#geralt x you smut

[eccentricallygothic]

Divorced Dad!Captain Syverson who experiences a real time brain short-circuit when he sees how well you get along with his kids during your first meeting with them… 

Warning(s): Breeding kink, size kink, old man!Sy, age gap, manhandling, groping, fluff, boob play, unprotected p-in-v, I added plot to it TT. MDNI.

. . . 

After the messy divorce that followed his turbulent marriage, Sy was not looking forward to any relations with the opposite sex, if possible. With his former profession a constant hurdle to his life as part of a unionized pair and marital bliss, what had started as a promising relationship had turned out to be one of those unfortunate marriages where children were sought as a last resort to perhaps save the remnants of the already rotten love between man and wife. Though being someone from a background that held family in the highest esteem and always having been fond of the idea of his own lot, Sy loved his children more than life itself and there was not a thing in the world he would trade for them. And that was the reason why he had preferred to opt for an early retirement so custody would not be an issue between him and his ex-wife who was more than eager to shed off everything affiliated with the name Syverson like an illness.

You, on the other hand, though not much experienced with the opposite sex were not too warm to the idea of children. Being a student in her last year of higher education and only so old as you were, your attitude hardly deserved to be subjected to scrutiny. That, and the fact that you hadn't really had many young ones around you while growing up as an only child, calling you a foreigner to the scene would not qualify as an exaggeration and hence it can be said that it is more indifference than contempt on your part. 

So naturally, when it happened, it was strictly unplanned. And very fateful. With a rather traumatized Sy in a sort of an emotional limbo who had more than enough reason to keep to himself, and a stressed with soon approaching future endeavors as well as disillusioned with the opposite sex you, the night you had bumped into each other outside the bar restrooms where Sy had been dragged to cheer up by his friends and you to loosen up by yours, the rather fast yet steady rate at which the two of you had woven into each other had been unexpected to say the least. 

But now, as Sy fires up the grill in his backyard to begin the little BBQ he has planned for today when you meet his children for the first time, the prided and much experienced grill expert nearly burns his hand because he is so busy inwardly fawning over how quickly his rugrats have warmed up to you. And you, Sy will swear on anything that you are just the most perfect woman— person alive. Everything is just right with you. Even on days when the world seems to press down on him, your mere presence is there to help his spirits back up and elate as well as support him in every sense.

Though he had been honest about his condition since the beginning, after his initial reluctance to get with you as you were so much younger and inexperienced compared to him, children weren't peculiarly a topic that came up between the two of you except occasions where Sy wanted to share a little victory or rant with you. So as you keep his toddler on one hip with a protective arm around her, your perfect body -Sy's words- clad in a bonny bright coloured sundress, and hold the hand of his 5 year old who excitedly shows you around the mini patio of the modern farmhouse, memories of his own mother scarce if any, your making conversation with the boy and giggling along to his lisp droning flutters Sy's heart in a way that he thought he had outgrown. 

It also excites him with a kind of boyish heat that the former military Captain had thought he had shed off with his adolescent youth.

And so he just has to have you by yielding to a similar impatience and desperation, the musical sound of your giggles faintly fluttering its melodies upon his flush and thumping ears as he gets to it.

“God, Sy!” The huff in your words fires him up even more and he cannot hold back any longer. “You’re such a brute!” His coarse and scarred paws heavily pull at your dress with a crazed desperation to help you find the restroom, as he had told one of the farm hands that he had left the children under. “Oof!” The whine you let out before instinctively craning your head to try and ease the way his thick beard tickles the tender skin of the curve of your neck makes him growl into your carotid pulse that he worships with his hot lips, the pressure of your pressing your face into his as well as the soft pants you let out, your chest bumping into his with each heave of your lungs, only lithifies his bulging erection even more. 

“Gon' fatten up your pretty lil’ pussy with my cum, baby” Sy's breaths scorch your clammy skin with their burning weight. His hands grope and expose you everywhere they can reach, and they can do so everywhere because of how much smaller hence ragdoll-like you are compared to him. “Wouldja like that, angel?” Your eyes roll to the back of your head when he boosts your thighs up his tall legs and around his waist, the fat and leaking tip of his cock grazing against your holes from how he is kissing you everywhere he can reach. “Me stuffing that cute tummy full of siblings for Tim and Bethy, huh?” You know he would never actually do something as serious so callously without a prior discussion so you breathlessly nod, pushing your oral muscles to gulp down the thick bile in your throat and tip your head against the wall to prepare yourself to withstand his intrusion of your pussy that thanks to his girth always feels like not only your first time with him but your very deflowering in general.

 “Yes” your mouth falls open as he reaches below the hold with which he has your whole body propped up. “Yes, please~” his balmy tip finds its destination in the tiny, drenched and quivering closed up band that leads to your reproductive cavern. “Please fimme with your babies, Sy~” when the stretch makes your tiny hole burn around his girth, your mouth lets loose all the obscene words of vulgar desire. 

“Yeah, baby?” Sy's fingers flex over your ass and caress their way up your side before coming down and repeating the action, his thumb stealing strokes of your nipples as he does. “Wanna make me a Daddy, yeah?” A hiss leaves your mouth and your back arches at the feeling of your walls sheathing him deep within themselves. His breathtaking urgency nearly puts a dent in your innards. “Want me to make you all round and heavy here?” Your pussy clenches around the hilt of his cock when he suddenly gropes your naval into a greedy handful.

“Yes, please, Sy!” Your whole form bounces up in the air when the man gives you a thrust so powerful that has you mewling and digging your nails in his shoulders. “Wanna make you a Daddy so bad, Sy!” His dick has always had a hypnotic effect on you, for the minute it's in the vicinity of any of your holes, you become a brain dead parrot for him. 

“Atta girl~” he cooes, tossing your body further up with a strong stab of his hips so he can clamp his teeth down on one of your boobs.

MASTERLIST

. . . 

I am MAD for this man. Like I am not even hot on kids. WHAT—

[intrepidacious]

bring your hunger

summary: There is a Witcher in your house.

pairing: geralt of rivia x succubus!reader

word count: 2k

warnings: smut (18+ only!!), light dubcon due to demon magic, penetrative sex (p in v), some biting and choking 😌 please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: somehow it's been over a year since i posted a full fic but one ao3 writer's curse later here we are. whole new fandom. i've also never written smut until this show rewired my brain so bon appétit (please be kind). my biggest love to @aphrogeneias and @brandycranby who both let me complain about this story for about three months, i adore you!!

masterlist | read on ao3

There is a Witcher in your house.

You smell him long before you lay your eyes on him, the stench of his magic permeating the forest, harsh and acrid. Somewhere in the woods nearby, something is burning.

For a moment, you hesitate, considering your options. A lesser creature would’ve turned on the spot and run, would’ve stolen a horse in the nearby town and gotten as far away as possible, and maybe you should be doing the same. Forsake your home and this region and try to forget them to save your neck.

But your instincts are never wrong, and right now they are drawing you closer, one cautious step in front of the other, until your door creaks open.

He’s sitting in your chair, turned to the side to have a clear view of the entrance. He is propped up against the dining table, his matted white hair sticking to his forehead. The air is heavy with the smell of blood and sweat. Whatever happened across him managed to get him good; he seems to have bandaged himself up, somehow, but the gashes in his chest look painful.

He stares at you, frown deepening on his face, but he stays very still. There is a dangerous look in his amber eyes, full of fire and fury, and for some reason, that doesn’t scare you. Not at all.

Gods, you’re hungry.

There’s a steady pulse of power coming from him, muted but incessant, like his body’s not ready to drop the fight quite yet. He doesn’t, however, reach for the weapons he’s carelessly dropped on your good carpet.

So instead of fleeing, you draw the door shut behind you and you tilt your head.

It’s stronger now, the smell of your own powers. You don’t think it holds as much sway over Witchers as it would do over mere mortals, but it’s still enough for him to white-knuckle the edge of the table.

"I know what you are," he grits.

The low timbre of his voice makes you grin.

"That makes us even, then." You get closer to him, gingerly stepping over his swords. "Are you going to do something about it?"

His nostrils flare a little, but apart from that his face stays unreadable. Only his eyes betray him, still trained on your lips. He can’t help himself.

"I don’t kill your kind," he says.

"How generous of you." You come to a halt between his legs, reaching out to tilt his chin towards you.

He lets you, and there’s the slightest hint of amusement hidden at the corner of his mouth. From up close, the fire in his eyes burns even brighter.

"Let me show my appreciation," you say lowly.

His scent changes ever so slightly with the first small spike of his arousal. It sends a thrill of anticipation through you.

Your fingers trail down his throat, along his broad shoulders, down the taut muscles of his back, leaning into him even more. His hands fall to your hips, almost involuntarily. Slowly, unhurriedly, you let your nose brush against his and he inhales with a shudder.

This is always your favourite part. The final moments before they give into their desire, your meal prepared and served up on a silver platter, ready to indulge in.

"Don’t," he says, barely a warning.

"Don’t what?" You can feel his breath against your smile.

"Don’t tease."

"No?" He’s got remarkable restraint, this Witcher; but you can hear his racing heart. "Alright then."

And between one moment and the next, you let your clothes disappear.

It’s a simple trick, one that everyone of your kind can do as easily as blinking, but it’s never failed you. His eyes turn even darker as he realizes what you’ve done, as you move back a little to let him take you in. You lick your lips as another waft of his arousal reaches your nose.

Delicious.

"Is that better?" you whisper, tipping your head to the side.

He doesn’t reply. He pulls you towards him sharply, and then his mouth crashes against yours, hard and sudden. One of his hands grabs your ass, hauling you into his lap while the other one cradles the nape of your neck.

It’s a brutal kiss, divinely ferocious. Your naked core brushes over the noticeable bulge in his pants and he groans. You move your hips back and forth, just enough friction to make his fingers curl, nails biting into your skin.

This, you think, this is just what you’ve been craving. This sense of presence, of awareness. Your heartbeats growing faster. Pulling, tasting, wanting. More.

You only break the kiss to undo his belt, and he chases after your lips, hazy, starving.

You can relate.

He is already rock hard when you pull him out of his pants, ready and leaking. He pushes into your touch, raw need taking over.

You let out an appreciative hum, positioning yourself in his lap, careful not to put too much pressure on his chest. You want him to feel good, after all, no: you need him to.

You haven’t been sated in so long.

"Witcher," you chuckle breathlessly as his arms tighten around you, caging you against his body. "Aren’t you supposed to kill wicked, evil things like me?"

He growls, sinking his teeth into your shoulder. You gasp as he drags his tongue over the bite marks immediately; like he’s savouring your taste, too.

When he looks up at you again, his eyes are like molten embers.

Your hand tangles in his hair and you yank his head back to kiss him again, swallowing the sound he makes when you sink down on him, and it’s a pity, really, because you could get your fill from that alone. It’s delectably salty and bitter.

Finally, he’s fully inside you, and he tilts his hips to allow you a better angle as you start moving.

"So good for me," you murmur.

He slaps your hand away when you try to slip it between your bodies, and then his own fingers find your clit, gently teasing at first, but quickly applying more pressure. You gasp, your walls clenching around his cock.

He lets out a breathless huff. "There, huh?"

"That’s it. Just like that."

It’s too much. Your breaths quicken as the air around you starts to hum and crackle with building energy. It’s making your head swim, each precise stroke to your clit bringing you closer to that edge you’re chasing.

His mouth still trails along your neck, nipping there. Your skin already feels sticky with sweat and magic as you’re hurled ever closer to the peak of your arousal.

Just as the tension in your core gets tight enough to snap, he stills completely. His cock is fully sheathed inside you, but he doesn’t move, his arms around you hard and unyielding, not even allowing a single roll of your hips. Something between a whine and a growl escapes your lips as your canines come down hard enough to draw blood.

The Witcher smiles at you hazily. "Do you want to come, little demon?"

You want to bite him. You want to suck out his energy until he’s nothing more than a sad, empty husk.

Your snarl only brings out a dark glint in his eyes, and his hand moves to your neck, forcing you to hold his gaze. His grip tethers you in your denied pleasure.

"Ask nicely," he says lowly, brushing his lips against yours.

Wicked, evil man.

Underneath your skin, your powers are brimming with unease, not yet refilled, not yet repleted; he knows this. You know he knows, and yet you’re unwilling to give in. "Or what?"

His grin widens just a fracture as his chin juts out in unmatched arrogance. You could burn it off his face. You could dig your claws into the gashes in his chest and widen them even more, feast on his blood instead.

"I know you need it," he says. His cock twitches inside you. "Beg."

A shiver goes down your spine, hot and cold at the same time.

You don’t beg. Ever. You don’t yield control, not even for your meal, especially not to someone like him. But then he expertly applies pressure to your throat and your eyes roll back in your head, all thoughts lost to the thick haze of your desire.

"Please," you whimper, clenching around him again. "Please fuck me."

He groans, hips stuttering into yours involuntarily before he moves in earnest, keeping his hand on your throat. It’s almost agonisingly slow at first, one roll of his hips almost letting him slip out of your cunt completely before he pushes back in with one single, firm stroke.

Your startled cry of pleasure gets stifled by his mouth, coaxing, biting, until your claws dig into the thick muscles on his shoulders. The arm around your back guides your movement, pressing you even closer to his body than before as he picks up the pace of his thrusts, each one hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over.

You’re so close. You can already taste the precipice, black stars dancing along the edge of your vision.

Another moan rips out of you when you come apart for air, mouths open. "That’s it," he pants, watching you through half-lidded eyes, "Come for me."

His voice cracks with rapture, and it’s that more than the feeling of his own climax that sends you over the edge.

This part of your nature never gets old: As the orgasm rushes through you, the pent-up energy surrounding you snaps like lightning, funnelling into your body like an invisible current until you shudder blissfully with your appetite sustained. Your magic crackles around you, dancing on your burning skin like sparks of fire.

You hum appreciatively, your eyes still closed as you take a moment to collect yourself. This day has taken a pleasantly surprising turn, after all. It’s been too long since you’ve felt so thoroughly sated.

However, when you try to move out of his lap, the Witcher’s grip on you tightens decisively.

"Is that it?"

Your eyes fly open.

He is breathing heavily, but despite his loss of blood and the energy you’ve pulled from him, there’s not a trace of exhaustion to be found. He still has that same dangerous twinkle in his gaze. Fire and fury. Something lurches in your stomach.

"I thought your kind’s supposed to be insatiable," he says, leaning in to nuzzle at your collarbone. His medallion bumps against your breasts with a sharp vibration as his fingers trail down your side, a slow, torturously delicate touch. "You can give me one more."

It’s not a question. Still, the hands parting your legs even further are almost as gentle as they are relentless. A light press to your overstimulated clit has you keen, spasming around his cock, and he chuckles lowly.

"Eyes on me."

You hadn’t even noticed they’d fallen shut again. You’re leaning heavily into him now, another wave of pleasure starting to build as the smell of his magic envelopes you.

He growls, moving both of you around so you’re spread open on your dining table, him leaning over you with a look that wants to devour you whole. Like you’re the one being served up for him to make a meal out of. Impossibly, he’s growing hard again as his deft hands coax you closer to your next release.

"Just one more."

It’s such an obvious lie, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You’re brimming with energy, dizzyingly replenished and yet still ravenous. The air is humming with it, the promise of more.

"Don’t lie to me, Witcher," you still gasp.

His smile is positively sinful. "You said it yourself. I’m just so generous."

You’re so full. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his aura flickering with lust, rich and decadent and beautiful.

"In other words," he continues, his lips brushing your ear right as you reach your peak again. "We are just getting started."

this fic was brought to you by horny hyperfixations. reblogs and comments are what keep your local writers sustained!! if you want to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics to get notified whenever i post 💛

[flusteredtuna]

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.

[bimrwolf]

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.

[ultralightpoe]

Spellbound Part 3- Geralt of Rivia

Authors Note: Y'ALL I AM SO SORRY! I thought I scheduled it and I do monthly breaks from all social media! Omg I really screwed y'all over! I AM SO SO SO SO SO SORRY. How can I make it up birdies?

Word Count: 3093

Description: Part One and Part Two

Warnings: Heavy smuttt y'all

Enjoy!

Before Geralt had lost his entire life he was told as a child that there was always a beginning, middle and end. And though most people always thought that this merely pertained to stories his parents always told him that they belonged to humans too.

Every human had a beginning, middle and end.

Every monster had a beginning.

Every Saint had a beginning.

But none of them mattered right now, because all Geralt could think of right now was you. Your beginning, middle and end. He wanted to know more of your story more than he ever had before. 

You had both settled down at a rundown inn, him covering his hair and you covering the bruises someone had left on your neck. The innkeeper, a straggly old lady that could barely turn to grab the key to the rooms, barely cast either of you a glance. 

You kept close to him as you both made your way up the stairs, and Geralt was embarrassed to admit that a surge of pride crossed through him at this. You seek his warmth and protection, and he would give it. He would give you anything you wanted. 

Yennifer had left as soon as she could, saying that she would be going to find Jaskier and letting him know they found you. 

Geralt would keep you with him in the inn, per Jaskiers request. The bard pretends to worry about you with all the traveling, claiming that it would be best if he came to the two of you. Geralt saw the lie, he just could not give a shit. 

Instead he started a fire, setting you in front of it and mumbling that he would be right back. You snatch to grab his upper arm when he moves to leave, but he merely nods, letting you know it is okay to let go. So you do, swiping your fingers under your eyes quickly, but it was too late and he had already seen the tears.

He makes the trip quick, buying you warmer clothes and heading back and ordering some hot stew from the innkeeper, heading back to the room when she tells him she will bring it. 

You are right where he left you when he comes back in, this time a little closer to the fire and curled up a little tighter. Geralt, who had always struggled to sneak around, tried to lighten his footsteps as he neared you. 

