A/N: Chapter updated (31/01/23)


Geralt slept very little that night and, when he did, he was on pins and needles. The rustle of sheets behind him told him that she couldn't sleep either.

Was she angry? If she was, she had every right to be. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he knew it was wrong, but couldn't resist the temptation. Especially after he had her in his lap that afternoon. He had been lying in bed thinking of how good she felt pressed up against him, her breath pleasantly tickling his skin, when she woke and undressed. And he just let her strip down halfway before letting her know he was awake. Part of him still regretted not staying silent because he had no idea what to say to her in the morning.

When she woke, she avoided his eyes, and he did the same. She reached out for him as usual and he resisted any urge to act improperly, even if his mind was still occupied by the image of her half-naked body, the curves of her breasts and the lovely pink colour of her nipples. Even worse, he started imagining how it would feel to run his tongue over them, make them harden, make her... No, he had to stop himself before he let his imagination run wild. There was no room for such things, and he wasn't going to behave like a lecherous creep around her.

He remained in bed while she showered, hoping that by the time she returned, he'd know the proper thing to say.

She came back still visibly embarrassed and trying not to look at him.

"I've seen breasts before, you know. I am a hundred after all," he said, trying to act as if seeing her strip wasn't a big deal.

She sat at the dressing table with her back to him, but he could see her face in the mirror and, judging from her expression, he had said the wrong thing. Maybe she was like Ves and didn't want to be seen as a pair of tits atop an ass, but still wanted to be told she was beautiful. Maybe he should compliment her, but acknowledging how much of her he had seen might make things worse, throwing insult to injury. Had she willingly undressed in front of him, things would have been very different.

"I'm not saying I didn't like your... I mean, you're beautiful, but... I don't want things to get weird between us." He stumbled over his words as she blushed to the top of her ears. "What I'm trying to say is... I'm sorry, I shouldn't have looked and maybe we can forget this ever happened."

He couldn't believe that this was the second time he found himself stuttering an apology in only two days. For fuck's sake, he was behaving like an inexcusable imbecile!

She glanced over her shoulder. "Agreed. That never happened."

It took him aback how fast she was willing to move on. Perhaps she thought it an honest mistake on his part. Either way, he didn't want to push his luck.

She was doing her best to go about her day as if nothing happened, searching the wardrobe for things to wear, commenting that she needed to do the laundry and make breakfast. Yet some part of it felt like she was filling the air to avoid saying something meaningful. He left her to it and went to shower and get ready. When they met in the kitchen later, she was put together and cooking breakfast for them. She forced a smile upon seeing him.

Forgiven but not forgotten, he thought. An awkward silence was weighing heavy between them. He needed to make conversation. Any conversation would do, as long as it didn't involve the words breasts, naked or last night. Think, you imbecile! A pair of tits has not rendered your mind void... Ask her anything, anything at all!

"I never asked you how you discovered your magical abilities," he finally got out.

At least it was a topic of conversation in which it was remotely believable he had an earnest interest. He couldn't well ask her about childhood pets, or it would have been blatantly obvious he was just trying to take her mind off their little incident. She looked at him with a slight frown, so he continued to explain.

"I did a little research into sorcery and discovered that your world had witches and witch hunts at one point, but all current references to them are linked to fiction. So that left me wondering how you came to discover magic. I mean, who taught you?"

"Fair question," she admitted reluctantly. "You're thinking of Ciri? How you can help her master her powers?"

He nodded. Even if it wasn't what he had in mind, her insight would be invaluable. After all, how many like Ciri would he ever meet? The only other one who had been even in small part similar had been Alvin, but that was before he recovered his memory. He hadn't known what questions to ask. But even in retrospect, he doubted he could have learned anything of importance from him. And now he was dead, so it was all a moot point.

"I'm not sure my answer will be of much help to you. Even if I am similar in some ways to Ciri, there are many differences between us. But if you still want an answer, the first magic I used was on accident..."

"Did you wreak any buildings in the process?" he joked, thinking of Pavetta.

