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nickfowlerrr · 11 months ago

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sit me on your throne.

pairing: geralt of rivia x curvy!reader

warnings: i don't know what i'm writing about but if you're here for smut, there's smut. 18+ only. probably ooc - i've only seen season one. if i'm missing something that needs to be tagged please let me know.

words: 4.3k

notes: i really truly do not know. forgive me not.

thank you in advance for reading! any thoughts, comments, and reblogs are so appreciated. let me know what you think. (unless its mean then pls don't).

"You kneel before me?"

Your question is born of nothing but pure confusion as you tilt your head in bemusement at the bulking behemoth of a man before you.

He hadn’t done as much when he first arrived, not to your displeasure, so it was odd to see him do it now - especially after the battle he has just fought.

He is at your feet, his long white hair darker and dingier now, dirty as his clothes and skin; marred with caked mud and what you can only assume is the blood and guts of the beast he has defeated.

The stench he carries with him is pungent, nothing but putrid, and yet that somehow doesn't take from his striking good looks; those paired with his brevity and bluntness have held your attention from the moment he stepped foot in your kingdom.

He is a man of little words, this Geralt of Rivia. His jester of a companion having done much of the speaking - perhaps too much - for him since they arrived.

Geralt says nothing still, only meets your gaze as he takes steady breaths. His yellow eyes, feline and harsh, cut through you in a number of ways - none of which you'd care to share aloud. You have a feeling he knows, however, just how affected you are by him no matter how well you think you hide it.

You are alone together, no guards at the ready, no advisors by your side. Most of your kingdom is now quiet and abandoned, including the halls of your once flourishing and lively home. The halls of this castle have been eerily silent since the night your men went on their mission to save their homestead. You had already sent word for The Witcher, you implored them to keep safe indoors until his arrival. They did not listen. Most of them still having seen you as the young princess you once were, the others simply following the orders of their leaders. You may have been their "Queen", but their faith in their commanders was stronger.

Those commanders who led them to their deaths... You still sigh at the loss.

Those who were not taken, slain, by the beast have long since fled for their lives. You cannot blame them. But you certainly could not join them. Your castle once held many souls, but now it is only you and a handful of others. Titles of servants, but you really never were one for titles.

"Your friend?" you wonder.

"Somewhere," he answers shortly, his voice low and deep as he speaks.

You quirk a brow, "Safe?"

"For as long as he keeps himself from trouble."

You hum, a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of your lips. Their relationship amuses you, you must admit.

"You needn't kneel, Witcher," you implore as you sit back on the throne. It is yours in name alone. It has never felt right to sit in. He seems to sense your unease, but he doesn't speak it. You continue, "You have done what you said you would, I will do the same."

Still, he doesn't stand. Not until you flick your eyes and move to stand yourself. He rises easily as he stands before you still. There is not much distance between you, and the stench of him stings your eyes and threatens to gag you. Your face scrunches in disgust as you turn it away from him, grimacing.

"I've had a bath readied for you, and new clothes set aside," you inform him, moving to pass around. He follows you, and you can feel the weight of his gaze as his eyes cling to you. "Your meals will be served as soon as you're done. I don't imagine anyone would be able to stomach a bite with that smell coming off of you."

He says nothing but lets out an amused "hm" at your words, still following as you lead him to the bathing room.

You thank Amaleah as you enter and she leaves with a nod to you, her breath catching when she smells Geralt enter behind you. It's as fast an exit as you've ever seen.

You move toward the bath and wade a hand in the water. It's a bit hot for your preferences but it should get him clean. You ensure the soap Amaleah brought in is fragrant enough and still look for some nicer oils to add to the water; when you turn around to ask your guest his want, you find yourself stunned silent as you're met with the sight of his broad, bare chest. His muscles flex under his pale and scarred skin as he moves, his solid chest is covered in dark hair, trailing down his torso. His arms are strong and big and a thought at the back of your mind wonders how comfortable he must be to lie with.

You blink, mouth parted slightly as you take a breath. You watch his clothing fall as he discards them and your gaze follows his hand as he begins to strip himself of the rest of his garments.

He is completely shameless as he watches you watch him. You feel as if you are in a trance, you cannot bring yourself to look away despite the heavy weight of his gaze assuring you he sees you staring.

It’s not an act of brazenness, truly you would look away and leave him at once…if you could.

“I’ve slain your monster,” he speaks and your eyes rise back to his chest, trying to ignore the heaviness of his thick cock as it hangs so temptingly before you. No, not temptingly…Shamelessly. He has put himself entirely on display before you, without an ounce of shame or concern, and you are still frozen to your spot. “Was there something else you required of me, Your Highness?”

The title gets your attention, the breath caught in your chest finally flows and your eyes flick up to meet his. You can't tell entirely if he meant it as an insult or if he thought you'd prefer it to Queen.

You remain quiet for a moment as you try to gather a response. Either way...

“I told you that wasn’t necessary, Witcher.”

“Geralt.”

You swallow hard as he takes a small step forward, and you will yourself to not break his intense gaze.

"Geralt. I thank you, for saving what was left of this ruined kingdom, but I consider myself not princess, nor Queen, any longer."

"Did you ever?" he asks, staring into your eyes a moment longer before he steps closer still, looking you up and down then nudging you aside, eliciting goosebumps along your skin, rising under his touch.

You glance over your shoulder as he continues past you, lowering himself into the tub.

You think.

You know your answer, but you won't say it aloud. Clearly he knows it, too.

You can hear the water sloshing with his movements as he begins to clean himself.

You take a deep breath.

"The clothes will be brought in shortly. You might tell Jaskier when you're done that the food is ready."

"Ah," he says amid his washing, "so you do know his name."

"Of course I do. I've grown quite fond of the bard in the week since you've arrived."

"I couldn't tell," he says plainly, yet still biting - his words sharp with sarcasm.

You furrow your brow at his meaning and then there's a laugh at the door and you look to see Jaskier as he leans on it. "You sound jealous, there, Geralt," he taunts, holding folded clothing in his hands as he pushes off the door to saunter in. "I wouldn't worry. I don't believe I'm the one who's caught her eye." He looks to you with a smirk, bowing before you, "Your Majesty."

"I am no longer queen," you repeat for what feels like the hundredth time.

"My Queen, none the less," he simpers before standing to his full height.

You smile tightly, eyes narrowed playfully at him before you finally move to exit, leaving them to their inevitable quarreling. And trying not to focus on the tingling still affecting you between your legs.

You eat with the women in the kitchen; the dining hall one of your least favorite places to be.

There is a calm yet solemn energy around you all. A peace in the slaying of the monster who took your kingdom, and still the grief from the loss of it all, your people, their families, friends...

Calliope readies the plates for your guests as you bid them all a goodnight, kissing Amaleah's son on his head on your way out with a 'sweet dreams'. Since his father was killed, the poor thing has nightmares recurringly. You only hope with the monster's demise, they might ease for him some. He is far too young to be in such pain...

You think to pass by the dining hall on your way to bed to thank Geralt once more and wish them both a goodnight as well but think better of it.

You will see them in the morning before they set off. You still owe him his coin and you know he won't be leaving without it.

You open the heavy door of your chamber and once you are inside, begin to undress.

Slipping into your shift, you swiftly make your way into bed. You thought you'd fall asleep quickly, but as you lay there, your mind wanders to thoughts of only one.

You have one hand on your lower belly, the other resting on the soft skin right above it.

You sigh and close your eyes, but all you see when you do is his built form. His dark, firelight stare set on you. His clothes left on the ground as he stands strong in his glory.

You breathe deeply, your hand starting to slowly drift down your stomach as you tickle yourself. You're so tempted to touch where you want it most, but you can't bring yourself to do it. Not just yet.

You slip your hand between your spread thighs, softly running your fingers across the sensitive skin you find there.

It'd been a week of torment, having Geralt so close and not being able to act on your most base feelings. You know he knows what you think when you look at him, if Jaskier can see it, surely, he can too.

You might feel embarrassed but with the way he's managed to get closer and closer to you with each passing day as he awaited the beasts' return, you would wager he feels similarly.

It feels like an age that you lie awake. All the noises about the castle, not that there were many, have settled and it assures you everyone has retired for the night.

Sleep begins to nip at you but the stronger pull is to the dissatisfaction that weighs on you. The emptiness that echos through your body and soul.

Your fingers twitch, and you begin to glide closer to your uncovered core, the need to be touch too much to be ignored for much longer. Your eyes are closed and you imagine it isn't your hand running over your skin, but rather his large, rough palm feeling you, teasing you just so...

Just as you inch closer, your eyes snap open in the dark as a heartbreaking scream cuts through the night air. You sit up, pulling your hands off of yourself. You know immediately where the sound comes from and who it belongs to.

You get out of bed, intent to make sure Hartley and Amaleah both are okay.

You open your door just as the one across the wide hall does the same. You frighten at the unexpected movement but are then unsurprised to be across Geralt.

He is shirtless again, and his eyes are wide as his chest rises and falls with his heavy breaths.

"Are you alright?" he asks, voice hard.

"Yes, I'm fine. It was the boy, Hartley. He has nightmares," you explain, keeping your voice quiet as to not disturb the renewed peace of the night.

The flick of the flame that lights the hallway allows you both to see one another. You say nothing for a moment as your eyes fall to his bare torso.

"Did the clothes not fit?"

He looks down at himself briefly, then back to you. He shakes his head, "I prefer to sleep naked."

You burn at his words, swallowing hard. "Oh. Well, I- I'm going to check on them, make sure they're fine."

"I'll go with you."

It's not a question, it's a statement. You stop in your start, turning to look at him. You say nothing, just blink and quickly carry on as you were.

You make your way down the stairs and down the hall until you see the flames licking at the end of the hallway.

You follow the glow to Amaleah's room and knock gently as you look in the open door.

She turns and looks to you, her eyes tired and cheeks damp as she rocks her toddler in her arms. He is sleeping again as she rubs his back gently, more to soothe herself than anything.

She sniffles, "Your High-" she stops herself, "sorry, forgive me," she whispers.

"Don't apologize. Please," you implore her. "I know it's habit."

"Are you two alright?" Geralt asks from right at your back.

"We are, thank you. Just another nightmare," her voice gets thick at the explanation. You know it hurts her that there isn't anything she can do but be there to comfort him when they come.

You smile sadly and nod. "We'll let you be, then. Do try to get some rest. He'll be okay," you reassure her.

You pull the door nearly closed and wind up with Geralt firmly at your back.

You turn into him but he doesn't seem to mind as he just looks down at you nearly pressed against his chest. You try to budge him to turn and move back down the hall but he doesn't waver. After a second, he relents and steps to the side, allowing you to go back down the hallway first.

It isn't until you come up on the throne room that Geralt speaks again.

"Might I have a word with you?" he asks.

You stop and turn to eye him as he stands at the entryway of the door.

"Now?" you question.

He nods once, "Now."

You approach him trepidatiously, and as you near, he gestures you in the room before him, extending his arm, "Princess."

Your eyes narrow again. And you turn on him, watching as he enters the room behind you. "Why do you keep doing that?"

"What am I doing?"

"Princess? Your Highness?" you quote him.

"I assumed you preferred it to your true title," he tilts his head at you.

"True title," you scoff, rolling your eyes. "I prefer no title at all."

"And what shall I call you then?"

You remind him your name, not that he really needs to be reminded. You know he knows it full well.

He considers you, then closes in on where you stand in front of the throne.

You don't move back, no, you quite like the closeness when he doesn't reek of death and innards.

Geralt seems to appreciate your resolve, his lips twitching with the beginnings of a smile as he studies your face.

"It's a beautiful name," he speaks lowly, taking another step into your space and raising his hand to gently caress your cheek before he leans in to speak against your ear. Your hands touch his solid stomach in an attempt to keep yourself upright, you can feel the muscles as they flex under your delicate graze. "I think I might prefer princess," he husks.

He slips away from you, turning to take a seat on the throne instead. You follow his movements and turn yourself to face him. You're stunned and completely set ablaze all at once.

"Well I don't."

"No," he smirks, agreeing with you, one large hand settling on his thick thigh as he spreads his legs, "you don't."

"It's too bad," he tsks, his voice a smooth rumbling. "No title, no throne."

"I don't want any throne."

Your eyes are glued to his thighs as he brings attention to his lap by rubbing the muscle there.

"None?" he asks before his gaze shifts directly on you, his mesmerizing stare burning into you. His voice lowers deeper than you've ever heard as a desperate longing shoots through you once again, resounding deep in your core. "Not even mine?"

Your mouth goes dry and your brain fuzzy as you take in his meaning.

Unthinking, you step toward him closer.

"You mean to defile the very one you sit on?"

"You don't seem to care for it much anyway."

Another step.

You are nearly stood between his spread legs, carefully you reach out a hand, your fingers light on his thigh. You feel his muscle then, flicking your eyes up. His gaze is dark and heated.

"That's true enough," you say, your voice breathy in a near whisper.

You gasp as your suddenly pulled closer by Geralt's rough hands around your waist. You can feel him through the thin fabric of your shift and its only then you realize how much of your figure he has seen thanks to your nightwear.

"Truer still," he speaks, "I don't mean to defile this throne." He squeezes your plush waist, groping you through your shift as your hands latch onto his solid shoulders. "I mean to defile you."

He manages to pull you onto his lap with little effort, leaning in to crash his lips into yours.

You kiss him back hungrily, chasing his lips as you settle on his lap. Your fingers wind in his hair and you can feel his cock growing beneath you through the material of his pants.

His hands slide down your waist and over your wide hips, reaching for the hem of your shift and pulling it up. His tongue slips past your lips and you moan, shifting your hips atop him.

You pull away, reaching for your dress and pulling it over your head, discarding it behind your back.

Geralt holds you closer, letting his lips explore your heavy breasts as you allow your head to fall back in pleasure, your hands returning to his hair.

"Geralt," you breathe, pulling him off you after a moment.

"Mm," he hums, kissing the swell of your breast once more before he moves to free himself from the restraint of his pants. He knows what you’ve both been wanting for days. What you need.

One heavy hand returns to your back, holding you by your waist while his other grips his red, throbbing cock.

He moves his tip up and down your slick center, making you whimper as he teases you - his cockhead rubbing delightfully against your sensitive clit.

He watches your face scrunch in rapture and holds you tighter to stop your wiggling about as you whimper.

He smiles smugly to himself and when you're just about to open your mouth to protest his teasing, he finally pulls you down on top of him. The sound that escapes you is music to his ears as you grasp onto him, your nails digging into the muscle of his back as your walls squeeze and stretch to accommodate his thick length, the size of him almost too much for you to take.

"Fuck," he groans as your walls tighten around him. He gives you a moment before he begins to urge you to move. He guides your hips, slow and sensually. The feeling of his hands on you motivates you to try and ride him yourself. And you do try, but you cry out again at how big he is, how fully he is stuffing you. You can barely move.

Geralt kisses you as he holds you closer, taking pity on your tight cunt and instead he moves his hands to your soft hips again. He holds you on top of him securely before he begins to fuck up into you.

You mewl as he jostles you, bouncing you up and down his cock, your breasts moving in time.

You pull on his hair, forcing him to look up from where his gaze was fixed, watching his own cock as he stretched you out for him, watching as your cunt took as much of him in as she could, up to your hooded lust filled gaze. You lean into him, chest to chest as you kiss him fervently. His lips follow yours as you taste one another. You nip at his lip and he growls, his hands gripping the ample flesh of your ass, "Keep that up," he snarls.

"And you'll what?" you breathe heavily, eyes screwed shut, jaw tight as you deadbrain on the pleasure coursing through you.

Your answer is a harsh thrust of his cock inside of you, stealing your breath while he slaps your ass, your flesh stinging from the force.

"Oh, fuck," you whimper debauchedly, your velvety walls squeezing him ever tighter as you feel yourself growing closer with every bounce. The tip of him hitting exactly where you need it to. Your body is on fire and you are loving every second of it. The feeling of him inside of you, of his hands squeezing and caressing you everywhere he can, of his lips demanding yours for more.

His grunts are growing louder and his thrusts more powerful, you kiss him hard in an effort to quiet him some, but you can feel what is coming.

Geralt is near slamming you down on top of him, the sound of your ass slapping against his thick thighs mix with the salacious sounds coming from you both and of your slick wetness as you're worked up and down his shaft, your cunt taking him better and better with each thrust.

Your hands move to hold his face, your noses brush as you breathe each other's air, lips touching just slightly.

"Geralt, I'm,"

"I know," he pants harshly, concentrated before taking your lips in his. You whimper pathetically as the coil in your belly winds tighter and tighter. He keeps you moving a top him, your clit being stimulated with every brush of your hips over his, and then with another deep thrust it snaps before you can speak. Your voice is an empty high then silent squeak as your legs tremble and your eyes roll back. Are you even breathing? Your walls clench down on Geralt's cock and he finally allows himself to reach his own high as your tight walls flutter around him, squeezing him perfectly. You ride the waves of ecstasy as his come spills inside of you. You feel him shudder beneath you and it only adds to your feeling of weightlessness, stars in your eyes as you feel, think, breathe nothing but him.

You part from his lips and your bodies are slick with sweat as you both pant heavily. Geralt holds you to him as he softens inside of you, his forehead pressed to yours as your hand comes behind his neck, holding him to you in kind.

Your lips mimic a kiss but neither of you lean in close enough to actually do it. You work to catch your breath and settle for a minute before you finally break the quiet.

"Do I still owe you your coin?" you breathe, smiling when Geralt laughs in your face. You reach to move a stray strand of hair from his face, holding his cheek gently once you do.

Your stare into one another's eyes for a long moment, just breathing and being close.

"Where will you be off to in the morning?" you ask, hoping your solemn tone isn't as audible as it sounded to you.

"Don't know," he shakes his head, eyes straying to your lips.

You take a breath and pull his face closer to kiss him softly.

"I envy you, you know."

"Don't."

You huff a humorless laugh, readjusting yourself on his lap. "Not because you're a witcher. You may not have the most enviable life, but at least you have one. I've never made it past the most exterior gates," you smile sadly, playing with the hairs on his chest as you avoid his eye now.

"I suppose I'll have the chance, now, though. Thanks to you."

"And where will you go?" he asks.

Your gaze floats up to his and you repeat his previous answer. "I don't know. But I won't stay here. This kingdom is..." you shake your head. "I don't belong here. Never felt like I did. But I made a promise to my mother when I was young, and another to my father before he passed. I know I've let them down," you swallow the rise of emotion threatening to overcome you, "but alas, the fall of a kingdom is ever inevitable. Especially under such rule as my own."

"I've heard word of your rule from many. You're known to be kind. Caring. Protective, even. I don't believe you've failed. I think you were exactly the kind of ruler you should have been, who you needed to be. But perhaps it's a good thing you won't be forced any longer into holding power you don't desire. You're now free to do as you wish."

"I am," you nod lightly in agreement. "If only I knew where to start,” you muse with an uneasy laugh.

His hand runs up your back comfortingly; he's pensive, deep in thought for a long moment before he speaks.

"If you ready your things, I don't think Roach would mind a travel companion of her own. She seems to have taken to Belfast… I'm not sure she'd be ready to part with him so soon, anyway."

"Is that so?" you ask him, faux curiosity playing in your voice.

"And Jaskier is easier to take when I'm not the only one he has around to bother."

"Right," you nod, fighting your soft smile.

"And of course your coin would be useful as well."

"Of course," you exaggerate your agreement. "…Geralt, are you getting at something here?"

"Just that, if you want to join us…you might."

You lean into him again, thumb rubbing along his stubble lining his cheek, and this time he kisses you first. More gently than you expect. You can’t help your smile now.

You part lightly and breathe,

"I hope you mean that, Witcher. Because I just might."

#geralt x curvy!reader #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia x curvy!reader #geralt of rivia smut #geralt x you #geralt x y/n #geralt of rivia x y/n #geralt of rivia x you #geralt smut #geralt fanfic #henry cavill characters

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fandomnerd9602 · 4 months ago

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Returning to the House

Rhaenyra x Witcher!Reader

Request by @deafeningsharkslimeempath

The world didn’t need another member of the Hightower clan vying for the throne. You were Alicent’s older brother and your father had it in his own machinations for you to court, marry Rhaenyra and then take the throne from the Targaryens. But you couldn’t, wouldn’t. You were her friend, her confidant. So you left.

You took the steps, went thru the trials and process of becoming a Witcher. A hybrid witcher, all the strengths, very few weaknesses. You went thru out the greater Westeros, battling monsters and saving villages with the other witchers you called brothers in arms.

The townsfolk loved you. On a few occasions, you were paired up with the great Geralt of Rivia himself. He tried to get you to join him for a couple nights with a few women of the night but your heart was always bound to Rhaenyra.

No matter the distance, your heart yearned for the princess. Love. It was love that you felt for her. A love so deep and pure that it gave you the strength to power thru, to remain faithful to her when the grateful women of Westeros wished to thank you in private. You’d turn them down and keep moving. Your heart was only Rhaenyra’s.

You traveled up and down the coasts of Westeros for a couple years before you took a contract out on a being locals called the Crabfeeder. You knew it was just a man, an admiral but legend has a way of spreading faster than truth.

You found Prince Daemon engaged in a fierce sword battle with the Crabfeeder. You jumped into the fray and sliced the Crabfeeder’s throat, narrowly saving the prince’s life.

“As I live and breathe,” Daemon chuckled, “(Y/N) Hightower, is that you?”

“I haven’t been called that name in a long time” you answered back.

“Please accompany me back to the Iron Throne” he invited you, “the conquest is over and you just saved the prince’s life”

You traveled back to King’s Landing with Daemon. He tried to find various ways to thank you on the way there. Gold, riches, women, none of it appealed to you.

“We have the finest women in waiting in all of Westeros at our disposal and yet you say no?” He laughs, perhaps a little drunk

“There’s only one woman I love, your majesty” is all you answered back.

You walked into House Targaryen and were greeted by a sight that left you feeling nauseous. Your younger sister holding a little two year old boy. His hair was platinum white. Your mind was able to put two and two together as Daemon strolled up to Viserys his brother.

“Your majesty, this witcher saved my life.” He said brimming with pride. “I think you may recognize him.”

Viserys looked at you closely, his eyes brightened, “(Y/N)? Is that you?!”

“(Y/N),” Alicent gasped. She wasn’t sure whether to approach you or not.

“It appears much has changed in my absence.” You assert, “maybe not all for the best”

Otto, your father, walks and freezes, “(Y/N)? You’re home?”

“Perhaps I never should have left”

Daemon lets out a mocking breath, “awkward. My apologies”

And at that moment in walked the young woman who had your heart. Your best friend, Rhaenyra.

“Y/N” your name left her lips like a gentle whisper.

“Rhaenyra” you whispered back.

To Be Continued…

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd season one #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra x reader #milly alcock #the witcher #Witcher reader #x male reader #x male y/n #x male oc #male reader #Rhaenyra Targaryen x male reader #rhaenyra targaryen x reader

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bimrwolf · 2 years ago

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Healing Hands by the Fire

geralt of rivia x afab!reader words: 3,684 warnings: smut !! 18+ (minors dni) ; squint and you may see a casual plot summary: Geralt visits Reader, a healer, with severe injuries. a/n: very out of my comfort zone. however, i promised my friend to write this as her christmas present because writing fanfics are my love language. good thing i know basic things about the witcher heheehe.

How did she always end up here? Months without a word or seeing him. She had accepted the peace. Only occasionally did she perk up when there was a knock on her door, secretly hoping it was him. But only one could be so lucky. Instead, it was travelers from all over the Continent who heard word of her abilities.

She couldn’t complain. Healing others in exchange for seeds, food, and sometimes money. Not that it was required for her service but she couldn’t complain about the gratuity.

In fact, she enjoyed helping others. However, it was nearing winter and there were less travelers. They were most likely home to prepare for the violent winter storms that damned the Continent.

It was one of the first snow falls of the season. She had finished feeding the chickens and her horse Atticus. That was always her nighttime routine. Feed the animals, make some tea, study until all the tea is drunk, and finally get ready for bed.

Some might think the routine would get tiring, but there was never any guarantee. It was the one consistent thing in her life at the moment. She was content.

However, some nights, she heard the enchanted chimes outside that let her know someone was approaching. But before she made it to the door, it swung open, snow flurries drifted inside. The cold was sharp and pricked her nose, making her sniffle.

In most cases she would be alarmed. There was no telling what creatures or people were harmless and which ones weren’t. She clutched the nearest thing to her— a broom that always gave her splinters when she used it.

His snow white hair peeked from under his hood and she recognized the distinct low grumble that could be mistaken as a quake. He slowly closed the door, ensuring it was locked this time. “You startled me.” She said, releasing her grip from the broom, checking her hand for any loose wood.

“You should keep the door locked. What if I was a dangerous man breaking in?” She played it off as a joke, not seeing the concerned look on his face.

“Some might say you are dangerous.” She smirked. She never expected him to react to her jokes, but she could feel the warmth blanket around her when his shoulders relaxed. “Are you going to stand there all night?”

He limped further into the cabin. She could see the snow melting on his cloak, dripping on her floor. “You made a mess,” she huffed.

His head lifted and cat-like eyes met hers. It was known his abilities and job forced him to lack showing how he felt. But, she noticed right away how his eyes drooped that he was in pain.

She ran towards him, immediately untying his cloak so that it dropped to the floor. She gasped at the large claw marks scratched into his chest. He could withstand most injuries but the cuts had broken past the many layers of skin.

“Fuck, Geralt. What happened?” Her finger ghosted over the wound on his shoulder. Almost immediately he grabbed her wrist. But she didn’t pull away.

“I’m starving.” He took a moment to look her up and down before letting go of her wrist and walking past her.

Unbelievable. She scoffed and followed him into her den. “Are you serious? Geralt, you’re hurt and need to be healed before you get an infection.”

“I smell meat pie. Do you have any to spare?” He left no time for her to answer. He grabbed the plate on a table and began to shove them in his mouth. He groaned in satisfaction.

She wanted to be annoyed, but she had never seen him act this way. So instead she watched as he stuffed his face. He sat down slowly in a wooden chair. His large body mass made it creak, rocking it with the sound of the crackling fire. His spastic breathing mellowed out into a deep sigh.

He was definitely hurting from his wound but there was something else. She could sense that something was bothering him. Yet, she didn’t pry for an explanation. Instead, she let him watch the fire as she gathered her supplies of elixirs and jars. Then she picked up the pot full of water hanging above the fire and poured it into a bowl. The steam warmed her face that was still cold from earlier.

“Are you still hungry? I think I only have bread.” She sat her things on the table next to him, but not looking in his direction. However, she could feel his piercing eyes watching her every single move. “If you’re not feeling like bread I can stay up and make you soup.”

His hand flew to her wrist. She jumped, nearly knocking over a bottle with green shiny liquid. She turned her head slightly, sighing deeply. “It hurts,” Geralt mumbled.

His wound was red, inflamed, and looked worse in the light. And if Geralt says it hurts then it was worse than she had imagined. “Take your tunic off while I prepare.” Although it was her giving the instruction, she couldn’t help the heat on her cheeks arise. Especially when he did what he was told. She had only seen his bare chest a handful of times, but each time made her stomach knot up.

He took a heavy breath as he settled back into the chair, wincing when she placed a hot cloth on his open wound. His nails dug into the chair. His teeth clenched as he threw his head back. She couldn’t help but giggle. In return, he snapped his head to look at her, visibly annoyed. “What?”

She swatted him for the rash reaction. “No need to be hot headed, Geralt. I was only laughing because I’ve never seen you act so dramatic.”

“I’m not being dramatic,” he argued. He winced again when the cloth touched his skin once more. He rolled his eyes when he noticed the smirk she tried to hide from him, her hair covered her face. Not thinking, he took his finger and pushed it out of the way so he could see her more clearly.

She tried to ignore the knot in her stomach or how her chest was breathing differently. She even tried to look away subtly but the only thing she could look at without being suspicious was his bare chest. “How’s Yennefer?”

The change of subject was almost as if she had poured salt into his fresh wounds. He yanked his hand away and turned his head to face the fire, jaw ticked. She should’ve felt guilty for bringing up his on and off lover. Instead, she felt relieved his attention was no longer on her and probably wouldn’t be the rest of the night.

That’s how it always went. He would get too close and right before she fell under his spell she would mention the other woman. She had only met the sorceress once. They neither liked or disliked one another. Yet, she could tell there would not be any attempts to go frollicking in a field like they were the best of friends.

In some ways, she had been jealous of Yennefer– she was interesting and traveled the Continent and had fought in many wars. She was beautiful and cunning. Of course Geralt would pick her as a lover.

“Ow.” Geralt grimaced, shifting in the chair. Her fingers were touching the wounds, and spreading them apart. “Are you about done? I’m tired.”

She continued to inspect his wounds closely, having to push between his legs to get a closer look. “I have to ensure there are no severe damages so I know what to make.” His huff made her roll her eyes. She wanted to swat him for still acting like a child. “Whatever got you, got you good, eh?”

He looked away then back at her, swallowing. “Yes, I suppose.”

There was a beat of silence. Only the fire was popping.

“I thought I was goin’ to die.” He said out loud in a low whisper. Almost like he didn’t want her to hear him.

She stopped briefly to look up at him. He was serious. “Well, fortunately whatever it was missed your heart by a hair.” She pointed to where his heart was and traced a line to the start of one of the scratches only millimeters away. She got up, leaving him with a witty smile as she started to pour the many different potions into a different bowl.

“Me and Yennefer haven’t spoken in months,” he admitted.

It was hard not to react, but she had never seen him willingly talk about the woman before. “Oh.”

“We wanted different things I suppose,” he continued. “If it weren’t for Ciri’s letters, then I wouldn’t even know if she was still alive.”

“You miss her?” It was meant to sound like a question, but it came across as a statement.

He looked down at his hands, ashamed. “I’m not sure if I’m allowed to miss someone.”

“Are you not allowed or are you unsure you know what it’s supposed to feel like?”

He didn’t answer.

She walked back and found her place again between his legs. “Missing someone feels like always looking at the door when there’s a knock, and your heart skips a beat, hoping it’s them.” She dipped her finger in the cream she had made and started to apply it to the open wound.

“I don’t live in a cottage with a door.” His hands creeped to his thighs so they brushed her as she moved.

She finished with the first cut and moved onto the second, which was much deeper and longer. “Well, missing someone can also feel like wanting to cry even when you’re happy.”

“You do know I have emotions?” He quizzed her.

She smirked. “Of course I do. I was only trying to help you figure out if you miss Yennefer.”

He hummed, running a finger over the first wound she had treated which was starting to already heal. His skin attaching itself together again. “I miss her, but not in the way you think I do.”

“Then in what way?” She raised her brow, clearly confused as to what he meant.

He didn’t answer her right away. “Not in the way I miss you.”

The bowl in her hand nearly clattered to the floor. She froze, replaying the words over and over as if she hadn’t heard him. Did Geralt really admit to missing her? No, he doesn’t actually mean it. He was messing with her. “That’s not funny.” Her breath was shaky. In fact, her hands were shaky too as she tried to continue healing him.

“Did I make a joke?” His tone was unwavering. He placed his hand on her warm cheek, brushing his thumb over her soft flesh. He had never touched her so intimately like he was now.