“I brought some fresh clothes. How about a bath and a change?” He asks, his voice scratchy from lack of use, but he does his best to keep it gentle. 

You shake your head, the slightest of movement that somehow managed to clench his heart in his chest. “I’m too tired.”

“Allow me.” He whispers, holding out his hand for you. 

“Allow you?”

“To bathe you.”

“You would do that?” You smile, the beginning of a laugh climbing up your throat at the thought. 

“It would be my honor.” His tone makes it sound like he is teasing, but there is nothing but seriousness behind that comment. 

“You won’t jest?”

“Never.”

And at the simple touch of your fingers reaching up to his own has his skin on fire, shaking slightly as he helps your stand, shuffling to the bathroom and leading you to the center of the room and turning to heat the bottom of the tub with fire as he waits for you to get undressed 

But when he turns back to you he finds you waiting patiently, still in the gaudy thin dress, watching slowly. 

You seem fazed out now, eyes shuttering as you reach to him and begin untying his own shirt. A moment of startlement crosses him before he reaches a hand up and stops you by grasping your own in his larger palms. He rubs softly as he tries to relax you, shaking his head. 

“Not me. You.”

“You, with me.”

“I do not want to-”

“I don’t wanna be exposed alone.” It’s then that Geralt knows what you mean. You don’t want to be the only one naked and vulnerable. So he would join you. Anything for you. 

He turns to undress as you undress yourself, and once he hears you get into the tub he turns himself, his heart stopping in his chest at the sight of you. 

Your breasts are just barely covered by the water, and within that moment you managed to tie your hair up with a leather scrap, exposing the bruised neck and collarbone . In this moment you looked broken, and still astonishingly beautiful. It wasn’t fair. 

He takes a moment to climb in, and suddenly he feels the stress from the last few months beginning to fade from his body as he nears you, sitting across from you knee to knee. 

Silence fills the room, and Geralt stresses to find something to say as you lean forward to rest your forehead on his knee. 

“Turn around so I can wash your hair.” He whispers, allowing you room to do so and beginning to work on your hair with the soap. “My parents used to tell me stories.”

“About kings and dragonslayers?”

“No, about monsters.” 

“How so?”

“They used to tell me that the saints and the monsters of the world all had stories of their own, that everyone you come across has a beginning, middle and end.” 

You turn slightly to watch him, and he does his best to seem relaxed. 

“I spent most of my time stressed in impressing and protecting you.” He whispers. “I was gruff, which I do with most people. Keeping you and everyone else at arm's length.”

“I’m trying to see how this relates, witcher.”

“I want to know your story, I want to know your beginning and middle and I am desperate to be with you until the end.”

“Why would you want to know all of that?”

“I have found that, even with you mad at me, that I am nothing in this world without you.”

“I will tell you everything if you tell me everything.”

—------------

You fall asleep listening to him whisper the same stories his parents once told you, rubbing your hair softly as you keep your nose shoved into his chest. 

You awake around midnight screaming, it takes Gerat a couple minutes to calm you down before he moves to start another fire, bringing you closer to it for warmth and letting you lay in front of it. 

The days follow as this, staying by the fire in the cold winter air, whispering back and forth. Eating the stew and roasts the innkeeper made. 

You tell him about your life, and he tells you about yours. 

Finally you ask. 

“Shouldn’t you be out there? Working for the people?” Your head is laid out on his thigh as he watches the snow fall from the window. “I have never known you to sit still, Geralt.”

His heart lurches at the sound of his name falling from your lips. “I have spent the past few weeks working…..for you.”

“What do you mean?” You ask quickly, lifting your head from his thigh, eyes traveling his scarred abdomen before landing to his eyes. 

“I was trying to buy out the contract. For you?”

“Why would you do that? How much money did that end up being?”

“Not enough. It seems that the monster of a brothel keeper and I can agree on one thing, you are priceless.”

“Then how-”

“Yennifer smuggled you out-”

“Then what of the coin?”

“It’s yours. It’s all yours if you want it. Enough to buy a cottage in the hillside for years and-”

“And what if I wanted to stay with you? And Jaskier? Or do you not want me?”

“There is nothing more that I want than you. But I treated you horribly-”

You snap to stand then, hair flipping as you stomp across the room to fling a pillow at him. “How so?”

“That night, you were under a spell and I was so close to absolutely defiling you-”

“I wanted it! If you weren’t so pigheaded you would know that those charms only work if the one wearing it is-” 

“Stop.” There was a heavy force in the room, pressing through his chest to his lungs as he tried to catch his breath. 

“Stop what?”

“This will ruin everything-”

“How. So.”

“BECAUSE I CAN’T LOSE YOU!” He yells, rubbing at his forehead. “I would rather not have you than lose you. Do you understand?”

“Do you love me?”

“Y-”

“Do you love me as I love you?” 

“Yes.” And just like that the tight feeling in his gut that formed the moment he had laid eyes on you. His body was lighter and his heart felt like it was righted once more. “I love you.”

“Then what does it matter?”

“You’ve….. You have had a long couple m-”

“I want you.” You whisper, slowly tiptoeing around the room. “I trust no one but you. No one has given me the truth more, and protected me more.”

“I was cruel and-”

“I understand now.” You smile, tears filling your eyes. “I’ve seen terrible terrible men-”

His fists clench at his sides, the urge to find every man that harmed you and smash their heads with a hammer, as he watches you move closer until your own hands find purchase on his chest. 

The warmth fills him the second you touch him. 

“But you, in all your gruff warnings and rude awakenings, have never been a bad man.”

“You deserve better.”

“I am a brothel worker. I deserve nothing. But this is not what I deserve, this is what I want. Desperately so.”

“You want me?”

“I need you, Geralt.”

His hands unclench, moving up until they rest at your cheeks as he gazes down at you. “I need you too.”

“Then show me.” It’s a simple whisper, but one he hears through his being all the same, moving you backwards slowly until the back of your knees are pressed to the bed. He waits for you to show him a sign of fear or that you changed your mind. But you merely smile up at him, fingers moving to slide over the scars on his abdomen. 

“I trust you.” You whisper, the tips of your fingers sliding against his skin until they get to the breaches he wears and begin untying them.

“After what you have been through…”

“I want you to remind me of what it could be.” And he can’t help himself after that, moving to grab the bottoms of the night dress, keeping eye contact with you as his fingers graze your thighs while he lifts it up slowly, his heart hammering in his chest as you smile softly, allowing him to stand once more and remove the dress from you. 

You allow him to watch you, the wild look in his eyes as he traces your skin slowly. 

“You’ll tell me the second you change your mind?”

“The very instant.”  It was like a cord snapping, a leash let go and suddenly Geralt could not help himself. In one quick swoop he reaches to toss you onto the bed, watching you with dark eyes while you scooch backwards to get comfortable.

He prowls above you, enjoying the excited gleam in your eye as he crawls between your legs to kiss at your lips softly, then the softness turns to hunger as his hand grabs your jaw and he devours you. Kissing you like a man completely starved of it. 

A soft moan falls from your lips and he is nearly a goner, his breath lost as he pulls back to admire his work, a string of saliva keeping you both connected as you take a moment to open your eyes, lips swollen and red. He holds out his hand, waiting patiently for you to catch your breath before he orders you to “Spit.”

You comply easily, and he stops himself from growling in pleasure before he takes his hand and slaps your cunt harshly, a smile tearing across his face when you moan out before he is crawling back down the bed to shove his face between your legs roughly and lick a stripe between your folds. 

The moment your thighs tighten around his head he vows that he will spend the rest of his life doing this, no matter where and no matter when. He would suffocate in this spot if you would let him. A low growl releases from his chest as you moan, fingers lacing themselves in his hair tightly and tugging as he laps at your clit.

Over and over, feeling you spasm with pleasure twice before you use your hands and tug him up by his hair, whining. 

He drags his eyes up to you then, seeing the tears from pleasure streaming down your cheeks as he kneels in front of you on the bed. 

“Are you hurt?” Even if he had the carnal urge to take you right here and now your safety and well being came first and foremost. You seem to realize this as you move up and reach to wrap your arms around his neck, his hands flying to your sides to help stabilize you. Rubbing softly as he peers down at you, him being twice your size. 

Just the thought of it makes his stomach clench in anticipation as you lean up to kiss him, allowing him to lean you both back down onto the bed and lay over you, picking up the kiss just as hungrily. 

He only pulls away from your kiss to kiss along your neck and collarbone as you reach down to line him up. He has to close his eyes and take in a shuddering breath the second you touch him and it takes everything not to finish there. 

But it is all worth it as he pushes in, a growl once again ripping out of his chest as you moan out, foreheads pressed together as he pushes until he is bottomed out. 

“So….. fuck.”

“Neverstop.” You whine, pressing your chest up into his with your eyes still closed. But that just wouldn’t do. How could he admire your fucked out look if he didn’t have your undivided attention. So he pulls your hair and orders you to open your eyes. 

You don’t listen, instead moving your hips to gain some friction so he shoves his own hips down to keep you pinned into place as he orders one more. “Let. Me. See. Your. Fucking. Eyes.”

When you finally open them he begins moving, a slow pace at first, allowing you to gain pleasure slowly but the second he feels the tightness loosen up and you get wetter he is unleashed, pounding into you at a heavy pace. 

The headboard hits the wall with each hit, and your face is thrown into one of pure pleasure as he keeps going. And Geralt cannot think of anything he has ever done to deserve this. 

He would never actually deserve this, but he was so grateful that you had given him a chance, because this is what pure heaven was. 

“You’re mine.” He grunts out, one fist tightening in your hair as he kisses down your throat, thrusting into you at a rapid pace as your hands fly to scratch down his back in a way that has him holding his breath to stop from finishing. 

“I’m yours.” You moan out, tears streaming down your cheeks. 

“I’m never letting y- FUCK- you leave again.”

“I’ll never leave again.” 

“I’ll kill any man that touches you.” 

“No one else.” You cry out, and he feels you tighten around him once more and knows you’re close so he reaches a hand and pinches at your nipple harshly. “Only you Geralt. My Geralt!” You come undone around him, eyes rolling back as he keeps you pressed to his chest and finishes inside you, keeping you as close as he can while letting you both ride out your highs. 

By the time you both finish he lays you both down, his head laying on your chest with him laying between your legs as you play with your hair. 

“I love you…..” You whisper, twirling some of his hair softly.

“I love you.” He replies, moving until his chin is laying on your stomach and he can look up at you. “And I will never let you forget that.”

—-------------

You are awakened by a boot pressing into your cheek as you grumble out and move to push it away. 

“Geralt I swear-” But when you open your eyes you see none other than Jaskier with a cheeky little grin over his face as he stares down at you, a mug of what smells like cider in his hand. 

“Not your lover, but your closest friend.”

“Roach wears boots now?” You laugh, moving to stretch as he rolls his eyes. It had been months since you escaped the brothel, and since everything has changed. Jaskier seems more clingy than ever which was something you only pretended to hate, and Geralt has gone from the stoic asshole to the stoic love of your life…… well in public. 

Behind closed doors he spent most of his time worshiping you. 

“Where is he?” You ask after surveying to find him.

“He took little one to get some water.” 

Another thing that had changed, the young girl that you had smuggled out of a brothel months ago, who has slowly become like a daughter to you, well youngest daughter since you considered Ciri your daughter as well. 

“We’re here!” Y/d calls, her pudgy hand held in Geralts as he leads the girls back, Ciri with a small smile on her face while Y/d rushes to you. “We got water!”

“And Geralt says we have to be off.” Ciri sighs, leaning forward to accept your loving touch as you fuss over her hair. 

“Let’s get on the horses.” Your lover grunts, lifting y/d from under her shoulders and setting her on roach, moving to help Ciri before getting to you. A hand finds purchase on your thigh as you lift yourself onto your horse, smiling down at him. 

“Don’t get any ideas.”

“While you look like that? How will I ever break the love spell?”

“Guess your spellbound then.”

“Always have been.” He kisses your thigh while Jaskier is turned before turning to his own horse and jumping on, making sure y/d is comfortable before moving on.

(I AM SO SORRY, I REALLY THOUGHT I SCHEDULED IT BABES. How can I make it up? I'll do anything.....)

@sagelovesreading

@lashipperrubia @freyafriggafrey @cookielovesbook-akie @whatishappeninghere81 @livesinfantasyland @multiifandomhoe @amara-75 @unfxrgetwble @vlynccx @redlovett @yorkeylover @mxtokko @readinggirl29 @mollymal @fullmoonshadowwrites @rileytwenty @glasschampagne @caffieneaddictt18 @kittiowolf210 @purple-blommie @abrunettefangirlnerd @babezawa @mushy-mushroom04 @miss-goldenweek @pookiesnatcher @thslvr @cardi-bre91

[mystra-midnight]

Dark Paradise

summary: geralt was all-consuming, invading every one of your senses; somehow, he'd snaked his way beneath your skin and between your ribs before burrowing into your heart. he lived there now, and you couldn't breathe without him.

warnings: 18+ only. breeding kink. overstimulation. mentions of multiple orgasm. name calling; slut. dom!geralt.

words: 1k.

notes: no one will ever convince me that geralt is a soft man. he is all strength, and arrogance, and hard muscles. and he will dominate his woman. admittedly this is shorter then i wanted it to be, and maybe not my best work, but i do hope you enjoy.

If ever there was something to be grateful for, it was this: being able to fuck his woman raw without the fear of an unwanted pregnancy. Having you naked beneath him was everything Geralt wanted—to watch your velvet walls stretch around his cock's girth, to feel your body tremble as he rocked his hips against your ass, to watch your cum mixed with his be forced from your tight hole with each brutal thrust.

You knew, completely and irrevocably, that there was no chance of falling pregnant with Geralt of Rivia. The trials had made him sterile, though you boiled fennel and drank it regularly to be certain. Your mother taught you from the eve of your first bleed to protect yourself against others, to trust no one but yourself, and that having a child with the wrong man could lead your life to ruin.

But tonight he had come to your cottage on the outskirts of the village in a foul and angry mood, with snarling tongue and gnashing fangs. He refused to tell you what had happened as he forced you down to your knees. All he'd wanted was your naked body beneath him.

"Geralt." Your voice quivered and rose to a crescendo when he speared through the satin clutch of your cunt and hit the sweet spot that sent your eyes spinning. Geralt of Rivia was not a small man—not in any sense of the word. He was tall and impossibly strong. His eyes were intense, and his hair was the colour of starlight. With broad shoulders and a myriad of scars along his body, he was every woman's fantasy.

And he refused to treat you with fragility. To him, you were not a damsel in distress. So he fucked like he fought, with teeth and tongue, and in every position. "I-I can't. S'too much."

Your thighs trembled under the lingering force of the three orgasms Geralt had pulled from the depths of your soul—on his fingers, tongue, and cock. Another one would surely kill you; you would float away from your body and away from him, never to return. But the idea of him filling you again was heavenly and impossible to deny—not when he dominated you so beautifully.

"You can," he grunted, his voice a rough growl. Geralt followed a bead of sweat that dripped down your spine with the tip of his tongue, leaving your sweat-slick skin goosepimpled. His hand followed the same path until he gripped the nape of your neck and pressed you into the mattress, keeping you cemented in place as he filled into you again. “You can, because I’m not stopping.”

Geralt knew that you wouldn't reply—at least not verbally. The impact of his hips against your ass was brutal, forcing the air from your mouth in pretty moans. The clutch of your cunt was more than enough of an answer. He smeared his lips along your shoulder as he shadowed over you like a terrible, haunting visage. The angle made it seem as though he was in your guts, rearranging your organs.

"That's a good girl," he cooed against your skin, his tone positively mocking. "Now, you stay right there while I fuck a baby into you. That's what my slut wants, isn't it? To be swollen with my child?"

He turned feral and ferocious in a flash, ruthlessly rutting into you. He drove you to the brink of yet another orgasm as you clawed at the sheets. Between whoreish moans, your walls tightened around him, leaving you gasping for air. A familiar warmth moved through your aching limbs and raced through your blood while a thunderstorm roared behind your ears.

"Geralt. Geralt, please, I can't. I can't—oh, fuck. There, r-right there." You babbled mindlessly. You felt lost in the sensation of his hands grabbing here, there, and everywhere. You felt lost in the sting of his teeth and tongue and how he tasted your skin. You felt lost in the pressure of his fingers and how he left bruise-shaped prints everywhere he touched.

"Right here?" He demanded. His fingers dug into the curve of your hips as he pulled you back to meet his pelvis, the sound of wet skin connecting echoing loudly in the small cottage. You squirmed and keened when he hit that sweet spot. "Is this what my slut needed—to feel me this deep?"

You didn’t hear him over the thunderstorm, which had grown into a deafening roar that blocked out the world. And as your vision went white, the pressure snapped, and a bolt of lightning sparked a wildfire in your blood. You felt like you were burning alive; the air in your lungs was superheated, and nothing could cool it. You came hard, screaming his name as he held you in place.

Geralt held you tightly, fingerprint bruises decorating your skin while galaxies burst to life inside your veins. The warmth of your cunt was divine, a heavenly caress as he rutted into you, chasing his own release as he threw his head back. "There you go," he grunted. He slapped your ass just hard enough to get your attention. "You're such a good slut. Does it feel good cumming for me while I breed you?"

You still couldn't answer him; each thrust knocked the air from your lungs, leaving your mouth open as you gasped, squealed, and wriggled in his grasp. Geralt didn't seem to mind. With a final thrust, he buried himself. His hand in your hair held you in place and tinged your scalp with a pleasurable sort of pain as the last of your orgasm ebbed away, leaving your clit throbbing in time with your heartbeats.

It was a welcomed feeling when his release painted your walls—a feeling that made your brain foggy. And despite the haze clouding your thoughts, you knew in that moment you would give yourself to this man. Not only your heart, but your body as well. You knew that if there was a way, you would give him what he wanted, and you would let him breed you.