"No," she answered, confused. "Why would I? The first time I used magic was to heal my sick pet cat and I must have been around five. It was something I desperately wanted, and it just happened. Energy coursed through me and I didn't fight it. I guided it out of instinct..."

"You're telling me your healing abilities are born out of instinct?" he asked in disbelief. "You can't possibly expect me to believe that? Sorceresses need to be taught how to control their power or they end up slobbering messes because they can't control whatever's trying to express itself through them. Either you're some lucky outlier or you're lying."

She shook her head. "No, you didn't let me finish. That was only the beginning. After that first spark, I began trying things, I experimented on myself, on plants, then animals." She smiled, remembering her childhood. "I ended up with a fair bit of scratches from cats that didn't appreciate my skills very much. It took a while until I had enough control to attempt anything on another person, then I tried to help where I could."

"So your skills are limited to healing magic? You didn't try anything else?"

"I would be lying if I said I didn't. I tried many things, some good, some bad, some successful, some... not so much. Then I discovered travelling between worlds by accident. I hopped from one to the next, looking for knowledge, a teacher, and others like me. Some of the things I learnt weren't..." She sighed. "Weren't the best. I only stopped because I met Avallac'h, and I guess you already know how that ended."

"Avallac'h?"

"Mhm. Remember the Elven Sage I told you about?" He nodded. "It was Avallac'h."

His stomach turned, thinking of Ciri, imagining her being fed potions and dissected. He froze, his words stuck in his throat.

"Ciri..." It pained him to think it, let alone say it. "Ciri is with Avallac'h, he's been helping her..." The knot in his stomach tightened. "If he does to her what he did to you..." his voice became a hoarse whisper.

"Ciri already knows all this. If she let him be near her, then she must have a good reason to trust him."

He shook his head, helpless; it was a feeling he had rarely experienced since his time searching for Ciri. Her soft voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Don't let your mind go to the worst-case scenario. You need to focus on getting better. Sit down, finish your breakfast, and take this one step at a time."

He sullenly listened to her, even though food was the last thing on his mind. He wanted to jump and run out the door just to feel like he was doing something. Instead, he was taking a vacation while everyone else was out fighting.

She did her best to improve his mood and take his mind off his worries. She put on music in the car on the way to work. It was something peppy with rhythm and the lyrics were surprisingly dirty. The song was sung by a woman in a very creative manner; the subject being how wet she was. Apparently, a bucket and a mop were required. She sang along to the lyrics with a mischievous grin on her face. It was hard to stay stoic when she was being so ridiculous, so by the time they reached the university, he was in a better mood. Despite his better efforts to ignore her, she almost got him to laugh. He knew deep down that she was right. There was no point in dwelling on things he couldn't change, but he still felt a pang of guilt for enjoying himself.

She led him to a medium-sized amphitheater where she held her lectures. He picked a seat somewhere midway down, hoping he wouldn't stand out, and distracted himself by listening in on the conversations around him. Two male students, sitting three rows down from him, were commenting rather crudely on his host.

"This is one teacher I could get behind... if you know what I mean."

"Behind, under, on top of... Who cares? That ass..."

"Ugh, I know... If all teachers looked like that, I might start attending their classes too."

"Oh, I think I saw her bra when she leaned forward."

He stifled the urge to slap them for their lack of respect, imagining that wouldn't go over well in the middle of a crowded room, so he tried his best to ignore them and instead moved his focus to a different conversation.

"I heard from someone who was in her seminar yesterday that she brought a guy with her. Apparently, they walked in on them and she was sitting in his lap, making out," he heard a girl say.

"I heard they came out the backroom looking disheveled."

Not only did news travel fast here, but it also got distorted and inflated.

"I bet the teacher's a freak!" another girl chimed in.

"I imagine naughty things happen in that office in the back," the first girl continued with a grin on her face.

It seemed to him that people in this world cared way too much about other's sex life, but at least his presence in the amphitheater had passed unnoticed. He laid back in the seat and focused on Criss instead.