She shook her head, using her free hand to brush him away, focusing on the rest of his injuries. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. You’re delusional.”

“I thought your potions helped with that?”

Her eyes flickered up to meet his, briefly, before averting them back to the bowl. She swooped the last of the cream on her finger and spread it slowly over the last scratch. The others had closed up but one could make out the red scar. “Those will go away in due time,” she mumbled.

As she tried to get up he caught her arm, standing up with her, and in doing so their chests were against one another. He could feel her heavy breathing. And she could feel the warmth from his body electrifying hers.

“I should go make your bed. You need to rest.” She tried to walk away but his grip never left her arm. “Geralt.”

He took the bowl from her hands and placed it back on the table. “How much longer will you deny it?”

She swallowed the gasp that had almost escaped her, shaking her head. “What do you mean?” Finally, she had pulled away but made no efforts to leave the room, only stepping back to make space between them. And of course he could probably read her like an open book while she only had his stoic expressions to decipher. He opened his mouth, but closed it, sighing loudly. “Thank you, Y/n.”

Her face softened.

“I don’t… I don’t know what I would’ve done if it weren’t for you. In fact, I don’t know what I would do without you.” His jaw slacked, watching her intensely.

She could feel the pull, like a magnet, all too familiar when it came to Geralt. Normally, she had to ignore it. But at that moment, it felt like a boiling pot of water, steaming and bubbling, unable to contain itself. And as she looked into his piercing eyes, the knot in her stomach told her it was time to say something. “Geralt.” Her voice was above a whisper. “I have something to tell you.”

“Yes?” His expression never faltered.

She shifted her feet, uncomfortable. “I… I um… I’m making oat porridge in the morning.” She had decided it was best to hold back what she really wanted to say. “I’ll go prepare your room.”

His yellow eyes narrowed, searching for hers. She knew he was watching the emotions swirl through her mind. She knew that he knew that wasn’t what she really wanted to say to him. “No.” He was assertive and the growled vibrations dragged along her back like a dagger, giving her chills.

Ignoring the goosebumps along her arms, she ran her hand over her face. “What do you want me to say?” She felt like a twig that had snapped. “Why are you being mean? You stand there forcing a confession out of me. A confession you will never get because there’s nothing to say.” Her tears burned in the corner of her eyes. She hated how foolish she looked in front of him. Crying and blubbering because he decided to dig deeper.

They had a routine. He would knock on the door and she would heal his wounds. Their deep conversations were rare, and sometimes he wouldn’t speak at all. Sometimes he would leave in the morning without a word. So why must this time be any different than the others?

“You’re angry.”

She scoffed. “Yes, I’m angry.” Unable to face him, she turned to look at the fireplace, shaking her head. “That’s the most frustrating part of all of this. I’m angry that you’re here. I’m angry that I don’t see you for months with no word if you’re even alive. I’m angry that you show up when I’m missing you the most.” Her eyes caught his, her nostrils flared. She had had enough of it, storming up to him and putting a finger against his bare chest. “I’m angry that you sit there and touch me and talk to me like we’re lovers. I’m angry that you won’t go to someone else for help. Because I can’t do it anymore, Geralt. I can’t do it.”

And there it was. Years worth of bubbling water, spilling over the pot and all over the floor. She had made a mess that she wasn’t sure if she would be able to clean up.

Geralt’s jaw ticked, his eyes scanning her face. “You wish to not see me anymore? Would that be easier?”

Her finger fell slowly from his chest. Her voice trembled. “It’s easier than caring about you.”

Geralt brought his hand up slowly to her cheek, brushing his knuckle against a tear. “I am angry at you too,” he whispered. Her brows furrowed, unsure what he meant. “I told you I have feelings too. Yet, you assume I don’t. You assume I don’t care about you either.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Do you?”

“Why do you think I keep coming back?” His jaw slacked.

The tension between them was thick and palpable. She wasn’t sure what else there was to say. Her heart was torn. Even with the confession, there was no guarantee. He was a Witcher with responsibilities that were not suitable for the life she wanted. She pushed it away, cracking a smile. “Are you saying that you got injured on purpose? So you could see me?”

“Perhaps.” The corner of his mouth flickered, leaning his head down towards her.

“You could’ve died.” She stepped closer to him, tracing her finger of his scars, looking at his lips.

“But I didn’t.” He said against her mouth, finally closing the gap between them.

He wrapped his arms around her, strong and sure, deepening the kiss. It was gentle but fierce, full of longing and tension that had been built up along the years. It tasted like all the warm tea she had made for him over time.

When she moaned, Geralt took the opportunity to slip his tongue in her mouth, gliding it tenderly and carefully against hers, groaning in satisfaction. He somehow managed to pull her closer as if their bodies weren’t already meshed together.

It was her who broke away first, both of them gasping for air, chests heaving from the heavy kiss. Geralt’s eyes had turned black, his senses heightened, craving more.

Without a word, she unbuttoned her blouse, freeing her chest as she dropped it to the floor. She kissed Geralt again on the mouth, his neck, and then his chest. She whispered in his ear, “I think I should go prepare your room now.”

He nodded, allowing her to take his hand to lead him to her room, rather than the room up in the attic that her guests normally stayed in. It was full of knick knacks and books scattered. Her bed was unmade, but neither one of them cared.

She pushed him on the bed, straddling his lap, peppering kisses all over his chest. If she was smart, she would savor all of it– every kiss and touch. But fuck all of it. She had waited too long to savor it. She grinded herself against his hardness, smiling against his ear when she felt him jump through his trousers. Something had told her it was too long for him too.

The rest of their clothes had found a new place on the floor of her bedroom. She was now laying down, Geralt hovered over her, his chain dangled over her face, and his hands roamed over her bare body as she whimpered under his touch. His lips attacked her neck, trailing down her body, relishing every inch.

“Geralt,” she mewled.

She felt the vibrations of his chuckle, revitalizing her, the warmth between her legs now ached. “Yes?” He came back towards her mouth, placing a life-wrecking kiss on it.

She nibbled his bottom lip. “You know.”

“Mm, I don’t think I do,” he teased. His hand was between her legs, fingers gliding, taunting her.

She thrusted her hips upwards, forcing friction against her swollen clit, gasping when he slid a finger in her. “I need you.”

The pitiful look in her eyes convinced him enough to give her what she wanted. And because any longer, he felt like he would combust. Geralt pushed her legs apart and then guided his girthy length to her entrance, sliding it in slowly.

She gasped as he sunk deeper inside her, finally able to marvel all of her. It was sweet like the honey she snuck in his tea. Rich like the pastries she packed in his knapsack whenever he left in the mornings, without saying goodbye because he was afraid he would never leave if he saw her golden smile in the mornings. Yet, he wasn’t strong enough to never come back.

At first, his thrusts were slow and tender, slipping so deep that his tip reached as far as it could. She gripped his shoulders, nails forming crescents, back arching as he picked up the pace. She wanted to hug him with her thighs, but his hands were sure to keep them open and spread for him.

The sounds of their sticky skin crashing together blended with their moans and grunts, forming a delectable melody. She pulled him into an open-mouth sloppy kiss, humming. The bed rattled beneath them, his pace was dangerously close to cracking the frame.

In a swift move, he pulled her up, so that she was straddling him. Their bare chests flushed together, her face in the crook of his neck, whimpering as she bounced on his cock. “I’m… fuck,” she breathed, unable to make the words as it hit her sweet spot.

“Me too.” He slightly pushed her shoulders back, wanting to see her. His palm cradled her face, swallowing the thickness stuck in his throat. He knew he looked destroyed. He didn’t show how he felt often, but the pent up tension over the year had finally arisen.

“G…Geralt!” She shouted as her walls closed around him, releasing her orgasm around him, resting her forehead on his chest as he continued to move her up and down. She clutched onto him as if she was about to float away.

He threw his head back as his cock twitched, finishing, He thrusted through his climax, panting as he slowed to a halt. His senses were still high and could hear the fire still crackling in the den. He could feel her breathing still rugged and hot, sticking to his chest.

She couldn’t see it but Geralt let a small smile briefly appear as he stroked her bare back. He placed a kiss on the top of her head. She looked up at him, running her fingers through his snow-white hair. “Will you stay one more night?”

He tilted his head, brows knitted together. “Are you still angry with me?”

A mischievous glimmer crossed her eyes. “If I am, does that mean you’ll stay?”

He snickered, placing a peck on her lips, lingering, scared if he were to break away she’d disappear.

Angry or not, he was going to stay one more night.

#geralt x reader #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt x y/n #geralt x you #geralt smut #geralt x reader smut #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher smut #the witcher x reader #the witcher x you #the witcher x y/n #the witcher fic #blaize writes #geralt of rivia imagine #the witcher imagine

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ro-is-struggling · 2 months ago

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The Princess and The Wolf || PART 3 || Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Summary: Geralt returns to see his princess once again. Only this time he is not alone and after a year without communication he does not know if he will still be welcome.

Warnings: slow burn, grumpy x sunshine (or more like grumpy x disney princess lol), miscommunication, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, mutual pining, me trying to write domestic stuff, mentions of past trauma (for both Ciri and the protagonist/reader), Geralt Ciri and reader being a family, canon typical violence, my attempt at creating an original monster, some very long dialogues (sorry! I hallucinated half of the story and I couldn’t leave any part out apparently), FEM READER (the protagonist is referred to as woman/she-her/princess/sunshine)

Let me know if I missed anything! (I definitely did, I've been writing this part for so long there's probably a lot of stuff I forgot lol so just lmk)

English is not my first language

Word count: 21.800 (I'm not even sorry)

Notes: I’m sorry it took me so long to post this! I promise you I’ve been working on it since the moment I posted the last part but everytime I wrote a scene a new idea came to mind and I just had to add it so here we are. That moment with Ciri wasn’t in my original idea but I just had to include it cause that poor girl needs a hug! Besides, it was a nice way to explore a little bit more about the protagonist background

I have a few ideas for the next part but please send me yours! (SEE THE END OF THE POST FOR MORE)

PART 1 || PART 2

The cat was the first to sense his presence. Even before he knocked on the door or the sound of the horse's footsteps echoed through the hut, the cat was already meowing and pacing back and forth, going from the door to the window and back to the door. He always did that when he felt Geralt was near. He was possibly the only cat on the continent that didn't hiss and hide in the presence of a witcher, quite the opposite in fact. The feline knew he was good and trustworthy because she trusted him, so he ignored all his instincts and gave Geralt a chance. They became friends almost immediately —even though the witcher used to pretend otherwise. The cat loved Geralt as much as his owner, and had missed him almost more than she had.

More than a year had passed. A year without news of him, without a visit or a letter to let her know he was well. A year of uncertainty in which the mind of the poor princess had done nothing but think about what might have happened to him. On good days, she accepted with a broken heart that he was not going to visit her again after the disaster that turned out to be their travel together. It pained her to think that she had missed her chance with him. She felt alone and lost, but that was better than thinking that his absence was because something really bad had happened to him. Dark were the days when she woke up wrapped in sweat, with images of Geralt bloodied fixed in her mind. She had lost count of how many nightmares she had had about it, how many different monsters had been responsible for ending his life and taking away the man who made her happy and gave her purpose. So when that was the alternative, convincing herself that he had simply stopped loving her was more bearable to her poor tormented mind.

“It's not him, darling. He's not coming back here” she spoke to her cat, bending down to stroke his head. The feline meowed, as if to answer her, and jumped up onto the window sill. She let out a tired sigh and pulled back the curtains to open the latch to let the animal out.

It was then that she heard the murmurs and footsteps of a horse in the distance. The cat meowed once more and jumped out of the window, running into the darkness of the night. She followed him with her eyes, looking for him in the shadows to try to find out what it was that had him so agitated. In the distance, moving through the bushes and trees, she recognized the unique white hair of the man who had occupied almost all of her thoughts for the past year. She ran to the door, flinging it open and taking a few steps outside to ensure that her eyes were not deceiving her.

Geralt was there, not looking a day older than the last time she had seen him. She noticed that he didn't look hurt or in bad shape, so she couldn't help but wonder what was the reason for him showing up at her house after such a long time of complete silence. Though her questions were pushed aside when his eyes made contact with hers. All the pain, fear and uncertainty she had accumulated for almost two years dissolved the moment she felt his warm gaze rest on her figure. Her heart began to beat faster than it had in a long time, her stomach, full of butterflies, was twisting and turning because of her nerves.

She realized then that she had no idea how to react to his presence. What was she supposed to say to him? Was she supposed to pretend that she hadn't had the worst year of her life? Was it worth scolding him for his absence when he had finally decided to come back? Happiness and anger began to fight inside her with every step the witcher took towards her. Memories of them being happy were followed by images of the nights she had cried herself to sleep because of him, creating a conflicting narrative that did nothing but confuse her.

“Geralt...” She called his name when he was close enough to hear her. “What are you doing here?” The question sounded more accusatory than she expected, but she didn't have time to take it back —or double down on her complaints— because he stepped aside, revealing the figure of a young girl. It took the woman a moment to focus her gaze on the child since she was almost entirely hidden behind Geralt's broad shoulders. She had long blonde hair and pale skin, though her nose and cheeks were reddened by the cold wind of the approaching winter. In her hands she carried her cat, who purred happily at the gentle caresses she gave him.

The confusion about her own feelings was soon replaced by confusion about the girl and her relationship with Geralt. Her eyes traveled back and forth a couple of times, trying to piece together the reasons behind her presence and the explanation as to why Geralt was traveling with the girl. She couldn't have been more than thirteen years old, so it was hard to imagine that he had decided to travel with her of his own accord. Not after the things he had said to her on their journey together. She thought then that perhaps it was someone he had saved along the way, a young princess he had to rescue from the clutches of a monster or a poor girl who had gotten lost.

Whoever it was, Geralt didn't feel the need to tell her. “We need a safe place to stay.” Was the only explanation he provided her. She didn't insist either, ultimately she didn't need a reason to let him into her home. She stepped aside without a second thought, making room for them to enter and making sure to lock the door behind her back.

“You know, for someone that claims to not have friends you sure do have a lot.” She laughed and Geralt gave her a rather unamused look. “Who's this beautiful young lady?”

The girl looked up at Geralt, wide eyes looking up at him for his approval. The witcher nodded his head, a movement so subtle it was almost imperceptible. She only picked up on it because she knew Geralt so well and was already used to that kind of reaction, which told her that the girl knew him very well too. It was as if they communicated without speaking, just a quick glance was enough and they knew exactly what the other was thinking. It was impressive and she hadn't seen anything like it before, especially not with Geralt. It only increased her curiosity even more.

“I'm Cirilla.” The girl introduced herself with a shy smile, lowering the cat from her arms.

It took her a few seconds to understand why that name seemed familiar. When reality hit her, wide eyes flew to Geralt with an expression of confusion and surprise mixed together. He had once told her about the feast Jaskier had dragged him to and the way the event had ended. The last time they had talked about his child of surprise he seemed to want nothing to do with that matter. When she had presented her concerns to him he had told her that he had assured the child's family that he would not claim her. And honestly she had thought it was for the best. With the way Geralt approached life she couldn't imagine him raising a child. That's why she didn't understand why he was now showing up at her house with her. What had made him change his mind?

She managed to compose herself quickly from her surprise, her eyes returning to Cirilla almost immediately so as not to make her feel uncomfortable. “That's a beautiful name, Cirilla!” She complimented her with a smile. “I'm sure you must be cold! I can run you a hot bath and then we can eat something. What do you say?”

“That sounds wonderful, thank you!” Cirilla's eyes lit up at the mention of the bath, desperate to feel the hot water against her cold skin. Since she had met Geralt her situation had improved considerably, but the cold outdoors was still something she was having trouble getting used to.

After leaving Cirilla alone in the bathroom with everything she needed to clean herself and restore her tired muscles, the young woman returned to the table where Geralt was sitting, ready to answer the thousands of questions he knew were swirling around in her head. Some of them —especially the ones about Ciri— were easy to answer, but others... he did not even want to think about it.

“I thought you didn't want to have anything to do with her.” she said, dropping into the chair across from him. “What made you change your mind?”

Geralt hesitated before answering. He wanted to tell her the truth. He wanted to tell her that the last few months he had spent running away from her had been the most miserable of his life. That every day he spent away from her was agony. That he woke up hearing her laughter in the wind, missing the warmth of her body, longing to smell the perfume of her hair. He believed it was best for both of them if he stayed away. They could never be together and persisting in that fantasy would only hurt them. He thought he could do it, that he could forget her if he spent enough time away from her charms. He knew it wouldn't be easy and that it would hurt, but he was convinced that it would be the best for both of them in the long run.

However, months passed and the emptiness in his chest only grew heavier with each passing day. Geralt couldn't close his eyes without seeing her smile. He couldn't sleep without dreaming of having her by his side. He couldn't see a deer in the forest or a rabbit hopping around without thinking of her, of how happy he would be in her company, of the way she would take the animal in her hands and make him stop to play with it. His days were gray and dull, cold even under the hottest summer. Without her —without the promise of feeling her hands on his body or the hope of hearing her sweet voice call his name one more time— life lost some of its luster.

He realized then that he could never forget her. She was the woman he loved, the only one who occupied his mind and heart, the only one who could make him seriously question his future as a witcher. She was his destiny, their paths had crossed for a reason that day in the forest. They were bound together by ties stronger than their own will, so there was no point in fighting against it. It was not worth running away from destiny if the only thing he gained was to deepen the emptiness that pressed on his chest. And she was his destiny, as well as Ciri was. He realized that if he wanted to stop feeling so miserable he had to stop fighting against what he could not change and face what destiny wanted from him.

But instead of admitting his feelings and being vulnerable in front of her, Geralt chose the easy answer: “Her kingdom was invaded. All her family was killed. I just couldn't leave her alone after that. She's in danger, she needs my protection.”

“So why bring her here?” She snapped back at him, sounding harsher than intended.

She wasn't upset with his presence, in fact she was glad to know that he still saw her home as a refuge where he was willing to bring Cirilla to make sure she was protected. All she wanted to know was why it had taken him so long to show up. Was he angry with her? Was their relationship broken beyond repair? Had he been preoccupied with his travels? Had he been avoiding her? Did he still love her? Those questions had been eating her up inside all these months. She thought she would never see Geralt again, so she had tried hard not to think about it. But he was there with her now and she needed those answers in order to ease her mind.

“I'm bringing her to Kaer Morhen with me, she'll be safe there. But she was getting tired and cold and since we were close I thought... We will leave in the morning if our stay causes any trouble for you.” Geralt assured her, trying not to cause a disturbance.

He should have figured that he couldn't just reappear in her life and wait for her to welcome him back with open arms. She had every right to throw him out if she wanted to, he had behaved like a complete bastard. But when he decided to seek refuge in her hut, Geralt wasn't thinking of him or her, but of Ciri. But now he understood that maybe he was asking too much of her. He was so used to using her home as a shelter that he didn't consider that the doors might be closed to him one day.

“I don't want you to leave. I want you to tell me why it took you so long to come back. I want you to tell me that there is a good reason for leaving me in the dark all this time, wondering what could have happened to you and if I was ever going to see your face again.”

“Sunshine, I...” Geralt tried to respond, but stopped in mid-sentence. He couldn't find the words to express how he felt, to explain to her how stupid he had been and how sorry he was for his mistake in a way that wouldn't make things worse. He didn't want to hurt her, even though he knew it was a little late for that.

She felt her heart squeeze at the mention of that nickname. She hadn't realized how much she had missed hearing his voice calling her by that name until that moment. It reminded her of the simpler, happier times they had shared, of long nights spent sleepless as they talked about life. It reminded her of how much she loved being called that by him and how her heart had skipped a beat the first time he had used it. She never knew what had prompted him to call her that in the first place —and she'd always been too embarrassed to ask—, but she was glad he had. It made her feel special, loved.

“Forget it.” she said as she noticed the internal conflict reflecting in Geralt's eyes. She didn't know what was making him so hesitant, but she began to think that maybe she didn't want to hear the answer to his question. Maybe it was better to live in ignorance after all. Maybe living on happy memories and moments that would never get back was better than living in harsh reality. All this time she had thought the uncertainty had been the worst, but seeing the doubt in the witcher's yellow eyes made her think that maybe the truth could be worse. She didn't know if she was ready to know that he didn't love her.

“Tell me about Cirilla. You said she is in danger, why?” She sought to change the subject, desperate to find a topic of conversation that would quell those thoughts.

“There's people after her, a black knight that has been following her since the fall of Cintra. She dreams about him every night.” Geralt explained, remembering the way the little girl tossed and turned in her sleep because of the nightmares.

“I can give her something to help with the nightmares so at least she can have one good night of sleep.”

“That's not all... she has magic.”

“Like her mother?” the woman asked curiously. She still remembered the details Geralt had told her about the feast that night where his and Cirilla's destiny had been linked. The magic that the young girl's mother had demonstrated was something she had never even heard of before in her life.

“I don't know what the extent of her power is, she doesn't talk much about it.”

“And you want me to do all the work for you, huh?” She guessed before Geralt could even hint at it. It was a long shot, but if anyone was going to be able to break through the barrier Ciri had created around her to protect herself, it was her. People always tended to open up to her, her sweet and charming nature sparked trust in even the most reclusive and distrustful person.

“You don't have to do it if you don't want to. I just... she's scared, I understand that, but I can't protect her if she doesn't tell me the truth. I thought that perhaps you could get through to her better than I can. You have magic too, maybe she'll be more inclined to talk about it with someone that understands what she's going through.”

“I'll see what I can do.” She promised him, unable to refuse to help a frightened little girl who had lost everything.

The young woman couldn't help but notice the protective way in which Geralt spoke of Ciri. She wasn't sure how long they had known each other, but from the way he cared for her she would say quite a bit. The witcher's trust wasn't easy to gain —it had taken her a while even after saving his life—, but the girl seemed to have done it in record time. It was heartwarming to see the way they acted around each other. She always looked at him before answering some of the questions the young woman asked him during dinner, as if she needed Geralt's confirmation to reveal certain information about her. It was clear that they trusted each other, in a way reminiscent of a father and daughter. Which made Ciri's reluctance to open up to him even stranger.

It was strange to see Geralt in such a position. He always acted so tough, like a lone wolf who didn't need anyone's company. Seeing the way he cared for Ciri —how he urged her to take the sleeping potion she offered her, warning her how important it was for her to get a good night's sleep— was almost jarring. Even in her wildest fantasies she hadn't imagined Geralt being a father. Now that she saw it, though, she liked it. It suited him. She only wished he had given himself the chance to explore that side of him much sooner. She couldn't deny that it pained her to know that she had always been right, the two of them could have worked out if only he had let it happen.

After they had dined and chatted for a long time, she, like the good hostess she was, escorted Ciri to the extra room she had unoccupied, telling her that it would be her space for as long as she wished to stay there. “Any friend of Geralt is a friend of mine. You're welcome to stay for as long as you want.” She smiled sweetly, trying hard to show the girl that she could trust her. Ciri thanked her before she closed the door behind her, making sure she knew she appreciated her hospitality.

When she left the girl's room, she didn't find Geralt anywhere. She didn't worry too much about it, assuming he would be out with Roach or securing the perimeter of the property to make sure Ciri could get a peaceful night of uninterrupted sleep. She let him do his thing, opting to tidy up the house and get ready for bed. She waited for him in bed, one last candle burning as she read a book. She assumed he would come to sleep with her as they had always done. Now that Ciri was occupying the only free room, the other alternative was to sleep on the floor. But time passed, the night grew dark and cold, and Geralt did not come. So she put on a cloak and went outside to look for him.

It didn't take her long to find him, she just circled the property and stumbled upon him in the makeshift stable she had at the side of her garden. He was sitting on a pile of hay, chatting with Roach while stroking the animal's fur. He had his back against the wooden wall and seemed to be settled there, as if he had no intention of moving. When she approached, he fell silent, so she couldn't hear what he was saying to the horse, although she had a good idea.

“What are you doing out here? It's freezing!” She said, crossing her arms under her cloak to keep her body warm. While it hadn't yet snowed for the first time, there was an icy dew in the air that looked a lot like it. And while she understood that Geralt had a higher tolerance for extreme weather thanks to his mutations, that didn't mean she liked the idea of him being cold in the stable when there was a warm bed waiting for him inside.

“It's not that cold.” he replied and she looked at him with a raised eyebrow, not believing for a moment that he truly didn't feel the cold. She had been outside for a couple of minutes and could already feel the cold starting to dig into her bones. “I was taking care of Roach.”

“She seems fine. Come inside before you freeze to death.”

“You know that won't happen.”

“Geralt, please.”

It was a gentle plea, with a hint of desperation. All she wanted was to have Geralt by her side during the night again. She wanted to lie down and find that she felt the same comfort she always had, that his presence made her feel as safe and comforted as she remembered. She wanted to feel his strong arms wrap around her at night and know that the doubts were only in her head and completely unfounded. She wanted to know that he still loved her and that it had all been a big misunderstanding. She was desperate to find a way to move on, to let go of all the pain that had haunted her. But she was terrified to talk about it, so all she had left was that. If Geralt didn't accept her offer then she knew all was lost.

“I don't want to impose...”

“You're not,” she interrupted him before he could blurt out any excuses. “I'm asking you to come inside with me.”

Geralt couldn't refuse that request. Even though things between them were weird, he still couldn't resist her charms. There was something in the way she looked at him, a glint of desperation growing in her eyes, that made it impossible for him to say no to her. It gave him hope. He thought she was angry with him, and she was, but inside her still burned the flame of love they had once shared. Maybe all was not lost. Maybe he could still make things right.

He followed her back into the house, pulling off his wet cloak and muddy boots before entering the room. It looked exactly as he remembered it, not a single object out of place. It was as if time had not passed. The flowers on the window sill were still as colorful and full of life as in the spring, the books stacked in the wooden trunk at the foot of the bed did not seem to have changed their order. The air smelled of her, that intoxicating mixture of floral perfume and wet earth that he had come to miss so much.

However, the reality of the situation hit him as he laid his head on the pillow. There was no goodnight kiss or silly talk before bed. She simply laid down on his side of the bed and settled down with her back to him before blowing out the candle that lit the room. They were only inches apart, but Geralt had never felt so far away from her before. Even when he was miles away, purposely avoiding her, he still felt close to her. How could he not when images of her wouldn't leave his mind? He kept seeing her in his dreams, reliving their happy moments every time he closed his eyes, fantasizing about hearing her laughter and feeling the warmth of her body once more. But now that he had her by his side, he felt nothing but a cold emptiness pressing on his chest.

He wanted to reach out to touch her. There was nothing he wanted more than to be able to wrap her in his arms and never let her go again, but he didn't know if he could —or if he should. He understood her hesitation, she had every right to be angry with him after the way he had reacted. He wanted to give her some space, some time so they could get their relationship back on track. He didn't want to pressure her, so he kept his hands to himself even though it hurt. He had to think of her first. He had no right to suddenly come back into her life after he had unilaterally decided to leave her, and demand the same treatment from her as before.

But what Geralt didn't know was that she wasn't avoiding him on purpose. She wanted to run into his arms, curl up on his chest and sleep wrapped in his warmth. But she didn't feel like she was the one who had to make the first move. Her feelings for him had never changed. She had been the one who had tried to make their relationship blossom. She had tried so hard to show him that they could have a future together. Geralt had been the one who had run away without explanation, so he should be the one to make the first move if he wanted to. She didn't want to pressure him, to make him feel like he had to do or say things he didn't want to just to protect her feelings. If he reached out to her, she needed to know that he was doing it because he really wanted to.

That was why his distance hurt her so much. Clearly there was something broken in their relationship and the most heartbreaking thing of it all was that she didn't know what to do to fix it —or even if she could.

The morning brought more pleasant weather conditions with it. The silent tension that haunted Geralt and the princess disappeared almost completely, mainly because they both sought to focus their attention on Ciri to avoid dealing with their own problems. Looking for an excuse that would give her the opportunity to spend more time with the girl, she asked Ciri to accompany her on a walk through the forest to replenish her collection of medicinal herbs. The winter was fast approaching and soon there would be nothing left but the plants she grew stored inside her house. Ciri agreed and Geralt joined them under the guise of hunting their lunch, although he had the decency to keep his distance so that they could get to know each other better.

It was a beautiful morning. Even though the autumn sun was not strong enough to counteract the cold breeze, there was no freezing mist that morning and that was already a reason to celebrate. Besides, Ciri was no longer wearing wet clothes and was well rested and fed, so she felt capable of accomplishing anything. The young woman guided her through the forest, telling her the details of the plants they needed to collect —their appearance, their medicinal uses, the potions and ointments she created. Ciri listened to her intently, fascinated and intrigued with the new information she was being presented with, wondering if she would be able to accomplish something like this someday.

“So you're a mage then?” Ciri asked, looking up at the woman walking beside her smelling a white flower.

“Not exactly.” she replied, earning a look of confusion from the girl. “I have an aptitude for magic, but I wasn't officially trained. I was taught by a healer everything I know, but magic is far more complex than what I know or the things I can do.” She hastened to explain as she knelt down in the dirt to pick up a couple of valerian leaves and put them in her basket.

“Is that how you met Geralt? Through your powers?”

“My abilities did play a part in the story of how we met, yes, but not in the way you're probably thinking.” The princess lost herself in her memories for a moment, images of that day flashing before her eyes. It felt so close and yet so far away at the same time. It was amazing to look back and see how far she had come both as a person, as well as their relationship. “He didn't tell you about us, huh?”

“He said you were an old friend, but didn't answer any of my questions. He's not particularly chatty.” Ciri said with a chuckle and she couldn't help but laugh too. If there was anyone who knew how difficult it could be to get a topic of conversation out of Geralt, it was her. She could almost imagine the girl's effusive curiosity running into the witcher's frustrating monosyllabic responses, just like it used to happen to her.

"Oh trust me, I know."

Geralt could hear them talking, but decided not to intervene. Instead he watched from a distance as they laughed together, feeling happy that they were getting along. Not that he thought it would be difficult, Ciri was a lovely girl and his sunshine was one of the sweetest and nicest people that existed on the continent. But still, it was nice to see them conversing so comfortably. It made him feel a strange warmth inside, a strange feeling unlike anything he had ever felt before. But he liked it, he found it comforting.

“We met after I escaped my home.” The princess began to tell her story, thinking carefully about every word before she said it. It was a great opportunity to build trust with Ciri, to let her know that she could understand her better than anyone else since she had also been a child frightened by her own powers. “You see, a long time ago I was a princess, just like you, trapped in a kingdom that had forbidden magic long before I was even born. I had to learn everything I know in secret, hiding from my parents and my own kingdom. Ruling wasn't my calling, especially in those conditions, so one day I decided to run away.”

Ciri's interest was piqued, her eyes growing wide with curiosity as she listened intently to the story the young woman told her. She told her about the monster that prowled the forests of her kingdom and how she used it to fake her death so she could escape a future she didn't want in a kingdom that didn't appreciate her. She also told her that was the reason Geralt showed up at her town, having been hired to kill the monster and avenge the death of the princess. But instead of encountering a beast, he found the young woman hiding in the forest.

“He could have taken me back to the castle. My parents probably would have paid him more to return their presumed dead daughter and heir to the throne home, but he didn't... he listened to my pleas and had mercy on me. He saved my life... everything I am today, everything I have, I owe to him. Geralt gave me a second chance in life and for that I will be eternally grateful.”