[xzaddyzanakinx]

FOUND THIS VA ON REDDIT AND HE SOUNDS LIKE GERALT. Currently dying, screaming, crying throwing up.

This is so good.

Geralt if you see this, fuck me with the hilt of your sword please and thank you.

[steviebbboi]

geralt of revia freeuse, creampie, cumeating, reformed playboy trope please

Hi nonnie~ thanks for sending in these asks for my 200 Follower Celebration! Thank you so very much for sending in a writing request 💙 i'm hoping that it hits the spot! (ik Geralt def. does in this drabble 😏)

Btw, just calling this in very lovingly that I noticed that you have sent in more than two asks so I just wanted to let you know that I have only answered two of them for the sake of following the challenge's rules (and to make space for other requests that folx have sent in!). Hope you could understand, and hope that you do very much enjoy the ones that have been written~

The Witcher's Conquest

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Sorceress!Reader

W/C: 1.4k

Prompt(s): Reformed Playboy AU, freeuse, creampie, cumeating

*also included: MINORS DNI, THIS IS 18+, p in v sex, oral sex (fem!receiving), body worship, overstimulation.

Disclaimer: I wrote this one on my phone so I didn't get the chance to edit but promise to edit any mistakes once I am able!

“Geralt - this spell is not going to create itself.” You giggled while pushing away the wandering hands digging its way past the layers of your dress.

Geralt merely smirked at your attempts to push him away as he placed his rough hands against the bodice of your dress, stroking the material intimately as if it was a layer of your skin. 

Leaning his taut body into yours, his grip becoming greedier against your curves and trailing down to grasp onto your hips. He grunted his pleasure at the feeling of your warmth seeping through the thin fabric. “Leave it for now, darling. It’s been too long.”

Despite your attempts to grab the rosemary across the table to finish the spell, you leaned back into his reliable stature happily and turned your head to look up at his teasing, lustful eyes with your coy ones, “You’ve had me just last night.” 

Not missing a beat, he ferally growled his response, “As I said, it’s been too long.” 

Turning your body around to face him– in a spur of a moment, your legs were suddenly wrapped around his waist, arms around his neck as he propped you up higher and supported your weight easily. His hands roughly groped your plush ass as he held your aroused gaze with his own intensity of want in his golden irises. Maintaining eye contact, he carried you over to your shared bed, the sheets still tussled from the passion you both had the night before. 

What Geralt and you have was special and a unity within its own right. Geralt has had many women before, whether they were tramps, sorceresses, or women he has stumbled across during his travels. 

But you, you were different. You were not a night of pleasure to leave behind nor were you a temporary patch up for him to feel sated until his next night with a woman. You were a conquest to win over. But not for your body nor for your power, nor for a night of a solace. 

But for your heart. 

The bravest, most powerful and gracious woman that he has ever met. The night that you healed him from his battle with a creature that was more formidable than he realized. The days that followed in how you helped repair not just his body but his soul. 

He knew then and there that when his body was able, he had to have you. And he ravished you.

The same intensity of love and genuine care from the first night that he had you was sparking even now as he kneeled in between your legs, his tongue stroking your weeping pussy as if it's the last night that he could ever have you. 

Your sweet sounds of sheer pleasure echoed the cozy home that you have built for yourself. A quaint and humble space that has held the many pleasured noises of your coupling since you’ve invited him into your life. Dark green leaves plastered against the wooden walls adorned with natural beauty, radiating light and warmth, creating a haven of peace against the dark world.

Enraptured in your bubble of bliss, Geralt’s rough grip held your legs open wider for him as he burrowed his mouth deeper into your aching cunt, his own satisfied groans rumbling against your wet clit. Your pussy quivered at the feeling of his tongue stroking and sucking expertly on your bundle of nerves. Making out with your pussy, he looked up at the content expression and pleasured smile on your face as he fucked your hole with his seeking appendage. 

The way that you enjoyed his worship made him even more feral and harder for you. He grunted into your pussy again– the bedding providing an unsatisfying substitute for him to rub his erection against as his tongue lapped at your wet greedily faster. 

Your moans became louder as your grip on his shined silver hair became tighter to hold his mouth even closer to your cunt. Your hips started rocking against his mouth that followed to not lose its source of sustenance. The delight that you were taking in his mouth eagerly pleasing you made you succumb to a fuzzy ‘far-away’ feeling, and you seeped deeper into it as Geralt traced his hand against your thigh to stroke at the opening of your cunt. A gasp broke free from your bite-ridden lips as you felt one of his fingers breach your tight opening, his tongue still caressing your clit. 

“Look at you, my flower,” Geralt smirked against your swollen clit and deliberately lapped at it in a teasing manner.

Inserting one more finger inside of you, you keened and your hips were now wild and uncontrollable as you writhed at the feeling. His burly arm held you down as he took more essence, which is what he wanted and needed from you. He returned his attention back to your clit and thrusted his fingers even deeper and faster inside of you. 

Still lapping leisurely, he chuckled at how already fucked-out you looked. He loved making you lose your inhibitions like this, and to know that you readily accepted everything that he took from you. Your whimpers, your wetness that was clinging beautifully to the bedding underneath you. 

Ready to see you fully lose your head, he crooked his fingers just so and witnessed your eyes roll back in your head as your back arched radiantly. Moans and needy whimpers caught in your throat as you finally let go in ecstasy.

Geralt groaned against your pussy and it was his turn to greedily take from you as you poured your delicious essence into his wanting mouth.

Your body became limp after you gave all that you could. Trying to catch your breath, you could barely acknowledge the loss of Geralt’s mouth and fingers until you felt something bigger brush against your sopping cunt. 

“Oh, you didn’t think we were finished darling?” At the mocking voice, your glinted eyes looked up at Geralt to find him stroking his large cock as he stroked the pre-cum coated mushroom tip against your swollen clit. 

He grunted in satisfaction at the feeling of your velvet walls gripping him so heavenly as he pushed in. His slow plunge allowed for the both of you to feel your union even more passionately. Deep and hard strokes were the only thing that you were capable of feeling in that moment. 

“That’s right, flower. Heavens, my little witch just letting me have you whenever I want. Fucking take it.” Geralt groaned as his own head tipped back at how tightly you were clenching around him. The pleasure was incomparable and so decadent, a feeling that he has only ever felt with you. 

You sobbed as his thrusts became faster but the depth of his cock still reached spots inside of you that no other man could ever reach. Tilting his hips just right, his wide cock brushed against that spot once again, over and over again that made you see those familiar stars. 

A flaming white heat enveloped your body once more as the stars burst. Screams of pleasure escaped your hoarse throat as you came around Geralt’s cock that was still thrusting ferociously into your wet pussy.

It only took three more thrusts, with how tight you were squeezing him, he couldn’t hold back anymore as he grunted his release. Your fluttering eyes only rolled back some more at the feeling of his cum filling you to the brim.

Geralt was catching his own breath as he looked down to see a mix of you and him coating his half-hard length. A full blown smile gracing his usually frowned lips at the stunning sight. He could already feel his body reacting to the absolute bliss that overcame his mind. 

His mind made up with the easiest decision that he made every time that you have made love, the both of you released another gratified moan at Geralt pulling out of you carefully.

You sighed in confusion at first as you watched Geralt lean down on his knees again to lap at your cum-drenched opening. Geralt lapped fully over your lips and clit to get you clean again, going slow as he noticed your whimpering at how sensitive you were.

Once you were empty of your shared love, you cried out as you felt Geralt thrust his hardened cock inside of you again. 

“My little flower, we’re not done until I say that we are done. Until you understand that I don’t ever need anyone else. You’re mine to fuck, to use,” He groaned out deeply, your pussy already warming his cock as wetness seeped out of you once more, allowing him to thrust even deeper inside of you than before. 

Tears of bliss left your crossed eyes as you mindlessly heard his last words reverberate in your ears.

“Whenever I want.”

A/N: Hope you enjoyed reading! Off to write the next request :)

Tag(s) List: @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @mercurial-chuckles @caplanbuckybarnes

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[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 26

Jaskier has been recognized as the runaway viscount of lettenhove by a band of bandits. Embarrassingly, they seemed to have found him in the midst of buying a personalized gift addressed "To My Beloved." Perhaps a hairclip shaped like a dandelion, or perhaps an embroidered handkerchief, or something else dainty and delightful. The bandits drag Jaskier away for ransom, even as he tries futilely to explain that his lover will NOT be polite to them if they continue down this road. I mean, whatever fancy shmancy noblewoman whose skirt he's chasing can't be that threatening to their operation, right? They write up a ransom note, intending on sending it along with a lock of Jaskier's hair, and a few drops of his blood to show they're serious. They slice across Jaskier's wrist, but there's much much much more blood than they expected, because the man slicing his wrist is suddenly missing his head. Huh. Perhaps they've underestimated Jaskier's beloved. He did try to warn them.

[holylulusworld]

Broken Rose masterlist

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, forced/arranged marriage trope, I’ll label this one dub-con, darkfic in a way, friends to enemies to lovers trope, smut, spanking, kinks, arguments, a/b/o, true mates, mating, claiming, scenting, possessive alpha

Broken Rose (Prologue)

Broken Rose (1)

Broken Rose (2)

Broken Rose (3)

Broken Rose (4)

Broken Rose (5)

[schleiereule-94]

A Bard and a Witcher – Part 2

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier x aFab!Reader

Summary: The morning after an eventful evening spent with Geralt and Jaskier you start exactly where you stopped the night before.

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 (m receiving), she is not talking much but enjoys being used. A very slight hint of feelings.

Author’s Note: Not beta read and not an english native, so be kind if you find mistakes. Hope you enjoy!

Part 1 here

You fell asleep quickly after the two men had tucked you under the covers. Your body feeling limp and warm, you happily drifted off into dreamland. You only wake up hours later, when a sunray hits your forehead. You squint your eyes open, still feeling dozy and at first you don’t know exactly where you are. A bulky figure lays in front of you, blocking out most of the sun. Yellow eyes watch you intently. And they immediately bring back the memories from last night. You also register a body pressed into you from behind and an arm around your waist. Jaskier’s breath is deep and regular at your neck, he is still asleep. 

When the witcher realises you are awake a small smile lightens up his features. He extends his arm to put a string of hair that has fallen into your face behind your ear and rest his hand gently on your cheek. It is warm and big, extending from your jaw up to your temple. “Morning darling. How are you feeling?” he asks quietly. He is very close and even though his eyes and gestures are very soft and relaxed you are still intimidated. “I’m…, I’m great actually”. You sound sleepy and your voice is hoarse. From taking too much cock down your throat probably, your brain provides a reason. The thought makes you grin and a slight shiver of excitation runs down your body. The witcher is still looking at you. “You are very pretty” he states softly and his hand travels from your face down to your shoulders. He slowly slides down your arm, taking the blanket off your upper body and leaving behind a trace of goosebumps. You hum under his gaze and get more awake by the second. As he uncovers your bare breasts you try to cover yourself up by reflex, but he catches your hands and decisively puts them back down. “Relax”. You feel your cheeks redden a bit, but you loosen up. The witcher leans in closer, your faces just centimetres apart. You feel his breath on your skin and shudder slightly. You feel like you are laying next to a big wild wolf. He’s tranquil for now, but you know he could devour you any second. “What is your name”, he asks while interlacing his fingers in some strands of your hair. “Y/n”, you say, mouth dry and hypnotised by the yellow eyes examining your face. You feel like he sees directly into your soul. 

Geralt leans forward over your head and inhales deeply in your hair. “Mhh you smell as delicious as you taste sweet girl”. His eyes have a faint animalistic glint to them when he turns them back to you. You don’t know what to say. He looks so perfect, the sun lighting up his white hair. Mesmerized, and before you think more about it, you grab a strand and let it slide through your fingers. It feels like silk. Geralt looks amused. “I’ve never met a man like you”, you tell him without looking into his eyes. His broad chest is lightly covered in hair, adorned with his witcher medallion. You feel the urge to touch him, feel his heart beating to make sure he is real. He looks more like an angel in the morning sun, even though you are very aware that he is everything but. “They say that witchers can’t feel anything. That you don’t have emotions.” You shyly look back up into his face, looking for an answer. “Do you believe them?” he asks. You hesitate. “I don’t know.” You lean forward and rest your hand on Geralt’s hot chest feeling it rise and fall. He lets you caress him, watching your hand wander up to his collarbone and down his muscular arms. You trace a vein on his bicep. “I want to find out” you whisper. 

Geralt puts his hand under your chin, lifting you head up. For a moment you are trapped in his gaze, but you free yourself by closing the short distance and kissing his perfect lips. He tastes of wood and danger, deep and bittersweet. His teeth brush your lower lip and his tongue licks into your mouth, slowly but determined. Suddenly you don’t feel relaxed and cosy anymore, but restless and turned on. His hand comes up behind your head to hold you onto the deepening kiss. He has you breathless in no time and you moan softly into Gerald’s mouth. 

As you pull back to catch your breath, Jaskier, woken up from the stirring next to him, nuzzles his head into your neck. “Good morning sweetheart” he hums into your ear. “Can I get a good morning kiss too?”  You smile and turn your head to kiss the bards much finer lips. He tastes like wine and smoke, light and fun. You can feel his naked body pressed into your curves and his morning hard-on on your lower back. You grind your hips back into him. “Morning bard. Had sweet dreams about me?” you tease him. Jaskier chuckles. “You really want to start over where we stopped yesterday, hm”. His hand wanders from your hip where he had placed it, upwards to grab one of your boobs. “Mh so warm and cosy” he mutters. He looks over to Geralt who is still laying on his side silently watching the two of you. “Mind if I interrupt your make-out session?” Geralt makes an assertive gesture with his head. “Go ahead.” His voice has dropped, and heat is radiating from his body, you feel like bathing in it. “You look at me”, he orders you and takes your chin between two of his fingers. Naturally, you nod your head at the commanding tone.

All your senses are absorbed by Gerald’s yellow eyes and Jaskier’s talented fingers massaging and lightly twisting your sensitive nipples. You feel them hardening under his touch and start to pant, your mouth agape. The tingly feeling of arousal travels down your body and directly into your core. You feel wetness starting to pool between your legs and you wiggle your hips again into Jaskier’s cock, hot and flush against your lower back. The bard starts to move downwards, head nested at your neck, kissing and licking stripes up to your ear that make you shiver. Geralt’s eyes are fixed on the goosebumps appearing all over your skin. Jaskier pushes against your butt, and you angle your pelvis back so the head of his hot cock enters between your legs. With a light thrust Jaskier slips between your thighs that are slick from sweat and your excitation. “Mh look at you, all wet for us again” he licks at a very sensitive spot behind your ear making you shudder and your breath hitch. You close your eyes, but Gerald makes you open them again quickly. “I said, look at me” he growls, while yanking the blanket off your body completely. The cold air hits your sensitive skin and you suddenly feel very exposed. Jaskier is lazily thrusting between your thighs, holding your breasts in both hands. You can hear him panting and purring sweet praises into your ear. “Such a beautiful girl, could play with you all morning, baby.” He pinches your nipples and the pain shoots directly between your legs. You need friction, but Jaskier’s thrusts are just missing the one spot where you need it most. You clench your thighs together, which makes the bard hiss, but it is not really helping you. You look up at Gerald. “Please” you beg him. “Please what sweetheart? Do you need help?” The witcher has not moved from his sideways position from where he is studying your every move, all expressions, all your sounds. “Yes, please sir, I need to be touched”. “Where do you need to be touched, little lady?” He puts his big hot hand square on your lower belly, slowly travelling over your navel down towards the spot between your legs where the head of Jaskier’s red and swollen cock appears rhythmically. “Yes, down, please” you breath weakly. The witcher extends his long middle finger, caressing over the little curly hairs covering your vulva. He is agonizingly slow, enjoying the pained and eager expressions crossing your face. Finally, he enters between your folds, rubbing lightly over your most sensitive spot. “Here? Do you need to be touched here?” “Yes, ah yes sir” you moan between your teeth. Geralt looks deeply into your eyes as he starts drawing little circles on your clit. Your breath hitches, your chest rising and falling fast. The combination of Jaskier’s hot dick pulsating between your legs, fingers playing with your nipples and Gerald’s warm hand on your lower belly, massaging just the right spot between your clenched thighs, all under his watchful gaze, turns you on immensely. You start bucking your hips into Gerald’s hand, needing more friction, more pressure. 

“Let me have her”, Jaskier pants and grabs at your hipbone, dragging your ass backwards and changing the angle between your bodies. And with one quick thrust he is in you. The feeling of fullness is so sudden that you cry out loud. The bard pulls out almost completely just to slam back into you. Your moans mix with the slapping sound of naked bodies meeting with force. Geralt’s hand is still there on your clit, pressing down and drawing ever faster circles. The pressure on your bladder makes you feel like peeing. “I am, I am going to come” you announce just moments before your belly convulses and you clench your eyes close, seeing stars. You hear Jaskier gasp as he fucks you through your orgasm, hitting this sweet spot deep inside you with perfect accuracy. You moan and let the fire rip though you.

Two fingers on your jaw bring you back down to earth. Jaskier’s hand digs into your hips and your body is shaken every time he enters your soaked pussy. Gerald is staring at you, his own arousal now clearly visible in his face, lips tight and pupils blown. “Open your mouth” he commands and you follow obediently. With his middle finger he spreads your own juices on your lower lip before entering your mouth. “Now suck”. You do as your told, without taking your eyes away from his, seeing his gaze darken as you lick around his fingertip.