Her presentation on the virtues of steel structures had the student's attention and he tried to follow it as well, but soon gave up. He was more interested in how her skirt hugged her hips and wished another button on her shirt popped open. The image of her, half-naked, was etched into his memory, yet he wouldn't have minded a second or even a third look. Or better yet, a closer look accompanied by a feel, preferably even a taste. His mind raced, clouded by lust, and he hardened at the thought of her naked and pliant underneath him.

He cursed himself. He was no better than the boys leering at her earlier. No, he was worse. While she had done nothing but be kind to him, he had broken her nose, ruined her dress, nearly put her in a coma and accused her of manipulating him, then watched her undress like a pervert. He couldn't even give her a proper compliment and now he couldn't stop thinking of anything except screwing her brains out.

Fuck, he was useless! He could win an award for the worst guest in the history of space-time and a scolding from Ciri if she ever found out.

He had to keep himself from fantasizing about her. So he steered his thoughts to something safer, like the gym exercises he might try that afternoon.

His mind skipped from one meaningless thing to another, skillfully avoiding thinking about his host until the lectures ended and it was time for them to head back to her apartment.

He went down to talk to her, ignoring some girls that giggled and stared at him. She beamed at him while gathering her things.

"That went well, don't you think?" she asked him gleefully.

"Mhm, everyone seemed to enjoy it," he said, although he had barely heard a word after the first fifteen minutes.

"You didn't like it," she noticed, a bit disappointed.

"It's not exactly my field, so my opinion should matter very little."

"Oh, of course, this is of no interest or importance to you. Sometimes I forget not everyone is into this stuff as much as I am. Are you up for going to the gym after lunch?"

He nodded, and they headed for the exit. He held the door open for her while a few straggling students eyed them curiously.

So much for not standing out. Soon there'd be even more rumours about the two of them, spreading among the student body. He had no reputation to protect, but she might be bothered. Should he tell her about the discussions he overheard? Would they make her feel objectified or worse, remind her of the previous night? He didn't want to risk it, so instead, he asked her about lunch.

"We should stop by the store to pick up some things. I want to make enough food to pack for lunch tomorrow," she said as they reached her car. "I should also pour a little bit of energy into you, but there are too many people around. Maybe no one will notice us in the store parking lot."

"You could do what you did in class..." he took a step towards her, ready to take her in his arms if she agreed, hoping to get another chance to feel her against him.

"That was an emergency," she gently rebuffed him, taking a step back. "We'll save that move for next Monday." He couldn't help but feel a little disappointed.


She filled an entire grocery cart this time and he carried all of it up to the apartment.

"You know, you could have left a bag or two for me to carry," she said in the elevator.

"Why? Is it customary here for men to let women carry heavy bags?" She looked at him speechless. "It's the least I can do when you've been taking such good care of me." A little smile bloomed on her lips.

She let him put away the groceries while she went to take the laundry from the dryer and dropped the pile of clean clothes on the bed before going to change into her gym attire.

By the time he knocked at the bedroom door, she was dressed and ready. They switched places, and she went into the kitchen while he changed.

He eyed the pile of clean laundry as he was putting on his sweatpants. The smell of fresh flowers filled the room, but what drew his attention was a tiny item, something that could only be her underclothes. He picked up the minuscule piece of material. It was soft to the touch and see-through, with a small opaque pattern on it. The thought of her wearing it hit him like a heat wave. He sighed in despair and tucked it back under some clothes, before splashing some cold water on his face.


The gym was empty, as most people were still at work at that hour. He tried to focus on his exercises while she was doing her own routine, but he had little success. She was working her legs, which made her thighs swell and her butt become rounder and all he could think about was how it would look on top of him. For a while, he moved to the other side of the gym, in search of some dumbbells and peace of mind. When he came back, a tall, muscular brown-haired guy wearing a stringer had his hand on her ass.

"If you worked this a little harder and lost a few pounds, I think you could actually compete in the bikini division. I could train you if you want," he overheard him say.

Geralt didn't miss how her lips pursed ever so slightly, even if she was trying to be polite. He didn't wait for an invitation to intervene; he grabbed and twisted the guy's arm. The man was lucky he didn't have a sword or a dagger with him or he would have found himself missing his fingers.