The princess smiled, remembering the details of their first meeting. Geralt had truly saved her life. She had failed to properly prepare for her escape, acting hastily and recklessly after an argument with her father that ended with him yelling at her that she was a disgrace to his family for not wanting to marry a lord who didn't love or respect her and only saw her as a way to gain more power. No matter how well she knew those woods, she could not have gotten very far on her own. And if anyone else had found her, they would have returned her to her parents without a thought, condemning her to a life of misery.

But Geralt had not done so. He had taken pity on her, putting her well-being above gaining greater wealth even when he did not know her. He had given her the opportunity to discover herself in complete freedom, far from the demands and mandates of her parents. Everything she was, was made possible by him. That's why she was always willing to help him, no matter how angry or upset she was with him. She couldn't let go of the hand of the man who had taken hers and pulled her out of the dark pit that was her former life.

“He saved my life too.” Ciri said with a sad smile on her lips. “He's the only family I have left.”

“I'm sorry about that,” the young woman offered a smile, resting her hand on the girl's shoulder and giving it a supportive squeeze. “You shouldn't have to go through all that violence and pain, no child should. But you are in good hands with Geralt, he's going to take good care of you. Don't let the big, grumpy frown and the stories about witchers fool you, he is a big softie with a heart of gold.”

They shared a few chuckles and continued on their way, searching for the herbs they had yet to gather. The princess told Ciri about the Celandine plant and its medicinal properties —telling her to keep her eyes open in case she saw a four-petaled yellow flower—, and about the Eyebright plant and how it had cured an eye infection in a girl's eye in the village. She also shared with her some of the stories of her life, how she had practically grown up in the forest and the peace she felt when she was in contact with nature.

Ciri liked to hear those stories, especially when she told her about the difficulties she faced in understanding and learning to control her powers in the beginning. It made her feel less lonely to know that she wasn't the only one who had to go through something like that alone and without much guidance. It gave her hope for her future. Watching as she bent down to heal the broken wing of a bird on the side of the road, Ciri thought that if she had managed to understand and control her powers then there was still hope for her too. Maybe one day she would stop being afraid of her own abilities. Maybe she would come to understand what was wrong with her and the purpose of her powers.

“Why did they prohibit magic in your kingdom?” the girl asked curiously, marveling at the healing capabilities of the runaway princess' powers. It only took a touch of her hands and the utterance of some words she did not understand for the bird to recover, flying from her hands to get lost in the treetops. Ciri could not understand how something as wonderful as that could be seen as a bad thing. Her powers were nothing like hers, so it was hard for her to think that they would be viewed as displeasing to anyone.

“No one really talked about it, and I was always too afraid to ask. But from what I understand, magic ran in the royal family, but it had never brought the kingdom any luck, only chaos and destruction.” she explained returning her attention to Ciri now that the bird had disappeared from her vision. “Apparently it made people too unstable to rule. My great grandmother was the last one to have magic before me and she was the reason it was banned, but no one really talked about it so I don't know exactly why. For the most part everybody just pretended magic didn't exist, especially my parents. I think they knew that I inherited my great grandmother's abilities and they thought that maybe if they didn't mention it might go away. But the only thing they accomplished was to isolate me.”

She paused in her story and Ciri could notice in her eyes the pain those memories caused her. The joyful and sweet expression that graced her face was replaced by a sad and melancholic look. It was only for a second, but her face changed so much that she looked like a completely different person from the one who was standing next to her minutes before. Ciri wondered what kind of horrors she would have had to go through in her old home and if that expression was so different because it belonged to the princess she had left behind.

“When I started showing the first signs of chaos, I didn't know what was going on with me. I was terrified.” She cleared her throat and then her face lit up with its usual sweetness again. “If it wasn't for the new court physician I would have never learned the truth. She was a mage on the run, hiding in the last place she thought they were going to look for her. She noticed the signs immediately and took me under her wing, taught me everything I know... how to control my powers, how to use them in the art of healing, and more importantly, she taught me to not be afraid of them, to not let the fear of others influence me.”

She gave Ciri a small smile, hoping she understood the meaning behind her words. She wanted to be that positive figure in her life, to pass on to Ciri the knowledge and confidence that had been passed on to her in her training. It wasn't much compared to what other mages could teach her, but it was a start. She was willing to be the guide she so desperately needed, if Ciri would let her.

“Were they afraid of you because you were different?” The girl asked, looking at her with wide eyes full of curiosity. It was a question she was asking both the woman beside her and herself. The princess recognized that, so she stopped in her tracks and turned to look Ciri in the eye. It was important for her to hear and understand what she was about to tell her.

“Probably, yes.” she admitted with a sigh. Ciri lowered her gaze and she took a step forward, reaching out to grab her chin and make her look up. “But you have to understand that fear is one of the most common reactions people have to the unknown, to that which they don't understand. It's not personal, they just can't help it. One important thing I learned over time is that reaction is something you can't control, there is nothing you or I can say or do to stop those who don't understand magic from fearing it. But what we can control is our own fear. And it is important not to let the fear of others affect one's perception of oneself.”

“But what if they are right?” Ciri's voice was close to a whisper, almost as if she struggled to utter those words aloud. As if she was afraid to admit what her mind had been repeating to her since the fall of Cintra, fearing that saying it would make it real. “What if magic only brings death and destruction?”

It was clear to the princess that Ciri was referring to her own powers. She didn't need to know her too well —or even know the details of her powers— to understand, she could see it in the tears that had gathered in her eyes. It broke his heart to see the little girl in that state. She was just a child, it wasn't fair that she had such dark thoughts clouding her mind at that young age. Fate had been very cruel to her, taking away her family and home in a single act of terrible violence that she had had to witness without being able to do anything to prevent it. Not only that, but now she had to face her future and the development of her powers with no one to guide her. No child should have to go through something like that. All she wanted to do at that moment was to hug Ciri and tell her that there was nothing wrong with her, to assure her that everything would be alright and that her life would get better. But before she could even utter a word, a strange sound echoed throughout the forest, distracting her attention from the girl.

Her gaze instinctively searched for Geralt, who was already alert. His eyes searched the surroundings as his hand slowly approached the handle of the sword resting on his back. She felt Ciri's hand squeeze hers and returned her gaze to the girl. She was met with her expression of terror, which only got worse as the rumbling of what could only be described as a deafening shriek was heard.

“Geralt!” The woman called his name, hoping he would give some sort of explanation for what was happening.

Though he didn't need to say anything, because at that instant a figure came into view in the distance. It was a monster, but not one like anything she had ever seen or read about. It was large, with multiple legs and eyes, and a long tail that ended in a sharp point. It was like a strange, disgusting mix between a scorpion and a centipede, a large creature that towered tall above them. It stood still for a moment, keeping a relative distance, as if searching for something specific. The princess pushed Ciri behind her, instinctively seeking to protect her. The creature shrieked again and Geralt pulled out his sword.

“Run!” He commanded them before advancing towards the beast with his sword held high.

The princess hesitated for a second, feeling the need to reach out to him to help him, but Ciri tugged on her hand and reminded her that she needed hisprotection. They ran through the forest holding hands, helping each other keep their balance when they stumbled due to their nerves. She tried to keep Ciri safe, positioning herself a few steps behind her to protect her from a possible surprise attack with her own body. From time to time she looked behind, searching the horizon for the figure of Geralt or that monster to know in which direction to flee. But it was difficult to follow the fight when she was also worried about looking after Ciri. She needed some sort of vantage point that would allow her to observe the enemy so she could prepare for its attack.

“Is it gone?” the girl asked in fright as she tried to catch her breath. They had stopped momentarily when they saw that the monster was no longer at their heels. They couldn't hear it screeching either, so they thought maybe Geralt had taken care of it.

“I don't know.” she answered honestly, pushing Ciri against a tree to hide in case he came back. “I don't see Geralt anywhere.”

“Should we go back to look for him?”

“No, that's too dangerous... we need to get to higher ground.”

Before she could say another word, the beast made its presence known again. It came out of nowhere, screeching and moaning, no doubt hurt by the witcher. But in spite of that, it rushed towards the direction of the two princesses with the same voracious determination. Ciri screamed and grabbed the hand of the woman at her side to start running once more, but she stayed in place.

There was no sign of Geralt anywhere and given the amount of legs that beast had, it was clear that they couldn't outrun it. Ciri wouldn't be able to escape from there without someone to give her a head start.

“Run north, up the hill and hide there. Don't look back!” she ordered and the girl looked at her with confusion.

“What about you?”

“I'll come look for you, but I need to buy you some time to run.” She explained quickly, keeping her eyes on the beast that was getting closer and closer to them. “Go, Ciri! Now!”

The girl hesitated, finding the scene all too familiar. The number of times she had had to leave someone behind to save her life was more than she would like. It never ended well and she felt responsible for all the lives that had been sacrificed to get her there. She hoped Geralt's friend wouldn't join the list, she didn't know if she could tolerate one more death on her conscience.

As soon as Ciri started to run, she concentrated on attacking the monster that was chasing them. She moved out of the girl's way, seeking to draw the beast's attention to her to distract it. But to her surprise, it didn't seem to care. It continued on its way in the direction of Ciri as if she were not in that forest. And if it wasn't because she invoked the sign of Aard the beast probably wouldn't have bothered to attack her. It was clear that its target was Ciri, although she could not understand the reason.

She used what little knowledge she had of magic outside of healing to attack the monster. She relied on the Quen sign to protect herself when the beast came too close, just as Geralt had taught her. And she summoned Aard's power to throw the beast away from her, slamming it into every tree and rock she could find in hopes the impact would stun it and give her a chance to escape. She put up a good fight, but it was clear that she couldn't beat him with her limited skills.

Luckily, she didn't have to. Geralt appeared just in time to save her, crossing his sword with the beast's pointed tail before it could hurt her. They shared a simple, quick glance, but that was enough for them to communicate. Geralt's eyes assured her that he would take care of the beast and asked her to protect Ciri. She nodded to him, letting him know that the girl's safety was her priority before running after her.

It didn't take her long to find Ciri, she knew that forest like the back of her hand. She was hiding in the bushes, ready to attack anything that came near her. The girl almost hit her in the stomach with a log when she approached her hiding place, fearing it was an attacker coming to hurt her. She stopped just in time though, wide eyes looking at the woman in front of her with surprise. She hadn't expected to see her there —not after learning the fate of all those who had stayed behind to give her a chance to escape danger—, but she was glad she was all right. Ciri felt safer with her by her side.

“Where is Geralt?” asked Ciri worriedly, looking behind the woman's back for her protector's white mane.

“He's fine.” she assured her, approaching the edge of the hill to look down for movement that would indicate Geralt's whereabouts. But she saw nothing. Nor did she hear the shrieks of the beast pursuing them. All was quiet, almost too quiet. It gave her a bad feeling. “Come on, we have to keep moving.” She indicated to Ciri, taking her by the hand once more.

But before they could get more than a couple of steps away, the monster reached them, cornering them against some rocks and the ledge. It was so sudden, that the princess could do nothing more than create a protective energy field, enveloping her and Ciri's figure in a semi-transparent whitish bubble that kept the beast away from them. She pushed the girl behind her and told her to prepare to run when she gave the signal. Ciri protested, refusing to let her face the beast alone, but she assured her that she would be fine. The truth was that she didn't know, but she had no choice but to stand between the monster and the girl it so desperately sought to attack. She was going to fight to her last breath to protect it because it was the right thing to do —and because it was what Geralt expected of her.

However, her countdown only reached two before a sword pierced the beast's body. It let out a shriek of pain and tried to lunge at its attacker, but Geralt plunged his sword even deeper, giving it one last thrust before withdrawing it to let the creature bleed out. The beast collapsed to the ground, spreading a viscous dark green liquid oozing from its mortal wound onto the earth. It writhed a couple of times until it stopped moving, signaling that life had left its body.

The princess let out a sigh of relief, breaking the energy field now that it was safe for Ciri. The relief didn't last long, however, because Geralt collapsed next to the beast, dropping his sword with a loud clang. She and Ciri ran to him, calling his name with concern. He was still conscious when they knelt beside him, though he looked weak.

“Let me see.” she asked when she noticed Geralt squeezing his thigh with one hand. He moved it, allowing her to inspect the wound closely.

There was a tear in his pants and beneath it the skin of the witcher's thigh was swollen and reddened. There was a puncture wound that leaked drops of blood mixed with a thick black liquid. Making a closer inspection, she noticed the small black lines branching out, veins standing out on his skin as they slowly began the work of spreading the poison through his system.

“Fuck!” she muttered under her breath as she tore a piece of the skirt from her dress.

“What?” Ciri asked worriedly, watching as she tied the piece of cloth around Geralt's thigh, just above his wound, and tied a tight knot that caused the witcher to groan in pain. “What is it?”

“Poison.” she replied simply, picking up Geralt's sword from the ground and using it to cut the stinger from the tail of the monster lying lifelessly beside him. Then, she removed her cloak and used it to wrap the tail in it, making sure it was safe to carry without coming into contact with the poison the stinger held. If this was a new monster —or at least, one she didn't know about— she was sure that having the direct source of the poison would be of vital importance to save Geralt's life.

“We need to get him back home. Now.”

Luckily, Geralt was still lucid enough to walk. The slow beating of his heart and the tourniquet she had improvised with part of her dress helped keep the poison from spreading through his body quickly, but it still needed to be treated urgently. Ciri helped her carry him, each of them putting one of Geralt's arms around their shoulders and holding him tightly to help him move with more ease and speed. They were not far from the hut, but it was not easy to travel with Geralt in that state, so it took them longer than usual to get there.

Once home, the princess settled Geralt on the bed, just as she had done so many times in the past, before running to get her potions and ointments to treat the wound. Ciri sat beside him on the bed, looking at her protector with concern as he mumbled in pain. She noticed that the wound on his leg was getting worse with each passing second and for a moment she was afraid that something bad was going to happen to him. She couldn't lose him, not after going through so much to find him. Geralt was the only thing she had left, her only hope, she couldn't lose him.

“Ciri, could you help him drink this?” The woman asked, handing her a small glass vial with a yellowish green liquid inside. The girl was grateful to have been entrusted with a task, something she could do that would help her feel her presence was useful. “It will help his body battle the effects of the poison.”

Ciri took the bottle with one hand and Geralt's head with the other, lifting him slightly off the bed so he could drink the potion. While she brought the bottle to his lips, the princess tended to the wound on his leg. First she carefully washed it, using warm water and a clean cloth to remove the blood and drops of poison that remained on the skin. Then, she spread an ointment of her own creation on the wound while uttering an incantation in the ancient tongue.

She concentrated all her energy on him, repeating the incantation with increasing strength and conviction. She was treating it as she would any wound infected with poison, but the reality was that she didn't know if that would work. The creature that had attacked him was new to her, so she didn't know if its poison would respond to conventional treatments. So she devoted all her energy to him in the hope that it would be enough to save him. And while arranging some herbs on the wound before bandaging it, she prayed to the gods that her beloved would wake up.

Geralt heard her sweet voice in the distance, and felt the warmth of her fingers brushing the skin of his leg. He tried to let himself be carried away by the warm energy that she transmitted to him, to drown the pain he felt in the peace that her voice awakened in him. He tried to concentrate on her so as not to faint, clinging to the scent of her skin and the melody in her voice as if his life depended on it. But even his stubbornness and unwavering willpower were not enough to combat the effects of the poison. And though he fought against it, eventually his eyes closed and everything went black.

The last thing he heard before he slipped into unconsciousness was the sweet voice of his sunshine telling him, “rest.”

Ciri did not move from Geralt's side. She insisted on taking care of him and controlling how his condition was progressing while the princess investigated the stinger she had extracted from the beast. She began by extracting some of the venom that was still inside it, being very careful not to let it come into contact with her skin while she transferred it to a glass vial. She did some tests with it, studying how it reacted when in contact with different herbs and medicinal plants, as well as some of the potions she had in her catalog. None of the results she got were what she expected, so she began to worry. Maybe this thing was different after all. Maybe she couldn't save him this time.

“I think something is wrong!” Ciri suddenly exclaimed, breaking her concentration. The princess didn't ask her any more follow-up questions, she simply followed her into the room and approached Geralt to examine him.

He was definitely not looking like he should. He had been resting for a few hours, yet his physical appearance had worsened. He looked paler than usual and his breathing was irregular. A thin layer of sweat adorned his skin, and when she reached up to touch his forehead she discovered that it was hot.

“This is wrong.” she muttered to herself, undoing the bandage so she could examine the progress of the wound on his leg.

“What's wrong? What's going on?” Ciri questioned the woman, desperate to hear her professional opinion.

Lifting the bandage, she discovered that the wound had only worsened. The skin was swollen and hot to the touch, and the black veins stood out even more against the pale skin, extending until they were lost under the tourniquet that was still tight around the witcher's leg. “He's getting worse...” she murmured, concern and confusion mingling in her voice. “He's not responding to the treatment.”

“There must be something we can do!” Ciri insisted and the woman looked at her, not knowing what to say. She didn't know of any other ways to treat a wound as such, at least not ways that weren't pure legends. She could always research and try some alternative method, but she wasn't sure she had enough time for that.

“Kaer... Morhen...” Geralt stammered weakly, struggling to keep his eyes open. “Vesemir will know what to do.”

She just gave Ciri a look and the girl ran off to the stable to prepare the horses for the journey. She stayed behind with Geralt, grabbing a couple of her remedies and the beast's tail before carrying the witcher on her shoulder once more, dragging him with some difficulty to the door. When Roach saw the state his owner was in, she lay down on the ground to allow him to climb onto her back more easily. She gave the mare a few gentle pats and kind compliments before helping Ciri mount Brego, the horse she had personally raised after finding him badly injured and forgotten on a road. Once the girl was safe and settled, she mounted Roach behind Geralt, wrapping her arms around him to hold him in place as she took the reins and they set off.

She didn't know the exact road to Kaer Morhen, only that it was south of where she lived. She had a few clues that gave her more details from the stories Geralt had told her about his life, but that was all. She had never asked him much about it, she knew that after being attacked the witchers kept to themselves and she didn't want to pressure him to reveal those details. She thought that maybe, if someday he felt comfortable enough with her to tell her about his home, he would. But now she was regretting not being more nosy.

Geralt was going in and out of consciousness, so while he could give directions from time to time, he was not the most reliable source. Ciri also didn't know the way since she had never been there before. However, Roach was a very smart horse who had traveled those roads many times in the past. So when they came to a crossroads, the mare advanced along the left-hand path with confidence. And before they knew it, they had reached Kaer Morhen.

“We need help!” she shouted and a middle-aged, white-haired man ran to meet her, startled by the commotion. His eyes fell on Geralt and she noticed the concern in them as he reached out a hand to touch the witcher's forehead.

“What happened?”

“He was attacked by a creature. He's been poisoned and I don't know how to stop it from spreading.”

“Get him inside!” At his command, a group of men grabbed Geralt and carried him inside. The young woman grabbed Ciri, holding the girl against her body so as not to lose her as she very timidly followed the others.

Both she and Ciri refused to leave Geralt, so Vesemir —the name given to them by the man who received them— had to work under the watchful eye of the two. He asked them about the attack and the young healer explained as best she could the details of the beast that had chased them. She didn't know whether to be relieved or terrified to discover that an experienced witcher like Vesemir didn't seem to know what kind of creature she was describing.

“This may help.” She said, pulling the beast's tail covered in an old cloth from her bag. “I tested the poison against every plant and healing element I know of and nothing seems to work.”

“That's not the only problem.” the man said, gesturing for her to come closer. “You see this inflammation here? It's full of the creature's venom.” Vesemir lightly pressed the lump on Geralt's skin and a couple of black drops escaped from the puncture wound. “The venom is lodging there for some reason, spreading slowly to maximize the damage. No treatment is going to work until we extract it.”

“How can I help?”

“Hold him still.”

Vesemir rummaged through a drawer and pulled out a leather bag containing a couple of syringes, needles and other useful artifacts for healing a witcher's wounds. He took the middle syringe, with a relatively long needle, disinfected it and then rested his gaze on the young woman in a silent way of telling her to get ready. She nodded slightly, tightening her grip on Geralt's leg to make sure he didn't move it. Vesemir then inserted the needle into the wound very carefully. It was important that he didn't accidentally burst the bubble of poison that had been created under the skin or it might end up spreading faster.

Geralt mumbled in pain and his body twisted as Vesemir began to extract the poison, but the young woman kept a firm grip on him. And when that wasn't enough to keep him still, she resorted to talking to him, just as she always did when he showed up injured on her doorstep. She murmured sweet words of encouragement and her soft voice seemed to be enough to bring peace to the witcher. His body stopped writhing and his rapid breathing gradually calmed down.

When Vesemir finished extracting the poison, the young woman watched in horror as the dark liquid almost filled the syringe. She wondered how that beast had been able to inject so much poison in such a short time and worried about Geralt's condition. How much poison had made it through his system? She liked to think not too much since he was still breathing, but the amount of viscous liquid trapped in the syringe worried her. Vesemir didn't seem particularly worried, but she wasn't sure she could read the expert witcher's emotions as easily as she could read Geralt's.

She watched him rummage through a cabinet full of elixirs until he came across a dark-colored one. He ripped off the cap with his teeth and poured some of the contents on the wound on Geralt's leg, who groaned in pain but did not open his eyes. Then he passed the bottle to her.

“Make him drink this.” Vesemir instructed him before disappearing out the door.

The young woman was assisted by Ciri in the task. The little girl helped her hold Geralt's head high enough so that he would not choke on the liquid while she parted his lips and placed the spout of the bottle between them. The witcher coughed a little as the liquid touched his throat, but it was only for a moment.

“It's alright, you're alright... everything is going to be fine.” She murmured words of encouragement as she emptied the elixir down his throat, though she wasn't entirely sure to whom she was directing such phrases, Geralt or herself.

When Vesemir returned, two other witchers accompanied him. At the man's request, they took Geralt and led him to his quarters to rest.

“Is he going to be alright?” a very worried Ciri asked as she watched the weak and fainting body of her only protector being carried away.

“Only time will tell. The next few hours are critical, if he makes it through the night I'm sure he'll make a full recovery.” Vesemir was honest, perhaps a little bit more than he should have been with a girl like Ciri. He was already busy analyzing the extracted poison and the tail of the beast that had attacked and almost ended the life of one of the best witchers left on the continent, so he didn't realize the impact of his words on her until he turned and met the expression of fear and worry on the girl's face.

“Geralt is strong, he's not going down without a fight. I've seen him pull through worse things.” He tried to reassure her. “You are invited to stay here, if you are friends of Geralt you are always welcome. Although I'm afraid I won't be able to accompany you, I have to study this thing in case Geralt's condition gets worse.”

“I can stay with him.” The young woman offered. “Keep an eye on him and call you if anything feels off.”

“Sure, that will be of much help. Thank you. Just ask one of the boys to guide you to Geralt's chambers.”

The young healer was very interested in learning about the elixirs and other things Vesemir had in that room. Some things she could recognize, some she had an idea of what they were and some were completely new. She was a curious person, especially when it came to her area of expertise, so she had a million questions to ask Vesemir. She would have loved to stay and see what tests he conducted on the poison and what things he looked for in the animal's severed tail. But her priority now was Geralt. She needed to know that he was okay and she wouldn't rest until she saw him open his eyes again. So she took Ciri's hand and headed for the door, but not before thanking Vesemir for the hospitality.

At first Geralt thought he was dreaming. His eyelids felt heavy and he was disoriented. The world around him was a blur and he could hear a ringing in his ears. He couldn't remember where he was or how he had gotten there, and the harder he tried to recall any images of the last few hours, the more difficult it became. It was like trying to remember a dream, the blurred and confused images escaping from his mind as he struggled to capture them. Yet somehow, in the midst of the chaos that was his mind at that moment, he found her. She was lying next to him, curled in on herself in the small space on the bed that he did not occupy. Her beautiful, delicate face was partially covered by her hair, but he didn't need to see it to know she was asleep. He found her before anything else, a beacon of clarity in the midst of the darkness clouding his mind. Only then, his mind decided to cooperate, recognizing images and patterns around him that helped make sense of where he was.

And yet, Geralt remained focused on her. If the dizziness didn't make him feel like in a dream, seeing her like that, so relaxed and peaceful next to him, definitely did. It was a scene that almost didn't seem real after a long year of distance and yearning. It was a sight he hadn't had in a year, her curled up beside him, sleeping peacefully next to the warmth of his body. There was no weird tension in the air or unspoken discomfort like that other night. She genuinely looked comfortable and calm next to him and Geralt couldn't help but smile.

But beyond that, her figure sleeping next to him was a beautiful sight he had never had the pleasure of having in his own home. Their encounters always occurred outside, in the maelstrom of the real world or in the calm of her hut in the forest, but never in his home. Geralt had awakened many mornings with the young woman in his arms, but none had been in his own bed, covered by his own blankets, hidden in the safety of his own room. He discovered then that he liked the feeling of sharing that space with her. It made everything he felt for her feel more real. It made his longing to stay by her side seem more feasible. She was there with him, caring for him and keeping him company, and the world seemed right again.

Geralt tried to sit up in order to better admire her beauty, but instantly regretted it when he felt a sharp pain in his leg. He let out a low grunt, bringing his hand to the bandage wrapped around his thigh with a grimace of confusion. Then flashes of the last few hours overwhelmed his mind. He remembered fighting the monster that chased them in the forest. He remembered the sharp sting of its tail and the burn of its venom. He remembered Ciri's worried look and reaching Kaer Morhen. But most of all, he remembered the gentle touch of his healer on his fevered skin and the sweet sound of her voice lulling him to peace as she always did. Her voice echoed in his mind and the mere memory seemed to be enough to silence the ringing in his ears and ease the pain in his weak and tired body. That didn't surprise him, though. Geralt had long since ceased to be amazed by the effect she had on him. He had learned to accept it, just as he accepted the day turning to night or the winter turning to spring. She was his light, a warm sun on the first day of the equinox that lengthened the day and melted the ice to allow the fields to bloom. She was his sunshine and he realized now that he had spent the last year living in an eternal winter to which he never wished to return.

The movement of the bed beside him brought Geralt out of his thoughts. He leaned over just in time to see his princess open her eyes as she stretched slightly. He could admire the confusion in her expression for a few brief seconds as her sleep clouded mind struggled to figure out where she was. Then her eyes opened wide and her gaze fell upon him. He was glad to see a glint of joy in them at finding him awake and had to bite the inside of his lip to hold back the smile as he saw her jump up in bed.

“Geralt! Are you okay? How are you feeling?” She questioned him with a strange mixture of excitement and concern in her voice.

“As if I had died and was brought back.” He replied with his classic dry humor, though it wasn't that far from the truth. His injured leg still ached when he moved it and his muscles felt tired as if he had spent all night battling a striga.

“You're not that far off.” She shrugged, rising from the bed to pour him a glass of water. Geralt accepted it gladly, drinking the contents in a couple of long sips. Boy was he thirsty!

“How long was I out?”

“Considering you've been in and out of consciousness since the attack, I'd say almost two days.” Geralt was surprised by that answer. In his mind it had only been a couple of hours, but apparently he remembered less than he thought.

Then, Ciri's worried face presented itself in his mind. “Ciri!” He exclaimed, jerking upright. He regretted moving once more, though, when the pain forced him to let out a grunt.

“She's alright!” The young woman hastened to say as she helped Geralt sit up. She took the pillows and stacked them carefully against his back, giving him a softer surface to lean on. Then she helped him recline on them, taking advantage of the moment of proximity to run her hand over his forehead and check for fever. “She's sleeping in the room next door.” She explained as she arranged the blankets so he wouldn't be cold. She knew he had grown up there and was probably used to the cold temperatures, but boy was the witchers' lair cold! “That girl refused to leave your side! I had to fight her to get her to go to sleep. She wanted to be here when you woke up, but I didn't want her here in case...” she trailed off. In case he didn't wake up was what she was going to say, but she couldn't bring herself to utter those words. Although she didn't have to, Geralt knew it when he noticed the sudden sadness that flashed across her face. “Anyway, I had to promise her that she would be the first one I would look for when you woke up to get her to go to sleep. And even then she stayed for another hour here.”

Geralt laughed, that sounded like Ciri. “Thank you... for keeping her safe.”

A silence formed as she took it upon herself to check his vitals. His breathing seemed normal, the same with his pulse —well, normal for a witcher. He no longer had a fever and when she uncovered the wound on his leg she noticed that the skin around it was in better condition. There were no more black lines or reddened areas. It was still somewhat swollen, but the skin was no longer warm to the touch, which was a good sign. Geralt enjoyed feeling her hands on his body, traveling from his forehead to his cheeks and gently brushing the skin of his leg. He swore the warmth of her fingers was all he needed to make the pain in his body go away. He felt a little more alive with every caress, every accidental touch. The magic of her touch slowly melted the hard layer of ice that had formed around him after a long year of harsh winter, but this time Geralt didn't fight it. He wanted her to do it, he wanted her light to finally allow spring to come. He was done running away from her.

“I'm sorry,” she said in a soft, almost inaudible voice as she changed the bandage on his leg. “I should have done more to help you... I just... I didn't know what to do.”

It took Geralt a few seconds to understand what she was saying, not because of the low volume of her voice, but because he found it incredible to hear the guilt in her words. “You saved me.” He pointed out as if it were obvious and she let out a snort.

“You almost died because of me!”

“I almost died because I was too slow and I got attacked by an unknown creature. I didn't expect you to know what to do, even I wouldn't have known what to do. But you brought me here in time and you keep Ciri safe, that's all that matters.”

The young woman smiled, not as big of a smile as Geralt had hoped, but enough to know that his words did have some sort of effect in easing the guilt that for some reason he didn't understand, she felt for what had happened. “That's nice of you to say.”

“It's the truth.”

“Whatever,” she said as she put away her leather case of ointments and healing potions. When she sat back down on the bed, Geralt noticed she had a nervous look on her face. “I would like to stay here with you and help you get back on your feet. I feel like I owe you that. It wouldn't be for too long, I mean, you had a great recovery so far and I'm sure you'll be alright, but I wouldn't feel right leaving you before I know for sure that you're okay... I know this place is... special, I guess, and that you don't let many outsiders in... and I wouldn't want to intrude, but I just couldn't leave without making sure you're okay.”

Geralt found her nervous rambling adorable. He would like to say that the feeling she felt was unfounded, but after how he had treated her he understood why she would be uncomfortable talking about such a thing. The last time she had made an effort to bring their worlds together he had rejected her. And not only that, but he had completely disappeared from her life for a year. He completely understood her nervousness and felt terrible knowing it was his fault.

“I want you to stay.”

Those simple five words were enough to arouse a sense of joy she had not felt in a long time. Those were the words she had waited all this time to hear, the confirmation that Geralt was willing to share some of his world with her after all. She would be lying if she said she didn't feel somewhat special. She knew that not many people had the privilege of walking through the gates of Kaer Morhen not having been raised there and she felt honored to be one of those few. A small smile tugged at her lips and Geralt knew then that his words had had the desired effect.

“Besides, I think your presence can be a good influence on Ciri. You can help me guide her on the right path and keep her safe.”

“I'll try my best, but I don't know as much about magic as other mages.”

“That's not the only thing you can teach her.”