Your body is still rocked back and forth as Jaskier is chasing his own release. “Hold her still” he asks of his friend. Gerald withdraws his finger from your mouth with a plop to grip your hips in a stronghold as his friend starts pounding for good. You close your eyes and just give yourself to the feeling of being opened up again and again until you hear Jaskier start to breath irregularly and feel him twitch inside you. You try to grind your hips deeper into him, but Gerald’s grip on you makes any movement impossible. Every single one of his fingers will leave a bruise in your flesh. He is staring at your trembling breasts with heat in his eyes. Jaskier enters you one, two, three more times before he stalls, pelvis flush with your ass, and with a guttural grunt you feel his balls empty themselves. It feels so dirty and arousing at the same time, you moan loudly. After a few moments Jaskier collapses next to you, his now half-hard dick slipping out of you with an almost obscene squelching sound. You hiss from the loss as semen runs down your thigh. 

You are aware how Geralt is looking at you, his gaze burning your skin. “You like this, hm, getting fucked by this bard? Getting pounded properly?” “Yes”, you mutter, “like to be fucked by good dick.” You grin at him. “I can take some more.” “Is that right? You haven’t had enough yet?” In an instant Geralt is on top of you, weighing you down heavily and taking the air out of your lungs. You try to touch his bare chest but he pins both your hands down at your sides before licking a strip from your throat up to your ear. You can feel his huge bulge and try to buck your hips up into him. Fuck, you want him so badly. Geralt moves his mouth down to your breasts and takes one of your pesky nipples between his teeth. You cry out, the sensation almost too much. The witcher brings up a knee between your legs. His thigh presses into your mound as he grinds into you. The juices coming out of you soak through his thin clothing. “Dirty little whore hasn’t even dried up and already wants to fuck again” Geralt mutters, sending shivers down your spine. He sits up onto his knees and looks over you. The wild wolf is ready to devour you now. 

Geralt kneels between your legs, clearly enjoying the view of you squirming under him. With one of his long fingers he catches a stream of Jaskiers semen slowly dripping out of your cunt. He looks at it closely, then holds it in front of your face. “Taste”. You stick out your tongue to lick the glistening white from his finger. It tastes salty and tangy. “Good girl” the witcher growls and finally moves to undo his pants. As he shoves them down his thighs his erect member springs free, big and prodding. Precum has gathered on the tip and long veins run along it. You want to trace them with your tongue. Your mouth feels dry and your stomach flutters from anticipation. Geralt lowers himself down and very slowly drags his member through your wet folds. “Mh please, Geralt” you try to entice him. But he just lubes up his dick and sits up again. He starts pumping himself lazily with one hand while eyeing you from above. You are so turned on, your skin feels like it is set on fire and it takes all your resolve to not grab at the witcher to try to pull him down towards him.

Jaskier, who had been recovering on the other side of the bed has turned his attention to the action again. “Get behind her” the witcher says over your head in his direction. A naked Jaskier climbs behind you, his hair still moist from sweat, with a grin on his face. Your head comes to rest on his chest as he sits against the bedframe. The bard immediately takes both of your breasts into his hands. Grabbing from below he brings them up to squeeze them together. “Such fantastic tits, m’lady” he whispers into your ear and kisses your neck. You cannot respond as your mind is caught up in watching Gerlat slowly fucking into his big hand while his dick somehow grows even larger and redder. Your pussy clenches in anticipation. “Please” you try your best puppy eyes on him, “I need to feel you inside. Need to be stretched and used. I need you to use me”. Your begging seems strike a cord in the witcher. Gerald leaps down onto both of you, grips your ankles and puts them up onto his shoulders, your lower back now elevated and just Jaskier holding you in place. Geralt’s pulsating member prods at your entrance. “I will show you what a perfect toy you are, whore” the witcher growls and finally, finally enters you. He still doesn’t slam, but it’s forcible enough for you to feel an almost painful stretch. Your mind goes blank, and you only realize that you have been crying out as you gasp for air. 

You are pressed into the bards torso as Geralt truly starts pounding into you. You hear him grunting and his face has lost any semblance of being human. He more than ever looks like a wild, furious animal. He grabs one of your wrists and pushes your palm onto your lower belly. “Do you feel me filling you up? Hmm, feel how I fill you all the way to your gut” “Yes sir, I can feel you” you answer weakly. Geralt grunts and presses your hand down hard onto where your belly bulges as he slides in and out of you. You wine from the extra stimulation, your head is spinning ever faster. You feel Jaskier’s hardening cock against your backside while the witcher is over you fucking the air out of your lungs. Jaskier snakes his hand down your body and finds your clit. Your whines become ever louder as the searing heat starts building in you. You come within seconds, crying out loudly. Your stomach visibly clenches, your whole body shakes as the fire spreads from your lower belly into every corner of your being. You feel your pussy flooding and it washing over Geralts cock and drip down over your ass. Sweat makes your body glide against the one below you as you are rocked up and down by Geralts thrusts. Jaskier is desperately rutting up into you while holding you tight against his frame. You see stars and your ears are ringing when you feel first Jaskier and then Geralt finding their releases. Hot cum shoots both into and onto you. Jaskier moans into your ear and you can feel Gerald’s cock twitching inside you as he empties himself into you. The aftershock spasms in your lower belly make you moan his name for what feels like an eternity. 

Your back is wet and sticky, but you couldn’t care less. Jaskier holds you in a tight but soft embrace while your breath and heart rate are coming down to normal. Geralt has collapsed forward above you, but is holding himself up on his arms, head down and white hair spreading around your midsection. His cock is still inside you, softening slowly. Nobody moves, only heavy breathing can be heard for a while. You never want to move again.

Geralt lifts his head to look into your eyes asking a silent question. You smile weakly back at him. Yes, you are ok. In fact you are great. Just perfect. Afterglow spasms of the hardest orgasm of your life are still running through your body. You clench down onto Geralt and he glides out of you. You hiss at the sudden feeling of emptiness. Geralt cups your face and leans forward to kiss your forehead. “Well done little lady”. You heart and body are warm and a big wide, drunken smile is plastered over your face. 

Jaskier stirs below you and you slide down his right side. “I guess these bedsheets are ruined anyway” the bard states as he starts to dry his chest and belly off all the fluids that made their way between your bodies using the blanket. It takes another 5min of you colleting yourself before you sit up onto the bedside. A half-clothed Geralt helps you up on shaky legs to walk you to the fire where the men had put a pot of water to heat. They help you clean yourself with a hot towel. You smile at them. It is nice being cared for so gently. Geralt caresses your hair and cheeks. His sweet gesture at odds with the intimidating armour and sword he is putting on. “Thank you” he says finally after he made sure you were string enough to stand on your own again. “We have to leave now, heading up north. But we might come back in a few weeks.” You grasp his strong arm. “I will make sure to get word of your arrival” you say leaning your head into Geralt’s big palm. Jaskier, hugs you from behind. “We wouldn’t want to miss you!” He places a big hearty kiss on your cheek. “I might compose a song about you!” With this he lifts up the packed bags and makes his way downstairs to saddle the horses. 

Geralt still kneels before you. His thumb caresses over your lips as he gets up. He places a kiss on your hair. As he turns around to leave you hold his arm back. “You know, I think they are wrong.” Geralt turns his head with a questioning face. “I think witchers do have feelings. At least one does.” Geralt nods slowly, turns around and leaves with what you think might be a little smile.

[ultralightpoe]

Spellbound Part 2 - Geralt of Rivia

Authors Note: Sorry it took so long, I just really had no clue how to do the first part justice

Word Count: 3,876

Warnings: reader is a brothel worker

Description:Part two to the first. FIRST PART HERE

Enjoy!

There were many times in Geralt's life where he felt an undeniable rage, and there were many times that he let that rage affect him until he was forced to suffer the consequences of all his actions. He had learned over the years that there were ways of handling his rage, there were ways of dealing with sadness and pain. 

He had been through so much, and yet he stood, and he always told himself that it would be worth it. Soon enough he would find something that would make it all worth it, and he had found that in you. 

Your soul matched his in a way he never thought possible, and though you didn’t have the same physical scars you had both been through more than you can imagine. And he always found himself gravitating to you, the one person in the world that he felt never judged or expected anything from him. 

Sure, he obviously did not know how to deal with this. He never knew how to talk to you, what to say and when to say it, and he really did not know how to seem casual just as Jaskier always could. Not to mention he was constantly worried about losing you. He felt like a flame, loving something so much and trying to engulf it into warmth only for it to burn and vanish. 

You had been through so much, he never wanted you to burn and he couldn’t imagine a life without you. 

So, even if he couldn’t show emotion or manage to properly show his love, he allowed Jaskier to grow close to you. Geralt made sure that you were physically safe, warm and fed. It was the least he could do. 

He never wanted to leave you wanting for anything, and he desperately tried to find ways to show you yet nothing ever worked. 

But then you were his, for one small moment he had you and he felt as though everything was worth it again. He would burn the world down for you, slay any monster and batter any mortal. It was all yours for the taking…

Until you burned. 

How ironic, how hard he fought to keep you at arms length only to lose the battle in a split moment, and be proven right just like that. 

Now you were gone. 

He knew exactly where you were, had already tried to get you, only to be stopped at the door each time.  Each time he was stopped he wanted to crush their skulls, storm up to wherever they were keeping you and try to explain. 

He would drag you out the door himself just to make sure you never had to do this again. But there were laws, as well as contracts. He would never be allowed to see you unless he could pay the fee, and you would never be allowed to leave unless you could buy out your contract. 

If he managed to get to you and help you escape there would still be the hassle of everyone hunting you down, and word spreads from town to town quickly when it comes to Witchers. 

“How much?” He growls, keeping his eyes narrowed in on the older woman before him, watching her lean back on her chair and fix her dress. She was unlike any other brothel owner he had come across, the others always had a protective notion for the girls. This one seemed vindictive in every word she spoke. 

“Witcher, I have told ye the last 4 times ye have been here that she is not for sale.” She laughs, reaching a foot out to kick the pouch of gold he had laid on the table in front of her. Her dress rides up exposing a very scarred leg, and his stomach tightens at the atrocities you must be going through with this hag and any man she rented you out to.  “Y/n is the emerald of all brothels, before she came upon mine she was already widely known for her beauty, not to mention her time with the Witcher? Men are practically killing themselves to have a moment with her. I stand to make more keeping her than I ever would selling her back to you.”

“Her contract-”

“Has another 4 years under my roof. By the end of that I could be far far away from this continent. Don’t you understand?” She leans forward, knocking the satchels down and watching all the gold pieces fall on the ground. 

That had been 4 months work, 4 months of Geralt working himself to the bone and saving up in a chance to save you. He hadn’t eaten properly or slept more than 2 hours a night in that span of time. 

Images flash through his mind, him ringing this wenches neck in or slamming her head into the fire. Maybe he could slice her head off in one clean motion. 

But he doesn’t, because he understands the consequences. So he bites his tongue and stands straighter. “I just want to see her-”

“Then you pay, just as everyone else.” The Madame sneers, leaning across the table. “I don’t give a fuck if you love her witcher, though I don’t believe you are even capable of that, my rules stay the same. You want to see her then you pay for her time.”

He leans forward, smirking a bit when her attitude drops in fear for a moment, before tilting his head. “Then how fucking much?”

-

“I really do not believe you were worth 230 gold pieces-” Lord Servail huffs, struggling to shove himself back into his trousers. You struggled not to roll your eyes as you sat up, pulling the sheet to cover yourself and looking at the floorboards of the raggedy room. 

You had learned that the men of this village did not like to be watched, most of them married and most of them carrying guilt. You had merely assumed Lord Servail to be the same. 

“Have you nothing to say, whore?” He bellows, walking across the room to grab at your chin. A moment of panic sinks in, one hand holding the sheet tight while the other grabs at his wrist in an attempt to free yourself. 

“I do not understand what you mean, sir-”

“You are boring! You just laid there like a fucking corpse-”

“That didn’t seem to stop you from finishing within a minute-” The slap sounds out and for a second you wonder what he hit, then you open your eyes and feel the stinging on your cheek to realize it had been you. 

A bitter laugh slips past your lips as you taste the iron. 

Blood trails down past your lips as tears spring up in your eyes, the sheets under you stained and ripped from the past month. You think of Geralt in this moment, wishing that you were near him even if he ignored you. 

There had always been a calming factor to the witcher that you never understood, maybe it was a feeling of safety or maybe you just liked that he never showed much anger. He took anything that affected him and made a rational judgment. 

He was a man of trust, and he had never let anything harm you. Sure he yelled at you when he thought you stupid, and made condescending remarks, but you never felt as though he would lay a hand on you. 

“Is that all?” You sniffle, reaching a hand up to stop the blood as he steps back. The man stares at you before yelling out and storming out of the room, shirt untied as well as the trousers. You hear him yelling at your Madame before he leaves and you move over to the basin in the corner to clean yourself off. 

You clean your nose before moving to clean your legs, letting the tears fall freely as you hear her heels come down the hall. 

“You’ve just cost yerself yer pay, I’ll tell you that much.” Madame snaps, the door swinging hard enough to make the wall shake as she marches in. “I told ye that Lord Servail was a valued client and you-”

“Smiled pretty and let him cum. He really didn’t complain much until it came time to pay.” You snark, watching her face pull up. “Have I any news? Anyone come to see me?” 

It had been a month, and you had kept hoping that maybe Geralt or Jaskier would come to see you. At least try to get you back, but nothing. No letters, no visits, nothing. 

“Yer Witcher isn’t comin for ya’. So I suggest you fix yerself up and get back to work.” The Madame snarls, tossing the silk robe at you before storming back out. 

That lonely feeling that clung to you the day you left never seemed to fade, it folds in around you now as you pull into yourself. Knees hugged to your chest as you hide your face and cry. 

Truly what did you expect? That he would come pounding on the door? Try to save you? The salty taste of the tears mixes in with the iron as you sob. You had been foolish, so very foolish. 

Geralt must be at least 6 towns away by now, barely even thinking of you. 

-

“I am terribly sorry to inform ye, Witcher, that my emerald is stacked up for the next week and a half.”

“Bullshit.”

She snarls at him, standing quickly and snatching a heavy book from the desk behind her before slamming it on the table. “Take a fucking look then.” 

He doesn’t waste a moment, snapping through the pages one by one until he reaches your ledgers. Your handwriting is at the top, neat and clean from the ink, dated that day you dashed from the tavern. 

The very same day he had raced over here to see you. 

The day after he had you in his arms. 

The memory of it flashes through him, the way he snatched you like a caveman. He tries to reason with himself that he believed it to be consensual, that he hadn’t realized you were under a spell. But it didn’t matter. 

He treated you in a way he swore to himself he never would, and he made you so uncomfortable that you ran. 

Bile rises in his throat as embarrassment and guilt claw through him, he snaps through your pages to see dozens of signatures on each page. “You have her seeing twelve clients each day?”

“This is a busin-”

“Is she eating enough? Sleeping enough? Are you giving her proper time to rest?”

“I’m not a fucking babysitter-”

“If you are abusing your contract then she has a right to leave!”

She stares at him, watching for a moment with wide eyes as her cheeks go red. Then she fixes herself, clearing her throat before shouting out loud. “BOYS!” He doesn’t fight it as they grab both of his arms, instead he lets them carry him to the door and throw him to the mud below. 

“Guessing she didn’t take it?” Jaskier asks, watching Geralt pick himself up, checking to make sure he still had the satchel of gold. “Surprise surprise.”

All Geralt could do at this point was grunt, moving towards Roach as the barb fixes his coat. 

“I have another job, heard whispers of a screaming creature in the woods not far off from here. Figured you’d want to go out and make more gold so we can do this all again over and over and over.” 

“She’s overworking her, I just know it. Not enough time to eat or sleep-”

“Geralt, as much as I love Y/n, I think we need to….evaluate our current situation.”

“I NEED TO -”

“Get to her. I know. I’m not saying anything otherwise. I just want you to think about whether you want her to see you like this.”

“I want to see her safe.”

“And Y/n would want the same of you. Besides, we obviously have no power against the brothel system.”

“I have fought countless beasts-”

“And I am still your only friend. It’s time you admit it Witcher, humans aren’t your best expertise.” 

If this was any other moment Geralt would ignore him, hop onto Roach and pretend the worm didn’t exist. But he was tired, so tired he truly didn’t think he could even climb onto the horse. 

“Then what do you suggest?”

“First? Sleep. Then? We find an outside source.”

- 

Two months in and winter had finally come. 

You found yourself huddling together with Snae, a brothel worker that had been here a little longer than you, but hadn’t been that much older. This had been the first night you both had off this entire time, and it hadn’t been a purposeful thing. 

There had been a ball in the village, apparently a beast had been slaughtered and most of the nobles and rich men left in their carriages far away. Which meant you were free to huddle close to your friend for warmth as you tried to fight off the winter air. 

“I imagined this brothel warmer.” She sniffles, pressing her forehead to your arm as you shiver. “I was told this was one of the best-”

“It is….. To their guests.” You laugh, tired and aching. Honestly you could barely move, and you hadn’t managed to make it at dinner hour since you had been with a client. But Snae was nice enough to sneak you in a roll of bread. 

“I want to get out of here.” She admits in a quick breath, and you can’t help but smile at the admission. 

You had often imagined ways you would escape, but the truth was you had nowhere to go and no one to leave for. What would you have if you left here? Nothing.

So instead you close your eyes, and lean into her as you whisper. “Where would you go?”

“Home. To find my sister.” 

“You have a family?” 

“A little sister, it’s why I am here. I wanted to make sure she had something to pay for food.” Something tears at your chest, and within a moment you think of a plan. 

“Then let’s get you out of here.”

It takes a mere 30 minutes to pack her a travel pack using a sheet from the bed, rushing to your room to pick up the floorboard where you keep the little pay you make, 10 silver coins. Tossing them in her satchel before tiptoeing to the attic where the largest window was. 

“Shhh.” You whisper when she slips, the wood beneath her scraping under her shoe. Helping her stand before moving to the window. Unlatching it was easy, the winter air covering both of you in a moment. “You swill slide from this section to the next. Until you make it to that tree.”

“You go first.”

