turns his hand and beckons with his thick fingers. 

“A bath sheet,” he demands. 

You go to the chest in the corner and open it. You retrieve a folded swath of fabric and bring it to him. He stands as you unfold the length of linen to obscure his form. Your eyes are on the ceiling as the water slakes from his figure and he looms large above you. 

He steps out, close to you, and puts his hands over yours. He pulls the sheet around his body, your arms too. He releases you only as he adjusts the fabric around his waist and you retract with humiliation nipping in your cheeks. You lean back on your heel as you shrink in his shadow. 

“Your highness, do you require refreshment? Wine? Sweetmeats?” 

“I did not ask for it,” he says, “I am tired.” 

“Apologies, your highness.” 

“Do not apologise for doing your duty. Would be a fairer world if more were so diligent.” 

He turns and strides away. There’s a knapsack and bedroll against the wall. He keeps one hand on the sheet and unbuckles the flap, reaching within and tugging out a bed shirt. He drops the sheet away and your eyes flit away from his nakedness. He has no shame but you are merely a servant. He shouldn’t care for your witness. 

He swipes the fabric over his head and it falls just to his thighs, concealing just enough to have him decent. His thick legs are trimmed in dark hair and the muscles are taut beneath his skin. He faces the bed and pulls back the quilt and linen. He pauses and looks up at you. 

“Will you sleep afoot then?” He wonders. 

“Your highness?” You wince. “I must...” you peer around, “empty the bath.” 

“Must you? Stagnant water can wait,” he insists. “Come.” 

You waver, skirts rippling around your legs. You step forward and stagger. 

“The lantern, your highness?” You inquire. 

“Douse the light if you will,” he allows. “And come.” 

You do as he bids and snuff out the flame. Your vision is left blackened and formless. You reach out blindly, realising your error too late. You can’t see much as you walk warily towards the bed. The heavy curtains are shut and block out the sliver of moonlight. 

Your knees hit the bed and you gasp. You catch yourself before you can fall forward, leaning against the mattress. You’re stuck like that, uncertain if you should go forward or back. Something wraps around your wrist, a stolid heat. 

“I often sleep with my horse,” the king says as he draws you onto the bed. “I need a warm body close.” 

You go rigid as you let him command your body. He guides you to lay down and tugs the bedclothes over you. The damp specks on your dress and apron cling to your skin. He leads your head over his thick arm as he lays on his back neck to you. You stare into the endless void of the canopy. 

“The horse smells much worse and snores,” he muses, his arm curling around your shoulders, offering a more comfortable rest for your head and neck. You quiver at being so close. It is an odd request but you daren’t decline it. “Be still,” his other hand comes to touch your sleeve, “and sleep. I only mean to ease my own unrest.” 

You close your eyes and exhale. Your heart is pounding and your body is tingling. You don’t think you can sleep with the surge flowing through you. He sighs and shifts slightly. You lay there, in silence, only the noise of his breath and yours to fill the castle walls. 

“I am awake,” he says. “Speak to me, maid. Tell me, where do you lay your head on nights where a king does not trouble you?” 

You wiggle slightly. Your spine is uncomfortable at the flatness but not worse than your usual fare. You bring your hand over your chest and fist your fingers tight. 

“On a bag of hay with Merinda,” you utter smally, pushing your legs together as you arch your back slightly. Your hips are tight. 

You’re startled as the bed jostles and he grips your hip. He rolls you onto your side, his touch lingers as he pulls you against him. He is as hot as a hearth. 

“Merinda?” He repeats. 

“Another handmaid, your highness.” 

He hums and drags his hand away from your hip. He blows out a great heavy and grunts. His arm curls around you snugly. 

“I hope I am preferable to that bag of hay,” he mutters and the tension seeps away from his form. “Though perhaps just as prickly.” 

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #the witcher #winter's king #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #medieval au

[shy-urban-hobbit]

"I'm telling you Geralt, my songs are definitely working."

"A few contracts not skimping on payment isn't proof Jaskier. It's coincidence." Geralt replied as he stuffed his newly purchased supplies into Roach's saddlebag. After two years, he didn't need to look to know the bard was probably doing his uncanny impression of a landed trout. His default expression when he thought himself gravely offended.

"Oh hoho. So it's proof you want? Fine, I'll get you proof you old cynic - wait, I'm here calling you old, how old are you? I know Witchers age differently but it's all so contradictory. I remember one text claiming you aged backwards. Backwards!"

Geralt was blessedly distracted from Jaskier's tangent by a small tug on his cloak causing him to look behind him and then down.

A small, tear stained face with huge, liquid brown eyes looked up at him. The hand that wasn't clutching Geralt's cloak fisted in the skirt of a green dress as she shuffled her small, booted feet. Witcher and child stared at one another and even Jaskier had fallen silent.

"Are you the White Wolf?" She asked in a small voice.

Geralt could only nod in response, keeping an eye and both ears out for angry adults about to accuse him of kidnapping.

"I can't find my Papa." She sniffled, voice trembling and eyes welling up.

He felt himself slip into Witcher mode, trying to think what could be snatching people from a crowded town in the middle of the day, "What do you mean you can't find him, has he gone missing or-"

"Sweetheart, do you mean you got separated from your Papa in the market?" Jaskier gently interjected before Geralt could start fully interrogating her. The girl gave a small nod, turning her attention to the bard now kneeling in the dirt next to her.

Geralt felt his face heat up. Right. Just a lost child. That was also a possible (and the most logical) explanation.

"It's ok, we'll help you find him. Won't we Geralt?" Jaskier's tone of voice leaving no room for argument.

It turned out that Jaskier's idea of helping was having the girl perch on Geralt's shoulders and scan the top of the crowd for her father while he stood playing silly little dittys to keep her from crying again. Geralt holding onto her shins lightly and trying to ignore the mess being made on his cloak by muddy feet.

"I see him! Papa! Papa!"

Geralt tightened his grip slightly as her weight shifted with her frantic waving. Waiting until he was clearly making his way over to them before setting her gently back on the ground.

"Mika! Oh thank the God's." He turned his attention to the two men, his eyes widened as he took Geralt in fully.

"You're-"

"Hmmm."

Geralt tried to hide his surprise as the man grasped his hand in a firm if slightly clammy grip. "My thanks Wolf. I swear, if I went home without her my wife would make sure I shared the same fate as that Hag from the song of yours." He said, smiling awkwardly at his own attempt at humour, "Come on Mika, say goodbye. Oh, here."

He reached into his satchel and pulled something out. Geralt could smell warm sugar as he handed it over. "It's not much, but I don't know a single person who doesn't like cake. I could do with cutting down myself." He said, patting his own slight paunch before taking his daughters hand with a final "Thank you." Mika turning back to give a wave which they both returned before the two of them disappeared into the crowd.

"What?" Geralt asked as they left the town. The bard hadn't stopped grinning at him like the cat who'd got the canary.

"Nothing. It just, the timing and everything. Seems Destiny agreed with me for once. The songs are making a difference."

"Hmm." Geralt fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"Oh don't give me that." Jaskier said, swatting Geralt in the side as he unwrapped the package Mika's father had given them, "You saw as well as I did there were plenty of town guards around but she went to you. She wanted you. Oooh, maybe this would be good for a new song. The Gentle Wolf! Yes I- hey! "

"No cake for you until you stop." Geralt stated, popping a piece into his own mouth to hide his smile.

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #geraskier #jaskier x geralt #jaskier/geralt #witcher geralt #geralt #geralt of rivia #witcher jaskier #jaskier