Geralt knew very well that she had not been professionally trained. She had never gone to Arethusa to have her talents molded and sharpened, but that wasn't important to him. Geralt valued her for more than her magical abilities, he always had. For him one of her best traits was her personality, her way of facing the world with courage and optimism. She was one of the strongest people he knew, and he wasn't sure she knew it. Ciri needed someone like her, someone who could guide her through the dark shadow of tragedy and loss that clouded her path to reach the side of light. He could give her the tools to defend herself and face her fears, but she could teach Ciri to see the world from another perspective, a more positive and joyful one, something she desperately needed.

“I think it will do her good to have someone like you around.” Geralt smiled, his hand reaching for hers on the blanket. He felt the energy coursing through his body as they touched, her warmth melting the ice around his heart. The atmosphere in the room changed, suddenly more intimate and special. He wanted to tell her that her company was good for him too, but regretted it at the last moment. He didn't want to overwhelm her or sweet-talk her into forgiving him. If she decided to stay by his side, he wanted it to be her own decision.

The moment was cut short when the bedroom door opened, revealing a freshly awakened Ciri. The girl's eyes lit up with joy as they met the figure of a very lucid Geralt sitting up in bed. She uttered his name in an exclamation of surprise and crossed the room in a matter of seconds to throw herself into his arms.

“Careful!” the young woman warned her, “He's still hurt.”

“You were supposed to call me!” Ciri ignored her, choosing to scold her for not waking her up.

“I was just about to come get you.” She laughed, stepping aside so the girl could sit next to Geralt on the bed. “But since you're here, I'll go let Vesemir know Geralt's awake so he can come take a look at him.”

Contrary to popular belief, witchers were capable of feeling human emotions. That was something the young woman already knew, although living in Kaer Morhen surrounded by the last remaining witchers on the continent allowed her to appreciate the degree of emotions they felt. They were a strong brotherhood and cared deeply for each other, as evidenced by the tree of the fallen, as she called it. A place where the medallions of all the witchers who had perished hung, with more being added with each passing winter. But besides that, she learned that they were quite a fun group. Perhaps it was because they were in the safety of their home, resting after long months of hard work, but their attitudes were not at all what she expected. They kept telling jokes and playing tricks on each other, admittedly rather ordinary for her taste in some cases, but they didn't fail to make her laugh.

They were respectful to her —she suspected Geralt had something to do with that—, but still made her feel welcome in their home. She found it interesting to be surrounded by the most intimidating and roughest looking men on the continent and feel as safe as she did in her own home. She was sure that if her first encounter with many of them had occurred outside the walls of Kaer Morhen, her opinion would be different. Just as when she first met Geralt, it was very likely that the imposing figure of the witchers would have intimidated her and it would have taken her a long time to discover that they were actually very nice people. Lambert and Coen were her favorites, their constant bickering always amused her greatly. Although sometimes she had to confront them to make them be nicer to poor Ciri. They were training her along with Geralt just as Vesemir had trained them and it was the woman's job to remind them that she was just a child.

Vesemir was very good to her as well. Not only had he not complained when Geralt announced that she would be staying with them, but he agreed to indulge her curiosity. He let her watch him work on the analysis of the tail of the monster that had attacked them, even asking for her assistance in some things. They did not reach any satisfactory conclusions, but it was interesting to participate in the process. She learned a lot about the witchers and their creation from Vesemir, as well as the elixirs that helped them on the battlefield. He was a very wise man, and she was honored that he trusted her with his knowledge.

However, her favorite thing was seeing Geralt so relaxed and free, laughing with his siblings and acting like a father to Ciri. It was a side of him she didn't know. Of course he laughed and had fun with her when they spent time together in her hut, but that was different. Their encounters were always filled with this... tension in the air, tainted with unspoken feelings and silent longings. It was a constant countdown, the black cloud of reality always near no matter how hard they both tried to ignore it. From the moment Geralt walked through the door of her home, she knew that the clock had started ticking and that the happiness that was invading her at that moment would come to an end sooner or later. But there was no such thing in Kaer Morhen. There was no rush and no time, so Geralt could relax and be himself. And thanks to that she had discovered a much more... playful and joyful side of him. And she loved it.

What she also loved was the nickname that others had for him. The first time someone had called him wolf, she thought she had heard wrong. They were eating at a table all together and the shouting made it hard to even hear Ciri sitting next to her. But the next time it happened there was no noise to block her hearing. She and Geralt were in the kitchen since this time it was his turn to prepare dinner. He had gone hunting in the morning and now he was in charge of skinning the animal for her to cook. She didn't pay much attention to the conversation Geralt had with Vesemir when he appeared in the kitchen, focused on cutting the vegetables for the stew without hurting her fingers. But her ears pricked up when she heard him utter that nickname.

Wolf

The word echoed in her mind for a while, drowning out whatever was going on around her as she cooked. It was a fitting nickname for Geralt now that she thought about it. Everything about him screamed wolf, both externally and internally. Beyond his imposing presence, great hunting skills and impressive agility, he often hid behind a cold and hostile appearance. When he entered a room he could evoke the same fear and respect in people who did not know him that a wild wolf evoked in a traveler who stumbled upon it unexpectedly on his journey. The witchers had a certain reputation among the common people, built on myths and lies long spread across the continent. And while they were not true, Geralt found them convenient. It was easier to travel the world when people feared him —at least, most of the time. But that cold attitude was a sham, a shield protecting who he really was. He liked to present himself as a lone wolf who didn't need anyone, but in reality he cared about people, especially those closest to him. And just like a wolf protecting his pack, Geralt was willing to do anything to care for those he loved the most. Sometimes she thought that was exactly why he decided to stay away from people. He cared too much and that could be terrifying, not only because of the state of vulnerability it left him in, but also because of the degree of atrocities he would be willing to commit to protect his own.

“Wolf, huh?” She muttered as Vesemir left. She discovered she liked the nickname even more as she uttered it aloud. It was sweet and it felt good to finally have something to fight back with when he called her sunshine. “I like it,” she smiled, ”It suits you.”

“How so?” Geralt arched an eyebrow, wiping his hands on a rag before taking a few steps towards her. The woman pushed aside the knife she held in her hands, looking up to stare at the witcher.

“Well, you're imposing and agile as one... you're incredibly observant and great at hunting... and you're willing to fight tooth and nail to protect your own.” She spoke thoughtfully, listing characteristics as they came to mind. Geralt admired her with a slight grimace of amusement, thinking how much he missed having those kinds of conversations with her. “You're like a big scary white wolf who acts all tough but that's all for show, lots of bark and little bite.”

Geralt let out a snort. “It is?” he inquired and she nodded, even though she knew it wasn't technically true. He was quite capable of actually following through on his threats when he made them, but it was much more fun for her to tease him about his soft side.

“Yes! I mean, it took me a couple of weeks to earn your trust and then you were rolling over and showing me your belly like a dog asking for pets.”

Geralt let out a sarcastic laugh, but the truth was he couldn't quite say anything to contradict her. He wished he could wipe the smug smile off her face, but she was right, he had taken a liking to her rather quickly. And worst of all, it had happened without him noticing until it was too late. He became accustomed to her company — to wake up to the sound of her voice and listen to the sweet melody of her laughter— to such an extent that when she was gone the world felt wrong. He could not pinpoint the exact moment he fell in love with her, one day she was a frightened girl asking for his help in the forest and the next she was the ray of sunshine that brightened his days. Just like that, without warning, she had made a place in his heart that she refused to give up no matter how hard he tried to push her away.

“But it's okay, I like that duality.” Her voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “You're my big, scary, but surprisingly gentle white wolf.”

The young woman smiled tenderly as she used her fingers to push a lock of hair away from Geralt's face. It was an unconscious thing, a movement engraved in the memory of her muscles after having done it so many times in their long nights of conversations. When she realized it, she felt the urge to move her hand away, embarrassed by her audacity. Their relationship was in a very gray area, things were not clear at all. She was no longer angry with him, but things between them had not yet returned to normal, so the intimate gesture seemed out of place.

Or at least that's what she thought until she saw the way Geralt leaned over her hand. It was probably an unconscious movement as well, but she used the moment to test the waters. She let her fingers trail along his temple, slowly making their way down to his cheek. She did not dare to look him in the eye, so she focused her gaze on the movement of her hand, admiring the marks and scars that adorned the witcher's skin. She noticed that there were a couple that were new and couldn't help but wonder about the stories behind them. What kind of adventures had he had while he was distanced from her? What monster could have caused those injuries? How had he healed them? Had it been him or maybe it was someone else's work? Had someone else taken her place in the time that had passed?

She didn't like where her thoughts were going, so she covered the marks with her fingers, cradling Geralt's cheek. Then she mustered up the courage and looked up, curious as to what might be going through his mind at that moment. She found the witcher's golden eyes were fixed on her, admiring her with longing and, dare she say it, love. There was a warmth in his gaze that drew her to him. It made her feel seen in a way she hadn't felt since the moment he left. He was the only one who could make her feel that way, so safe, so desired... so loved. And he was the only one she wanted to look at her that way.

She didn't realize how much closer she had gotten to Geralt until she felt his nose brush against hers. His warm breath mingled with hers as it escaped her half-open lips, caressing them with the promise of that long-awaited kiss that never came. She wanted to move, to close the little distance that separated them and finally discover what it would feel like to kiss him, but it was impossible for her to do so. She was trapped under Geralt's intense gaze. Like a moth to the flame, she was lost in the golden glow of his eyes, waiting expectantly for his next move.

But the kiss never came. Only this time it wasn't because she backed down or because he regretted it at the last second as had happened in the past. This time it was Ciri's interruption that broke the moment and forced them apart.

“Lambert sent me to help you because he says you're taking too long so- OH! Sorry, sorry!” The girl blushed upon finding them in such a compromising position. She instinctively backed away, ready to run out the same way she had come, but the woman stopped her.

“It’s fine, Ciri! Stay, please. I’m definitely going to need some help cooking enough food to satisfy those gluttons out there.”

“Come on, focus! I know you can do it.” The woman tried to encourage the girl, who was having trouble generating any kind of magical reaction from the moment they had started the lesson.

She didn't know much about magic outside of healing, so that was her starting point. From what Geralt had told her about Ciri, the girl had much more power than she did, so she figured that teaching her to channel her magic in one aspect gave her enough tools to begin to control other aspects of her powers. She began with easy lessons, remembering the things her mentor had taught her when they were just starting out. She had previously told her about the potions she made and the type of plants she needed for each as a way of easing her way into things. But several lessons ago she had moved on to more complicated things that involved more active use of her powers.

They were sitting in the common room, near the fire. It was a cold day, though that hadn't stopped Ciri from going out to train with her wooden sword. Geralt was the one who had to drag her inside to meet the healer for her magic lessons, and she didn't seem very enthusiastic about it. For that very reason she had given the girl a relatively simple exercise, the same one they had been practicing for two lessons. In a pot was a dried plant. Its stems were still green in some places, but much duller, and the leaves were withering more and more with each passing day. The goal they were working towards was to revive the plant, although she would settle for any kind of progress. The woman remembered that the same exercise had taken her quite some time, so she showed patience to Ciri. But on the other hand, the girl was supposed to have much more power than she did, so she was slightly concerned about the lack of response.

Ciri snorted. “I'm trying! It's not easy.” It was clear that she was frustrated but she had to keep pushing if she wanted to get any kind of reaction from her.

“Not hard enough!”

She was not referring to Ciri's efforts in her lessons, it was clear that she gave everything she could. The problem was that she always arrived tired, if she arrived at all. She wasn't giving her magical training the attention it deserved, preferring the sword and the training ground outside to mastering her natural abilities. She understood it to an extent, it was easier to train the body than the mind, but she needed to see how important it was to learn to manage her powers. Those were the ones that would be with her for the rest of her life, the ones that could save her in a situation of extreme danger, and she needed to know how to use them to her advantage.

“You're focusing too much on learning how to fight when this is just as important.”

“Maybe I am because at least that's where I'm making progress.”

“I know it's hard, Ciri, but you have a responsibility. Your powers are something extraordinary, but you owe it to yourself and everybody around you to learn how to control them.” Her voice was not accusatory or dismissive. On the contrary, she made an effort to sound soft and empathetic. She wanted to make the girl understand the importance of her lessons and knew she would not succeed by making her angry. Besides, she knew very well how frustrating it could be when things didn't go as expected, she had gone through that too when she was the one learning to handle her powers.

However, Ciri didn't take it as kindly as she had hoped. “What do you know about responsibility? You abandoned your own people! At least I'm trying to fight to avenge mine!” The girl raised her voice, jumping up from her seat and giving her mentor an angry look.

“Ciri!” Geralt, who was sitting in the corner of the room fixing his armor, wanted to intervene. However, the woman waved him to stand aside. She understood that it was misplaced anger and didn't need him to jump in for her.

“It’s fine. You are right, Ciri. I abandoned my own people because it wasn’t a safe place for me… or anyone like me, if I’m being honest. It was the hardest decision I ever had to make… Realizing that my own home wasn’t safe for me was heartbreaking, but strangely liberating.” The girl's gaze softened and she resumed her place beside her. “I was trapped in that place, surrounded with people that hated me for who I was, for things I couldn’t control. My own parents thought I was a disgrace… they hid me, silence me, broke my spirits in the hopes I wouldn’t become my great grandmother. And for the longest time I let that get into me. I let them define who I was. I hated myself and my powers because everyone else did… and the more I tried to ignore them, the more I tried to suppress them, the worse they got. I had to learn to let go, to stop focusing on the negative things because it was doing me no good.”

Ciri looked at her with glazed eyes, the anger in her expression slowly morphing into sadness. “How do you do it?” her voice was almost a whisper that broke the woman's heart. She could hear so much pain in those simple words that she couldn't help but reach out to entwine her hand with hers. Suddenly, the girl's inner struggle was evident on her face. She could feel the sadness and weariness that overwhelmed her. She had been through so much at such a young age, it wasn't fair. “I can't let it go.”

“You don't have to… you just have to take control of yourself and stop letting your fear and anger control you.”

“How can I do that when everyone I love is dead… when everywhere I go I bring blood and destruction?”

“You make a choice about who you want to be because you are the only one that has the power to do that, to define yourself.” The woman moved a little closer to Ciri, lightly tightening her grip on her hand in support. “You see, magic is extremely connected to our emotions, to our most instinctive reactions. If you see it as a bad thing, as a burden, a curse… if you see yourself as a monster, a murderer that can only create chaos and destruction, then you are letting your fear define who you are. You are limiting your abilities and the chance to explore your potential.”

“How are you so sure that I'm not… a monster?”

A tear rolled down Ciri's cheek and the woman was quick to wipe it away with her thumb. She had to hold back her own tears, focusing on being a support for the girl at that moment. But she would be lying if she said she wasn't able to see herself in the frightened eyes of the young princess. She knew that fear very well, she had experienced it firsthand and that's why she wanted to help her overcome it. It was not fair that she was going through it, no one deserved to go through the horrors she had gone through at such a young age. Ciri was alone, homeless, without family, and forced to discover the terrifying foreign world at the same time she was discovering herself. It was an extremely vulnerable position to be in, but the witch would try her best to accompany her every step of the way. She didn't have to go through it all alone.

“Because nobody is born a monster.” The girl said with gentle simplicity, a sweet smile growing at the corner of her lips. “I grew up ashamed of who I was. My parents dreaded the day I was old enough to take over my kingdom. They couldn't wait to hand me over to the first nobleman who seemed competent enough, so that if one day I became unstable and dangerous because of my powers he could stop me from destroying everything they had worked so hard to build... No matter how hard I tried to make things right, they trusted a stranger more than their own daughter. Most of my childhood was clouded by this dark shadow of sadness and loneliness, until I realized that was exactly what they wanted. They wanted me to be afraid, to be alone and ashamed because then they could control me, mold me into whatever they wanted me to be. Choosing something else... choosing to be happy with who I am, choosing to help others and use my powers for good was a decision I had to make... it's a decision I make every morning when I wake up, and it's not an easy one. The easy thing is to be consumed and paralyzed by fear. Seeing the good in life and in yourself is a conscious decision that you have to make. It is one that only you can make, but I promise to be there for you when you need me. You don't have to be alone in this.”

Ciri threw herself into her mentor's arms and she held her tight against her chest for as long as she needed. She buried one hand in the girl's blonde hair and gently rubbed her back with the other until she could no longer feel her sobs against her shoulder. Her eyes searched Geralt's with a worried expression. Ciri had so much bottled up inside her that suddenly the potential danger of her unexplored and uncontrolled magic ceased to worry her. However, when her eyes met the witcher's she found nothing but calm in them. He admired their embrace with a knowing smile and she knew then that he approved of the way she had handled the situation.

Seeing the way Ciri opened up to her, Geralt was glad he had asked for her help. Swallowing his pride had definitely been the right decision. The girl didn't just need protection. She needed guidance, support and an understanding that he, as much as he wanted to, could not give her. But his sweet sunshine could, she was always open to help whoever came to her door. Geralt knew from the start that he had to take Ciri with her, not just because of her knowledge of magic or her empathic abilities, but because she was the one he always turned to when he needed guidance or a reason to keep fighting. She had a way of brightening people up that was unique. He used to think it was part of her nature, her warm, positive personality that was finally able to shine through once she was out of the prison she used to call home. Although after hearing what she told Ciri, he realized that brightening others and making them feel at peace was an effort she made every day precisely because she knew the dangerously cold and dark depths to which the mind could descend when there was no such support.

“You can rest for now, my dear. It's fine, you have done enough for one day.” The sweet voice of his sunshine brought Geralt out of his thoughts. He watched as she patted Ciri's back as the little girl wiped away her tears.

“No, it’s okay. I want to try it one more time.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to, we can continue the lesson tomorrow after you have a good rest.”

Ciri insisted so she stepped aside to let her proceed. The girl took a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm her emotions as her mentor had taught her. She raised her hands to the plant that withered with each day she failed and closed her eyes. She tried her best to quiet the voices that always echoed in her mind, the ones that scared her and held her back every time magic was mentioned. She erased the images of Cintra in flames, the figure of the dark knight chasing her and the horrors that followed her every time her powers were activated. She replaced those dark visions with her mentor's words of encouragement, repeating them over and over in her mind as a way of convincing herself that all would be well and that she had nothing to fear.

Then she felt a warmth tickling her fingers and heard the gasp of the woman sitting next to her. She opened her eyes instinctively, concern already written in her expression as she looked around for answers —and to make sure she hadn't hurt anyone. The woman smiled at her and motioned with her head to look at the potted plant resting on the table. The plant itself hadn't changed much. It still looked dry and dull, but the stems were a brighter green and some of the leaves had turned from dark orange to an almost greenish yellow.

“You did it!”

“I did it!” Ciri threw herself into her mentor's arms once again, only this time with a big look of happiness on her lips. When she pulled away, she took the pot in her hands to admire her work more closely. “Geralt, look! I did it! I finally did something!”

Geralt joined in the celebrations, giving Ciri a pat on the back and a few words of encouragement to let her know he was proud of her unbreakable spirit. She fit in so well with the rest of the witchers that he was starting to get a little scared. She was as stubborn and broken as most of them. But she was also as hard working and fierce as they were. He could see a lot of himself reflected in her, in fact. She had the same eagerness to go out and prove herself in the real world that both he and his brothers had when they were just starting their training. That same impatience that Vesemir had fought so hard to quell and that reality had finally destroyed. He had to keep an eye on that.

When the moment of euphoria was over, Geralt sent Ciri to rest. “You have done enough for one day” he told her and this time the girl disappeared up the stairs with a smile on her lips, happy to have proven herself.

“I was nice what you said to her.” Geralt spoke once he was sure Ciri could not hear them.

“I just told her what I wish someone would have told me when I was her age.”

“You never told me about it… what your parents did to you.”

“Well... it's a part of my life I don't like to remember often.” She shrugged, leaning her hips back against the table as she stared at a fixed point on the wall in front of her, lost in thought. Geralt admired her delicate profile, and with a heavy heart he wondered what kind of sad memories might be swirling through her mind at that moment. “Although, in a strange way, it made me who I am today, so I guess something good came out of all that shit in the end.” She also thought that thanks to her parents' mistreatment —and her consequent escape— her path had crossed Geralt's and she would always be grateful for that. However, she decided not to mention it.

“Just when I thought I couldn't love you anymore, I discover that your act of rebellion against the world that treated you horribly is to be the kindest, sweetest person on the continent.” Geralt let out a laugh, returning his attention to his half-repaired armor that had been left forgotten on the table. But she remained silent, frozen in place.

Geralt had not thought carefully before speaking —something that happened to him more often than he would like to admit when he was with her. He didn't even realize the implications of his words until it was too late. He just stated a fact, a simple fact that had been on his mind ever since he had overheard her talking to Ciri: finding out that after all the bad things she had been through she was still the sunshine she was, made him love her even more. Geralt had always known that she was a strong and extremely brave woman, but this was the first time he really knew the extent of that strength. He had seen honest men be consumed by resentment and hatred for far less, so the fact that she strove to be a source of light and positivity not only for herself but for everyone who crossed her path was a reason to admire her.

He was so entranced by her that he didn't notice what he said —what he inadvertently admitted— until a few seconds later, when he wondered at her sudden silence. When he looked up, he found her eyes fixed on him. Those beautiful eyes that normally brought him peace, now put his insides in knots. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Geralt was paralyzed. His mind was completely blank, not knowing what to do or say, as he waited for some sign from his sunshine.

“I-” She started to speak, but before she could say anything else the doors to the hall opened, ushering in a group of noisy witchers who had just come in from hunting for dinner.

After the moment was broken, neither she nor Geralt brought up the subject again. They both thought about it countless times, wondering in the nights before bed what would have happened if they hadn't been interrupted. However, they were too afraid to face the situation, so they let the tension linger in the air, increasing with the growing list of unanswered questions.

Another great thing she had discovered about living in Kaer Morhen was that there was a pack of wolves nearby. The first time she had seen them was one afternoon walking around the fortress with Geralt. He hadn't let her get close, of course, claiming it was too dangerous since they were wild animals. That hadn't stopped her at the time and luckily it had never resulted in any injuries, but one never knew when their luck might change.

“That's why you're here,” she had replied, ”you'll save me if they try to eat me.”

“I don't know, will I?” He had joked in his characteristic dry tone. “If you get hurt after my warnings it is entirely on you.”

She snorted and punched him in the arm, though a smile tugged at her lips. “Of course you will! You can't live without me.” She had said that as a joke, but it was much closer to reality than she probably imagined. He was willing to do anything to keep her safe because he truly couldn't live without her. He had tried for a year and had been miserable every second he was away from her.

After having to drag her away from the wolves that day, Geralt really shouldn't have been surprised to find her playing with them weeks later. He knew her and the effect she tended to have on animals, but even so, he found it impressive the way the wolves reacted to her touch. She was sitting on the cold ground covered by a thin layer of snow. Next to her rested an adult wolf who closed his eyes with pleasure every time she stroked his head. In her lap a puppy let her scratch its belly, stretching out on her with every movement of her fingers as if preparing to take a long nap. In the distance the rest of the pack watched the two brave –or foolish— enough to approach a human, making sure they were safe.

She was speaking to them, Geralt could see in the distance that she was moving her lips, and hear the whisper of her voice on the wind, but he could not make out what she was saying —though he could almost imagine it, he had been through a few similar situations with her in the past. He was lost in thought as he admired her playing with the wild animals like they were mere domesticated dogs. A smile formed on his lips as he thought that at least he wasn't the only one completely enraptured by her aura, the entire animal kingdom joined him in that sentiment. Even his own horse loved her more than him. But he understood Roach, she was someone special and he had been lucky to cross her path.

“I see why you like her.” Vesemir's voice startled him, when had he arrived there? “She is a lovely woman.”

“She is indeed.” Geralt agreed without looking away from his princess, who was now laughing in amusement at something the wolf cub in her lap had done.

“Are you sure you're doing the right thing?” The older witcher spoke again and Geralt's brows furrowed in a mixture of confusion and concentration. “Are you sure she is compatible with our way of living... with our life's mission? There's less of us every winter and something big is coming, I know it... I can lose you, wolf.”

Geralt was silent for a moment, contemplating Vesemir's words. The gods knew that he had asked himself that same question multiple times since he had met her. The answer always changed depending on his mood. Sometimes —especially when he spent a lot of time with her in her hut— he was sure that his future was at her side and that nothing could ever keep him away from her. Other times, when the pressures of reality forced him to abandon his fantasies, he recognized that their relationship was complicated at best and impossible at worst. But all that had changed after she was attacked by a Bruxa.

After failing to protect her that time he convinced himself that their relationship should end, not because it was incompatible with his life itself, but because he was too afraid of losing her. The images of that attack had not left his mind in the year he had spent away from her. It plagued his nightmares when he slept and his thoughts when he was awake. He was so horrified at the thought of losing her because he was unable to protect her from danger that he was willing to endure a life of misery just to make sure she was all right. In his experience, missing what could never be was better than mourning the loss of those who were gone and could never come back. So he endured the gray days and sleepless nights, finding comfort in knowing that his princess was safe and sound in her hut, far from the danger he represented.

Geralt had convinced himself that this was for the best because it was the simplest option, the clearest solution to his problem. Keep her safe by staying away from her and wait for the time to pass and help him forget about his feelings. But now he was not so sure. Maybe it was the thrill of being reunited with her after yearning to feel her touch for a year. Or maybe it was the optimism of his sunshine speaking through him, but Geralt was beginning to consider that maybe there was a future for them where neither of them had to suffer. It probably wouldn't be easy, but life's hardships hadn't stopped her before, so why should they stop him?

“We can make it work.” He finally said and for the first time since she had entered his life, Geralt felt a sense of certainty as he spoke those words.

Vesemir didn't answer him, although Geralt didn't give him much time to do so because seconds after those words left his mouth, he was walking towards her. When he approached her, the first thing she did was make excuses for what she was doing, expecting Geralt to scold her for not listening to his warnings. But he wasn't interested in that, he had far more important revelations to share with her.

“I know what you are going to say, it's dangerous and all that, but they came to me for help!” she hurried to say while petting the wolves to make sure Geralt's presence didn't disturb them. “This little one was hurt! I couldn't let him die, he's too adorable and fluffy! I saved his life and now they like me.”

“Do you remember what you told me when I arrived at your home with Ciri?” Geralt ignored her rambling. She looked up from the puppy gently nibbling her fingers to meet his eyes. He wasn't sure if the look of confusion on her face was due to his sudden question or because she didn't know the answer, so he continued speaking. “You wanted to know why it took me so long to come back... I've been thinking a lot about that, especially after hearing you talk to Ciri the other day.”

The woman rose on her feet from the cold ground, leaving the wolf pup next to his brother. “Geralt, what is this about?” she inquired, wide eyes watching him curiously and somewhat warily, like a deer startled by the presence of a noisy stranger.

“All my life, the one I remember at least, I’ve worked towards one goal and one goal alone… kill all monsters on the continent. It’s what I was trained to do and I never questioned it… I never wanted to do anything else, until I met you. What I feel for you…”

Geralt paused, struggling to find the right words to describe the way his day brightened with her mere presence, how his mood improved if he saw her smile.

“I never felt anything like that before,” he let out a sigh, resigned to the fact that he could never explain in simple words what she made him feel without even realizing it. “That scared me. I was scared of what it could mean for the future, but more importantly, I was terrified of losing you. So I convinced myself that running away from you, from what I felt, was the right thing to do to protect you and keep you safe from all the shit I bring along... Now I know I was just protecting myself. You tried to tell me, but I wasn't ready to listen.”

She took a step toward him, looking up at him with wide eyes that sparkled in the weak winter sun. “Geralt, what are you saying?” She needed to hear him say it. After so much time of feelings left unsaid, she needed to hear the words coming out of his mouth so there would be no more conflicts or misunderstandings. She needed to be sure of what he felt.

“I'm saying I'm sorry... I'm saying I love you and I want you at my side, If you still want me too.”

She replied in the most direct way she could without using words. With a quick step, she closed the distance that separated them and joined her lips to Geralt's. As much as she had longed for that kiss, it was a timid one. Her lips barely brushed his, their noses brushing against each other as they leaned in a soft, intimate caress. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to enjoy the warmth that flooded her body as she felt Geralt reciprocate her kiss immediately. Their lips moved slowly, savoring the moment. It didn't last long, but it was enough to take her breath away.

When they pulled apart, she looked up at Geralt through her eyelashes. She met the amber of his eyes shining in a way she had never seen before. His hand rested on her cheek, calloused fingers caressing the soft skin. It was nothing new, yet the way he was looking at her made her cheeks warm. There was a softness in his eyes that she did not recognize. He admired her as if she were a lost relic, something of priceless value that he couldn't believe he had in front of his eyes.

And in a way, that was true. Even though he had just bared his soul to her. Even though she had kissed him. Even though deep down, he always knew his feelings were reciprocated. Despite everything, Geralt still couldn't believe that a woman as wonderful as her would choose to love him. Of all the people on the continent, of all the places that existed, she loved him and wanted to be by his side. As happy as he was that she did, it didn't feel real. Geralt did not feel worthy of the love of such a good woman, but he was willing to work hard every day of his life so that she would not regret her decision.

Geralt was the one who initiated the second kiss, which was much more confident than the first. His hand remained on her cheek while the other found its place on her waist, holding her close against him. Her lips were soft and warm against his, like a summer morning breeze —just as he had imagined them. When he sucked on her lower lip, she let out the subtlest moan, her hands clinging to his shoulders for support. Geralt became addicted to it instantly, feeling a strange sense of pride at having elicited such a reaction from her. He repeated the action, taking a mental note of the way she reacted to every little movement of his lips. He was desperate to know more about her, to find out the other sounds she made and the various ways her body would respond to his touch, but he restrained himself from deepening the kiss any further. They would have time for that.

“That was...” She tried to speak when they broke apart, her mind clouded with euphoria struggling to find words to describe what that kiss made her feel.

“Late.” Geralt finished for her, resting his forehead on hers.

“I was going to say 'better than I imagined', but 'late' works too.” She let out a chuckle. “So, what now? How do we go on from here?” It was a genuine question she had. She had fantasized many times about this moment —the big confession, the first kiss, the way it would all feel—, but it never got any further. It felt so far away, so impossible, that she had never really spent time thinking beyond happily ever after.

“Well, we can start by getting you out of the cold.” Geralt smiled, finally pulling away from her to start his way back to the fortress. He took her hand and noticed how cold it felt against his own. “Come on, we need to get you inside so you can warm up.”

She smiled playfully. “Only if you help me.”

I hope you guys liked it! Sorry for the long wait, but it wil probably happen again lol

I have a few ideas for the next part. Without spoiling too much, I think it's time Yen makes an appearance to explain some of the gaps it the timeline when Geralt was away... so, lots of jealousy and angst coming!

BUT I'm not 100% sure of how thing are going to play out, so if you guys have any ideas of things you would like to see in the story (for this next part or future ones!) please drop an ask/message/comment thank youuu ily

#geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x fem reader #the witcher x reader #geralt x reader #the witcher netflix #geralt of rivia angst #geralt of rivia fluff #geralt x fem reader #henry cavill x reader #the witcher

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flusteredtuna · 11 months ago

Text

Focus On The Target

Geralt of Rivia x !fem! Witcher Reader

Words: 3k+

Warnings: ( 18+ Mature Only ) Choking, Finishing inside, fingering, riding,

Summary: After months of tension, a visit to his bedroom sparks something that was a long time coming.