“I am not coming.” You laugh, clearing some of the snow from the sill. 

“You must.” 

“No, I have nothing. Besides, one of us needs to stay and give you time.” 

“Y/n-”

“If she begins hunting you then go and find the witcher. Do you hear me?”

“He wouldn’t help someone like me.” She laughs, and you merely stare at her. 

“I think you would be surprised of just how good of a person the Witcher is, though he likes to pretend he is not.”

“What should I say to him if I must find him?”

“That the Geralt I know would keep you safe. Now go.” 

You help her climb up the sill and onto the roof, watching her slide down in the flimsy robe Madame forces you to wear and make sure she makes it to the tree safely before closing the window. 

You allow yourself one moment to press your forehead against the cold glass of it, your breath hitting the glass to form a smudge.  You imagine escaping yourself, maybe going out to find Jaskier. 

But that was unrealistic. 

And you were obviously unwanted.

-

“Please, it’s very important-” A strong female voice fills the air as Geralt breathes in the scent of roast and ale. There was also smoke from the fires but he was far too hungry to admire that scent on it’s own.  “They said that he was here and-”

“First round of ale on me.” Jaskier sings out, moving to the counter as Geralt rolls his eyes. Jaskier was carrying his gold sack so truly the first round was on him. 

He was six villages away from you right now, landing at a cheap tavern for the night before they set up camp. They were here to listen for jobs. 

The plan, as terrible as it was, had been to travel to find Yennefer and along the way they would earn some extra gold. That way when they go they can send the witch in to make the deal, or at least pretend to make the deal as she can try to sneak you out. 

It was a terrible plan……. Because it was Jaskiers plan. 

“Please, I need to find the witcher.” That draws Geralt's attention away from the hearth he had been glaring into, head whipping to spot the young woman clutching the shoulders of a little girl as she begs the man once more. “If you could just tell me where he would be staying-”

“Witchers aren’t allowed in the fucking taverns here, so shut yer trap before I put it to work-.” Before Geralt could stop himself his hand is shooting out, catching the man by the back of the neck. At his movement the hood he had been wearing falls and the people around him all quiet down. 

The womens eyes fall to him, widening. “You are just as Y/n described.”

Something tightens in his chest at the mention of your name, and he finds himself nodding to Jaskier to lead the girl outside. The air hits him, the warmth gone but there was nothing that would hinder him from the conversation. 

“You know Y/n?” His voice is rough, the heat traveling his skin hiding him from the cold. The woman's eyes are filled with tears and the young girl is shoving her face in the smallest scrap of dress he had seen, so in one quick moment he rips his hood off to hand to them. “Is that what you wear in this cold?” “Please, I… I’m from the same brothel as Y/n and she helped me escape. All my money has gone to keeping my sister warm….. Y/n said that you would help. She said the Geralt she knew would help.”

“Where is she?” His heart is thundering through his ribcage at this point, and he can see Jaskier emerging from the tavern. “Did she make it-”

“She didn’t come.”

“Why?”

“Probably scared she wouldn’t make it out. Or might believe she is all alone and has nothing to escape for.” The feminine voice makes Geralt jump through his skin. Suddenly she is there, smelling of smoke and lavender. 

“Yennefer.” Jaskier gasps, but Geralt hadn’t needed him to let him know. 

“Tell me, Geralt of Rivia, about the woman who broke the witcher.”

You were no longer tired at this point, truly you were nothing. 

You didn’t speak, missed more meal times than not from being stuck with clients and at this point you didn’t seem to care. You were just breathing, and that was as much energy as you can muster. 

Three months into this place had truly broken you. 

Yennefer thought this place smelled of urine and death, and though she respected the females brave enough to work here she had absolutely no fucking clue why any man would risk stepping in here.

 One look at the young girl passing her with a bruise on her cheek told her all she needed to know. The men that came here didn’t care about anything but getting themselves wet and letting off some steam. 

“I have a room upstairs, I charge 50 a month in rent, half your earnings are to the house and the rest belong to you.” A voice sounds out, drawing Yennerfers attention away from the young girl with the bruise, back to the raggedy woman sitting at the counter. 

“Excuse me?”

“I have a room for ye-” 

“I’m not here for a room. I’m here for a girl.” 

“Really?”

Yennefer slaps 2 gold coins onto the counter, a smirk crossing her face as the woman's eyes widen in greed. “I was told you had an emerald here.”

“You’re here for Y/n….only problem there is it’s double for her time.” Yennefer sighs, taking out one more coin and slapping it down. “I said double.”

“And I am willing to go and tell the town that your girls are sick.”

“What do you want with Y/n?”

“I figured you wouldn’t need me to explain how your business works but if you need a lesson in fucking then you would have to pay ME double.”

“She is in the top room. Don’t bother knocking.” And just like that Yennefer is moving, picking up her skirts to walk up the steps, trying not to breathe in the smells as she reaches your room. 

Just as the brothel worker said she doesn’t bother knocking, and it was clear why when she walked in. 

The beauty Geralt had described last night was still there, just one look and even Yennefer was nearly at a loss for words. But the spark, the light of you was gone. You stared at the wall before you, empty and gone. 

“Y/n?” She calls, closing the door behind her. “Y/n…”

“I can’t….she said I’d have a day.” You sob, pulling into yourself. 

“You’ll have more than a day, I can promise that.” Yennefer smiles, moving closer slowly. “Your witcher has sent me.”

“My witcher?” There it was, some of that spark. “He’s gonna be mad at me.”

“Now that I can swear on. Come.”

-

Geralt stood pacing back and forth on the pathway as he waited for Yennefers portal to open, his heart in his throat and his eyes glued to the space before him. 

Jaskier waited at the inn they had found with the girl you had saved, Snae. But for now it would just be him waiting for Yennefer, far enough from the town that they would have a head start if anyone went looking for you whilst the rest would cause a stir and send them on a chase. 

They had learned from Snae that Madame had sent a bounty out on her, so Geralt could only imagine what she would do to you. ‘Her emerald’. 

Then it was there, forming like a cloud at first until it got bigger and bigger until it began showing like a mirror. 

Then Yennefers hand came through and Geralt found himself launching forward as she stepped through, both arms wrapped around…..you.

He was there, his hands on you as soon as he could, keeping you upright as Yennefer lets go. “Y/n.”

“Please don’t be mad.” You whisper. 

“What has she done to you…..”

Part 3 on October 30th

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masterlist

fluff smut characters

fic recs

[cowboygenesis]

3: of thunderstorms | geralt x reader

part 3 of the "wild woman" series: masterlist.

pairing: geralt x reader

chapter warnings: nudity, smut, solo male masturbation.

word count: 11.9k

series summary: geralt begrudgingly accepts a monster contract issued to him by a strange girl, thinking it to be an opportunity for some quick coin. nothing goes as planned.

notes: if youre still reading this, thank you so much for sticking with me :) I've been finding a lot of joy in writing this fanfic despite the format being a little iffy for a reader insert (something i realized only 10k words into the fanfic har har). as usual, please leave feedback if you feel so inclined!

Geralt glanced into the greying sky, a sharp look on his resolute face as the light seeped through the sparse cracks of the stoney backdrop; a gentle reminder of the afternoon had begun to cascade down Geralt’s complexion just in time for their arrival in the town’s square.

Despite the upcoming downpour, the city streets kept flooding with life, crowds of people vigorously walking in and out of the center equipped with groceries, home supplies, and various homemade goods for sale.

Geralt watched as an elderly couple struggled to push the weight of a wheelbarrow filled with bags of groats, the husband’s solemn face contrasting his partner’s warm grin. She slapped his shoulder playfully, earning a hiss of annoyance.

“Stop! Come back!” came the cheerful giggle of a young girl, and the witcher stiffened as a group of children ran past his side, with one of the smaller boys bumping into the man’s muscular thigh.

The boy’s gaze rose, bright eyes meeting Geralt’s sharp stare. The few seconds between them must’ve felt like an eternity to the boy, or so the witcher thought. He was all too aware of his uncommon visage and expected most people, especially children, to react similarly to such a close and uncomfortable encounter.

His eyebrow raised suddenly as the child’s lips curled into a goofy, unapologetic grin. He giggled, tiny hands moving to push his body off Geralt’s armored limb, the force making his little body accelerate at speeds likely to make him eat dirt, and with the subtlest misstep, he almost did alright.

The boy dove through the crowd, and soon enough Geralt caught a glimpse of his blonde hair amongst his group of friends who engaged in a tug-of-war over a sewn, stuffed rag vaguely resembling a sheep. A soft giggle came from the saddle.

The witcher’s gaze flickered over his shoulder, catching a quick glimpse of the young woman riding his mare.

Her bare hands were raised and clasped above her head in an attempt to shield her face from the quickly accelerating downpour, a few drops cascading slowly down her elbow and soaking into the bouffant sleeve of her dress.

She was smiling; a warm, heartfelt smile that extended to her eyes and made her cheeks crease with dimples. Her gaze followed the small group of kids, decently amused at the brief ordeal. Her eyes shifted to Geralt.

Their gazes met, and she giggled again as if the awareness of Geralt’s sudden, reciprocated stare didn’t intimidate her in the slightest.

Her hand dropped to pet Roach’s mane, weaving her fingers through the thick strands and allowing her lips to form into a comfortable smile. She was enjoying their escapade, and it made Geralt wonder if riding a horse was that joyous of activity for common folk like her. But perhaps her smile was about something else entirely. He forced his gaze away.

“We’re almost there, turn right by that fencing,” the woman instructed through her everlasting smile, her right hand abandoning its post on the mare’s head to extend a finger towards the open plaza. Geralt hummed in understanding, relieved as the tight squeeze of the side street finally flooded into a much more spacious and comfortable area.

It was the beginning of harvest, and as his new companion had informed him on their way to town, an extensive market would be held in the square every day until the end of the moon cycle. ‘The sowing has been so bountiful the past few years, people struggle to sell their goods before they go bad,’ she had stated. Geralt wondered where all the acquired coin had been going, considering how modest the townsfolk looked.

Surely enough, the plaza had been set up into a miniature marketplace with an array of stick-and-cloth stalls lined up in two rows. Albeit far, Geralt could spot an array of different produce filling the wooden crates of around a dozen merchants, making the area almost unrecognizable from the state he had first seen it in the night prior.

The group made their way across the pavement, Geralt giving Roach’s reigns a gentle pull as they approached a cobblestone building nestled between a blacksmith and a general goods store.

A simple, wooden sign adorned the oaken doorway, rugged and chipped at the corners yet adorning a meticulous engraving:

‘The Novak’s Family Apothecary’.

The letters were uniform and bold, proudly advertising a decade-old familial business to the people of Posada and the neighboring towns. Below, in a smaller font: ‘Alchemy and Herbalism’. Strangely, ‘Alchemy’ had been viciously scratched off the slab, leaving a large gash in the otherwise polished surface.

“We’re here,” Maja stated, legs swinging back and forth along Roach’s sides as the group made their way through the insula’s archway. The narrow path led into an isolated square, much less populated compared to the center and harboring what looked to be communal living quarters.

Geralt trailed his gaze along the decrepit buildings and rain-slicked stone below his feet, then turned to pat Roach’s muzzle. He watched his companion shuffle around on the horse’s back, her skirt twisting and turning with the rapid movements and absorbing the increasing downpour that manifested in the form of small, dark spots scattered across the bright material. She grunted with a furrowed brow, struggling to find a proper angle to get down safely.

“Here,” Geralt hummed, reaching his arms to rest at the familiar spots on her dressed waist. She tensed her muscles at the touch, flexing under the soft corset and making the man readjust his grip. A thumb grazed gently along the material and the girl’s eyes shone with surprise, but the lack of resistance urged the witcher to continue his rescue.

“Thank you,” she replied tactfully as Geralt effortlessly rose her into the air then safely to the ground. Her boots made contact with the slick stone with a squeak, her hips and legs twisting around to adjust to standing.

“Gods… that was amazing. I haven’t ridden a horse in so, so long,” Maja exclaimed with a grin, carefully placing her hand on the horse’s muzzle. Geralt nodded, following in tandem with her movements. His gloved fingers significantly dwarfed hers at this proximity, and he noted the pulled, reddened skin around her fingernails as she patted Roach’s cheek. The mare whinnied softly, pushing into the girl’s grasp. “She’s such a good girl.”

“She likes you,” Geralt stated lowly, watching as his horse made gentle acquaintance with his new companion. The woman chuckled at the contact, amping up her pats and scratches.

“I like her, too.” She responded, glancing at Geralt’s face. Despite popular myth, witcher’s didn’t seem so frightening up close. If anything, Maja had grown to enjoy the tiny, obscure hints of smiles and chuckles that felt like such a rarity with the caliber of man Geralt happened to be. That moment was no exception, as her eyes trailed down to the man’s subtly raised mouth corners. It was a shadow of joy, and not so pretty, yet somehow the concept itself made the woman feel warm despite the accelerating downpour.

They were soon to be soaked. The minuscule, lightweight droplets had suddenly evolved into weighted beads, pattering aggressively against the metal gutters and forming reflective puddles in uneven areas of the pavement.

“We best get inside,” the man gruffed out, tugging at the hood of his linen cloak. He glanced at Maja, watching her hair dampen with the rain. He could have sworn he saw her shiver. “You go ahead, I’ll hitch the horse.” he nodded at her, reaching to grab the reigns.

“Allow me,” the woman retorted with a small smile, quickly wrapping her nimble fingers around the leather straps. Geralt watched with a raised eyebrow as clear droplets began trickling down her forehead and falling off the thick bedding of her upper lashes.

“I need to stop by that shop for a moment,” she perked up, extending a finger towards one of the doorways deeper into the square. The light from within was dim and flickered occasionally. Her head turned to face Geralt again, and he raised an eyebrow at her solemn smile as her fingers grazed the horse’s mane. “Besides, I… I haven’t done this in a long time. You know, cared for a horse. Just want to savor it while I can.” she ended sheepishly, glancing at her rain-slicked boots.

Geralt’s eyebrows raised subtly, his gaze scanning the girl’s lowered face. He hadn’t considered that such a simple, inherent part of his life would bring such pleasure to someone else. He had ridden horses all his life, so much so that it had become synonymous with walking. Alas, it wasn’t something he could be opposed to. The quicker he managed his interrogation, the quicker he could solve this town’s monster problem and trail ahead.

“Hitch her between the arches over there,” Geralt pointed toward the courtyard’s edge, simultaneously nodding at the girl’s request. She grinned in return.

“Oh! If it’s no issue, could you get me a bunch each of verbena and sage? Oh, and arrowroot. Big ones,” the girl perked up suddenly, raising a hand in question.

Geralt sighed, but before he could put his foot down, Maja had taken a step towards him. Her hand edged towards his sternum, gently pressing against his chest piece while her bright eyes made contact with his half-lidded ones. “Just mention my name. Miro’ll put it on my tab.” she smiled cheekily.

Geralt nodded once, maintaining eye contact to search her orbs for something hidden. The dark pools drew him in like a spell, refusing to let go.

Her grasp tightened on the reigns suddenly, and with a final chuckle and wave, she walked away. Her silhouette shrunk in the distance, and Geralt exhaled sharply at the faint sound of the girl’s one-sided conversation with Roach that morphed with the heavy patter of rain.

His feet carried him towards the front of the building once again. His hood had started feeling heavy with the weight of rainwater soaking into it, so the warm air hitting his face was a welcome feeling as soon as he creaked open the large, ornamental doorway to the alchemist shop.

He breathed in and looked around. It looked common, simple, exactly as every other shop of this kind he had seen in his extensive career. The wooden walls were lined with thin shelves and cupboards, each housing a handsome collection of vials, chalices, and corked bottles.

The witcher traced a hand along one of the larger vials, feeling along its decorative rivets. A thin paper card attached to the cork read ‘oil of parsnip’. He picked it up and swirled, the viscous, yellow liquid inside sloshing around with a soft gurgle.

“Oh, welcome! Come on in,” spoke a raspy, melodic voice, making Geralt look towards its source.

A tall, middle-aged man stood at the edge of the room, leaning against a wooden desk. His dark, curly locks stood taut in every direction, intertwined with thick threads of silver. The bump of his thin nose held the weight of circular rims through which the witcher could glimpse a hue of bright green.

“Quite the downpour, ain’t it?” he chuckled warmly as Geralt approached, fingers tugging at his hood to pull it back. The man was amiable, even after seeing the witcher’s white locks and wolf-head insignia.

“Quite,” Geralt retorted sternly, eyeing the thick, sheepskin ledger pinned under the alchemist’s hand. “Busy?”

“Oh, but not at all. This’s just that awful bureaucracy, y’know? They’re making me list my income every other moon. You probably know somethin’ about that, right?” the man panned a quill in the air, pointing it steadily down Geralt’s figure. “You seem like a kind of businessman yourself!”

“That’s one way to call it,” Geralt tilted his head with a hum, placing a gloved hand on the til’s rough surface. He leaned in, avoiding the bundles of dried lavender and white sage drying upside down on the ceiling. “But bartering is the best I can do if we’re talking business.”

The older man chuckled, clearly entertained by the witcher’s dry riposte. He shoved the journal to the side and straightened his posture as if he had just realized the situation.

“Tell me then, friendly barterer, what herbs do you seek? I’ve got everything, from plane ole’ mint to the rare white myrtle. Oils a plenty, too.” he advertised enthusiastically, gesturing towards the vials.

Geralt glanced at the shelves behind him, then turned his attention back to the seller. He approached the closest one and hovered his extended hand over the selection. Swiftly, he plucked out a small, smooth bottle. He swirled the yellow-green liquid inside.

“And these? Are they potions?” he questioned before watching the man’s eyes widen, mouth ajar slightly.

“No, ‘course not! No! We don’t sell potions here, only herbs and herbal oils. Ointments, that sorta’ of thing.” he protested, gleeful exterior suddenly deteriorating.