"I don't remember hearing the lady asking you to touch her. Have you no manners? You... ever... touch her again and I will rip this arm from your body." He emphasized each word as he pulled on his arm hard enough to make the guy groan in pain, but not hard enough to break anything... yet.

"Fuck! You're crazy, man!"

"Maybe I haven't made myself clear." Geralt pulled until the joint creaked and the man suppressed a yelp.

"I understand, I understand! Sorry! I won't touch her again!" he conceded.

Geralt released his hand and scowled as the guy quickly backed away from him.

"Who the fuck does he think he is?" he muttered to Criss. "Is that how men behave here?"

"He works here, he's a personal trainer. I think he was trying to get me to pay for him to train me," she replied, flustered and blushing. "He was just a little douchey, I could have handled him."

"He had his hand on your ass and was insulting you. There is nothing wrong with your ass or your weight." Remembering made his blood boil.

"He was just negging me," she said with a wave of her hand.

"Huh?" His brow furrowed in confusion.

"Some men give women backhanded compliments to lower their self-esteem in the hopes that the women will feel the need to go the extra mile to please them and prove they are worthy of being wanted."

He was dumbfounded. "That's stupid and insulting."

"It is, but it also works on many women, unfortunately."

"I'm glad to see it doesn't affect you."

"Oh, I know my worth, don't worry." She winked at him and returned to her routine.

He kept an eye out in case anyone else bothered her, but the rest of their training was uneventful.


After lunch, she buried herself in her laptop, but diligently remembered to heal him every few hours. By evening she was done with her work and they nestled on the couch to watch a few more episodes of Game of Thrones.

He found himself puzzled by the relationships in the show.

"Is incest common here?"

"No! Not at all!" she laughed. "At least not anymore. If you look at old royal dynasties, there were plenty of cases where they wed relatives to keep the royal bloodline as pure as possible. It resulted in a lot of cripples and madmen. But that's the past and we've moved on from such things."

"Good, because I met a king who slept with his sister and the child she bore ended up becoming a striga. It wasn't pleasant to deal with. That's how I got this scar. I was lucky she didn't hit my carotid artery."

He pulled on his shirt collar to show her the scar on his neck. She felt the scar with her fingertips while staring at the skin, but the only light in the room was the TV screen, and it was obvious she couldn't see much. He didn't care; he liked the feel of her touching him, but, ever since his accusations, she rarely did unless she was healing him. And now he missed the way she used to caress his chest before healing him.

For a moment, he considered showing her some other scars - gods knew he had plenty to choose from - but he decided in the end that it was a childish idea. Instead, he rolled his wrist and flexed his knee.

"What?" she asked, removing her hand.

"I was checking something." She continued staring at him, intrigued. "I'm sorry I've done such a poor job of thanking you for healing me."

"Nonsense," she brushed him off.

"No, really. You did a better job than the dryads of Brokilon. That leg had been broken before and I never managed to fully get rid of the pain until you healed it. I didn't realize it until now."

"I'm happy I could help." She gave him one of her lovely smiles and they stared at each other in silence for a moment before she leaned away, flustered. "I missed out on a splendid party that evening... or so I was told. Maybe I could have met prince charming there," she joked.

"I guess I ruined your plans and not just your dress, can't go meet any prince when you're lugging me around everywhere," he said, completely aware that he was neither a prince nor exactly charming.

"Oh, shush, you're a great guy to lug around."

She wrapped a hand around his arm and rested her head on his shoulder. It was gestures like this one that made him hopeful, but when there was no follow-up he only felt confused and disappointed. As usual, she was just being kind and friendly while his growing desire made him question his sanity.

He watched the rest of the show, only half paying attention until it was time for sleep. But the pile of fresh clothes still occupied the actual bed so, first, they had to put everything away. That's when he realized that she had cleared space in her wardrobe for him.

He had a proper space of his own, something he hadn't had anywhere except at Kaer Morhen. He was officially living there, and the perpetual nomad inside him was oddly happy.