“Focus on the Target.”

Geralt of Rivia was a Witcher to be reckoned with. His hard exterior is thicker than bone and rock. It’s just the way he has to be, to be able to fight those dreadfully awful monsters.

He took you under his protection initially a handful of months ago, when he found you lost in the forest. A lost and broken female Witcher. It was no law of surprise but you both found yourself inseparable. And with every foe you both have crossed, you have insisted that you can fend for yourself. It’s hard for you to resist being stubborn about it since you were both around the same age and once wielded power like his.

Today, he finally decided to teach you the trade of combat. Since you never learned under prior “guardianship”. For, there would be a point where you would lose at your attempt to get involved.

Your leather boots squelch into the terrain below as you pull your arm in with blade in hand. The slight breeze that carries sprinkles of rain falls into the bay of your parted lip. You swing the throwing knife at the target ahead, hearing it whisper its sharpness in the air as it flies. The knife thuds on the ground, refusing to stick into the wooden target.

“Your grip is key.” He places another blade in your hand gripping your fingers tightly around it to show you how hard you should hold it. “The angle you throw should follow your arm’s aim…” Looking over at him, watching his yellow eyes flicker as he focuses on your training, you admire his strong features. His husky jaw and broad shoulders. The way his hair looks like beds of fallen snow and soot, with a strand falling next to his furrowy brows. More than a handsome man, but a damn good-looking one.

“Just inhale deeply and let it go as you throw. Just like the bow and arrow.” You nod “I understand”.

You spin your head back toward the target that is nailed to the wide tree, narrowing your eyes. Throwing again you manage to make it stick, but not in the center.

“Better,” His voice sounds full of gravel. But it’s deep enough to be alluring.

You’ve been attracted to his presence since you met him. And he’s felt the same about you. There have been many times when hands graze, tension fogs a room, and sometimes your lips almost meet during the fading of dusk. Your hearts were more than friends, but you both never mentioned any sort of lust, when it fluttered in the air. You both just let it pass by for some unknown reason. I mean, how could you turn down a man so protective and valiant as him?

“Remember to take your time, the ease will keep you in line with your target.” He gets closer to you guiding your arm with his hand, “When the knife leaves your hand, you want to be aiming higher than the target.” Shifting your eyes from him back to the target, just to get a sense of how close he is. You inhale deeply, letting it all fly away with the throw of the next knife.

Geralt is impressed and nods. “Good, very good.” He hands you another knife. “Again.” His dominating tone makes him all the more attractive.

Continuing to practice, you make a good improvement. Even with the distractions of him looming over you, or showing you how to hold the blade correctly. Not to mention the exchange of glances here and there that feel so seductive. But his expressions are always too cold to tell half the time.

You practice until the sun begins setting in the sky. He plucks the last knives out from the spiral wooden target. “You did well.” As you move toward him he turns around to take the last two from your hand. “I believe I’ve made quite the improvement on the path to proving you wrong, Geralt.” His response is a huff. The closest thing you’ll get to a chuckle from him.

“We should get back inside before it turns dark.” He looks at you, “Get some food and rest”.

You both make your way back to the tall house you’ve decided to reside at for the month. It’s tall and made of cobble. Wide and large, but not as large as a mansion. It’s just more than enough space. The mossy stone is gorgeous with the way the golden light showers its surface.

After eating a sufficient meal you decide to head to the bath. Geralt leaves you to clean up and relax, as you’ve earned it. The bathroom is just as homey yet grand as the house itself. A large sunken smooth stone tub, with buckets and candles around it. Cloth to wash and dry with as well. You undress from your robes, covered in mud and grass stains. Slipping every item off with ease as your breath deepens in relaxation.

The bath is warm as you step in, one leg at a time, then sit on the inner step of the tub. The cuts on your knuckles sting as they meet the water. Training did not only involve throwing knives but it involved throwing punches. Some against hardwood.

Although you are exposed, you feel safe, finding peace within the subtle darkness of the room. You steep in the tub for a while, taking your time cleaning yourself. Tilting your head back and closing your eyes, you soak and relax further.

So relaxed you are reluctant to hear the door creek open. “Oh uhm.” That coarse voice makes you shoot your eyes open to find Geralt standing there. You catch him looking at your wet and free breasts, so beautiful as they glisten from candlelight. He quickly turns away, “Sorry I thought you had finished.” The last word echoes in your head. Finished. The interaction makes you grin. He’s felt the breast he sees before him yet he has trouble looking out of respect for your current nature.

“Not yet.” You tease and play with his words and smirk, looking him up and down. You wouldn’t mind if he were to look again. Maybe come over and join you. “I’m almost done. Unless you want to join me.”

Geralt nods and moves closer, refusing to look anywhere in your direction. You’re surprised he decided to join you, but you guess he just thought it was best to not waste warm water. “I cannot stay for long. I have tasks that need my attention later tonight”. He finally meets your eyes but doesn’t explore anywhere else.

“Well, There’s plenty of warm bath.” You gesture to the other side of the large tub. It’s spacious enough to fit four people. He starts to take off his ragged dark clothes of the day and steps into the bath, only leaving on his medallion. His body was covered in those familiar scars he lets you ask about. He sinks into the tub, and you watch him out of the corner of your eye, wanting to pay the same respect to him as he did to you.

He seems very at ease in the pool as if everything else is just white noise. He closes his eyes and sighs as if he were waiting for this moment of relaxation. The water blurs everything beneath the surface as it ripples, and you watch the water as it waves.

“So what does the night feature for you tonight? You said you have tasks.” Your eyes meet his. Geralt seems to think for a moment, the water lapping the sides of the pool. “Nothing too serious. Need to deliver a Kikimora leg to an alchemist in town.”

His voice is comforting and relaxing. He has a lot of experience with monsters, so it’s quite natural for him to speak of them so calmly. “I’ll be back in the early hours of the morning.”

“Then you should take your time now before you face another creature.” You grab a sponge and hand it to him. Your hands touch on accident, as they tend to do, and he takes the sponge. “Thank you.” It glides over his muscular arms and chest, and you can’t help but watch him a bit. He groans and it makes you squirm your legs a bit. As the noise would be lovely in another situation.

You let a few strained minutes of stubborn sexual tension pass before you notice how pruned your fingers are. “I’m headed to my chambers, I’m in dire need of my beauty rest.” You grab a towel and start to emerge from the bath. "I look forward to seeing your beauty upon rising.” He turns his face away and remains silent after this, seeming to restrain any further comment on your naked figure before him.

You dry yourself as much as you can before wrapping yourself in the warm towel. Starting to walk out of the room, you turn your head back to meet his eyes again.

“Goodnight, Geralt. And good luck” You smile and turn to walk away closing the door behind you, just hoping he makes it back as unharmed as possible.

You wake up in sheer terror, gasping for breath, clinging a hand to your heart, and feeling your pulse race a little faster than usual. It was another nightmare. One that was rare these nights. You sweep your curly locks out of your face and try to gather yourself. Maybe turning on a light or two would help.

The terrors fade a bit from your memory as you cool down, trying to observe the room to distract you. It must be late in the evening, creeping into early morning as it is still dark out the window beside your bed. He must be back by now, he has to be.

You throw your blankets open and slip out of bed, still wobbly from your slumber. With slightly heavy feet, you make your way out into the hall with candle in hand. The silence of the house is accompanied by the creek of the floorboards and the wind faintly hitting the window at the end of the hall. There is no glow from the outside seeping through the window like there is in the winter. Just darkness and shadows of your surroundings bathe around you and your candlelight.

As you carefully make your way down the hall, refraining from making as much noise as possible, you reach his door. You stand in front of the mahogany and iron, deciding if you should bother his sleep he so well deserved. Although you now desired more than one form of comfort.

Taking a deep breath, you nudge the door with your knuckles just enough to see and peek in. The door’s hinges creak quietly as it moves open a sliver.

You find that his bed is made, and he is not there. A strange discovery as you knew he’d be back in the early hours of the morning.

“Y/N.” A large warm hand lands on your shoulder and you gasp. “What are you doing up?” His hot breath lingers on your neck. You turn to face him, candle at your side. He’s a little cleaner than usual with a few small scratches on his face and his garbs and armor rugged from combat.

“I could ask you the same question.” His eyes glued to you as he takes your candle and sets it on the hallway’s table beside him.

“I am well within my reason. You should be in bed.” He wasn’t wrong about either. But it’s hard to sleep when the best comfort is supposed to be in the other room. Now it faces you.

Taking the pad of your thumb, you swipe his cheek and ignore his scolding. “Didn’t get too beat up, I hope.” He holds your hand in place and closes his eyes for a moment, taking in your palm. Then meeting his eyes with yours again, he lets go of the grasp and lets your hand fall.

“All went well indeed.” He moves a step closer to you backing you up against the wall.

“Now. I will ask you again. What are you doing up?” His voice makes you shiver with how low it is. Although it’s an intimidating tone, you find it protective.

“I’m safe and sound aren’t I? Why does it matter.” You try to throw your attitude at him to show he has no control over you.

“Because. You tend to linger by my bedpost when you’ve had a night terror.” He’s not wrong. You would come to him when it was unbearable because he was the only company you knew to turn to. You stay quiet with a tough look on your face, and he clearly reads you like a book.

He takes a step forward and as a result, you are pinned to the wall between his door and the table with the candle lit. “Or are your intentions…” Leaning in, he puts a hand on the wall right over your shoulder. Another attempt at protective imitation. “More seductive?”

“Perhaps a bit of both…” You analyze all his features, letting your eyes wander. “Perhaps…” You move a smidge closer to him, breath upon breath, “more seductive intentions.”

He doesn’t even let you catch your breath before taking a firm hand to your hip and locking lips with you. The kiss is filled with a feverous passion that makes you ache for more. You reach for his face again, pulling him closer, while you put another hand on his chest starting to unbuckle his armor at the sides.

This felt different than the other moments when you’re lips met each other. This felt like it was going to lead somewhere more permanent. It was rougher and made you more in need of his touch. His chest piece falls to the floor while he works on taking the others off, throwing it to the side. Geralt was now easier to feel, with fewer clothes to shield him from your touch.

In a swift motion, he grabs you by your thighs and picks you up, pressing you into the wall while your legs wrap around him. Tongues interlacing in a dance, swirling.

As you both pull away, your lips burn with sensation. He huffs into your mouth and presses his temple to yours, swinging you around and taking you to his bed. His grip on your ass as you travel is firm.

His room is almost as humble as his, but his bed is just as handsome. The headboard is stained Mahogany with carved features of trees and animals. And the canopy drapes over the bedposts, making it a cozy resting place.

He plops you down onto the edge of the end of the bed and starts to loom over you again. Leaning in to kiss you once more, you scoot backward. Making him work for it. “Catch me if you can, White Wolf.” You make sure to annunciate the name, just to tease him further. Every quick move you make back, he advances. Until you hit the headboard, letting him have his way with you.

The kiss again is tender and filled to the brim with passion. He grabs your wrist pinning it above you as he starts to kiss down your jaw, then your throat, until he hits your night dress. A thin white gown made from cotton cloth that comfortably drapes your body. He sits up, staring down at you for a second.

“I’ll get you a new dress.” He grabs the opening right above your breasts and tears it open, turning the garment into mere scraps of fabric. And just as he found you in the bathing room, you are exposed to him yet again.

He takes you in, being so mindful of every hill and plain on your body. It looks like he’s mapping you out for a plan of sensual attack. He murmurs low at the sight of you, and a hint of a smile appears on his face.

Your knees are bent, stuck together, while your heels lay far apart. With his medallion dangling, he takes a hand from your stomach and glides his calloused palm down your side. He sweeps under to grab your ass, releasing his grip to then move to your thighs. Trailing up his hands meet your knees, and he moves them apart. Opening you.

As his hand moves, his eyes follow to meet the center of your opened legs. His treasure. His reward to reap. He dances his fingers to your inner thigh, closer and closer to your center.

“Am I to watch as you dangle satisfaction above my head.” You say softly while your breath hitches with every change in touch. “Mm-hmm.” He nods as he finally reaches your clit making slow circles. You gasp and arch as his touch consumes your entire being shooting pleasure up every vertebrae.

Leaning in closer, he grabs your face sternly with control and kisses you again. The sensation fills you with desire. He then fills you again but with his fingers. Not rushing but not hesitating either. In and out, he pushes again and again. Although this fills you with more than mere lust, you want to show him how you can overcome his territory.

You push against his chest with a hand and he follows the motion sitting up with you and slipping his fingers out. He might be dominating but he’d do anything for a beautiful creature such as yourself. As he’s up you sit on your knees before him and begin unbuttoning his shirt.

Stopping only four buttons down you look into his eyes with mischief in mind. You tear open his shirt the same way he did to your dress. Taking his medallion in your hands you pull on it just enough so his lips are once again close to yours. “I’ll get you a new one”. You smirk at him and his hint of a smile grows a little larger from your playfulness.

You unlatch the buckle on his pants and push him back onto the mattress. It was your turn to be the cat climbing over him.

As your breasts dangle in his face he starts to take his trousers off. You stop him and do it yourself, throwing them on the floor. Now he’s just as vulnerable as you.

Starting from his ankles you prowl your way to his hardness.

Within your grasp, it is firm and thick. Only growing thicker as your breasts hang in his face again. This throat purs with his low-toned vibrations making you chuckle. Lifting his head, he places his mouth on your breast while placing a hand on your waist. This leaves your entrance to hover over his cock in your hands. A tease for you both as you continue to move your hand up and down his shaft while his tip kisses your wetness.

Moaning and humming, you both stay here in this series of actions. But he desires more of you. Moving his mouth away from your breast, he places both of his hands on your waist. “I trust you remember our horseback lesson, yes?” He says looking at you.

Your grin is naughty after he says this. With his permission you slide onto his mass, stretching you, while he guides you with his grip on your hips. His length fills you and you struggle to look at him straight. It’s just too large to handle without going slow.

Now that you’re sitting upon him, you start to ride. Just like he taught you. Starting slow you bounce up and down letting your hair hang in front of your face. The pleasure is too much to bear with eyes open. Grabbing your face again he says “Look up, darling”.

His grip tilts your head up to face a mirror you failed to notice at the other end of the room, facing right at you. You also fail to continue to ride him, now distracted by the surprise of your reflection. With your hips now hovering, he gives you another surprise and starts to thrust into you. You start to close your eyes again as your face scrunches in pleasure.

“Keep watching.” He tightens his grip on your face as moans continue to escape your mouth. And you watch as he fucks you. He frees his hand on your hip for a moment to smack your ass as it creates a tantalizing sting, leaving your cheek red. He watches as you watch your reflection jolt up and down from his thrusts. Moving his hand down to your throat, he flirtatiously chokes you, while he arches his head back to watch the mirror with you.

Reaching a hand to hold his arm that has a grasp on your throat, he finally lets you throw your head back as you grow tighter around him. “Gods…” You exclaim. “You feel…so…fuck”. He chuckles low at you and starts to thrust at a faster pace.

As you both get closer to ecstasy his hands move back to your hips, and you bow down to meet his temple. Moaning into each other’s mouths, the sensation of your parts meeting is what the afterlife should feel like. It’s more than safe to say that this is the furthest you’ve taken each other than ever before.

Your temples continue to meet as he trusts, and your grip on his shoulders tightens as you feel yourself pulse around him. Holding you close his movements get tighter and tighter. Until finally, a rush of sensation washes over you and within you, as he finishes as well.

Slowing down, sweat drips from your brow. He lets you feel him twitch inside you before lifting you by your hips while you gasp at the release of fulfillment. You feel the mixture of fluid drip down your inner thigh, a satisfying tickle.

You both try to catch your breaths lying on his chest. As your hand lays on his heart you feel his body rise and fall with each breath. It’s so calming here, even if your legs already feel sore. He puts a hand on your back to soothe you.

“Feeling better?” He asks. You realize that you had forgotten the original intention of lingering at his door. “I am feeling…” Sitting up you look into his eyes, tucking a piece of hair away from his face. “Magnificent.” A well-earned and rare smile appears on his face as he looks into your eyes. You feel proud to know you made The Witcher smile for once.

#geralt x reader #witcher x reader #henry cavil smut #the witcher geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt of river x reader #the white wolf smut #geralt x fem!reader #geralt of rivia x you #geralt smut

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welikeimagines-andfandoms · 7 months ago

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Biting- Geralt x Vampire!Reader

Description: Your friend Geralt helps to quench more than just your thirst for blood

Word count: 1,673

A snarl sounded deep from your throat, and hissed passed your fanged teeth as Geralt tried to approach you once again.

“I just want to help you, y/n.” He explained gruffly, as he sat back down on the rough ground of the dark cave with a huff.

“A Witcher wanting to help a monster. Seems to go totally against what you are.” You smirk over to your friend, a joke you often make at his expense.

It was rare, if not totally unheard of, for a Witcher to befriend a monster, and yet that’s exactly what happened with yourself and Geralt.

He’d one day been tasked to hunt and kill you, but after finding out that you had only attacked that town because of the vile men that lived within it, he decided to spare you.

Most of your kind feasted on easy prey, innocent people who can’t defend themselves. You decided long ago to use your need for blood to help defend those innocent people, only going after those who deserve it.

“You know with how old you are and how long we’ve been friends, you think you would have thought of a better joke.” He chuckles deeply at you.

“And I would have thought with how old you are, you would have grasped the concept of ‘no’ by now.” You snap back at your friend.

Your head rested against the cave wall as you closed your eyes, trying hard not to focus on the sound of Geralts heartbeat, or his intoxicating smell. It had been too long since you had fed and you were starting to notice. Geralt had offered to let you drink from him, but you couldn’t hurt him.

Geralt had spent the last hour trying to convince you to drink from him, whereas you had spent that time convincing yourself that it was his blood you craved and not the way his skin would feel against your body. Geralt was a friend and you couldn’t cross that boundary with him, no matter how badly you craved to.

You must have been focusing a lot harder then you thought, because the next minute you felt Geralts hand on yours. As your eyes flung open, they glared into the witchers eyes.

The deep red of your eyes and the dangerous look you wore would normally scare anyone, but not Geralt. In fact if anything, it made him more bold. His hand left the top of yours as it made its way slowly up your arm, to gently cup around your neck.

It felt as though you were paralysed, locked in place by his intoxicating scent. Your rational and animalistic mind fighting a battle of wills as his head bent down to whisper in your ear.

“I can smell that it is more than just my blood that you crave.” Geralt whispered seductively in your ear, his other hand now rubbing up and down your inner thigh.

Your self control was bending but not broken, that was until he began to press hot and deep kisses onto your sensitive neck. With feel of his intoxicating kisses on your sensitive skin, and his scent so close, your control fully snapped and you became ravenous.

Grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, you pushed him against wall, landing aggressively in his lap as you now straddle his large thighs. With a hand in his hair, you pull his head back to expose his strong neck.

Geralt knew that in your hungry and desperate state that you’d be stronger than him, and honestly he seemed to like it.

“Is this what you wanted, Witcher? Wanted me to lose my composure? To hurt you?” You growled closely in his ear, accentuating your point by tugging at his hair harder and beginning to grind into his lap.

“Yes.” He sighed out, a cheeky smile both in his voice and on his face.

“Are you sure?” You ask seductively, but also as a way to really check this is what he wanted, as you sharp fangs began to lightly trace his neck.

“Mhmmm, I trust you, y/n.” He confirmed breathlessly.

Trying to prove his point or maybe just to get you to hurry up, he put one hand on your ass, to guide your grinding. Whereas the other carded through your hair, pushing your face closer to his neck.

Chuckling into his neck at his obvious excitement and mutual arousal, you began to lightly lick and kiss his neck, wanting to tease him for as long as you could.

With both of your heightened senses, you could both smell just how desperate the two of you were. The strong scent of his arousal and the delicious blood pumping through his body was driving you half mad, but you could hold off just a little longer if it meant teasing the Witcher.

“Y/N, stop teas-“ Geralt was promptly cut off as your fangs bit into his neck.

The feeling of your hot bodies pressed together and the delicious blood finally reaching your mouth, made a fire erupt all through out your body. Once that first drop touched your tongue it was all over.

Your whole arm wrapped around Geralts head, pushing it into your breasts as you began to hump and grind against his growing impressive bulge. You were like a woman possessed, pushing yourself further against him, not being able to get close enough to his body for your liking.

Finally breaking away from his neck, you let out a desperate moan as you began licking and pecking at his wound. You were fed but it still wasn’t enough.

Grabbing him by his white hair once again, you push his head back and away from your breast. Now looking at his face, you see it set in a dazed and dopey smile, hooded eyes looking into yours.

“So tell me, Witcher. Did you just want me to drink your blood or did you want to help me with my other cause of desperation too.” You whispered hotly against his lips, teasing him with an almost kiss.

“Well that’s what friends are for.” He smirks at you.

His once and usual manly stoic look was now wiped away, and instead a lust drunk smile of a boy takes its place. Geralt would not give up control to anyone, but in this cave and with you, it felt like there was no better way.

Smirking and looking into his eyes, you hungrily capture his lips in a searing kiss. The kiss was hungry and desperate, his hands digging into your ass as you begin to unbutton his trousers to release his hard and desperate cock.

Freeing his cock and pulling away to stand up, leaves him grunting in protest.

“So you don’t want me to ride your cock then?” You taunt him as smirk cheekily, beginning to undress yourself.

Geralt quickly began to behave as he watched your little show you began to put on him for him. Each item of clothing revealing more skin that Geralt desperately wanted to lick, kiss and touch.

“Yeh that’s what I thought.” You wink as you straddle his lap once again.

Taking his impressive cock in your hand, you stroke him a few times before lining yourself up with him.

Geralts head is pushed against and the cave wall and his eyes are closed, enjoying every ounce of pleasure that you’re giving him.

“Look at me, Geralt. I want to see your face as I sink down onto your cock.” You gently order, shifting your hips to tease his sensitive head.

Peeling away from the wall, his eyes look both desperately and hungrily into your own. Both begging you to use him and asserting his dominance all at once.

“Good boy.” You cheekily coo as you begin to sink down onto his cock.

You both seem to moan in unison as you hold each others gaze, both of you being filled with immediate pleasure and relief. It takes a moment to get used to his size, but once you are and you’ve properly bottom out, you begin to move immediately.

Grinding into him quickly turns into bouncing, causing Geralts hands to fly to your breasts. He groans as he takes one in his mouth and his other grabs at your ass.

You continue to bounce and use his cock for your own pleasure, drawing moans from both of you. Geralt feels blessed to be used in such a way by such a beautiful woman. His mind filled with nothing but how tight your pussy feels and how good your tits feel in his hand and mouth.

The cave is filled with both of your mixed moans and grunts. The sound of skin slapping onto skin getting louder and louder and you bounce faster and faster.

Pulling Geralt away from your breasts by his hair, you place his hands on your hips. His strong fingers dig into the flesh of your hips as your breasts bounce deliciously in his face, leaving him staring at your form, hypnotised by your beauty and power.

“Fuck! Geralt! You feel so good! Such a good fucking boy.” You praise as your fingers come down to play with your clit.

Geralt can’t help the way his moans become almost animalistic, as your pussy clenches around his cock. Grunts and groans leave his beautiful parted lips and echo around the cave as you both reach your end.

“Fuck, Geralt, I’m so close!”

“Me too. Fuck! Cum with me, sweetheart.” He grunts out in response.

You were wound so tight and from just those words alone, you couldn’t hold on much longer. The tension in you snapped as you came with a loud roaring moan, your head flying back.

Geralt took a tighter hold of your hips as he thrust into you powerfully, finishing only seconds after you.

Panting deeply with sweat covering both of you, you push your forehead against his as you both catch your breath.

“Maybe I should come to you when I’m thirsty more often.”

#Geralt #Geralt x reader #Geralt imagine #Geralt of rivia #Geralt of rivia imagine #Geralt of rivia x reader #the Witcher #the Witcher imagine

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renren-006 · 8 months ago

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Hi there! I’m an angst addict so I was thinking like a story about the sorcerer ball that Geralt and Yennefer attend in season 3 but with the Reader who is like dating Geralt has to stay behind with Jaskier and Ciri has some jealousy because of Geralt and Yen’s history and starts thinking that our white wolf would prefer her instead….if that makes sense 😭

Preference? | Geralt x Fem Reader

word count: 909

a/n: omg yesss!! i had fun writing this so enjoyyyyy!!

The ball was that evening, and after the long boat ride and fight you, Geralt, and Ciri had to go through, you were looking forward to it. What you didn't expect was Geralt sidelining you with Jaskir and Ciri. You stood there dumbfounded and Yennifer and Geralt explained that it would make more sense to have more people watch Ciri. You watched him leave that night in an elegant outfit and a single kiss before he went towards the castle.

“He loves you, you know that right Y/N” Jaskir said to you.

“How Jask. Look at Yennefer. I'll never look like her, and I'll never be as powerful…” you told him. You and Jaskir were best friends before Geralt even entered the picture. He glanced over at you, seeing you go through heartbreak after heartbreak. This time, both of you wanted this to be the last. He hugged you as Geralt disappeared beyond sight.

Ciri, however, didn't notice anything. Absorbed in her own little world for a bit, or at least for most of the night, she didn't let on that she had been listening to you. She saw the way Yennifer was eying Geralt. It wasn't until a few card games that she talked about it.

“I prefer you over Yennefer.” She told you. Jaskir looked at you, seeing the smile and shock on your face. “I don't like that he didn't ask you to go.”

“I…I don't either, Ciri” you told the young girl.

“He loves you. I think he's just being stupid,” Ciri told you, comforting you. The young girl had taken a strong liking to you in the years you had been with and known her. She thought of you like a mother, a guardian, someone she knew would lay down her life to protect her. You managed to find her before Geralt and keep her safe while helping her find your lover and her guardian. Once you did, it felt like a family reunion. You remember meeting Yen with them and discovering her betrayal. Seeing her now and knowing she was trying to be genuine, you had no reason to worry, yet you did. The rest of the night was a mix of worry and jealousy.

You worried he would realize how much better the woman before him that night was than you. How powerful she was and how it barely compared to you. How could she teach Ciri far better than you could about magic, even though Ciri had mastered most, if not all, of what you had taught her so far. You just wanted Geralt to love you for you, and you felt as thought you might always be compared to her.

When morning came, and Geralt walked through the door with Yennifer, you noticed he wore a different outfit. You glanced at Yennifer, who was doing her best not to look over at you. Her face was flush, and her eyes were cast down away from you. Your worries were confirmed.

“I knew it,” you said. Geralt's eyes flashed with worry, worry that you had figured it out. You stormed out the back door, and Geralt followed after.

“Y/N! Y/N/N!” he yelled. Your flowy flower dress flowed in the wind as you continued storming off towards the woods, wishing to be with the trees. Soon after, you fell to the ground in the middle of a clearing, hearing and feeling the forest energy.

“Are you alright?” Geralt asked, kneeling next to you.

“You slept with Yennifer didn't you?” you asked, tears in your eyes. “You know I'm nothing compared to her. How could I ever expect to be better than her? You'll always want her…”

“Y/N that's not true” Geralt said, his husky voice causing you to shiver away.

“Yes it is” you said, power serging from you, rumbling the woods. “I am nothing compared to Geralt, I have less power, less beauty...”

“Y/N! I told her I wanted to marry you "Geralt said, holding your face in his hands.

“What?” you said. Suddenly everything in you went quiet, including the world around you.

“I told her I wanted to spend my life with you from now on. That she meant nothing to me anymore.” Geralt's words cut through you. Yennifer's downward look wasn't because she was sorry she slept with him, but because she was sorry she tried to and got rejected. You realize that Geralt's clothes were probably because he was tired from the long night of fighting that Yen lent him clothes, not because he wanted to stay.

“You want to marry me?” you asked him, tears in your eyes

“Yes,” he said firmly.

“I'm sorry…I was…” you stumbled over words.

“It's okay. Darling i understand” He said kissing your tears away, “I understand why you got there. Why you think I loved her? I don't”

“I know that now” you said slightly laughing, “I love you”

“I know, darling,” he said. He helped you stand and walk back towards that little cottage with your family inside. Yennifer came over and apologized profusely. She wanted nothing more than to be friends and to set up the wedding. She was happy he found someone like you and that she wouldn't ever get in the way. You were happy your worries were not true and that Geralt was the man for you forever.

#witcher geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt x you #geralt and ciri #geralt z rivii #the witcher x reader #the witcher #henry cavill

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pirateprincessblog · 2 years ago

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Cry For Me 》 P. Seonghwa

I make these to help you visualise! But you are free to imagine whatever you like :)

NEW! Read the ongoing full version on Wattpad!

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔:

One

Two

Three (in progress...)

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫.: you promised your friend. you asked for forgiveness and gave a promise that you wouldn't even look her father's way. it isn't your fault that you suck at keeping promises. 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: psh x reader x khj 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.5k 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: best friend's father seonghwa, seonghwa's business partner hongjoong, smut, angst, bits of fluff 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: swearing, nsfw scenes, unprotected sex, voyeurism, dacryphilia 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: had to include both of my biases :D

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐲.

༻♡༺

The pastry shop was flooded with people. It was Monday, which meant new specials were added to the menu. Your special Butcher of Blaviken piece of cake was long forgotten. You didn't even get a chance to taste the inviting red frosting. Oh, to be in the Witcher world now instead of being lectured by your friend. Henry Cavill would understand.

"You didn't think about it affecting us? You didn't fear about losing me as you did it?"

You're numb to the words. Her father fucked the thoughts out of you and you couldn't seem to feel any guilt in you. Yet, you didn't want to lose her. She was the only one who could keep up with your mood swings and random obsessions with movies and books that come and go. She was the only one that returned the energy you'd give her.

"Damn it, answer me! What the fuck were you thinking? How the fuck did you even manage to do it? He doesn't fuck anyone since mom left!"

People are staring, those sitting getting their chairs closer. Your friend is giving them a free show and they're willing to take it.

"I swear to God-"

"I wasn't thinking." You say, looking directly into her eyes.

"What?"

"I was not," you get closer, making sure not to break eye contact, "thinking."

"How the fuck did it happen? How did you convince him?"

The amount of the word fuck would even impress Geralt- well, you get it. I have an obsession with Henry Cavill. Little fourth wall break here. Okay, let's continue. No more, I promise.

Your calmness is angering her even more. She doesn't seem to understand how unaffected by all of this you are. You don't feel guilt simply because Mr Park agreed to all of it. In fact, you had already given up on your plan. He came to you and started it all over again.

"I was snooping around his library and he came, we hit it off and that's all you need to know."

"He came to you?" She laughs in disbelief.

"He came to the library, not me."

Frustrated, she groans and drops her head on the table. You glance at the cake, the chocolate Wolven sword on top of it as inviting as Mr Park in his unbuttoned shirt.

"Listen, I cannot undo what happened. Truthfully speaking, I wouldn't even if I could."

The girl raises her head, her angered look changing into the one of disappointment. You try putting yourself into her situation. You'd feel hurt, sure. But as long as it is a one-time thing, you're sure you'd get over it. It's not like Mr Park will declare his love to you and make you his new wife and her step mother. And that's what you tell her, causing her to calm down a bit.