Geralt stood silent for a beat, eyeing the older man’s sweat-slick forehead and cheeks. The droplets thickened at his temples and slipped between the crevices of his wrinkles.

“I see,” the witcher finally spoke, nodding. The shopkeep seemed to drop his shoulders and sigh at his amicable response. “Are you Miro?”

“Miro. Miroslav. Yes, that’s me,” he replied quickly, the shadow of a smile returning to his lips. “How so?”

“Do you know a man by the name of Sylvanus?” Geralt questioned tactfully, leaning against the wall. “I’ve been told he supplies here. I need to know what he purchased this morning.”

“Ah… Sylvanus. Yes, yes. He’s a regular customer, has been since he arrived. A little off-beat that one, but intelligent, and good with herbs. Very, very knowledgeable in that area, yes, and always so polite! Secretive, too, but you know how those types can be, right?” Miroslav began cheerfully, yet straightened his demeanour once prompted to answer the witcher’s question. “But I’m afraid I can’t reveal the contents of my ledger, good sire. Maintaining the privacy of my clients is something our shop values greatly, really. And who might you be, anyway?”

Geralt placed the glass bottle down in front of the clerk and looked up at him with a nasty smile, the wolf-head amulet glistening in the gentle candlelight.

“Geralt. Geralt of Rivia. I’m here to investigate the suspicious activity happening in these woods, and I’ve gotten intel about a suspect visiting your alchemy shop. He’s a witch hunter. I have reason to believe he might be concocting something malicious with the ingredients acquired from you.”

Miroslav straightened up, lips formed into a tight line. There was a palpable tension that filled the air at that moment, one that caused a quiet ringing to echo inside the witcher’s sensitive ears. The rain pattered harshly against the window and roof, making Geralt wonder how Roach and his companion were faring.

“It… It could be true. But why? What would such a sophisticated, traveling folk like him gain from such a silly heist? People are dying from the beast, that beastie from the woods is what’s killing all my neighbors. Mr. Geralt, why? Why would Sylvanus do such a thing?” Miroslav harped, becoming increasingly distressed.

The instance of potentially being involved in something as serious as what Geralt was expecting was weighing on his psyche, as it would on most people. This guy simply wasn’t afraid to show the effects of it.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. If you showed me your ledger, I might be able to help this town, other people in the future, from meeting the same fate,” the witcher hummed, placing a firm hand against the wooden till. “It’ll only take a minute of your time.”

Miroslav sighed, nervously eyeing the leather-bound book tucked safely behind a pile of similarly coloured journals. His fingers traced the former’s spine, shakily taking it out and dropping its full weight in front of Geralt. The witcher nodded approvingly, extending his gloved hand in reach of the cover.

Suddenly, a dainty, wrinkled hand slammed onto his. Geralt’s gaze rose, eyes meeting the clerk’s wide ones. His pupils were the size of pinpoints, cheeks rosy and sleek with sweat.

“Don’t tell the Baron about this. Please. I beg you don’t,” Miroslav whispered shakily, and Geralt hummed in return. “I know we can’t practice it. I know we can’t, and yet it’s in our nature. There are so many folks out here in desperate need of these potions, and me, my family, I just can’t let myself leave all of this behind just because of… one, God-forsaken incident!”

A heavy silence befell the old shop. The creaking of floorboards echoed into nothingness, interrupted by a distant roar of thunder. Geralt sighed.

“What incident?” he questioned, taking a confident step forward. He could sense Miroslav’s body tense at the gesture, yet he persevered with his tactics.

The older man shivered and gulped down thickly, making his Adam’s apple bob. Geralt watched intently, placing an unassuming hand over his belt.

“An implosion. Somethin’ completely otherworldly,” the shopkeep explained nervously, fiddling with his journal, “It happened maybe two decades ago, on a spring evening like today. It was like a shockwave, radiating from within a single home, not far from here. I was in the market then, and when that force hit me I must’ve flown at least a perch into the air, I swear on the Gods! The Baron ordered a search of the home and later told us townsfolk it was a simple alchemical miscalculation. Falkrov they were called, I think… a sweet, young couple with a great talent for magic. The same magic that ended up taking their lives that very night.”

“They passed?” Geralt questioned without a beat.

Miroslav frowned.

“Yes. The explosion was simply too powerful,” he heaved, “And that was it. I knew the Falkrov's, not too well, but things were amicable… they were a kind bunch, and helpful, too. But too curious. Too volatile.”

Geralt listened, nodding tactfully and urging the man to keep telling the story.

“Magic was no secret in our parts, quite the opposite, witcher. This land is a powerful energetical pulse point, harboring some kind of ancient magic for centuries before our people even thought to inhabit it. When I was a little boy, my mother would tell me stories of lights and voices coming from the nearby woods, creeping shadows, and chants of witches. It’s true, that’s what she would tell me. And I saw it too, that I did! Creatures from beyond this realm!”

“What did they look like?” Geralt interrupted promptly.

“Little faeries. Or pixies, maybe, I’m not so good with the names, you know. Glittering little beasts with wings. Some sort of gnomes, too, or… a little boy with large eyes, what do you call ‘em…”

“A Godling?”

“Well… sure. A Godling, yes. A young boy skimming stones over a pond. It was long ago when I saw him, at least three decades it must’ve been… we don’t go in the woods anymore, my wife and I. Folks say that’s where the Falkrov’s met their ill fate, and so they’ve haunted that soil ever since,” Miroslav continued somberly, “Nothing’s been the same since that day, Mr. Geralt. And recently, something has changed again. The woods aren’t safe no more, not even in the daytime.”

Geralt nodded, arms crossed as he watched the shopkeep open his journal. He licked his thumb and skimmed the yellowed pages fervently, humming something under his breath. Finally, he stopped. His eyes narrowed, landing a finger against a uniformly drawn table and sliding it down the page.

“I’ve lost hope for this town long ago, Mr. Geralt, but Sylvanus has managed to spark it back up again. He’s a brave man, bold. Goes into those woods on his own and makes sure they’re safe before any of our own folk head out themselves, and at the end of the day refuses our coin. It’s not something any ordinary man would do.”

“I know,” Geralt replied dryly, grabbing at the open journal and twisting it around to face him. The shopkeep’s handwriting was sloppy and thick, drilled forcefully into the pages below. “I plan on finding out what motivates him.”

Miroslav nodded apprehensively, hands crossing loosely against his chest as he watched the witcher get to work. Geralt scanned down the page, skimming through about a dozen names before finally reaching a familiar one.

“Nightshade and mandrake root,” Geralt spoke quietly, eyes narrowing at the chicken-scratch text. “Not a common purchase. Did he mention anything about these ingredients? What he was going to use them for?”

“No�� not at all. I never question my clients’ choices, I feel it is against company policy to butt in like that. It’s none of my business, Mr. Geralt, sir.” Miroslav replied with a shrug, making the witcher sigh apprehensively at his nonchalance.

Within his mental compendium of herbology, Geralt searched for the two ingredients Sylvanus had purchased. Both were powerful, potent herbs used in ritual rites and deadly potions, something that a well-meaning passerby would never resort to purchasing; unless there was more to it than met the eye.

“Alright. Thank you, Miroslav,” Geralt nodded, closing the ledger with a quick slam. He watched as the shopkeeper nodded nervously, looking down at his shoes. His hands moved fervently at his sides, and before long he had withdrawn the book into a nearby drawer.

“Please… don’t do anything rash. I can vouch for Sylvanus, that I can. Perhaps I shouldn’t have revealed this information to you…” he spoke softly, eyes glassy with tears.

Geralt sighed once more, crossing his arms. "I won't act hastily," he assured Miroslav, though his tone carried an edge that made the shopkeeper swallow hard.

Miroslav nodded, looking relieved yet still anxious. "Thank you… thank you. I hope you find the answers you're looking for."

“I’ll take a bundle each of sage, verbena, and arrowroot. It’s for—” Geralt began.

“For Maja?” Miroslav interrupted promptly, perking up with a bright glint in his eye. He cleared his throat once becoming aware of his own enticement, mellowing down promptly. “Yes… yes, alright. You know each other, then? You and her?”

“She offered me information about the disturbances in this town.” the witcher replied promptly, slightly taken aback at the question.

Miroslav nodded with a smile, gaze boring into Geralt’s eyes. He lingered in that position for a while, before finally shuffling around the table to reach a large shelf near the ceiling. He hopped in place a few times, grunting as he attempted to reach the herbs resting atop the plank with a comical fervor.

Geralt rolled his eyes subtly, turning around and taking a long stride toward the struggling man.

“No, no! I got it!” he wailed suddenly, pushing Geralt away with his lanky hand. The witcher grunted at the unexpected strength, instead opting to stay back and watch the show from afar.

Finally, with one last jump, the older man managed to grab at the bundle of herbs and pull them down with a triumphant grin. “Here they are,” he said cheerfully, handing them over to Geralt. “I’ll put these on Maja’s tab.”

Suddenly, just as the witcher placed his hands against the thick bundle, he felt Miroslav’s nimble fingers grab at his wrists. He held on tight, almost uncomfortably so, holding Geralt’s gaze adamantly. “She… just, please stay diligent out there.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow, noting the earnest concern in the alchemist’s eyes. “Appreciate it. Take care, Miroslav.”

The shopkeeper nodded in agreement, finally letting go of the witcher’s wrist. He felt the blood pulse back into his digits, opening and closing his fist at the numbness. He turned towards the door, opening the door and marching through unceremoniously.

“Take care, Geralt.” he heard Miroslav call out as the doors behind him closed with a loud thud.

As he stepped outside, he noticed the storm had grown fiercer. Rain lashed the streets and thunder boomed overhead, bright lights striking amongst the darkening clouds.

“Winds howling,” he muttered under his nose, feeling a harsh breeze brush against his cheeks as he opened his pouch. He sighed as he caught a whiff of the sage, tucking it away safely before taking a moment to enjoy the aroma.

“Geralt!” rang soundly in his ears, the familiar voice now strained and desperate. Time seemed to slow down at that moment. His peripheral caught a glimpse of something dark, a speckled form dashing right past his side. The adrenaline within his veins pulsed fervently and he scanned his surroundings for red. The witcher’s hand reached instinctively for his sword, yet stopped short when he recognized the creature dashing between the citizens.

It was the deer he had hunted earlier; alive and bounding through the rain-soaked streets, white tail bouncing with its agile strides. The townsfolk scattered promptly at the disturbance, yelling, gasping, and pointing as the animal sped past them, its hooves clattering against the cobblestones. His eyes grazed past the familiar patch of dried blood staining the animal’s white belly, centering around a deep gash.

Geralt's brow furrowed, body tense as his wolf-head medallion vibrated soundly against his chest. His ears rang as he brought his hand up, feeling the reverberating within his fingertips and frowning softly. It felt incomprehensible.

His mind raced as the deer flew past fearful townsfolk, bouncing off stalls and getting its soft fur soaked the few times it tripped over its hooves. It darted towards the edge of town, finally disappearing amongst the buildings.

He stayed put, letting the sword slide back into its hilt with a soft slash. Instinctively, his head turned, glancing into the courtyard and catching a familiar glimpse of a white apron.

He found Maja running towards him, face pale and eyes wide as she approached. She looked as shocked as the rest of the townsfolk, but there was something in her expression that Geralt couldn't quite place; a certain glint in her eye that he hadn’t witnessed in a long while.

"Maja," he called out sternly, in a panic, striding over to her. "The deer—"

"It’s alive," she interrupted, her voice trembling slightly as her hands motioned frantically in every direction. "It… it came alive. Just like that. I was leaving the shop, I just wanted to check on Roach, I wasn’t looking and—"

“What happened?” Geralt demanded, grabbing at her shoulders and keeping her from flailing. Her skin was soft to the touch and slick with rain. He squeezed gently, finding himself momentarily entranced by the proximity. He studied her closely, breathing deep and contrasting her small, shallow bellowings in an oddly pleasant symphony.

“I…” she began softly, gaze finally meeting his. Her eyes were wide with bewilderment and her pupils dark like pools of ink as she reached toward him. Her hand linked with his, holding firmly onto his tense forearm and mimicking the squeeze. It felt comforting, and Geralt found himself overcome with a sudden, inexplicable wave of ecstasy at the gentle pressure. “She came alive. The doe came alive.”

The rain continued to pour around them, the world fading into a blur as Geralt's focus zeroed in on Maja. Her lips parted slightly, and he could feel the warmth of her breath mingling with his. The proximity, the intensity of the moment, it all surged through him like a shot of adrenaline. Something about it felt strange, almost unnatural.

“Maja…” he started, his voice low and rough. Her name felt like a prayer on his tongue, an invocation of something deep and ancient. He could see the confusion and fear in her eyes, but there was something else there too—something that mirrored the turmoil within him.

Their breaths mingled, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still once again. Geralt’s gloved thumb brushed against her cheek, wiping away a stray droplet of rain. Her skin was soft beneath his touch, and he found himself leaning in, drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

“We need to get out of here,” he added, sternly this time.

She nodded, her hand tightening around his forearm. The connection between them was palpable, a current of unspoken understanding and shared resolve that felt like an inexplicable spell; ecstatic, but otherwordly. He withdrew with a grunt, attempting to shake the strange feeling off.

Without another word, Geralt shrugged off his thick cloak and draped it over the woman’s shoulders, the heavy fabric cascading softly down her frame. The woman looked up at him, gratitude flickering in her eyes as she raised the hood over her head.

“Let’s go,” he urged, gently guiding her towards Roach. He undid the skillful fastening of the reigns against the pole and trailed ahead, feeling the woman’s presence just beside him.

The rain pounded down on them feverishly as they walked through the storm. Most of the crowd had dispersed by now, except an unlucky few stuck fixing the cracked stalls resulting from the sudden ambush from before, grunting as their hair became damp with the downpour.

Geralt remained silent in this voyage, his thoughts a whirlwind of the strange events as they crossed the plaza and made their way towards the tavern, thunder roaring wildly above them. In those moments, he could feel his companion’s body draw momentarily closer to him, her hands grazing unsurely at his side.

As they approached the tavern's entrance, Geralt adjusted his grip on the reigns. He turned towards Maja and issued a small, polite bow. “Thank you for the lead. I’ll make sure to take care of your… monster problem. Farewell.”

The woman curtsied back with a smile, yet it quickly shifted into a solemn, anticipating expression. The corners of her mouth turned downwards as she leaned in to grab his hand with two of her own. The contact made Geralt flinch, eyes narrowing instinctively at the touch.

“I’d like you to stay,” she began assertively, eyes shining with determination as she sandwiched the witcher’s gloved hand and gave it a firm squeeze. Her nimble hands felt strangely sturdy around his fingers. “Please, Geralt. You’ve shown me more kindness than I had ever expected, so it’s only right for me to return the favor. Come in, take a bath. Get warm. I’ll make us supper, if you like.”

Geralt studied her face, weighing her rare sincerity against his instinct to keep moving. Staying in one place always brought complications.

The rain was relentless, soaking them both to the bone, and the warmth of the tavern seemed increasingly appealing. The thought of a hot meal and a bath felt like a rare luxury nowadays.

“Alright,” he said finally, nodding.

Maja smiled, quickly getting to work and hitching Roach to the familiar wooden post. Geralt watched silently, noting the agility and apparent experience in her motions.

Once finished, she grabbed his arm again, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “Come on, then! You smell like a wet mutt!” she said, yet her tone bared no hint of malice or teasing.

Geralt chuckled at the remark, the comfortable warmth of the tavern seeping into his bones as they finally stepped inside. The door behind them closed with a loud thud, drowned out by the music and chatter inside. “That’s no way to treat a guest,” he replied curtly.

“A very apprehensive guest,” she muttered, pulling him inside. The tavern’s interior was bustling with activity as usual for this time of day, patrons singing and laughing, the air thick with the smell of roasted meat and ale. The bard currently performing seemed to be the same flaxen-haired woman as the day before, this time dressed in an intricate suit of purple and green.

“Maja! Our Majeczka!” came a voice from their left, making Geralt’s gaze drop to the stout, bearded man sitting amongst a crowd of similarly dressed patrons.

“Evening, everyone. Martijn, Jannick,” Maja replied cheerfully, giving the group a polite nod. “Just passing through.”

One of the guests sitting at the table, a tall man with a scarred face, leaned forward, leering at her. “Got yourself a new man, have you, girl? Bet you forgot all about us!” he teased, earning a round of guttural laughter from his friends.

Geralt’s eyes narrowed apprehensively, but Maja merely smiled, placing a hand on the scarred man’s shoulder. “Just a guest,” she said, her tone polite but firm. “Be nice, guys.”

Another man, younger and with a head full of unkempt hair, snorted. “Don’t see many witchers around here. Hope he’s not here to cause trouble.”

“Only if trouble finds me first,” Geralt replied calmly, his voice carrying a warning, subtext-filled tone that seemed to quiet the group down momentarily.

“Trouble, eh?” Martijn chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Just keep your trouble away from our drinks, witcher. We’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

Jannick, the scarred man, leaned back in his chair, still eyeing Maja. “You sure you’re just passing through, Majeczka? We’ve missed having you around. Thought maybe you’d be staying a bit longer this time, you know. Keep us company a while.”

Maja’s smile remained splayed across her face. “I’ll be right with you once I’m done with this one. You boys behave yourselves, alright?” she replied with a chuckle, motioning towards Geralt.

“Always do,” Jannick grinned, raising his mug in a mock salute. “You take good care of our girl, witcher. Wouldn’t want her getting broken.”

Geralt glanced at Maja in question, and she responded with a pleading gaze. Her hand squeezed his, urging them to continue.

“I’ll make sure she’s safe,” he said, meeting Jannick’s gaze with a steady look before heading on, following his companion’s steps.