"Didn't you make similar comments about Wren's dad? That you'd give him anything he'd ask for, if only he approached you?"

She seems offended that you remembered and mentioned that. Still, she remains calm. Her eyes are fixed behind you, concentrating on the moving line of people that are no longer interested in your conversation.

"It was just a one-time thing. It won't happen-"

"I miss mom."

And just like that, she breaks down. Your heart shatters when the first tear rolls down her cheek. After all, she is still her dad's little girl. And no matter what Mrs Park did, she was still her mother.

"Hey-"

"Just let me do what I need to do." She says, her voice trembling as words left her mouth. "I just need to let it out."

"You sure you want to do that here?" You ask, careful not to make her angry again.

She sits silent for a few moments. Her eyes are fixed on the traffic outside, a tear rolling down her cheeks every other moment. You've never seen her so helpless and vulnerable. She is always collected, calm, and usually the one to cheer people up. Now, when it's your turn, you don't know what to do.

"I could do it in a dressing room at Zara." She laughs, then sniffs. "Want to join me?"

And just how can you say no to her?

It is noon when you enter her house. Both of you are drowning in various bags full of clothes. She is an entirely different person than she was this morning. As if it didn't happen at all. You're watching her as she skillfully carries all her bags up the stairs and into her room. You almost trip and fall multiple times, yet you are determined to get there on your own, without any help. She laughs at you from the top of the stairs, then announces that she is going to take a shower.

You balance the bags in your hands, eyes glued to the marble stairs which shined brighter than diamonds under the expensive chandelier. Once you reach the top of the stairs, you put the items on the floor so you can correct your posture and crack your back. You hear a thump, then shuffling. With horror, you watch as two bags start rolling down the stairs. All of its contents are spilling on the way down, and all you can do is watch and hope they'll stop at some point.

But when they do, they stop in front of a pair of polished black shoes. Your eyes stay fixed on the Victoria's Secret pink bag, somehow hoping that if you're not looking at him, he will disappear. Pale slender fingers come into sight, the pointer finger hooked under the handle of the bag. Your eyes follow as he raises it to his head level.

"I think you might've dropped something." He speaks first.

You're not sure what to say. Or do. So you continue to stand like a deer on a highway, your feet refusing to move. Since you're already staring, you take a few more moments to admire the changes on him. His hair is darker than the last time, and not as fluffy. His lips have a red tint, and you notice a slight shadow at the corners of his eyes. He is wearing a black turtleneck, paired with perfectly ironed pants and a belt. He is effortlessly perfect.

He chuckles, then bends over to pick up the items laying on the white tiles. Your legs and brain finally make a signal, and you are running down to yank the items away from him. Your movements are rushed and clumsy, and all the clothes are landing outside the bag instead of inside it. From the corner of your eyes, you realise that he has stopped helping. Instead, he is standing again, his attention now on something else.

You wish the ground could swallow you. A piece of fabric lays on his delicate fingers, thumb caressing the lace as a smirk forms on his tinted lips. He is holding your newest holiday edition lingerie set. It is as red as your cheeks right now, and if you didn't look away, you're sure your head would've exploded from embarrassment.

"Good deal on the set?"

You're not sure if he is trying to lighten the obviously awkward situation, or if he is making fun of you. After all, he is standing there, dripping in designer clothes and looking classier than you. Yet you're standing there, dripping in clumsy and tacky.

"I would never buy something so ugly for a full price." You manage to mumble, then reach for the fabric.

"Ugly? I don't think it's ugly." He pulls his hand away, "It's very... Well, it screams Christmas. And only ten dollars for a full set?"

Unable to read his expression and tone, you stay frozen. You feel so small in front of him. The tone is tugging towards mockery more than towards harmless joking, and you're not feeling comfortable. Tears start to form in the corners of your eyes, your lip slightly trembling. You're a mess, standing in your scattered lingerie and paper bags, in front of your friend's hot father who isn't making you feel as good as last time you saw him.

"Can I please have my things back?" You manage to ask, voice cracking at the end.

His smile drops. The man takes a few moments to examine your body language, and once he realises what he has done, he puts the items in the bags. He takes his time to pick them up one by one, not once looking up at you.

Your sniffles echo through the room, and you're trying your best not to let the tears smear this little makeup you have left on your face. You still have to look a bit decent. Park Seonghwa is now holding the bags in front of you, patiently waiting for you to take them. You carefully soak in the tears with the sleeve of your top. Your eyes avoid his as you reach out to take your belongings. The slight brush of his cold fingers against yours has your stomach going on a rollercoaster. You remember how they felt against your lips as he touched you. You manage to look into his eyes, this time not looking away immediately. You wish to repeat the guilty pleasure. The way he looks down at you makes you want to drop on your knees and give him just what he deserves.

"That look is going to get us both into trouble again, kitten." He whispers.

Still focused on trying not to cry, you don't realise that you are pouting and looking at him through wet eyelashes. He gulps, then glances behind you. He then steps towards you, until you can feel his comforting warm breath on your face.

"That smeared mascara is giving me deja vu."

You immediately remember what he is referring to.

"Will you let me smear that pretty makeup of yours?"

So he gets off to smeared makeup. Ironic, since he always looks so neat and fresh. Not only him, but every area around him too. Your breath hitches as he brings his hand to your cheek, thumb ever so lightly grazing the skin where your tear had started the journey. He wipes it, then brings it over to his mouth. He closes his lips around the thumb, and you see his tongue peeking out a bit to lick the salty liquid off the tip. You are too taken aback by his action, and now you are the one to get a deja vu.

You stood like this in front of him the last time too, only this time, his fingers aren't in your mouth, but in his.

Maybe you spoke to soon, maybe he could read minds. You didn't know. You could only watch as he brings his thumb to caress your bottom lip, as if asking permission for entrance. You grant it to him, ready to give him anything he asks for.

Your core throbs at the way he sensualy massages your tongue with the finger. You allow yourself to get confident, swirling your tongue around it. He lets out a groan, tongue peeking out to wet his lips.

"Don't give me that look, kitten. We can't."

You pull away from his hand, a string of saliva connecting your body parts making both of you feel dazed.

"Then stop fingerfucking my mouth, Sir." You say as politely as you can, tone low with lust.

Before you know it, Mr Park has you slammed against the wall, hands pressed firmly on your waist. You whimper when your back collides with the cold wall, but his actions are quick to distract you. His knee parts your legs, rising a little so that it makes contact with your crotch. You let out a sigh into his mouth, ready to give yourself to him. His fingers press into your cheeks, cupping your jaw so that you can't avoid his gaze. He is looking at you so intensely that you could cum right there on his thigh and knee. The smell of sandalwood and jasmine coming from his neck and chest area is not helping at all. It is inviting, and you don't want to be rude and decline an invitation.

"As much as I'd love nothing more than to fill you up with my cock against this wall right now, until you're staining my wall with your arousal, I'm going to need you to stay away from me."

The tower of fantasies you've slowly started to build suddenly crumbled down under his words. Emotions are erupting inside of you, lust and disappointment merging into each other and creating frustration and sadness. You are sexually frustrated, and this man has done nothing but worsen the situation.

"You'll leave me like this, Mr Park?"

He looks down on your lips, eyebrows furrowed as if thinking about which wire to cut.

Red — the powerful lust growing inside of him. The desire to have you crying under his touch from immense pleasure. The urge to abuse your clit with his tongue until he has you shaking in his arms.

Blue — the fragile relationship with his daughter. He just won her back, and making a fatal mistake like this could mean losing her forever.

Green — harmless flirting and teasing. Messing around and seeing you blush is something he just might get used to.

Park Seonghwa was also very sexually frustrated. But he was also a man with a reputation and half a family. He cannot bring himself to ruin either of the two.

"I want you on your best behaviour, kitten."

You look at him through your lashes again, this time on purpose. His fingers then pull at your hair, exposing your neck to him and causing you to whimper. He looks down at you, and you see yourself in his dilated pupils, drowning in the dark pools of lust.

"I mean it." He says, lips grazing your jaw as he speaks. "Be good for me."

And with that, he steps away from you, giving you one last head to toe checkup. He then turns around and makes his way to the library, leaving you flushed and a mess against the wall. You watch his back as he walks, noticing how huge his shoulders are and how slim his waist is. The things you'd do just to bite into any of those things. If you only had the courage and confidence to seduce him. You can only watch from afar, wishing that he would drop his guard and come to you.

It feels like that evening all over again; him making you yearn for him, then leaving you and disappearing into his space. The promises you gave to your friend are pushed back, and your brain has opened the path doe the thoughts you shouldn't be having. Yet, it's not breaking a promise if he is the one to come to you, is it?

You pick up the bags, this time not letting go of them until you've reached the room. You drop on the bed, face buried into the softest blankets you've ever touched in your life. Your clit is almost pulsating and burning from being all worked up. Touching yourself won't help. It's not the same. You've gotten a taste once, you'll never be able to do it the old way. Park Seonghwa is the only one who can help.

How dare he get so close to you, get you all worked up like that, then tell you to stay away? What kind of sick teasing and torture kinks is he into? Whatever it is, you have already fallen into his trap. You crave him, your body yearns to be touched by his fingers again. Every place on your body he touched on the stairs burns with sensation. You can only let out a frustrated groan before getting up and fixing your hair.

Your eyes examine the abnormally red cheeks and smeared mascara. You looked like you were fucked senseless, not just cornered by your friend's hot father. Although you wish he did the first.

"Professor Gellert gave me this stupid project that needs to be done by tomorrow. I don't know how the fuck I'm supposed to— damn. Are you okay?"

The girl comes in while drying her hair with a towel, eyebrows scrunched with worry as she looks at your reflection in the mirror. Your back is turned towards her, and you're having a hard time looking into her eyes. How can you, when in your mind you're picturing Mr Park forcing your head onto his cock as tears run down your cheeks, just how he likes it?

"Are you sick?"

"The stairs killed me." You laugh it off, pointing at the bags.

"Oh, right." She brushes it off, then throws the wet towel into the basket near the bed. "Do you have a dress for the college celebration next week?"

"I'm not going." You say, remembering how many familiar people will show up.

"Why not?"

"I'm going to have a stomachache then."

You don't even have to look up to know that she is killing you with her stare. Both of you know that you will end up going, you just choose to throw a little tantrum before giving in.

"Your dance partner is so excited for you though."

"I forgot whose name I even pulled. Mind reminding me?"

To avoid having people without a pair, all people were supposed to pull out names. You know you weren't too thrilled about it, but you still can't remember who it was.

"Avan? No, he is with Vic. Oh, Joseph!"

"The Catholic boy?" You ask, now realising why you were so unimpressed.

"No, no, the hot Catholic boy. His hair grew since last summer and his teeth are like, super straight and white. He became the hottest thing to ever walk at that college."

A sigh leaves your lips at the realisation that more money will be reduced from your bank account. You can't go looking basic nor weird. People there aren't the nicest little dandelions, and you are very fragile when it comes to real life. You will need a proper dress, proper heels and equally good makeup. Luckily, you know just the person who will help.

Hours of goofing around, working on the project, and a warning to quiet down from Mr Park due to his business video chat, both of you are asleep. You'd lie if you were to say his stern voice didn't do things to you. He was so good at giving orders, and you are willing to take all of them. Both of you were in your matching satin sleeping dresses, laying on your stomach and watching funny moments of your favorite groups, laughing your heads off and making weird noises on purpose. It was a competition, each of you making a weirder and louder noise than the other. A few screams and laughing fits later, Mr Park Seonghwa knocked on the door. He came in calmly, eyeing up both of you.

"Girls, I have an important meeting and I'm trying to win an opportunity to keep our lives the way they are and not lose everything. Yet, here you are, sounding as if I've kidnapped you and am boiling you alive."

Your smile drops, but your friend remains the same. This tells you that him coming in to intervenire happens more often than you'd think. His usually soft and sparkly eyes are now sharp and serious, his eyebrow raised and his tinted lips going slightly downwards. He is still wearing the turtleneck, only this time he has added a grey coat resting on his shoulders.

"Sorry, dad."

His eyes shift to you, and silence swallows the room. You are taken aback by the intense gaze, and your friend nudges you with her elbow.

"S-sorry, da- Mr Park." You stutter, and your face heats up as soon as you finish the sentence. You wish to crawl out the window and disappear in the bushes. Maybe even cry yourself to sleep there.

Your mission is to seduce him, yet how can you succeed when all you do is embarrass yourself in front of him? He must've lost interest. You are convinced that he is your fantasy come to life, and you simply can't let go. You don't want to let go. Not until you get at least one more taste.

To your surprise, he only hums, then exits the room. You hear his footsteps in the distance, then a door being shut louder than usual.

"He's a real dick sometimes."

In the morning, you are awoken by your friend's raspy voice asking for period cramp pills. It takes you a few moments to adjust your eyes to the morning light.

"Where are they?" You mumble, mouth full of toothpaste.

"Your favorite place in this house." She laughs.

You peek outside the little bathroom to ask why she is laughing and what does she mean by that.

"Dad's office."

You roll your eyes, then return to brushing your teeth. Once you make sure to pick on your skin a little, then put on foundation so that your friend doesn't give you a lesson about it, you head outside.

"You'll see a few drawers below his fantasy section. There's all kinds of pills, just bring me the ones we usually use in these days of suffering."

As you approach the room of your favorite memories and dirty pleasures, you hear his voice coming from inside. It sounds lower than usual, and he sounds very professional. He is saying words even you've never heard of. In conclusion, he even talks expensive and sexy.

"Hongjoong, my marketing team is suffering because they took the most important elements from them. Half of the team quit when they heard who is trying to get involved."

You don't want to interrupt, but if you don't get those pills, you're going to be the first victim of the Hormonal Queen Park. You knock lightly, then slowly open the door.

You swear that if your toes didn't hit the wooden door frame as you tried going inside, you'd let out a moan. Mr Park is sitting in his usual chair, wearing a white shirt. It is halfway unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. You see a thin gold chain decorating his sun kissed skin on his neck. His lips are reddish as usual, and his hair isn't as neat as it was yesterday. His jaw rests in his hand, while his other hand is scribbling something on the papers at the corner of his desk.

He doesn't speak. Instead, he raises an eyebrow towards you. You point towards the drawer, then try showing him that you're looking for pills with your hands. He scoffs, then returns to his conversation. Still sleepy, you forget that you are still only wearing the satin lavender dress. It is when the morning cold breeze hits your legs that you realise. You're already here, there's no point in being embarrassed anymore.

Your eyes read the signs at the top of the bookcase. Adult fiction, Criminal, Erotica, Fiction, Horror... and Fantasy! Right behind his back.

Fuck.

Having no other choice, you get down on all four, and start crawling towards the drawers. Mr Park hasn't yet noticed your little mission. He is too frustrated with his ongoing problem to notice a half naked girl crawling on his office floor. You cheer inside your head as you successfully reach the drawers. You pull at the handle, but it doesn't budge.

"You've gotta be kidding me." You sigh, trying with all your strength. The drawer stays closed, and you're already ready to go home.

The only thing left to do is ask Mr Park, but you wouldn't dare to interrupt. Instead, you crawl to his side, careful not to be seen on camera. You're sitting near his leg, looking up at him while figuring out how to ask. You opt for the quietest solution, and you'll see where it gets you. With a quiet gulp and a sigh, you finally reach out towards him. Instead of quietly calling him like you intended, you gently poke his leg under the desk.

The man looks down, eyebrows scrunched with confusion. He almost chokes on his saliva when he sees you, then redirects his attention at the screen.

"Mr Park," you whisper.

"Hongjoong, I'm gonna have to pause the video for a second."

"That's fine, I'll just go through the mails one more time."

You hear a click, then silence. Mr Park grabs your jaw, forcing you to look up at him. You look like a treat, waiting to be picked up and consumed by him. The way your knees have a slight red tint have his mind racing with thoughts.

"Are you crazy?" His tone is calm and low. The grip on your jaw is firm, his fingers pressing into your cheeks and forcing your lips into a pout.

He can't get over how big your pupils have gotten, and how well he can see your cleavage from that position. The sight of your breasts squished together by the shiny satin fabric combined with your pouty stare from the bottom aren't helping his situation at all. How can he hold back when you're sitting there like a present, waiting to be unwrapped and enjoyed? He had countless comparisons, and hundreds of ways he could take care of you. If only he could.

"I just need some pills," you whisper, too mesmerised by his intense gaze to speak in normal voice.

"So you decide to crawl under my desk to ask for it?"

"I'm not—"

"Right, still nothing. I guess we really lost the proof."

The voice is coming from the screen again. A flash of disappointment crosses Park Seonghwa's face. Still, he leans back into his chair, hand still holding your jaw. His grip softens, and he proceeds to caress your cheek with his thumb. The simple action makes you almost purr. You don't remember the last time you got this kind of affection.

With your eyes closed, your body relaxes into his touch. Nothing exists anymore, except Mr Park, his scent and touch. You allow yourself a few moments of silence. The men's voices are becoming distant, and you swear that you could fall asleep just like this. You feel the slight roughness of his fingers, a sign that he aged like fine wine. You remember your father's hands being all rough and dark due to working hard jobs all these years. Seonghwa must've inherited family business. Or he knows how to take care of himself.

You look up at him, chin now resting on his knee. You aren't sure if you want to climb into his lap and take in all the affection he is willing to give you, or get down further under the desk and make him squirm in your hands. Deciding to test the waters, you drag your fingers up his leg, resting them just near his crotch. Mr Park wets his lips, glancing at you for a second. When you see no signs of complaining, you move over so that you're sitting comfortably between his legs. Your hands continue the journey to his belt, excitement rushing through your veins and into your heart as you feel the cold leather underneath your fingertips. You take your time to play with the buckle, just like you read in one of your favorite books.

Just like the man on the worn out pages of your book, Park Seonghwa gulps when you pull the zipper down, just enough to graze him with your nails. You're overflowing with confidence, and you're a little impatient too. But you want to take your time to take care of him. Make him yearn for you just like he did to you. As quietly as possible, you undo his pants, and are delighted when you find out he is wearing no underwear. You reach inside with your tongue, just enough to touch him and make him adjust in his chair.

"You good?"

"Yeah, I'm good."

Mr Park moves your hands, then pulls his cock out for you. One of his hands is holding onto your hair, gently pushing your head towards it. You don't have time to admire the size or all the little details you wanted. Your lips are pressing against his tip, the taste of precum sweet and salty at the same time.

He is impatient, and in desperate need to feel your hot mouth around him. You obey, finally taking him in and making sure to press your tongue flat against him. Unable to control it, he releases a groan.

"Hwa, you sure you're good?"

"I'm good, I just —" he pauses, looking down at you. How does he tell his business partner and best friend that his daughter's friend looks too good with her mouth stuffed like that? With her tits almost falling out and her pupils so big he just wants to slam his cock into her pussy and fuck her into oblivion?

"Just...? If you're not feeling good, we can continue later. I get this must be very hard for you, but —"

Just when you think you've won, Mr Park shakes his head. "No, no. That's fine. Remember how I told you my daughter wanted a kitten? Well, she's not letting me work in peace."

"Oh, that's adorable. Give her a few pets from me."

Park Seonghwa smirks, then looks down at you. His fingers caress your cheeks, and you melt at the touch. It is a motivation to take him in all the way, slamming the tip against the back of your throat.

"She's a very naughty kitten. I can't seem to get rid of her."

"See, no matter what they do, I'll never be a dog person. I love them so much. Just the sight of one makes me feel all fuzzy."

"Oh, just wait until you see this one."

You freeze in your spot. Seonghwa pulls your head away with a loud pop, and shoves his desk away to expose you. His thumb wipes your drool and his precum from your lips, then proceeds to pull you into his lap so that you're facing the screen. The man on the screen is as frozen as you, and as handsome and Mr Park. His gaze drops on your now exposed breasts, and you see his chest slowing down as he tries to breath normally again.

"A unique one, isn't she?" Seonghwa speaks first, holding your head in place by pulling your hair. You're forced to look at the man, and instead of feeling ashamed, you are only feeling more worked up. "I've never been a cat person, but this one is just so obedient I might actually keep her."

"Well, fuck me. That is one hell of a kitten."

"Come on, love. Why don't we show Hongjoong all the tricks I have taught you?"

You aren't sure what he means, until he lays you on his chest and spreads your legs. Your panties are so drenched, they're almost see through. The man on the screen is devouring you with his stare. Something about both of their gazes and confidence has lit a fire inside of you that cannot be put out. In the corner of the screen, you see your exposed and messy figure spread out on Mr Park's lap, and it only adds up to the atmosphere you are so enjoying.

"Actually, since Hongjoong has more experience with cats, how about he shows us how to perform a some tricks?"

You know he isn't asking, just giving you a trailer of what awaits you. A chuckle comes from the screen, and the man flashes his pearly white teeth at you through a smirk.

"First, you might want to tie her up. You don't want her running away, do you?"

Without hesitation, the man yanks his belt from his pants, and secures it around neck. You are having a hard time breathing. Not because of the belt, but because of the overwhelming feelings mixing inside of you. You've never been manhandled like this, and you are afraid that you might get too used to the feeling of Park Seonghwa doing this to you.

"You still have that wand?"

"Sure do."

Confusion takes over your features, and you can't help but wonder why Hongjoong knew that. Do they do this often? If so, are you just another toy Mr Park is going to play with and leave?

"Relax, kitten." Mr Park seems to notice your sudden discomfort. "Spread your legs for me."

And just like that night, your legs are over the armrests, the wand dangerously close to your clit.

"Having a good view, Kim?"

"A gorgeous one, Park."

Mr Kim leans back on his chair, hands working on his belt but not yet doing anything. It seems he enjoys watching more than doing anything. A sweet vibrating sensation spreads all over your folds, and you cannot help but buck your hips into the toy.

"Make your screen bigger, Seonghwa. So that she can see just how pretty she looks."

The man doesn't pull the gadget away as he changes the screen size, making Hongjoong's the one in the corner and yours taking over the screen. Now you can clearly see yourself; spread on Mr Park's lap, his chin resting on your shoulder, dark eyes looking at you through the camera. His ringed fingers are skillfully moving the toy up and down your clit, while his other hand holds onto the belt, lightly choking you.

"Doesn't moan easily, huh? Try circles."

Mr Park listens, circling the swollen bud with consistent vibrations. You feel like you're going to cum any second, and you don't want to do that so soon.

"Feel good?"

"Yes," you breathe out, holding onto the fabric of his pants as you try your best not to go over the edge.

"Then let us hear it, doll."

No matter how good it felt, it wasn't enough to draw moans from you. "You have to try better than that, then."

A scoff leaves his tinted lips. He brings them close to your neck, just enough to lick a stripe up to your jaw.

"Use your other hand, too."

Mr Kim is so skilled with giving orders. And Mr Park is so good at listening to him. His fingers, which are the prettiest ones you've ever seen in your life, move your panties aside just to slowly thrust between your walls. He explores, wiggling his two fingers inside until he curls them up. With the elbow of the hand which holds the toy, he presses into your lower stomach, making the feeling more intense than ever. He starts pumping into you slow, matching the rhythm of the vibrations.

"I've never seen such an obedient kitten. Look how good she is doing."

"Indeed, she is doing so well. Now, if she could orgasm on my fingers, she would be the best."

"Ngh—" you groan, chasing the orgasm just like he asked you to. You know you can't handle two, but you're willing to try for him. Well, them.

"Come on, pretty girl."

"S-sir—" you cry out, ready to spill over, "I can't—"

"Can't what?" He slows down, moving the wand away for a moment. You take a few seconds to catch your breath. You feel all wet and sticky, but look hotter than ever. You're still unused by him, yet you looked like he has ravished you twice today.

"If I cum now, it'll be too much." You admit, pupils big as you look at him. "I want to cum when you fuck me."

"Spoke too soon about obedience, huh?"

The wicked smirk on the screen lets you know that they won't let you off so easily. Mr Park then slams his lips onto yours, sucking and licking at the plump flesh of your bottom lip as he brings the wand back to your clit. You shake in his lap, feeling a tad bit overstimulated. His other hand holds your thighs separated, but you still try to close them. The warm muscle of his tongue massages yours, and for a moment, you forget about Mr Kim. You forget about your best friend. You wish to wake up like this every day, admired, praised and consumed by him. Your hands reach into his hair, grabbing at the fluffy strands and anything else they can reach.

"That's so fucking hot. I didn't know how sexy you make out, Hwa."

Park Seonghwa smiles into the kiss, and in that moment, you wished to experience it every day. You wished this wasn't just messing around with your friend's dad. Your feelings for him are growing, and you know them well it's forbidden. But how to tell a heart no?

"You're welcome to come over and try these days," he winks at the screen, then shifts his attention back to you. "And just what do we do with you now? Do I make you cum and stop the fun?"

His thumb caresses your flushed cheek. You have a hard time forming a sentence, and all you can do is breathe into his mouth and look at him. His tongue peeks to wet his lips, doing the same to yours in the process.

"You'd rather shamelessly drip all over my pants like this? You just want my daughter to find out?"

Come to think of it, it's weird that she didn't notice your absence. Maybe she gave up. Maybe she went back to sleep. Whatever it is, you've made it clear to her that this is nothing more than just messing around. No romance involved. Even though your heart feels tight at the last sentence, you pretend like it's nothing. All those things you've thought about while touching yourself late at night are coming to life, and you won't try to stop that in any way.

"Mr Park?"

He hums, fingers fixing your hair and eyes scanning your face with adoration. "Yes, pretty girl?"

"Please fuck me."

"When you ask so nicely, how can I say no?" He says with a chuckle, then glances at the screen.

Mr Kim is sat still, looking at everything unfolding in front of him as if he's watching a movie. Or a porn video. His attention is fixed on your breasts, and you allow yourself another moment of confidence. You cup them, rubbing your nipples and squeezing the soft flesh while throwing your head back.

Mr Kim clicks his tongue, then gets closer to the screen. He rests his elbows on the desk, and his head on his hands. "Hwa, give her a little treat from me."

The older man doesn't waste a single second before licking a stripe over your breast. He wraps his lips around your bud of nerves, then proceeds to work his tongue around it. You're squirming in his lap, accidentally stroking him while doing so. He hums into you, the vibrations making you let out the first moan.

"There it is."

You feel so close, but you're too far. Your body is limp, and he hasn't even had you the way he promised yet. As if he could hear your thoughts, Mr Park hooks his fingers under your panties. He grazes over your clit, then pulls the panties down your legs.

"Let's pull a real trick now, kitten."

The man adjusts your body on his lap with ease, and you're too mesmerised by his strength to notice that his cock is at your entrance. It is when he lightly slaps your clit and pulls the belt on your neck that you give him attention.

"Eyes on Hongjoong."

You try to protest, but he grabs your jaw and inserts a finger into your mouth. Your head is now stuck in one position, and you can't avoid Mr Kim's gaze. He has a wicked grin on his face again, and just when you're about to make a stupid remark, Park Seonghwa slowly lifts his hips to enter you. He deliciously fills you up, leaving no space at all. His hot skin is grazing your walls just right, but not yet hitting the spot you need the most.

"Fuck—" he hisses, keeping the slow motions going.

You glance at the corner of the screen, seeing Mr Kim now palming himself through his pants. "You've gotta tell me where you buy these kittens, man."

The man behind you laughs between the moans, but doesn't say anything. He enjoys it as much as you, and isn't bothered to keep any conversations or teasing going. At least you hope so.

He lifts your body up, then moves his hips upwards so that he can move faster. Watching yourself get fucked on the screen by a man your dad's age, while another one watches wasn't quite in your fantasy list. But fuck, you're so happy that it's happening. Your eyes follow Mr Park's cock as it smoothly disappears inside of you, causing you to whine and moan in his arms.

"Think you've teased her enough?"

"Just a bit more." The man whispers, head falling back on the chair and his moves getting sloppy. "Fuck, love, you're gonna make me cum so quick."

You feel like you're dripping all over the place. His cock is soaking up your juices, making wet noises in the process. That, along with his skin hitting yours as he reaches the deepest ends of you, is what will keep you fueled for months. You glance at him through the screen, and you almost cream right there on his cock. Something about fucking in clothes is a huge turn on for you, and seeing Park Seonghwa sprawled out on his chair, with his unbuttoned white shirt and pretty gold jewellery, with his head resting back and eyes rolling from pleasure, with his fingers digging into your skin and hair sticking to his forehead, makes your head spin. You wish to take a picture, and look at it every night just to admire him. His sun kissed chest is exposed more than when you entered the room, and you wish to mark him up so bad. Hopefully, next time.

His hips are going at a slow pace, but deeper than last time. He reaches to all the places inside of you, stroking them all just right. He lifts your body, just to slam it down on his cock and hit your most sensitive spot. A loud moan is halfway out your lips, but he is quick to pull the belt to keep you quiet. He repeats the movements, this time faster and harder.

"Oh, baby," he almost growls under his breath, "making daddy feel so good."

Then, as if something has snapped inside of him, he pushes the chair back and lets it fall back with a thud. His hands push your body down onto the desk, and he grabs your waist like his life depends on it. He adjusts the camera so that Mr Kim can get a clear view of your drooling and flushed face, along with Mr Park's lower body continuously slamming into you. You feel so sensitive, and you haven't orgasmed once yet. Tears form at the corners of your eyes, and you let them fall. You're not sure if you're crying from pleasure or pain, but you didn't want either to stop.

And Park Seonghwa fucking adored it. He adored your face decorated with tears as he took you from behind, forcing you to watch yourself on camera while another stranger is watching you.

"Wish you could see how well you're taking me." He groans. "So fucking good for me."

"Is she taking it like a good girl, Hwa?"

"Oh, she's doing such a good job. Aren't you, love?" He says with a smirk, knowing that you're incapable of speaking.

Your eyes roll back, and you feel like you're going to evaporate. His consistent thrusts are helping you build up the orgasm, and you just know that you're going to cum harder than ever.

"You're fucking her dumb."

"I know. Look at her." Mr Park pulls the belt so that you can lift your head from the desk. Your lips are dry, and you can barely see anymore. Everything is blurry, and you feel nothing but endless pleasure. "Loves being thrown around and used until she cries. Don't you?"

You manage to nod, but quickly go back to moaning and almost drooling all over his desk and keyboard. His hand sneaks towards your clit, toying with it in circles until he has you screaming and almost growling. He is abusing all the sensitive buds on your body he can reach, from you G spot and your clit, to both of your nipples.

"Talk to her, Hwa. Make her speak even though she obviously can't. Make her cry and beg for you."

"Hear that, pretty one? Talk to me. Tell me, who does this pussy belong to?"

You want to kill Mr Kim for giving him the idea of making you talk. All you want to do is cum already. All this teasing is doing you no good. It's becoming addictive, and you just know this won't be the last time.

"Y-you, Sir." You choke out, body still rocking into his.

"Will you take all of my seed like a good girl you are?"

"Fuck, yes, yes, yes—"

"Will you fuck yourself on my cock until you've creamed all over it?"

"Yes, oh fuck, yes—" you groan, moving your hips back so you can fuck yourself on his cock just like he asked you to.

You look at his figure through the screen. His gaze is fixed on the way your tight walls are swallowing him up, and he seems completely mesmerised by it. You use him as you'd use one of those dildos you have saved on a Web shop, milking him just right. His moans are low and the hottest thing you've ever heard in your life. With each minute that passes, his voice becomes lower and much more of a whisper.