As they turned the corner, Geralt watched Martijn raise his hand abruptly and give the woman’s arse a hefty, reverberating slap. She squealed tightly at the motion, her body tensing as the men proceeded to burst into ravenous laughter at her upset reaction.

Geralt tensed, sneering at the sudden physicality, swiftly striding towards the scarred man and preparing to give him a piece of his mind. Just as he raised his arm to swing, he felt a gentle touch of Maja’s hand against his chest.

“Geralt,” she muttered, gaze sharp and boring into his face. The air around her stilled suddenly, eyebrows high on her forehead as they exchanged challenging glances. He could sense the men beside them halt, watching the commotion unravel. “Don’t. Please.”

The witcher clenched his jaw tightly, muscles taut with the urge to strike at the rowdy patron. He met her gaze, seeing the unspoken plea in her eyes. With a deep breath, he lowered his arm, anger simmering just beneath the surface.

He hummed calmly, yet his gaze betrayed his faux demeanor by shooting an ice-cold look toward the two men. They cowered slightly, yet the smiles remained on their reddened faces.

“Thank you,” Maja muttered quietly, eyes filled with gratitude as they walked towards the staircase. As they reached the balustrade, the laughter and jeers from the patrons followed.

“Mighty witcher, got him wrapped around her little lady finger!” one of them called out, causing another round of laughter.

Despite the comments, the pair urged on. Geralt could sense his companion’s pace quicken as she fled up the stairs, skirt flailing with her speed. The man followed promptly, tailgating the girl as she led him up a ladder hidden at the dead end of a corridor.

As they climbed their way up, the air began to feel thick with a familiar scent. Lavender and vanilla… but perhaps it was honey? The smell weaved around Geralt, enveloping him with a comforting, sweet fragrance that made the witcher hum thoughtfully. It felt sentimental, somehow.

The attic room was lined with shelves overflowing with jars and pouches of dried herbs, each labeled meticulously with elegant handwriting. Bundles of drying flowers hung from the rafters, casting a range of intricate shadows on the wooden floor below.

Books, weathered and well-loved, were stacked in precarious piles across a large oak table that dominated the center of the room. Some lay open, their pages yellowed with age, revealing intricate diagrams and notes scribbled in faded ink.

An unlit candle stood sentinel among the tomes, which Maja approached promptly, stumbling over some of the open books with a quiet gasp.

The room was dark, lit only through the presence of a round, glass window peering into the outside world and giving the two a glimpse into the heaving storm. Below it stood an unpolished desk stacked with stray pieces of paper and a clay mug, paired with a matching chair.

With a hum, Geralt took a seat in silence. His arms crossed as he watched the woman work at a box of matches.

“Thank you for respecting my wishes down there,” she said quietly, her back to him as she busied herself with lighting the candle. “They’re harmless, really. It’s nothing to be concerned about.”

“They shouldn’t treat you like that,” Geralt replied, his voice still tinged with irritation at the patrons and Maja’s haphazard way of managing them.

“I’ve dealt with worse, and I’m sure you have, too,” the woman said solemnly, turning to face the man with a small, tired smile. “Don’t look at me like that, Geralt. I don’t take their disrespect lightly, that much you need to know. But you must understand… I don’t wish to anger them. The life of a barmaid is a humble one. I don’t make much coin, and what I do make often gets privately cut by my supervisor. These people’s drunk foolishness and their bottomless pockets might just help me find a better life for myself, if not now or tomorrow, then one day.”

Geralt remained silent, gaze insistent on holding Maja’s as she spilled her heart out to him. He couldn’t say much, not out of disregard, but a lack of words. Their lives differed drastically, and giving advice seemed like a fruitless effort.

“And I’ve said too much again. Forgive me, it’s been a while since I’ve had the chance to unravel myself like this,” she chuckled, the warmth returning to her voice as it did to the room. The candle’s gentle flame rose, casting a soft, golden light onto the walls. “I want to know more about you. Tell me then, why are you here?”

Geralt dropped his gaze, arms squeezing over his chest as his mind pictured a vague image of a flaxen-haired woman. Her green eyes narrowed with a smile that mimicked Geralt’s, yet he made it falter soon after.

“I’m looking for someone important to me,” he spoke softly, bringing his eyes back to Maja’s. Her frame seemed to glow in the soft candlelight, eyes reflecting in shades of liquid gold as she smiled kindly at him, empathizing.

“Family?” the woman questioned softly.

“Not exactly, but close enough. She’s like a daughter to me,” he spoke, words tinged with a potent mixture of longing and determination. He settled into the chair, the flickering flame casting shadows that danced across his weathered face.

Maja stepped forward, kneeling in front of the witcher with a gentle smile. "Someone like a daughter... That's a strong bond," she remarked softly, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of a well-worn book on the floor between them. "You must care for her deeply."

"And you're here, risking your life to find her," Maja observed, her gaze steady as she met his eyes. "That says a lot about you, Geralt."

He nodded again, the lines of his face softening ever so slightly in the warm glow of the candle. "It's what I do," he said simply, his voice carrying a quiet resolve.

Maja reached out, her hand covering his briefly in a gesture of comfort. "You're doing what you feel is right," she assured him softly. "And that's more than most."

Geralt nodded, his eyes distant as memories flickered behind them. "She turned out to be... special. More than I could have imagined," he admitted quietly, his voice betraying a hint of vulnerability in the way it shook. “Strong, too. I wonder how much she’s changed.”

“She sounds wonderful,” the woman replied tactfully, reaching a hand towards the witcher but faltering momentarily. She withdrew, gaze dropping. “Maybe I could meet her one day?”

Geralt’s eyes broadened at the suggestion, yet his body remained lax. Suddenly, he could imagine an instance where the two girls made friends. It was a vague and hazy thought, yet the idea made the man chuckle. “I think you two could get along,” he replied, legs relaxing and falling to the sides. “You both have a stubborn streak.”

Maja's smile widened, a mild laugh escaping her lips. "Stubborn can be a good thing," she remarked lightly, her eyes meeting Geralt's with a warmth that mirrored the candlelight surrounding them. "It sounds like she's lucky to have you looking out for her."

Geralt nodded in silent acknowledgment, appreciative of the girl’s words. He took a moment to take in the air, allowing the gentle fragrance to ease his nerves.

“Is there anyone looking out for you? Family, lover?” he asked suddenly, tone flat yet his eyes reflected a genuine interest. He had realised the two knew nothing about each other, and yet were sharing tender conversation in the intimate setting of a hearth. Regardless, he awaited a response.

"Someone looking out for me?" She sighed softly, her gaze drifting momentarily to the dancing flames before meeting Geralt's eyes again. "Yes, well... I do. But it's complicated."

Geralt nodded in a comfortable silence, sensing the weight behind her words. He hummed slightly, acknowledging her response without pressing further.

Maja shifted her body weight, the corners of her lips curling into a small, rueful smile. "You know," she began softly, her voice carrying a hint of playfulness to lighten the moment, "You should ask me again under better circumstances… perhaps after an ale."

Geralt's lips quirked in response, a rare hint of amusement crossing his stoic expression. "An ale, huh?" he mused, his eyes meeting hers with a hint of warmth. "I'll keep that in mind."

With another chuckle, Maja rose gracefully from her position, brushing invisible dust from her skirts. "Alright. Now, how about that bath?" she suggested lightly, her tone shifting as she moved towards a small door leading to an adjoining room. Her head turned to face the witcher one last time. “Don’t miss me too much, okay?” she giggled playfully and swiftly disappeared into the darkness ahead.

As Geralt watched the woman go, a flicker of admiration and curiosity brewed within his gut. He settled back against the wall with a sigh, allowing himself a moment of solitude to reflect on the unexpectedly inward conversation.

The storm continued to rage outside, and Geralt could hear the gentle sound of pouring water in the room over. He closed his eyes, allowing the ambiance to soothe his thoughts, meditating silently until he heard a soft, muffled singing. He couldn’t quite make out the words of it, but its rhythm felt solemn and strangely familiar.

As he let himself sink into the brief, comforting feeling of the moment, the singing abruptly stopped, followed by the sound of the doorway opening up again.

“Geralt,” his companion spoke soothingly, trying to get his attention yet staying careful as to leave his rest undisturbed. “Your bath is ready.”

The witcher nodded, promptly standing up and catching a glimpse of the woman’s flushed cheeks. As he approached, a warm, steamy current enveloped his tired face.

“Follow me,” Maja invited him with a smile, gesturing to come in. As he did, the air turned hot and stuffy. He skimmed around the small room, noting how similar it was to the first one, save for the books and journals.

Lines of herbs littered the ceiling, giving the sizzling air a soothing fragrance. In the center of the room stood a considerable wooden bathtub, its flanks polished smooth from years of use. The atmosphere had been prepared meticulously, water steaming deliciously as a fresh set of towels lay on a small stool to the side.

"Thank you," he declared sincerely, turning to meet her gaze. Her skin had grown slick from the moisture, and she puffed gently as she grinned.

“Least I can do for you,” she shrugged politely, curtsying as she headed for the main room. “Let me know if you need anything, I’ll be reading in the room over.”

Geralt nodded. The temperature had made his current getup uncomfortable, and so his hands had already begun toying with the clasp of his leather belt.

As he watched the door close, he sensed a rush of adrenaline surging through his body. In a point of weakness, his hand extended towards the girl.

“Share it with me,” he uttered assertively, just in time to glimpse the doorway stop, then swing back open, revealing a puzzled face and creased eyebrows.

“Share with you?” she questioned, cruising over to reveal her full body. Her hand glided off the doorknob slowly as she awaited an explanation.

“The bath. Share it with me,” the witcher replied promptly, eyes narrowing as he scanned the woman’s face for a hint of apprehension or rejection.

Yet, it never came. Her bewildered expression gradually shifted into one resembling gratitude and… mischief. Her eyebrows softened, eyes half-lidded as her lips curled into a muted smile. “You want to bathe together?”

Geralt rolled his eyes at her figurative remark, continuing to finger at his belt and finally feeling it come loose. He could sense Maja eyeing his midriff, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at the shamelessness and the wideness of her eyes.

“I enjoyed our conversation, and wish to continue it,” he explained matter-of-factly, fingers trailing up to his breastplate. He began to work at the buttons there, skillfully undoing the intricate ties and letting the armor fall to his feet. “So, bathe with me.”

Maja hummed at the scene, taking a testing step forward whilst maintaining feverish eye contact with the witcher’s armorless torso. He felt so unspeakably light now, unburdened from the weight of his protection. He nodded at her, slowly tugging at the dark linen shirt dressing his toned body.

“So, so, outrageous, witcher,” Maja chuckled playfully, taking a long stride towards him. She gave him a lingering look as she passed, eyeing the soft trail of white lining his strong lower belly as he stretched to discard the shirt into a nearby corner. The woman chuckled, and his gaze followed her movements as she quickly disappeared behind an intricate partition separating the bath from the far side of the room. “Don’t you feel indecent, undressing like this in front of a lady?” she smiled, tone laced with slight sheepishness.

Geralt chuckled warmly, watching as the girl’s silhouette moved behind the thin, half-opaque part of the screen. She arched her back, grabbing at the clasps to her corset and undoing it promptly before he heard it drop to the floor, eyes insisting on her form. Next, she worked at her skirts, skillfully unbuttoning the back and letting them fall to the ground with a quiet thud. She was now left in her undergarments, the bouffant textile revealing less and less to the imagination.

“I could say the same for you,” Geralt retorted, mimicking the shadowy figure by sliding down the rim of his pants and codpiece. He sighed airily at the lack of constraints around his body, allowing the steam to nip gently at the exposed skin.

Maja laughed in return, her figure turning to face him. Somehow, even through the thick partition, he could feel her warm, challenging gaze scouting down his sweat-slick body.

“I feel like you’re looking at me, witcher,” she commented quietly, pausing to play with the elastic waistband of her bloomers.

“And how could you tell?” he questioned, hovering his gaze over the spot he assumed her eyes to be in.

She made a quick, incomprehensible sound at the response, something between a chuckle and a sigh. The fingers under her waistband lifted suddenly, soft fabric dropping to the ground.

Geralt observed the shape of her hips, the delectable way they curved at the widest point, then dipped. For a split second, he wondered how soft her thighs could feel beneath his rough palms.

“Intuition,” she responded at last, voice smooth and confident as her brasserie finally came undone.

Geralt followed suit, removing his own undergarments in an unusually slow matter. In a way, he wanted to savor the feeling of brief vulnerability, both physical and emotional.

He came forward, stepping into the bath cautiously and letting the heat envelop him. The warmth spread from his digits, up to his legs, and finally lapped up against his chest as he submerged.

On cue with the quiet splashing, he witnessed Maja shift behind the partition. “Close your eyes, okay?”

The man abided in a heartbeat, lids shutting tight as he adjusted his arms on either side of the tub, pecs flexing with the stretch.

He heard her soft, wet footsteps tapping against the wooden floorboards, approaching slowly and cautiously. The ambiguous darkness in front of him gave birth to a fuzzy image of the doe, its hooves prancing against the soft moss of the forest floor.

“Don’t peak,” she added through a grin, and the thought alone made Geralt’s eyes shift behind his lids. Regardless, he persevered.

Soon enough, he felt a small current splash against his chest, paired with the proximity of his companion entering the bath.

Once his eyes fluttered open, he watched the water ripple around her nude body. The woman’s skin looked soft to the touch, yet was littered with numerous scratches and bruises. They trailed along her arms and chest, or at least as far as his eyes could reach beneath the water’s sudsy surface.

Geralt readjusted his sitting, leaning comfortably against the edge of the tub. He noted the distance between them, far enough to keep their bodies apart yet close enough for the witcher to gauge the sparkle in the woman’s eyes.

He glanced down her body and watched her smooth her hand over the crystal clear surface, digits brushing over some greenery he had failed to notice before— eucalyptus and calendula. Their scents mingled, creating a soothing, thick atmosphere in the air between them. He reached out, brushing a petal aside with his fingers. “You know your herbs,” he commented, glancing up at Maja. “These aren’t just for show.”

The girl smiled softly, a touch of pride in her eyes. “Herbs have their uses beyond potions and poisons. A good bath, tea, or ointment can heal the mind as much as the body.”

He nodded at her small wisdom, nipping at the small, yellow flowers with his fingertips. “You said you knew Miroslav,” he observed, his tone suddenly stiffening at the recollection. “And a lot better than you initially let on.”

Maja’s expression grew thoughtful, a glint of sentiment clouding her half-lidded gaze. “Miro… is someone important to me. My childhood was complicated, or rather… became complicated at some point. He and his wife, they took me in, no questions asked. Nurtured me, helped me stand on my own… protect myself, make a living. I owe them a lot, including what I know now,” she said, her voice softer. “He’s my own Ciri.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the subtle undercurrent in her tone. Despite the limited information on Maja’s part, the subtle comparison to Ciri made Geralt’s lips tighten solemnly, a hum escaping his throat as he regarded his next words carefully. “He seemed worried about you.”

Maja looked away swiftly, her fingers playing with a strand of wet hair that cascaded down her shoulder. “Yes, he worries about me often. It’s nothing serious, I just…” she began, eyes darting around the room and landing on the window. She breathed in deeply.

Geralt’s eyes narrowed slightly, intrigued at the sudden quiet. “Just what?” he prompted, leaning his body forward as a learned intimidation tactic. He didn’t feel it was appropriate in the situation, yet his habits betrayed him.

Maja sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly as she allowed her eyes to connect with Geralt’s again. “The killings in the forest, that monster… they’re worried for me, that’s all. And I don’t blame them one bit, every one of us has been on edge recently… nobody knows what’s lurking out there, or perhaps they’re just too scared to find out.”

Geralt stayed silent through the woman’s monologue, allowing her to reveal the information bit by bit.

Maja’s fingers stilled in the water, her expression becoming guarded. “There’s a lot of history to this land… a lot of needless suffering that happened in these woods. It’s not something anyone can take back, but… I think there’s a reason for what’s been happening.”

“You’re being cautious,” Geralt replied lowly, studying the woman’s face closely. He noted the subtle rise of her eyebrows at his unusual sternness and so decided to lean in closer. He felt his hand brush against Maja’s nude calf, and she flinched at the soft physicality. He didn’t withdraw.

“Anything you can tell me might be useful,” Geralt pressed gently. “Even the smallest hint could make a difference.”

Maja hesitated, her gaze dropping to the swirling water below. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across her face, highlighting the vibrant glow of her slick skin. She traced a finger along the edge of the bathtub, thoughts seemingly lost in turbulent depths.

“There are… stories,” Maja began slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. “About something ancient that roams this land. Some call it a pulse point, a powerful epicenter of some sort.”

Geralt nodded thoughtfully, absorbing her words. “Do you believe these killings are connected to that?”

Maja hesitated again, her lips forming a thin line. “I… I don’t know, Geralt,” she admitted reluctantly. "People have always been unkind to that which they perceive as different."

The witcher stiffened at her words, eyes widening slightly and taking in the woman’s somber expression. Somehow, it felt like there was a sentiment in her language, the way she frowned, how the candlelight illuminated her pronounced nose and soft brow ridge.

“And yet it’s something that has never discouraged you before,” he began quietly, crossing his arms over his legs, attempting to close the gap between them.

“It’s complicated,” Maja replied hastily, rubbing at her arm. “But I bet you’d understand. How does it feel, Geralt? Being a witcher?”

Geralt hummed thoughtfully. He had thought about this question often, staring at the night sky for hours until a glint of explanation manifested, anything to satiate his search for identity; alas, it never appeared as expected. “It feels like an urge. A calling,” he began slowly, his gravelly voice carrying the weight of solemn memories and lost lives. “It’s about survival, strength, a sense of duty. But it’s also about choice— choosing to protect those who can’t protect themselves, even when they despise you for what you are.”

Maja listened intently, her eyes searching his face as if trying to unravel the layers of stoicism and strength he wore like armor. “It sounds lonely,” she remarked softly, almost to herself.