His eyes search for yours, and once you lock your gaze with his, you don't let go. You let him fuck you into the desk, with a whole stranger watching. Tears roll down your face, pleasure too intense to take. You groan, moan and whine at each thrust, trying your best to chase your orgasm.

Seeing that you're struggling, he picks you up, only to throw you against the bookshelf. He lifts your leg up, almost resting it on his shoulder. The new angle has you reaching new notes, and he has to stick his fingers into your mouth to keep your noises muffled.

"How cute. Fucking her against the Erotica section."

The shelves shake as Park Seonghwa slams into you, each thrust abusing your G spot so good that you're drooling around his fingers.

"Come on, kitten. Cum on daddy's cock. Milk me dry."

You moan around his fingers, and he takes that as a signal that you're close. He replaces the fingers with his lips, tongue searching for yours only to caress it in the most sensual way ever.

"You close, baby?"

"Yes, yes, yes—"

"Come on, just a bit more. Almost there—"

"Fuck, oh fuck, yes—" Your head falls on his shoulder, hands holding onto them for dear life.

"I'm cumming, love, I'm gonna—" his breathing is heavy, and his moans are now getting high pitched," fuck, oh God, baby—"

You squeeze around him, riding out your orgasm as he paints your walls with his seed. You're weak in his arms as he uses you until the end, making you milk him dry just like he asked. He thrusts into you a few more times, slower and more gentle than ever.

His fingers cup your jaw, lifting your head up so that he can look at you. He wipes your tears with his thumb, then inserts it into his mouth. You can't help but laugh at his wicked kink. He isn't moving away from you. Instead, his lips mold into yours softly. He caresses your cheek as he gently sucks on your lip, occasionally grazing it with his tongue.

"Ah, the aftercare. The best part, honestly."

Park Seonghwa smiles into the kiss for the second time that day, making your heart flutter. "Liar," he mumbles.

He pulls away for a moment, eyes searching your face for any sings of discomfort. When he sees none, he rewards you with another kiss, a kiss so light and comforting that for a second, you really thought he could want something more than just fooling around. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer towards you and deepening the kiss. You're mesmerised by the way he kisses. His scent is all over your body, and his tongue is taking care of yours in ways nobody ever knew.

This time you're the one to pull away, trying to catch some air. He rests his forehead on yours, his heavy breathing comforting on your face.

"I think I'm addicted to you."

You're taken aback by his statement. You're unable to move, or say anything. All you can do is watch as his face turns from calm and content to one of worry and fear.

"I'm sorry, I—"

"Only sexually?"

Now he is the one who is taken aback. He didn't quite think about it. Sure, he can't wait to see you. He always checks if you're coming in the house with his daughter. He loves seeing you in your bubble when you eat or speak about your newest fandom.

Ah, shit.

"Let's start differently."

You raise an eyebrow in amusement. The man licks his lips, then sighs. "How does dinner this Saturday sound?"

A laugh escapes your lips, and he follows right after. It takes you a moment to collect yourself, then finally speak.

"That's quite formal for someone who is still balls deep inside of me."

A moan of surprise leaves your body as he thrusts into you, more teasingly than sexually. He then proceeds to pull out, making his seed drip down your legs and onto the carpet.

"Want me to try again now?"

"Not necessary," you finally put your leg down from his shoulder, muscles sore from the new position, "I accept the invitation, Mr Park."

He hums, not bothering to correct your addressing. You were hoping you'd get to call him by his first name. Maybe it's too early. Still, it doesn't stop you from constantly thinking about it.

Seonghwa.

How pretty.

♡

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬:

@scardorosht @kitty4hwa @seokjins-condoms @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @rkivesofmymemories @ateezzseonghwaa @bangmechann @dandelion-aj @rialovesyunho @ryleleee @anoooon13

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holylulusworld · 9 months ago

Text

Broken Rose (Prologue)

Summary: He may have stolen your kingdom and freedom – but he’ll never own your heart. Right?

Pairing: Alpha!Geralt of Rivia x Queen(Omega)!Reader

Warnings: heavy angst, mentions of death/fighting/blood, mentions of forced/arranged marriage trope, friends to enemies to ???, a/b/o, magic

Broken Rose masterlist

A broken rose. That’s what he called you the day he forced you to share his life and bed. Right after he defeated your brave knights, the undefeatable master of darkness, the monster with yellow eyes claimed you as his bride and mate.

Cries. The smell of blood, death, and despair still lingered in the back of your mind when he claimed not only your kingdom but your body too.

The lost battle still tasted bittersweet on your tongue when he stole the first kiss and promised to make you his obedient queen.

He believed that you’ll bow your head and fulfill his every wish.

What he didn’t get was that roses have thorns, and they can cut deep into the flesh of someone who tries to pick them…

“Watch the left flank!” You yelled at your knights while holding your ground. A queen fighting alongside her knights and commoners to defend their homelands from the enemy.

“He’s merciless,” Adekin, one of your most trusted knights said. “We should retreat, my queen. You cannot die out here among us. Go back to the castle.”

“If I die, I’ll do it next to you and my knights,” you threw yourself into another fight, slicing the enemies invading your homeland open with the sword your father gifted to you. “This is my kingdom and my people. I will not back down!”

“He’s the black magician, the Witcher enchanting even beasts,” he cut the next enemy's head off. “We cannot withstand much longer, my queen. Please head back to the castle.”

“No!” You refused to fall back and run away like a coward. If your life ended tonight, it would end on your conditions. “This is my fight as much as yours. It’s my birthright to defend this country and feed the earth with my blood.”

“My queen,” Adekin protected you with his shield and struck another enemy down. “It’s an honor to fight alongside you. It will be an ever greater honor to die for you.”

“No one will die tonight,” you rammed your dagger into an attacker’s side. “He will not win.” You gritted your teeth. “This is our kingdom. The Witcher cannot have it.”

“Y/N, queen of Rosethra,” the ground shook when his voice cut through the night. The monsters attacking you stopped in their tracks, and your knights dropped their swords to the ground. “I came here to ask for your hand.”

“Go back to where you came from,” even now, he couldn’t enchant you with his magic. “Here is nothing for you, Geralt of Rivia. I will never bow for you. Kill me now if you are man enough.”

His laughter made you even angrier. You gripped your sword tighter and prepared for the final battle. “My sweet rose,” he stepped out of the darkness, smirking darkly because you were the last one standing.

Your knights fell to their knees, defeated by an invisible power holding them down.

“What are you doing to them?” You screamed as Adekin looked back at you with black eyes. “No…stop this!”

“Queen of Rosethra, I came here to unite our kingdoms,” he stepped toward you, his hands raised in surrender, but not defeated at all. “Give yourself to me, and your people will live. Your knights will live. No one must die tonight if you agree to become mine.”

You looked at Adekin, your fallen knight. He didn’t deserve to turn into one of the monsters following Geralt. You knew his magic could enslave your beloved people, and couldn't let them suffer because of your dignity and pride.

You gritted your teeth but kneeled in front of him.

For now, the battle was lost. So, you chose to save your people and give up on your freedom. You placed your sword in front of you and tilted your head in submission.

“If you shelter their lives and don’t turn them into monsters,” you glared up at Geralt, the man who used to be your confidant and friend, “I’m yours...”

Part 2

Tags in reblog.

#geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #alpha!geralt of rivia x omega!reader #a/b/o #Broken Rose (Prologue)#geralt of rivia x you #dark!geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x y/n

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storiesforallfandoms · 9 months ago

Text

destiny ~ geralt of rivia;the witcher

word count: 1749

request?: no

description: after a long, rough journey, the princess feels safe enough to sleep, so her mage talks with the witcher

pairing: geralt of rivia x female!reader

warnings: swearing, use of y/n

masterlist (one, two, three)

It was a long, tiring journey to bring Princess Ciri to find her destiny; the Witcher. The poor girl, only a child, had seen far more than anyone her age should ever see. Her grandmother had been smart enough to send a Mage with her at least, but there was only so much one Mage could do against the threats they had faced. When they had finally found him, stood alone after his own battle, and Ciri ran to embrace him, (Y/N) sighed in relief and finally allowed her body to relax.

They set up camp for the night. Geralt promised them he would find them somewhere with an actual bed for the next night, but Ciri could care less about where she was sleeping. (Y/N) knew she felt relieved, too. And finally the young princess could sleep knowing that she was safe.

Ciri was sound asleep next to a fire (Y/N) had built to keep her warm. The Mage was sat against a tree nearby, just watching. Knowing that Ciri was safe, that she felt safe enough to finally let her guard down, gave (Y/N) such a sense of relief that she felt like she could finally breathe again.

“You should be sleeping as well.”

(Y/N) looked up to see Geralt stood over her. She was surprised a man of his size was able to move so silently, but then again it was probably a skill he had to pick up as a Witcher.

“I would imagine you are just as exhausted as she,” he said.

“I am,” (YN) confirmed. “But not so exhausted that my body wishes to rest just yet. I guess it hasn’t realized yet that there is no threat anymore.”

“There are still plenty of threats.”

She shook her head. “Not tonight. Tonight, she rests soundly, and she is safe.”

Geralt looked over at the sleeping girl. For years he had been trying to deny Ciri. He didn’t believe in destiny, and he was the last person who should be looking after a child. But now that she was here, unharmed and at peace, he couldn’t deny that he felt relief as well. There were still plenty of threats out there, that much was still true, but he decided to agree with (Y/N) just this once. Tonight, they were all safe.

Geralt sat across from her. “You did well in protecting her. She likely wouldn’t have made it this far on her own.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” (Y/N) admitted. “I promised her grandmother that nothing would happen to her, and I am not one to break a promise.”

“I was unaware that Queen Calanthe had a Mage in her kingdom.”

“I’m not a royal Mage. Just an old friend that she asked a favor of.”

“A very good friend to risk your life.”

(Y/N) smiled and shrugged. “I have known Ciri since birth, and her mother before her. I would do anything to keep that girl safe.”

She was gazing at Ciri again. Geralt noticed the look on her face. “Do you have children of your own?”

“Oh, Gods no. Those are very uncommon in my line of work.”

“No lover either, then?”

She chuckled. “Also very uncommon. It’s hard to let yourself fall in love when you are immortal.”

Geralt wasn’t sure why he even asked. It felt like the logical next question after asking if she had children, but Geralt cared very little if she had said yes to having a lover. Or, so he thought anyways.

(Y/N) looked back to him, a sly grin on her face. “Queen Calnthe told me about your ties to Ciri.”

Geralt grunted. “I’m sure she did.”

“She could hardly tell the story without a string of profanities.” (Y/N) giggled. “No one has ever made the queen more angry than Geralt of Rivia.”

Geralt found himself smiling as well.

“Well,” (Y/N) said, tilting her head a little. “Would you look at that.”

“What?” he asked.

“The Witcher smiles. And he looks quiet handsome doing so.”

(Y/N) was nothing if not forward. One does not live for many decades and not become bold and forward. She felt a little delight when she saw a brief look of shock on Geralt’s face. She certainly wasn’t lying, though. Anyone with eyes could see that Geralt was good looking. She was sure he was able to use that to his advantage as well.

Silence fell over them. The only sounds were the wildlife around them and the crackling fire. Both of them turned to check on Ciri at the same time, as if some sort of instinct kicked in for them both. (Y/N) took Geralt’s distraction as an opportunity to really study him. She had seen a look in his eyes when Ciri had run to him earlier, but it was so brief that she couldn’t place it at the time. He had been wearing his tough guy mask since, except for this moment. As he gazed at Ciri, (Y/N) could see two emotions on his face: relief and worry.

“The queen also told me,” (Y/N) said, drawing Geralt’s attention back to her, “that you weren’t going to claim Cirilla at first. She said you called Law of Surprise without truly believing in it.”

Geralt grunted. “All that bullshit about destiny. I didn’t believe any of it. I called Law of Surprise because they insisted on something for me saving Urcheon’s life. I didn’t actually believe I would get anything.”

“And yet...” (Y/N) glanced towards the sleeping princess.

He nodded. “I didn’t want a child by any means. This is not a life for a child. If destiny is real, it has played a cruel trick on her.”

“Or it has given her a father that she so dearly needed after her own passed.”

“And a mother?”

(Y/N) smiled. She couldn’t help it. She hadn’t thought about the next step after Ciri was united with Geralt. Truthfully, she didn’t want to think about it. The thought of being separated from Ciri hurt too much, but she didn’t expect Geralt to want her to travel with them. He had been travelling alone for so many years that she was sure it would take time for him to get used to Ciri being with him, let alone if (Y/N) joined as well. She felt full of joy hearing Geralt insinuate that he wanted her to continue travelling with them as well. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye to Ciri just yet, or to Geralt for that matter.

“What a family we’d be,” she laughed. “A Witcher, a Mage, and a princess. Sounds like the beginning of a terrible joke.”

Geralt chuckled as well. (Y/N)’s smile broke as she let out a yawn.

“You should get some sleep,” Geralt told her.

“As should you.”

“I will.”

(Y/N) nodded. She wasn’t in any position to argue with him over whether or not he was actually going to sleep. She could feel herself finally being bogged down by her fatigue and knew it wouldn’t be long until she gave in completely.

Geralt’s eyes followed her as she moved to her knees. Instead of rising, she leaned towards him to close the gap between them. She lightly pressed her lips to his cheek, leaving a gentle kiss there before pulling away. He tried to keep his face unchanged as she sat back to look at him.

“Goodnight, Geralt.”

“Goodnight, (Y/N).”

~~~~~~

The sun was high in the sky when (Y/N) woke the next day. The fire had gone out and the heat was instead replaced by the scorching sun. (Y/N) blinked a few times, trying to get her eyes used to the brightness of day. When she finally managed to clear her vision, she noticed she was alone at the camp.

She quickly sat up and looked around. There was barely any signs that anyone else had ever been here. Just the kindle left over from the fire she had lit for Ciri. She felt herself beginning to panic. Had they left her? Had someone taken Ciri and Geralt went after them? Had Geralt changed his mind about having her join them?

She was getting to her feet when she heard the sound of horse hooves against the ground. A horse broke through the clearing in a fast trot before coming to a stop. (Y/N) breathed a sigh of relief when Ciri jumped down from the back of the horse.

“Good morning,” the young princess said, walking up to wrap her arms around (Y/N). The Mage was taken back by the gesture at first, but then happily hugged Ciri back.

“More like good afternoon,” Geralt commented, jumping down from his horse as well. “You’ve been asleep for hours. We went on to find food without you.”

“Forgive me for being tired,” (Y/N) said, playfully glaring at Geralt. To Ciri, she asked, “Did you sleep well, princess?”

“The best I’ve slept since we left Cintra,” Ciri admitted.

(Y/N) smiled and cupped her face. “You are safe now, princess. The Witcher and I will look after you and make sure no one will cause you any harm.”

Ciri looked between (Y/N) and Geralt, a smile pulling at the corners of her lips. “You’ll be staying with us?”

“Of course. I’ve come too far in this journey to let you go on without me. Although, I will need something to eat in order to continue on.”

She eyed Geralt. He chuckled and said, “Alright then, let’s find you something to eat as well.”

They went on foot with Geralt leading his horse behind him. Ciri was between the two of them, protected by her Mage and her Witcher.

“I was thinking,” Geralt said after some time of walking, “about our discussion last night. About destiny.”

(Y/N) looked over at him. “Yes?”

“Maybe there is such thing as destiny, and maybe it isn’t as bad as I once thought.”

“And what brought you to that conclusion?”

“Ciri was meant to be my destiny, but she wasn’t the only good thing that destiny brought to me.”

He looked directly at her when he spoke. She felt her heart flutter in her chest. She had no good response, so she just kept walking, a smile on her face.

She would have to thank destiny for bringing her to Geralt as well.

#geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia imagine #henry cavill #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill x reader #the witcher #the witcher imagine #imagine #one shot #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

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boxofbonesfic · 2 years ago

Photo

Title: Tonality [2]

Pairing: Prince!Geralt x Princess!Reader

previous chapter

Summary: “The white wolf wants you. He’ll have no other.” As you grieve the loss of your father, your mother marries the king. Whilst you struggle to acclimate to your new life, you begin to suspect the interest your new brother has in you is less than familial.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Dark Fantasy, Darkfic, Step-cest, Medieval/GoT inspired AU, (Future)Smut, Dubcon/Noncon, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, MINORS DNI!!

A/N: oop, another addition to the story. i hope it both answers some questions and then raises more, lol. as always, mind the warnings, and please enjoy! 😊🥰

By the time someone comes to fetch you to break fast, you are already awake. Helped into your cumbersome new gown by your lady’s maids, you pace in front of the cold fireplace. You pray the prince avoids the meal entirely, you’ve no wish to face him after—

Your face heats, and you press your hands to your warm cheeks. You don’t want to think of it, but you can’t help it, your mind conjuring images of the prince staring at you with flushed cheeks and dark eyes, his lips curved in that cruel smile—

Better to avoid him altogether.

A soft, almost nervous knock comes upon the door of your chambers, and upon opening it, you discover Kassandra on the other side. She sinks into a deep curtsy, bowing her head.

“Good morning, Your Grace.” Awkwardly, you incline your head in return. “Her Majesty requested I fetch you to break the fast.” She chips happily at you, and you wonder if her good mood is true, or if she has created it for your benefit.

“Lady Kassandra,” you say, edging out of your room and closing the door behind you. “I trust you are well this morning.”

“Oh yes, Your Grace.” She threads her fingers together as a blush reddens her pale cheeks. “I did dance quite late into the evening.”

“I’ve no doubt you must have secured many a betrothal,” you say, and she giggles, covering her smile with the palm of her hand. “You did look quite lovely.” For a moment, you are not princess and lady in waiting—it is almost as though you are friends. Friends. Here in Rivia, you are surrounded by more people than ever before, and yet you find yourself lonelier than ever.

“You are too kind, my lady.” Kassandra seems to find her way easily through the castle’s labyrinthine halls, and it makes you wonder how long she has been here. “Twas you that bewitched the court—if you don’t mind my saying so, Highness.” Her words almost make you stumble, your foot catching against stone.

Your cheeks smart with heat, and your brows knit together in disbelief. “I—It was my mother who married the king.” You do not take yourself for a great beauty, not like your mother, but frustratingly, Kassandra shakes her head.

“Her Majesty was a sight to behold,” she agrees. “But I expect, had you not retired early, Your Grace might have received another offer of betrothal.” Kassandra casts a sly look in your direction. “Or two.” You look away, embarrassedly recalling Lord Olthar’s proposal, his skinny, red-faced son peeking out at you from behind his fathers robes. The thought of allowing him any closer than that turns your stomach, and you shake your head.

“One was quite enough.” You’ve no wish to be married, especially not to Lord Olthar’s spawn. “I should hope to remain in Rivia longer than a week before a match is written in stone,” you say dryly. You’re due a betrothal, that much you know—your eighteenth summer had come and gone without one, and just when your mother’s nattering had reached its peak, the fevers had come for your father. And then, a betrothal was the last thing on anyone’s minds.

”I am glad the king did not accept Lord Olthar’s proposal,” Kassandra admits with a small, secretive laugh. She leans in conspiratorially. “They say his son is rather… over fond of horses.” Her words illicit a gasp from you, your hand flying up to cover your mouth.

You laugh too. “I dare not imagine the wedding.”

“Fit for a queen.”

“The Queen of Horses, perhaps,” you retort, and the two of you dissolve into a fit of quiet giggles.

“I imagine His Majesty will have much higher standers for your betrothal, princess.” She smiles at you reassuringly. “I do not think Lord Olthar will try again.” You nod in return, grateful for her good humor.

“Hopefully I shall not have to think on mine own for quite some time.” Your thoughts are preoccupied enough these days without adding ones of a husband to the array.

“Not inspired by the ceremony?” The low, dark voice makes you turn. Lead forms hot and fast in your stomach at the sight of Prince Geralt. Even during the day, the prince strikes an intimidating figure, wide shoulders and barely tamed silver-white hair. Today, it is partially pulled back behind his ears, loose strands framing his chiseled jaw. Kassandra goes red as she curtsies, blushing deep crimson from the roots of her pale hair to the collar of her dress.

More out of habit than respect, you bend your knees as well, inclining your head. His appearance is sobering, the jovial mood instantly darkening.

“Good morning, Your Majesty.” It is all the politeness you can manage. His face looms still in your mind’s eye, his hair falling across his dark eyes as he drove into her, his hand curled in the hair at the nape of her neck—

You suppress a shiver.

“Apologies, Your Grace!” Kassandra rushes to appease him, striking a chord of frustrated irritation within you. “We simply—”

The prince waves a dismissive hand. “It is only be expected, I suppose.” He says silkily. “I know few women who do not await their wedding day with thoughts of bliss.” When his molten amber eyes rest on you, you shiver. His voice takes on an amused lilt.

“Perhaps things are different in Redania, little sister?” You do not like the way the word drips from his tongue, as if another were in its place, one you don’t know, but that makes the the flesh at the back of your neck prickle just the same. His familiarity irks you as well—Prince Geralt speaks as if he knows you, as if he has spoken more than five words to you, not counting the ones uttered while he had been… otherwise engaged.

You swallow against the tightness in your throat. “Perhaps,” you say. The words are clipped, as if you have bitten off their edges. You know you shouldn’t, but you can’t help it, the barb slipping from your tongue before you can pluck it. “In Redania, one must wait until after the wedding to consummate the marriage. Does that policy hold true here as well?”

Prince Geralt does not give you the satisfaction of a reaction, his features schooled into cool impassivity.

“I believe so, princess.” There is a dry sort of amusement coloring his words, as if to tell you the blow you’d tried to inflict was meager at best. “It appears we are not so different after all.”

You grind your teeth.

The prince falls into step beside you, setting the pace. To your frustration it is a leisurely one; walking with his arms clasped behind his back as he drags the conversation out. You wonder irately if he is doing this on purpose—you had walked with Kassandra to the hall the previous morning, and it had only taken half the time, you’re sure of it.

”It was a great honor to attend such holy proceedings.” Kassandra’s voice seems to make the prince’s lip curl, and he cuts his eyes at her, sparing her only the barest of glances from the corner of his eye. You know, though, that the words are meant for you.

“Yes, truly.” The prince hums. “And how wonderful our Queen should be fortunate enough to experience them twice.”

Outrage bubbles up in your chest at the insult of his implication, and it takes all of your strength not to respond in kind. You glance at Kassandra, her passive expression evidence that the prince’s sly remark has either been absorbed without question or gone unnoticed entirely. For a moment you imagine his smile goes smug and self-satisfied as your own lips press together into a thin line. Your mind races as you try to formulate a response—this is not a game you are used to playing, one of guileful words wrapped in loose pleasantries, and you feel woefully unprepared for your part in it.

“Fortunate indeed,” you reply, forcing yourself to keep your tone light and airy. By now, the great hall is in sight, servants bustling through the busy corridor as you approach the hall. “A wisely made match, would you not agree, Majesty?” A gaggle of nobles surround the king and queen, their heads swiveling at the sound of your voice. The satisfaction you feel as Geralt’s lips curl into a scowl is a new feeling, one you are not sure you like. —he cannot continue the game, not now, not without open insult. You can tell he does not enjoy being called to heel, least of all by you.

A chorus of good morning’s and your grace’s assail you like raindrops until you are practically dripping with them. You are familiar with only a select few of the faces surrounding the king and your mother, but not many. You recognize Lord Strom, Kassandra’s father, who shares the same sallow features as his daughter. He is flanked by a woman with a pinched, irritated looking expression; you had been introduced just before the wedding ceremony had begun, but you cannot recall her name now, only her relation to the king. A great-aunt—you think.

As you enter the hall, you note that it is already clean, all evidence of last night’s festivities gone, save for your mother, standing before you. Small tables have been set out for the visiting nobility lucky enough to be granted this brief audience with the king. The large table on the dais is already heavy laden with food, servants flanking the table on either side of the king’s chair as they wait for orders. Breakfast at home had been a family affair, gathered around the table in the hall. This, like every other event you have witnessed since arriving, is public spectacle.

Your mother preens at the attention. She flits from person to person, accepting their congratulations with regal grace. Once upon a time, behind the dusty pages of books she wished you would not read, you and father had called her the Pretty Peacock, the way she bustled about the manor and clucked her orders at the matron and her staff. Here, though, it seemed less amusing, and more… purposeful.

Though your mother seems to move amongst these people with ease, you struggle to follow her example, weaving serpentine through the crowd of courtiers, which parts like butter to a hot knife in her wake. Her gown is of a similar color scheme as yours, pale yellow with silver and gold embroidery embellishing her hem and sleeves. The crown of delicate silver and black leaves rests atop her head, the black jewel at its center sparkling. She turns to you with a smile, embracing you warmly.

“Trust my daughter to appear as her name is mentioned.” Your mother’s delicate, feminine laugh makes you want to curl in on yourself as the eyes of her fawning lady’s maids fall to you. “Did you enjoy yourself?” Though you cannot see him, you can feel the prince’s eye upon you with almost physical sensation. The hair at the back of your neck pricks up.

Why does he watch me? You chance a look over your shoulder, and your back stiffens. There are people between you still, a safe barrier, but there is no mistaking it—the prince’s eyes are locked on you, and he makes no effort to hide it. You turn quickly back to your mother as he produces a slim knife from somewhere, and spears an apple from the table with it. The crunch as his teeth break the skin rings uncomfortably in your ears.

“T’was fine,” you answer her quickly, hoping your small, curt smile is enough to convince her. “I danced, some.” It is a lie, but one she either does not recognize or one she cares little about. One set of eyes is appeased, and falls from you. The others bore hot holes in the back of your dress. The king approaches, and you note the affectionate pass of his hand over your mother’s arm. You curtsy low, again, more out of instinct than conscious thought.

“Come now daughter, we are family now, are we not?” He laughs. “Rise.” His expression is warm, but you feel the word roll inside your skull like a loose marble, or a pebble in your shoe. It is unfamilitar and uncomfortable coming from his lips, but you bear it as best you can.

“Y-yes. Family.” The king walks with his hands folded behind his back, a habit you cannot help but note that he shares with his son. You have dreaded this, the game of getting to know one another over the cold corpse of the man who had raised you. It stings, as you knew it would. It feels insane to you, to behave as if all the years of your life prior to this were but a footnote, and this the true story. Perhaps it is you who are insane, the only madwoman adrift in a sea of sensibility.

“Your mother tells me you’ve a great love of books,” he continues, unaware of the rolling turmoil that rocks your stomach. He casts a long glance sideways at you and at first, you cannot tell if there is reprisal or approval in his words. Then, he offers another smile, this one warm, genuine. “I trust you’ve found the archives enjoyable.”

Your mother’s laughter cuts through the moment like a knife. “Oh, don’t encourage her, my love,” she says. “We shall surely lose her in yellow old pages.” The gallery of painted faces behind her titters with amusement, and at the same time, you feel your cheeks begin to smart. Perhaps it is the syrupy sweet my love tacked to the end of her sentence that makes your eyes burn with hot, frustrated tears, or her casual disparagement, you are torn for choice. You shake your head, forcing another smile as you blink them back. Perhaps you are simply being oversensitive, seeing what is not there.

“Thank you, Majesty.” You fold your hands together as you follow the king and queen up to the dais, and move to take your seat. “I shall have to bring Kassandra along with me. Perhaps if I am buried in parchment, she may yet dig me out again.”

You are relieved when the conversation shifts from you, allowing you to stare sullenly at the spread before you in peace. It is startlingly familiar, your mother’s need to ensure that every eye is upon her at all times, and you find that you are perhaps glad for it. It is exhausting to play at happiness and not feel it, and every second you do not have to keep up the pretense is one you are grateful for. Even if it comes at the expense of a little of your pride.

That gratefulness dissipates like smoke in the wind as Prince Geralt seats himself next to you. However intimidatingly large he had felt as you and Kassandra had made your way through the halls, he feels doubly so now. Though he has his own chair and place at the table, it feels as though it is too small to contain him, and he spills over into your seat anyway. His thigh is pressed tightly against your own through your gown, and no amount of subtle shifting on your part seems to remove him. You grimace, and the servant who is pouring water into your goblet gasps, and bows her head quickly.

“Apologies, Your Grace, I have offended you!” Her distress begins to turn heads, and you hurriedly attempt to placate her, shaking your head with a weak smile.

“No, no, it’s nothing—”

“Yes, princess,” the word drips from your stepbrother’s lips like black honey. “Whatever is the matter?”

You glare at him. He is pushing you, trying to force you into a confrontation for no reason you can discern—other than his own blasted amusement. You are tempted to give him what he wants, your own accusations waiting eagerly at the tip of your tongue. And you have your pick of poisons to dispense; his foul behavior the night before, his insult to the queen—

But as you look down the table, you see few allies. King Vesemir looks at you with an apathetic sort of curiosity. And your mother… her doll-like expression appears concerned, but you can read it for what it truly is. The way her eyes narrow, her mouth tightened just so at the corners—

She is angry.

You can hear her without her speaking, and your mind conjures her reprisal perfectly, even without her input.

You are making a scene. You know that is what she would tell you. Be silent. Be seen, not heard.

“Nothing.” You wish you could slap Prince Geralt, slap the concerned facade right off of his wretched face. “Nothing at all.”

—

The grass beneath you is brittle, and you can feel it crumbling into dusty nothing as it crunches beneath the soles of your bare feet. The low-cut hedges have grown out crooked and gnarled from neglect, their roots erupting thirstily from the baked earth to choke the narrow pathway. The garden is different now than it was when you had left, but you know it still—home. The manor looms gloomily above the garden, sticking out of the barren hillside like a jagged tooth, glaring angrily down at the cracked flowerbeds and baked earth.

Everything is dead here.

The icy wind that whips at your cotton shift, tangling it about your legs is dead, carrying with it the sound of grinding bones and last breaths. From the parched fissures in the dead, hungry dirt, you can hear whispers, and you press your cold, shaking hands to your ears to block them out. You do not know the reason, but nevertheless the knowledge remains in your bones as if you were born with it—

I mustn’t listen. I mustn’t hear the dead.

You press your palms against the sides of your head until it aches, dragging your feet through the dead, overgrown grass as you make your way through the garden. You want to leave, to turn around and leave this place, this terrible mirror, but your body will not obey. Instead, your unwilling legs carry you further and further into the spiral of dry, overgrown hedges and cracked pavement. The ghostly voices continue to rise in pitch until they are screaming, tortured cries leaking up from below as you approach the center of the garden.

It, like everything else here, is wrong, gleaming as if polished in the dim light of the dead sun. It is white like bone, and black, sluggish muck leaks from the trumpet of the nymph carved there. The sly, mysterious smile carved on her marble lips has been replaced by a grimace of abject terror, and when you follow her stone gaze, your eyes widen with the same emotion. Your hands leave your ears then, covering your mouth to try and dampen the horrified gasp that leaves your lips.

Your father stands before you.

He is still a distance away, walking slowly toward you through the garden. His eyes are blacked out, but not completely, black wriggling over the whites like a child’s scribble, black thread weaved through the skin of his lips, suturing them shut.

He is horrible.

He begins to open his mouth, and it yawns wide, the threads snapping—

You sit up, a hand clutching at your chest. You stare around the room, panting as your mind attempts to place you in your still unfamiliar surroundings. Your heart is still races from the dream, your hands clammy and trembling. The taste of dry earth coats your tongue, and your throat feels cold and parched, as if you had walked the cold gardens truly, and not only in your dreams.

You can still see it, the rotting black threads holding your father’s withered lips shut, the black writhing ink scribbles across his eyes—

“No.” You mutter the word softly as you press the heels of your palms to your closed eyes, pushing hard until colored spots dance in your vision. You do not want to think of your father that way, his body moldering in the earth, rotting away like he had never been in the first place. It had felt so real, the cool distant glare of the white sun, the arid earth beneath your feet—

“A nightmare.” You say it aloud to no-one. “Nothing more.”

The morning sun paints a bright stripe across the blankets through the curtains of the four poster bed, and you tug them further open, squinting. Everything in your chambers is as it was the night before, though the fire in the hearth has gone down to cinders, and a copper tub has been set before it. You step out and into your slippers, noting the steam that still rises from the water. They must have brought it in as you slept, though you had not heard them do so.

I slept… unusually deeply.

You disrobe, stepping into the water with a grateful sigh. You sink in until you are mostly submerged, your nose hovering above the surface as you stare pensively at the window, studying the gray, muddled shape of the buildings beyond it. You do not want to think of the dream, or your father, but both seem intent at crowding at the forefront of your mind.

You know your father would tell you not to ignore it. Dreams mean things, he would say. What did it tell you? But there is no meaning you can discern from your nightmare, other than that you miss your father, and you wish he were still here, with you.

After you finish in the bath, you dress yourself. Instead of the multi-layered gown set out for you by your lady’s maids, you rummage through the wardrobe for one of the loose, flowy dresses more typical of your warm countryside home. You find one at the back, and as you slip into it, you feel more settled, more yourself. The creamy, peach colored fabric has one long, bell sleeve, and drapes modestly across your chest, exposing the top of one shoulder. It is less cumbersome than the heavy, three piece set they chose, and when they enter to help you, you can see the surprise written on their faces.

To their credit, they say nothing, simply helping braid and pin your hair, before setting the small silver circlet you wear at your mother’s insistence upon your brow.

It is long past time to break fast, but nevertheless, your request for a scone with butter and sweet cream is met without fuss down in the kitchens. As you eat, Kassandra marvels at your dress.

“I quite like it, Majesty,” she says, clapping her hands encouragingly as she circles you. “No corset? I do wonder if my father might permit me to have one made in its likeness,” she moans rather piteously. “Though I doubt he shall be pleased by my asking, it is quite bold, if you do not mind my saying so, Highness.” You look down at yourself, and then raise an eyebrow.

“Why should he find your request offensive? I mean no insult, but I do believe our dress more…modest than those of fashion here in Rivia.” Even Kassandra’s low cut gown exposes the tops of her breasts, the bodice molding to her body,pushing them out and up before rising back up to play at covering her shoulders. She laughs behind a hand at your ire.

“I suppose it is all a matter of personal opinion, my lady. I do find Redanian fashion quite lovely, if this dress should be a fair representation.”

“ ‘Tis.” You reply, finishing your biscuit. From your place by the windows, just outside the kitchen, you can see down into the gardens. Though the sight of them is sullied by the memory of your stepbrother’s wanton behavior, the glint of colored glass catches your eye. “What is that?” You ask, pointing at the colored shafts of light as they seemingly beam upward from the ground, the source blocked by lush greenery.

“The roof of the chapel,” Kassandra says. “It is made of stained glass.” At your confused look, she continues. “The chapel is beneath the keep, Majesty, it’s roof is the center of the maze. It is quite beautiful, should you wish to see it, my lady.” Intrigued, you nod.

“Yes, thank you. I would.”

Kassandra leads you down into the bowels of the castle, and you feel the walls grow cold around you as daylight through the arched windows is replaced by the soft glow of candles. The construction looks much older down here, the stone pitted and smooth not from polish but from the passage of time. Upstairs, the corridors had been crowded with courtiers, lords and ladies all seeking the king’s approval, or waiting for their opportunity to serve at his request.

Instead, you take note of the priests in their pale robes, black ink sigils drawn onto the skin of their foreheads and the expanses of their cheeks beneath their eyes. They keep their heads bowed and shoulders stooped as they shuffle through the halls in penitent silence.

“Why do they paint their faces?” You ask quietly.

“So that the gods might receive their prayers.”

The chapel’s carved doors bear images of the gods you do not worship, the wood branded with the sigil of the king—the head of a wolf, it’s mouth open in an eternal snarl. Inside, the air is thick with incense, and it takes you more than a few labored breaths to grow used to it. The inside of the chapel is long and narrow, its walls lined with alcoves featuring enormous statues of the gods. Kassandra gestures to the ceiling, trailing her fingers through the shafts of colored light that stream down, bathing the sullen atmosphere in muted color.

“Is it not beautiful, lady?”

“Yes, it is.” You speak truth—the glass is beautiful, unclouded and the colors true. Images of faith are splashed across the colored surfaces; a great wolf standing beneath a full moon, devouring a beautiful maiden, the three-faced Mother bathed in the golden light of the sun, and the Spider, sitting in the center of her silver web. You watch as Kassandra makes a sign with her right hand, her middle finger and thumb pressed together. She brings it reverently to her forehead, before dropping it to her chin, and then the center of her chest.

It is a quiet, sullen sort of reverence, one you see mirrored in the bowed heads of the priests, and in the quiet, droning chants the monks at the pulpit continue without pause. But there is no joy here. No voices lifted in worshipful, devoted song, nor dances with arms stretched to the bright and brilliant sky. Those are the rituals of worship you know, the ones your father taught you. This place, like the garden in your dream, feels dead.

If there ever were gods here, they have certainly gone, now.

“Who is this?” You ask, pointing to the wolf. It’s golden eyes seem to follow you around the room as you trail after Kassandra, and it makes you think uncomfortably of the prince. She stops in front of it’s stone copy, and she makes the sigil again, finger on thumb, forehead, chin, chest.

“Father Wolf.” She says as she rises. “It is said that he devours the moon each night, so that it may be reborn in the morning, as the sun.” She cocks her head. “Do you not know the stories, Majesty?”

“She would not.” You turn to see one of the priests. In his hand, he holds an incense box, sluggish white smoke pouring from the gold painted slats. “Her Majesty hails from Redania. They hold to the old faith there.” You watch his eyes narrow as they drop to your gown before traveling back up to your face. His lips curve into an unfriendly smile. “I did not think to see Your Highness here.”

You raise an eyebrow. “In my experience father, it is a poor monarch who expects to rule people she knows nothing about.” Kassandra ducks her head, covering her mouth to hide her smile at your diplomatically worded impertinence.

His cheek tics. “Of course, Highness.” He bows his head in a manner you know is meant to be respectful, though the acid that drips from his words is anything but. “The people shall be pleased that you are so…familiar.” He drums his fingers against the incense box, before fixing you with another small, curt smile. “They do not react well to the southland’s…” He pauses to search for a word. “Heathenistic rituals.”

The words fly to your tongue before you can swallow them back, flying from your lips with righteous indignation.

“Are you quite sure the heathen rituals you fear are not your own, Father?” His mouth twists with anger, but you do not cower in the face of it, jutting your chin out stubbornly. You have taken little pleasure in the shifting of your station, but his brazen disrespect sets a blazing fire in your chest. You are a princess, and you will not be spoken to this way.

“Father Rame.” Your belly fills with hot iron at Prince Geralt’s voice, his tone warning. So irate were you with the priest that you had taken no notice of his approach. The prince leans against one of the stone pews, his arms crossed over his broad chest. “You would do well to hold your tongue, lest my father remove it.” The priest drops into a low bow, his lips curling into a scowl. “I do not think he would take kindly to your… implications.”

“Apologies, My Prince, I meant only to—” Geralt raises a hand, and Father Rame’s words die in his throat.

“Go. And perhaps I will… forget to inform the kingsguard of your offense today.” You can tell the priest is unsatisfied, his hands clenching into tight fists in the sleeves of his robe. Nevertheless, he issues you another stiff apology through his clenched teeth, before he turns on his heel, his robes billowing behind him.

“Thank you.” You spit the words out as if they have burnt you. “For your assistance.” Geralt’s amber eyes dip the way Father Rame’s did, and you hate the way they drag across every inch of you before coming to rest on your face. Instead of scornful disapproval, you find something else there. Something darker you refuse to name.

“My pleasure, princess.” He purrs the words, and you feel them like a physical caress. You try to hide the shiver that travels down your spine, gooseflesh erupting on the back of your neck and arms in its wake. He glances at Father Rame’s retreating back. “I would pay him no heed. The good Father can be… Zealous.”

“That is certainly one way to put it.” You remark dryly.

“He will not bother you again.” He says it with a finality that makes you shift uncomfortably under his gaze.

“I hope not.” You brush a speck of imagined dirt from the bodice of your dress, and the prince’s eyes follow the movement.

“Your gown is lovely, sister.” He says, and you swallow against the sudden lump in your throat. “I have not seen its like since last I was in Redania.”

“Thank you.” You stiffen as he moves towards you, slow steps carrying him in a small circle around you and Kassandra. You force yourself to endure his inspection.

“Oh yes.” He fingers the hem of your sleeve before you step back, a little. “I hope you do not mind me imparting a bit of… Rivian wisdom?”

Do I have any choice? You force a smile. “Please.”

“This is a married woman’s color, Sweetling.” His eyes are molten honey.

“W-what?” You do not know which words you were expecting to fall from the prince’s smug lips, but it was not these. “I—”

“I hope you take no offense,” he drawls, though the expression on his face says otherwise. “I only mean to inform.”

“H-how interesting.” You force a small smile, before turning quickly to Kassandra.

“My head aches from the incense,” you say, turning away from him and striding toward the door. “We should take our leave.” With a stiff, reluctant bow, you turn from the prince. “Excuse us, please.”

“By all means.”

Kassandra squeaks, hurrying after you with her skirts gathered tightly into her hands. As you push angrily through the entering group of priests and out into the corridor, you can feel two sets of eyes on your retreating back—

Geralt’s, and the wolf’s.

to be continued…

Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

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schleiereule-94 · 10 months ago

Text

A Bard and a Witcher – Part 1

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier x aFab!Reader

Summary: You were after some fun when you made your way to the inn this evening, and boy did you find it. Both the bard and his witcher friend are more than happy to satisfy your desire.

Warning(s): SMUT MINORS DNI, porn w/o much plot, fingering, penetrative sex (lots of it), unprotected p in v, threesome, dirty talk (both degrading and some praise, cursing), rough sex, size kink, belly bulge, oral (both f and am receiving), she is not talking much but enjoys being used

Author’s Note: This is my first fic, so I hope it is up to standards... Not beta read and not an english native, so be kind if you find mistakes. I have a second part almost done (bc I am a horny mess for these two...).

You didn’t know what you were getting yourself into walking towards the inn this night. You were just looking for some distraction, some fun for a change. A good looking stranger, some beer and maybe even a dance. But now…

You didn’t see the witcher in the corner at first. You sat at the bar listening and laughing at the bards’ songs. He was young, good looking. His name was Jaskier and he looked exactly like what you were after. You’ve thrown him some looks that made him almost stumbled over his words.

“A short break to water my throat” he announced shortly after and he walked up to you at the bar, grinning sheepishly. “You’re funny” you complimented him. “And you look… breathtaking” he replied with a dramatic gesture, eyeing you up and down. He extended his hand to you “Jaskier is my name.” His gaze got stuck on your breasts. You smiled and leaned a bit more towards him to grant him a better look into your cleavage. “Y/n.” You moved to the side to make just enough space at the bar so he could squeeze in next to you. “What brings you here bard?”, you asked as he took his place and grabbed a pint of beer from the barmaid. Your arm touched his lightly and you felt the warm feeling of excitation building up in you. “We’re on the way to Cintra.” “Cintra, hm. That’s a long trip. Who’s we?” you asked innocently.

He nodded over his shoulder to the darker part of the inn. Sitting there was a big, bulky figure, a grey hood over his head, long white hair spilling out from under it. You couldn’t make out the face clearly. When you squinted your eyes to see the stranger better he suddenly looked up and golden eyes stared directly into your soul. Your heart missed a beat and your breath hitched. The bard must have taken notice of your reaction as he let out a laugh. “That’s Geralt. Geralt of Rivia, I’m sure you’ve heard of him?”. Without taking your eyes off the man you nodded slightly. “Yes, yes I have heard of him.” The yellow pupils bore into you. A weird feeling bordering on fear stirred up in your chest. It made you want to run away. Your legs tensed, but you kept staring back captured by the tension in your connection. Slowly you felt how this tension sank down into your lower belly and straight between your legs. Your thighs were pressing together now to create some friction as your arousal grew quickly. You gasped and tore your head away to look at Jaskier. “You travel with Geralt of Rivia?”. You sounded more out of breath than you liked. But Jaskier didn’t seem to notice. “Yes. We share a wonderful journey and friendship” the bard stated proudly. You tilted your head and blinked, a picture being painted in your head. A filthy picture involving the bard, you and a witcher. “Is that the only thing you two share?”, you asked quietly. The bard stared at you dumbfounded. You looked at him through your lashes. “You share a room here?”. “Yes, it’s cheaper. But why..? Oh, ah” Jaskier seemed to finally grasp what you were asking. “He would never interrupt, I’ll make sure of that.”, he said reassuringly. You caught his hand which was nervously fidgeting with a coin and used it to pull him even closer to you looking him deep in the eyes. “What if I want him to?” Jaskier stared back, swallowed dryly as he considered the idea.

It’s not like he had never thought of it. Sometimes he spied on Geralt when he was with a woman, listening to her moans, his ear pressed to the door of the room. Or trying to peak through the keyhole. He knew the effect Geralt had on women and was jealous of how easily they fell apart for him. Maybe having him there would make for a good learning experience. And if it was what he had to do to touch this beauty here… Slowly he leaned back on his chair, then cleared his throat. “Ehm, I ehm have not done.. I’ve never…” his look went to Geralt who’s eyes were fixed on you. “Your his friend, right? Surely you can convince him” You started drawing slow circles on his hand with your finger. You heard Jaskier breath in and out and felt how he shimmied in his seat, you weren’t sure if it was his nerves or signs of arousal. A look up at his face gave you an answer. His eyes sparkled with lust now. “So you are that kind of girl, hm? One man is not enough?” His voice had acquired a slight rasp and his gaze was now shamelessly fixed on your breasts. You grinned and shrugged “I just like to have fun. And you..” you grabbed his shirt to pull him close, pressed your lips on his surprised face and slightly bit at his lower lip before releasing him again “…look like you’d love some fun” you grinned. Jaskier’s face was flushed red and he looked breathless. Just how you liked your men, you thought with a wide smile. He stood up from his chair and leaned against you. You could feel his hard bulge through his pants pressing into your thigh. “Give me a moment”. You watched while the bard made his way to his witcher companion. He started whispering into his ear and Gerald’s gaze wandered back to you. His face did not show any indication of emotions, neither interest, nor lust nor rejection. You felt your cheeks redden under the scrutiny of the yellow eyes as your heart started to pump your blood faster. Geralt turned his head to Jaskier but you couldn’t see what kind of response he was giving his friend. You felt high or tipsy, even though you had barely drunk half a glass of beer.

Jaskier made his way through the crowd back to you. “Come with me, now” He took your hand and almost violently pulled you out of your seat and towards the stairs leading to the first floor. You looked back over your shoulders and saw Geralts eyes following you both with an unreadable expression on his face. You smiled at him while Jaskier dragged you up the stairs towards their room. From the corner of your eye you spotted the Witcher slowly getting up from his chair…

The door crashed shut behind Jaskier and he immediately started kissing you sloppily with his mouth wide open, tongue asking for entrance into your mouth. You pressed yourself into him, kissing back fiercely. His hard cock pushing and pulsating into your lower belly. His hands were nestling with your dress, trying to pull down the sleeves. He finally succeeded on one side, pulling out your breast. Your nipple hardened immediately in the cool air. He turned you around and held you from behind with both arms, breathing hot air into your neck. “S’that what you wanted little whore? Hm?” Instead of giving an answer you ground your hips back into his hard-on. You felt how slick started to pool between your legs. Jaskier pinched your nipple between two fingers and made you moan. That same moment the door sprang open. Geralt filled the whole doorframe. Both you and Jaskier froze for a second. You looked up at him “Here to join?” you finally asked when none of you dared to move. The two men looked at each other for a few seconds before Geralt stepped into the room without a word and closed the door behind him. One more step and he stood just centimetres away from you. You could feel heat radiating off his body in waves. “How does she feel?” he asked Jaskier in a low growling voice. You felt a jolt of arousal moving down your spine when he finally looked at you. Jaskier had managed to get your other tit out. “She feels great, I mean, look at them” he grinned at his friend from behind you and groped and squeezed your boobs. “Was so eager to get both of us on her. I bet she is wet for us already. Can you help me out here and get her clothes off?” “She is wet like river”, Geralt stated while putting his hand on your hips. “I can smell it.r” With a hard tug your dress slipped over your body, fell to your knees and you were left in your soaking undergarments. One of Jaskiers hands immediately started travelling over your belly downwards leaving a trail of fire on your skin. Geralt brought his hand up under your chin to tilt your head up and you sank into the stare of his yellow eyes. “I could even smell you down there in the inn. Such a needy little whore”. His other hand grabbed your now free breast just as Jaskier’s slipped under your waistband. A long finger plunged into your dripping wet pussy while Geralt’s calloused fingers brushed over your nipple. You moaned loudly and your hips started bucking all by themselves. Sandwiched between the two men you felt so turned on you couldn’t think straight anymore. Trying to get as much relief as possible you ground down on Jaskier’s finger. It was not enough. You needed more. Geralt grinned, reading your pained facial expression exactly right. “Give her one more, this whore wants to be stretched out properly” he instructed. Jaskier immediately complied. But even two of his delicate fingers did not go deep enough. You panted and bucked your hips against his hand inside of you. “Hm, let me help” Geralt pushed the underpants down to your knees before cupping your cunt and Jaskier’s hand on it. His huge hot palms easily engulfed both. You let your head fall back onto Jaskier’s shoulder breathing hard. Both men were looking at you intently while Geralt slowly added his finger to Jaskier’s into your pussy. You let out a groan as you felt it going deep and brushing at just the right spots. You could feel an orgasm building up. “Ah fuck” you muttered as the men started to pump into you. Their movements were not very coordinated and slow, but the feeling of both of them pushing your walls while fondling your breasts and Jaskier licking your earlobe was too much. You clenched down on the men’s fingers as your orgasm hit you. Your kneeds became wobbly and you fell back into Jaskier who let you both collapse onto the bed.

The sudden loss of the fingers inside you made you hiss. Jaskier turned your head around and kissed you deeply, taking your breath away. Meanwhile, Gerald took a chair from under the table by the window and put it down in front of the bed. You felt limp in the afterglow of your orgasm, sinking into the sheets as Jaskier wriggled out under you. You watched him take off his boots and shirt, then his pants. Turning your head to the right you directly looked into Geralt’s devouring eyes. He sat in his chair, wide-legged and still fully dressed. His eyes scanned every millimetre of your body while he palmed himself over his pants. Your eyes went wide, that bulge looked really big. The witcher once again read your expression perfectly. “Jaskier will open you up. So you can take me like the good whore you are” he growled, adjusting himself in his pants. The arousal that had subsided a bit now slammed back into you, both at the witcher’s sight as well as Jaskier climbing back onto the bed. He was now fully naked, his cock standing erect in front of his body, dripping from the tip. Your mouth watered at the sight. The bard buried his head in your neck to bite at your shoulder. This sent a shiver down your spine and you arched your back up to meet his body. His stiff member pressed into your abdomen. “Please”, you whisper “please”. “Please what little lady?” Jaskier licked your ear. “You want to feel me inside you?” “Yes, please”, you pleaded, your cunt clenching around nothing. Jaskier sat up, straddling your belly, looking down at your face. His member laid hot and heavy on your belly, slowly leaking sticky precum on your skin. He spat in his hand and started pumping himself while you squirmed below him, trying to get some friction where you needed it most. His cock was not the biggest you’ve ever seen, but long and slightly curved upwards. You wanted to touch it. Picking up some precum from your belly you replaced Jaskiers hand to stroke his cock. He threw his head back with a loud moan. He reached behind himself to find your clit. Rubbing small circles, just as you had done on his hand earlier, he had you panting and writhing beneath him in no time. His chest was heaving and your fingers felt like ice and fire when they scratched lightly over his abdomen. There was no way he could wait any longer. He lowered himself onto you, sucking on one of your nipples and lined himself up, slightly nudging at your entrance. You squinted your eyes shut at the feeling. You needed this, so badly. You locked eyes with the bard when he finally slid into you, slowly but steadily until he hit your cervix at the very back. You both let out a cry of ectasis as he bottomed out. You gripped his shoulders while he slid all the way out, just to slam back in again. From there he buried his face on your side and started to buck his hips into you fervently. Rocking up and down, you glanced over to Geralt. He was still sitting in his chair watching the scene intently. But his hand was in his pants now, slowly stroking his still covered dick. “I want to see it” you mouthed at him, unable to form actual words as white heat pooled in your abdomen every time Jaskier hit that spot deep inside you. You watched, fingernails digging into Jaskier’s arched back, as Geralt unbuttoned his pants, slowly and unhurriedly, and his member sprang free. It was big. Big and fat with an enlarged red tip and clearly visible pulsating veins. You almost blacked out from that sight alone while Jaskier’s rapid rhythm and grunts started to send you over the edge again.

You yelped at the sudden empty feeling and your orgasm died down, your hole fluttering and clenching around nothing. You looked up at Jaskier now straddling you again with watery eyes. “Why?” you managed to stutter. “Wanna come into your mouth, whore” a sex-drunken Jaskier replied. “Slide down” He pushed you downwards towards the foot of the bed. Your calves dangling from the bed your face was now in front of Jaskier’s cock which had slipped between your breasts. With both hands you pushed your heavy breasts up to cover his member completely as he started to slide back and forth between them, lubed up by your juices. The angry red head, still slick from your juices, peaked out from your cleavage rhythmically and you stuck out your tongue to lick it. Jaskier gasped and pushed himself up even more. You opened your mouth to take him in. The angle was shallow but you blew your cheeks and sucked hard. “Ah fuuck” Jaskier cried out quickening his pace once more. Another sound filling the room caught your attention and you saw Geralt slowly stroking himself from the corner of your eyes. You didn’t think you could get any more turned on. But the tension from the orgasm you were just denied still lingered in your belly. You desperately needed some relief. You tried pressing your thighs together but that took you nowhere, everything being way to slippery from Jaskier’s and your fluids. You couldn’t speak with Jaskiers dick slipping in and out of your mouth so you started wining instead. Jaskier was way too absorbed watching his cock slide between your tits and disappearing into your mouth as to hear or care about your misery. But Geralt did.

You realized he had gotten up from his chair when he pulled at your feet to drag your ass way down to the edge of the bed. Jaskiers cock was now directly above your face and he was piercing it down your throat. You tried to swallow as much of him as you could without gagging. His moans became quicker and louder and it was clear he would not last much longer. You opened your eyes you had closed in shock when Geralt had moved you. In-between Jaskier’s thrusts you could just see the other man, nacked from his hips downwards, standing at the foot of the bed looking down on you. You opened your legs wide to give him a better view. A deep thrust of Jaskier brought tears to your eyes and left you gasping for air, so you didn’t see Geralt kneeling down onto the floor. He took in the sweet scent of your pussy, now so strong it overpowered even the fire burning in the corner. He had smelled it from the moment you had entered the inn. This beautiful woman, flirting both with him and his friend with not much more than looks. A pretty whore who could not get enough dick. He would need to show you what it meant to be properly satisfied. As much as you seemed to enjoy Jaskier, he knew that only he could give you what you really needed. Looking up at your face covered by his friends ass who was pushing into you, his cock jolted. It was such a dirty scene. The sounds you made left him feeling dizzy from arousal. And your scent, god… he turned his attention back to your cunt, bringing his nose closer to breath it all in before putting his hands on your thighs. You felt him licking a long stripe over your slick covered hole all the way up to your sensitive bud, which made you jerk and groan into Jaskiers dick. The man over you now sounded desperate and you brought up your hand to massage his balls. That finally undid him. After a last brutal push down your throat you felt him tense up and he emptied himself into your mouth. You caught the warm liquid on your tongue and tried to swallow as much as you could. You almost choked on the cum when Geralt sucked your clit between his teeth. Jaskier collapsed onto the mattress next to you. You looked over a small string of semen ran down over your cheedk from the corner of your mouth. “God fuck, this woman is the death of me” the bard moaned, breathing heavily. Geralt laughed into your pussy which made you gasp. His big hands dug into your flesh as all your muscles tensed up in anticipation of another orgasm. You heard Geralt’s lapping sound as he drank up your juices, which should have been embarrassing, but only drove you closer to the edge. The moment his big finger entered you it was over. With a cry you arched your back, eyes only seeing white, your hands fisting the sheets for dear live. The witcher worked you through this one with his mouth slow powerful strokes of his finger, pitying you after your last release was denied.

And here you are now, covered in a fine layer of sweat and semen looking down at the white wolf as he licks his fingers clean of your juices. He takes his shirt off over his head and throws it into a corner. Fully naked his figure is even more imposing. And his dick is so. big. Fuck, how are you going to take all this? The slight feeling of fear creeps back into your still heaving chest, mixing with the lingering arousal. “On your knees whore” the witcher commands with a low growl. You are already spent, not sure how to move. Jaskier is still laying a few inches next to you, watching and again toying with his flaccid dick. Apparently, you took too long to react. Big strong hands grip your midsection and you are thrown onto your belly. “On your knees” the witcher growls again. You scoot back onto your knees, all your legs and arms shaking, both from exhaustion and excitement. Geralt grabs your hips on both sides and pulls you backwards to the edge of the bed. A burning slap echoes through the room and you cry out as a hot sting covers your buttcheek. “You do as I say or you get punished” Geralt snarls. You take a look over your shoulder. The witcher towers over you, it’s both frightening and turning you on. “Yes sir”, you stutter frantically trying to hold yourself up on all fours. Your task gets easier as Geralt’s grip on your hips gets even stronger. “Such a beautiful pussy” he grunts “asking to be filled up”. You’re panting in anticipation. “Please”, you whisper. “Please what, whore? Use your words!” His yellow eyes are burning with lust now. “Please, please fuck me, Geralt, I need it so bad” you cry. “Not had enough yet, hm” His huge tip is prodding at your entrance, the stretch already sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. You shake your head “not enough, sir.” “Hm, we better make sure to fill you up then” he says and finally starts pushing into you. You’re grateful he’s going slowly. Your walls burn as he steadily pushes in his thick girth splitting you in half. You hiss and he groans loudly. “Fuck, so tight. Such a perfect pussy. M’gonna ruin it for good” the witcher mutters, watching as his cock disappears into you. Mercifully he gives you a few seconds to adjust until you start circling your hips, grinding back into him. “Insatiable, that’s what you are, an insatiable whore” he says with a smirk on his face. He pushes in the last centimetre, his pelvis now flat against your ass. You can feel his heavy balls on the back if your thighs. “You want me to fuck you, whore?” All coherent thoughts have left your head as you sit there speared down on his dick. The only thing you manage is a quick nod and a pleading look over your shoulder. And that’s all that’s needed for Geralt to drop his last inhibitions. With a loud groan he snatches his hips backwards to push into you again full force. You cry out and land on your elbows while your hips are held up by Geralt’s strong arms. He thrusts into you again and again and you see stars. “That what you wanted, hm? More dick? Does this fill you up completely now?” His pace is relentless, your walls being literally attacked every time he buries his cock in you. Your mouth is agape, shouting loudly every time he enters you, violently hitting your cervix. “Yes” you cry, “So good. Please. Need. To cum.” Your vision blacks out. You feel how Jaskier fondles your hanging breasts while every thrust catapults you nearer to heaven. “Yes, come on my cock, let me see how good it feels to be finally satisfied” Geralt groans and with a loud, long shout of his name you come.

The witcher doesn’t stop. He fucks you right through your high, his eyes squinting from pleasure as you get even tighter clenching his dick, trying to milk his semen from him. But he’s not done with you yet. As you come to your senses you are once more picked up and thrown onto your back this time. Geralt is above you, his white hair falling into your face as you are gasping for air like dr owning person. His hand finds your clit and he starts rubbing it with his thumb. You almost jump at the feeling, being way too overstimulated. You try to writhe out below him but his huge body is keeping you in place. Your eyes fill with tears, you can’t take it, you shake your head. “So you finally had enough?” Geralt asks but he doesn’t wait for you to answer but pushes back into you hard, making you gasp. You feel sore, your body too tired to do anything else than lie there. You cling onto the sheets while your breasts are rocking up and down with his rhythm. You hear a moan and watch how Jaskier is stroking himself feverishly next to you. The veins on his arms are standing out, from how hard he is fisting his dick, his face contorted into a grimace of pleasure. He bucks his hips and cries out while a short spurt of cum shoots out of him. It’s all he has left after you milked him with your mouth. His dick feels like it’s burning, and he palms it lightly, coming down from his high, watching how Geralt thrusts into you at a punishing pace, making the bed move in jolts. Slowly he gets up to heat some water over the fire.

“Look at me”. Geralt yanks your head back forward to face him. He sits up and puts your legs on his shoulder. “I’m going to finish you. Until you can’t think anymore.�� He pulls you towards him violently, his cock once again taking up all of you. Your eyes roll back into your head. Your mouth is wide open but can’t make any sounds anymore. The new angle is even deeper, something you didn’t think was possible, and you feel like your soul is being ripped from your body. You can see yourself from above being devoured by the witcher, your sounds reduced to a weak whimpering. Geralt leans forward, folding you in half. You feel so small under him, like his toy. You can feel his balls slapping against your ass, tensing up. He’s almost there. His rhythm gets more choppy while he’s chasing his release. Looking down on your body he sees the outline of his cock on your stomach every time he fills you up. “So. Fucking. Good. You take me so good, such a good whore” he mutters, his hand pressing down on your belly, felling himself pushing in and out of you. The pressure is way too much. With an animalistic cry that doesn’t seem to end and only faintly sounds like “Geralt” your body convulses. Every single muscle in you twitches, your walls strangling the witchers cock, asking it to finally release its seed. One, two thrusts more and Geralt finally starts to come apart, eyes closed, shooting white ropes into you, painting your walls. You gasp, hands clenched around his wrists as you feel him twitch inside you for what feels like an eternity. Then he collapses on top of you, taking your breath away. You try to move him, but your arms are void of any strength. His warm cum is slowly dripping out of you as his dick softens inside you.

Geralt moves and you frantically gasp for air. He moves his hair out of his face, looks down on you and runs his thumb along your bottom lip. “Well done kid” he says warmly stroking your sweaty forehead. Jaskier strides over, halfway dressed already and hands him a warm wet cloth with which he starts to clean you up carefully. You feel a wide smile stuck onto your face while the warmth of the bed and Geralt’s hands on you lull you to sleep. You feel the two men tuck you in and arms that embrace you in a hug before you pass out completely.

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