“It can be,” Geralt admitted, his gaze drifting to the flickering candlelight dancing on the water’s surface. “But every once in a while, you meet someone who reminds you why you keep going.”

She met his eyes then, her expression softening. “Like Ciri.”

Geralt nodded, a flicker of warmth in his eyes. “Like Ciri.”

Maja nodded, pondering the connection. “The way you speak about her… it’s admirable. You might have a tough shell, but I bet there’s a soft heart somewhere in the depths of your chest.” she ventured gently.

Geralt regarded her with surprise, eyes widening at the heartfelt comment. He sighed softly, allowing her words to wash over him in a moment of silence.

Maja met Geralt's eyes again, her expression thoughtful. She raked a hand through her dampened hair, body sinking deeper into the water. “When will you depart?” she asked gently, “Posada, that is.”

Geralt considered her question, his gaze drifting to the vague outline of the woman’s thighs gliding beneath the glassy tile of water. “It’s not a question I can answer easily,” he confessed, “There are still things I must attend to here. It’s what fate had in store for me, and so I must honor it.”

“And where will it lead you next?” Maja pressed softly, her eyes probing.

Geralt shrugged narrowly, an unsightly smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Here, for now,” he replied. “The Path is a cryptic code with no set rules or requirements, no moral compass or direction. Wherever it takes me, so mote it be.”

The woman nodded gently, allowing her arm to swim silently across the space separating them. She let it slide across his forearm, dipping down to brush at his battered knuckles. “You’re welcome here,” she said sincerely, voice tinged with warmth. “As long as you need.”

“Appreciate it,” Geralt murmured, yet his yearning digits betrayed the nonchalance of his tone. He let the woman explore his palm, feeling her fingertips graze at his rough skin and caress the countless scars there.

He felt it again— the sweet, palliative aroma of lavender and honey. It churned in his nose, sending paroxysms of euphoria throughout his body and sending him into a bizarre overdrive. His fists clenched as he attempted to wash the feeling away, rasping under his breath at the intensity of the sensation.

Suddenly, the woman leaned in. The water rippled in waves as her legs repositioned, allowing her leverage and better control over her stirs.

“Geralt,” she chanted quietly, soft breasts peeking out of the water as she rose on her knees. The witcher observed, hopelessly entranced by the smooth, slick skin and the rouge peaks of her nipples as they emerged from beneath the surface. The sky outside roared, and in the heat of the moment, Geralt uncovered an aching to reach out and touch her skin, feel the warmth of it, caress at the curves of her body.

“What is this?” he questioned through gritting teeth, eyes half-lidded and hazy as he navigated the strange intoxication flowing through his body. “This smell—”

“Lavender and honey,” they said in unison, voices echoing in a remarkable, reverberating symphony that echoed within the witcher’s drunken mind.

The woman stopped, her hand entwined in Geralt’s larger one as they exchanged gazes. He felt stuck in place and time, watching her pupils dilate into two black discs. The witcher inhaled sharply, letting a barely audible grunt sneak past his parted lips, harmonizing with the strong patter of rain outside.

Suddenly, thunder struck down with the blinding glow of nearby lightning. The sound pulsated within the atmosphere, weaving into the tantric air, making his companion flinch with a loud yelp and momentarily clearing the witcher’s murky vision. He stiffened, hand tensing around Maja’s before she slowly sunk into the water again, withdrawing from his fervent grip. She gazed at him, eyes sparkling as he rubbed at the lingering feeling of her extracted touch.

Geralt blinked rapidly, adjusting his body and squeezing at his palms. He sighed, head shaking gently as he tried to recalibrate, his confusion briefly overshadowed by his companion’s harsh reaction. “It’s alright,” he said quietly, voice subdued yet somewhat dismayed. “Just a storm.”

Maja nodded, her breath still hastened as she took in the reassuring sight of Geralt’s sturdy form. She exhaled loudly, trying to rescue her composure, and offered him a faint smile tinged with gratitude.

“Just a storm,” she nodded along, body sliding downwards and allowing her head to submerge fully. She lingered there, long hair floating beneath the surface like a bundle of dark sea kelp, matching the gentle ebb and flow of their bath.

Surfacing, she let her hair cascade down her shoulders in shiny ribbons, quickly brushing it back with stray droplets shimmering in the candlelight. Geralt’s lips twitched in a dry chuckle. “Any better under there?”

“Much,” the woman answered quietly, tilting her head and beaming softly. They sat in a restful silence, the woman beginning to gently brush her calf against his and watching for a reaction. He held her gaze, staying put and abiding by the physicality, watching her benevolent gaze falter to gloom. She withdrew momentarily, splashing at the water.

“I’ll get the sheets ready,” she declared politely, shifting her arms to get out of the bath. Her eyes suddenly met his, and she quirked an eyebrow. “Eyes closed now.”

Geralt tilted his head quizzically, yet the woman’s increasingly stony expression urged him to comply. He felt a gentle splash followed by gentle, quiet trickling as the girl made it out of the wooden tub. Suddenly, against his better judgment, Geralt’s eyes fluttered open, just enough to catch a subtle glimpse of his companion’s backside.

The witcher gazed down her shoulders, watching them flex and release as she squeezed her hair dry. The grove of her spine descended a slick slope, smooth skin harboring a constellation of scattered moles. He hummed, taking note of the two dimples decorating her lower back, and finally reaching the soft flesh of her ass. He stared for a while, admiring, feeling like a hungry wolf watching his delicate prey pasture in a field. He grunted quietly at the unchaste thought, deciding to shut his eyes again in a moment of foreboding clarity.

He heard some shuffling, stomping around, a grunt or two, and finally a gentle voice. “Okay, you can look now.”

His eyes reopened, no hint of mischief in their glassy surface. The woman appeared before him, dressed in a large, linen slip. The white cloth bared irregular patches of wetness scattered across its surface, making Geralt suppose she dressed in a hurry; perhaps as a habit.

“I’ll get everything ready for you. Relax and enjoy the water while it’s still hot, okay?” she giggled warmly, flashing the man a giddy smile. He nodded in understanding, leaning back against the bath’s flank.

For a split second, Maja hesitated. She stood in place, doorknob in hand, yet refusing to twist. She gazed over Geralt’s exposed chest, across his strong arms, and down the faint outlines present beneath the suds. Her face glowed in the soft lights, casting a soft shade of pink across her nose, temples, and cheeks.

“Thank you,” his companion started loudly, wincing at her own shrill. She cleared her throat to recompose herself, beginning again. “For listening. I haven’t said so much in one sitting in a long, long time.” she giggled.

The witcher’s lips parted to speak, but before he could utter a word, the woman shot him a reassuring grin and disappeared behind the door. The man sighed, taking in the sudden silence, or what felt like a silence. The storm continued to rage outside, intermitted by soft sloshing and Geralt’s steady breathing.

He shut his eyes and sighed meditatively, enjoying the warm bath and gentle kindness of a stranger for just a second longer, or at least for as long as the night allowed. He thought about the deer, the journal in the woods, Miroslav, Maja… the memories of that day flashed behind his eyes like a storybook, making him sigh in exasperation. He thought of her soft breasts and the way they bounced with her subtle movements, her plump thighs and delicate waist, ideal for sinking his palms into…

Geralt grunted softly. Unbeknownst to him, his hand had begun dipping down his stomach and trailing along the soft patch of flaxen. He stroked that area, humming quietly as his digits passed down a pulse point, feeling the mild, rhythmic pumping of his blood.

The witcher flexed his back, adjusting for comfort and letting his hand slide lower. As he reached the base, he let out a soft moan escape his throat. The gentle pressure made him shiver, a strong inflow of blood causing him to engorge against his palm. He pressed at the soft flesh of his cock, feeling it pulsate rhythmically to the beat of his heart.

Thunder crashed, and his mind flooded with images of her bare ass. He furrowed his eyebrows at the lewd picture, surprised at its immense clarity within his memory. With a soft pull, he began working at his thick length, remembering the shallow dimples on her lower back. Each stroke elicited the softest of grunts from him, progressively quickening the pleasurable motion.

He thought about her voice. With every pull, he imagined hearing her chant his name, moan, and mewl in pleasure as he pounded into her with a vigor he was certain she hadn’t experienced before.

His hand grew into a fist, lips a tight line as he pumped his cock. Eyes half-lidded, he glanced over at the doorway where he last saw her leave. The memory of aromatic lavender and sweet, sticky honey enveloped his senses, hand gliding smoothly against the hardness of his length at the intoxicating thought of the fragrance.

Geralt could feel himself reaching his limit. His lips fell apart, teeth clenched tight while his hand stroked rhythmically, picking up the pace and pressure. He could feel his cock throbbing between his digits, gently enveloped by the warm water current that only elevated the fierce affair.

“Fuck…” he called out breathlessly, head rolling back to hit the brim of the bathtub. He bucked his hips into his open hand, picking up a rough, animalistic rhythm. He fucked into the hole, eyes closed to let his mind roam where it wanted to be most at the moment. He imagined grabbing her soft thigh, squeezing at its soft flesh and pounding, fucking, ramming—

“Gods, fuck—” he hissed suddenly, feeling the tension brewing inside his stomach, extending rapidly throughout his lower body and spine, bucking his tired hips one last time until… he went over the edge. With a tremor in his hand, he felt his entire being come undone as his hot seed spilled into the bath, mixing with the salty beads of sweat cascading down his flexed muscles.

The witcher breathed heavily at the comedown, whispering quiet praises into the humid air that reached nobody but the silent flames of candlelight. With a gentle sigh, he felt a wave of primal ecstasy and relaxation wash over his strained body, soaking his skin with sparks of electricity.

Then, there was silence. The man’s heaving calmed, and before long, he felt a strange longing brewing in his stomach. In one instance, he began scooping water over his flaxen hair, letting it dampen and soak.

Once he was done, he withdrew from the warm comforts of the bath and faced the inevitable, unforgiving chill of the attic. He stood there, watching the soapy water cascade down his heated body, and considered his companion. It was a peculiar feeling, an elaborate blend of culpability and interest as he evaluated his prior acts. Despite his fiendish looks and capabilities, even witchers craved the mortal touch of a warm woman.

Exiting the bath felt like a necessary evil as the cool breeze began seeping through the half-open window. Geralt huffed as he wrapped a towel around his waist, quickly enrobing himself in a simple linen shirt and pants. Once done draining the water and drying off properly, he slowly made his way through the elusive doorway to the other room.

The scent of autumn rain and thunderstorms hit his nose immediately. A soft, palpable freshness of the soil that soothed his senses and lulled him into oblivion within seconds.

Taking another step forward, he noticed the dimness of the room. The stray candle had been put out, instead replaced by a burnt-out yet still fragrant stick of incense that clouded the room in a cozy, aromatic haze.

His eyes glanced around the perimeter, taking note of how much neater the space looked. The stray books littering the floor were now perched neatly on top of each other, while the sheepskin rug lay flattened next to the bed.

Curiously, on it lay his companion.

Her soft, damp hair cascaded down an intricately embroidered quilt, her limp body cocooned safely within its warmth. The bed next to her had been carefully made, complete with a fresh set of clean linen and a soft, inviting pillow.

Geralt couldn’t help but sigh at the peaceful scenery. He walked over quietly, making sure to keep the woman’s peace undisturbed. He crouched down, letting the soft, airy groans of the girl fill his body with warmth and comfort. She was sound asleep, tucked in like a baby lamb.

Without hesitation, he placed a slow, secure hand under the woman’s back and knees. Effortlessly, he lifted her off the sheepskin, feeling her weight sink into his strong arms.

Her skin felt searing, and so, so satiny after the long bath they had taken together. He glanced at her face, admiring the placid, sheer expression on her tired face. In the soft glow of the night, she seemed to be smiling.

After a prolonged beat, Geralt rose and took a step towards the made bed. He unraveled the fresh sheets and gently pressed the woman’s body into the mattress. She sighed at the motion, yet her eyes remained shut. She shuffled around, finding a comfortable position on her back and quickly pulling the covers up to her chin.

He leaned in, placing a gentle hand against her covered shoulder. She sighed at the touch, eyebrows softening instantaneously. Geralt chuckled gently, lingering for a moment, yet finally deciding to withdraw. He gazed upon Maja’s face for a while, picking at the moles and imperfections littering her skin, up until her body shifted to face the wall. Her hair flowed gently down her back, gliding like shining ribbons upon the soft quilt.

With a soft sigh, he finally withdrew from her sleeping form. He sat on the sheepskin carpet, allowing his body to relax against the hard, wooden floor. After many decades of similar, if not worse, conditions, it was something he had grown used to.

With a guttural groan, he stretched out his limbs, letting them fall naturally to his sides. He twisted to the flank, leaning against his forearm and catching yet another peek of his sleeping companion.

Maja had curled in her sleep once more, this time facing him fully. He skimmed her features for a while, counting the tiny moles resting upon her cheeks and forehead that spread across her face like a small galaxy. As he continued, the soft buzz of rain lulled his mind to a quiet rest. His eyes gradually closed, eyebrows came lax, and ultimately, the last memory of that day was the delicate scent of lavender and honey mingled with her gentle smile bidding him goodnight as he fell into sweet oblivion.

—

Deep into that faithful night, whenever thunder would strike the small town of Posada, Geralt would feel the delicate embrace of a woman’s hand as it caressed the scars of his own.

[xzaddyzanakinx]

Stake to the Heart

Geralt of Rivia/The Witcher x female reader

Oneshot

18+ MDNI

Warnings: Aggression/violence, demeaning behavior, derogatory terms, BLOOD, sexual content, possessive behavior, hate fuck to confused fuck to hey I think I might die without you fuck

Info: This NOT Netflix Geralt, this is my husband video game Geralt. He’s totally an ass most of the time (but when he’s not he’s really sweet)

The one where you let Geralt stay in your guest room while he’s in town searching for a blood thirsty vampire. (Uh oh it’s actually you)

“Are you alright? Find anything?” You asked, trying to sound interested and definitely not nervous.

Geralt closed the door behind him, his eyes narrowed in anger as he glared at you. "You know damn well I found something," he growled, throwing his coat onto the couch.

"Come here," he snapped, storming towards you. Before you could react, he grabbed you by the collar of your top and slammed you against the wall, pinning you there with his weight.

“Sh-shit.” You gasped with a trembling voice as your back hit the wall, the air being forced from your lungs, eyes wide with fear.

You expected for him to kill you, drive a stake through your heart and end it right here. But the pain never came; instead of death, he offered you something you wouldn’t have believed if it weren’t for you actively living through it. His mouth hot and warm and desperate for contact with yours. His tongue grazing over your fangs making him moan.

You were so confused… but much too turned on to question what was happening. The way his rough hands and strong arms held you effortlessly aloft; pressing your body in a crushing embrace against the stone wall behind you. Paired with the surprising tenderness of his unexpectedly soft and plump lips against yours. It was almost too much, yet not nearly enough. So you did the only reasonable thing to do in this situation: surrender.

Geralt's hands roamed the expanse of your body, tearing at your clothes as he deepened the kiss. His tongue tangled with yours in a primal dance, the taste of him was mind numbingly addictive; mead and tobacco mixed something oddly sweet. His hips ground against you, pressing his rock hard erection into the softness of your lower belly.

"Mine," he growled between heavy breaths, his voice thick with a lust that was almost tangible. "All mine."

“Oh fuck.” You whimpered, feeling a rush of slick flooding your panties at his words.

“Yeah, yes I’m yours.” You agreed the minute your brain registered the meaning behind his words. You nodded eagerly, gasping as he sucked on the soft skin of your neck.

His teeth grazed the fleshy juncture of your neck and shoulder, leaving a trail of small marks in his wake. His hand moved from its supporting position under your ass to cup your breast roughly through the fabric of your bra.

"You taste so fucking good," he groaned, biting down harder now that he’d reached less tender flesh.

You helped get rid of the pesky little barrier between his palm and your hardened nipple, arching your back to reach behind you and unclasp your bra. Exposing your soft breasts and pebbled nipples to his hungry gaze.

"Christ... you're perfect." His normally gruff voice was softer, lulling you into a sensual comfort that you’d never felt before.

His golden eyes glowed brightly from the flames of the firelight, making his already intense stare seem hypnotic. With a grunt of finality he hoisted you over his shoulder and smacked your ass for good measure as he swiftly toted you toward the bedroom.

With a surprising gentleness his calloused hands lowered you to the mattress, his eyes never leaving yours as he stripped himself of his armor. Growling in frustration as he cursed the damned thing for having so many buckles. Tossing the thick leather to the floor he wasted no time in tearing his under clothes off as well before joining you in the rumpled sheets.

All you could do was moan in response, he’d stolen away your ability to speak coherently after you caught sight of his sculpted and scarred abdomen. He smirked down at you with a prideful glint in his eyes, he may be outwardly humble in many ways, but he wasn’t unaware of how attractive he was; that much was clear.

“I-I don’t understand.” You whined, watching him crawl up between your legs. “I thought you’d hate me… Kill me… when you found out.”

He laughed, a true bellowing laugh straight from his chest as if you’d said the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. A devilish grin spread across his lips while he hooked a thick finger into the waistband of your panties and pulled them down gently.

“Hate you? Not fucking likely," Geralt chuckled, his voice thick with lust. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, so sweet and soft… kind."

The way the words fell from his mouth was… different from anything else you’d heard leave his lips. Though he kept his natural gravely and gruffness to his voice, somehow whether intentional or not, he added an undeniable layer of adoration in the sincerity of his words.

With your panties removed he took your legs into his hands, his fingers nearly touching as they wrapped around the meaty part of your calves, just under the crook of your knees. With a steadying breath he slowly pried your legs apart to look down at your glistening and swollen folds.

You’d never seen him look so weak, so oddly vulnerable. The black of his eyes overtook the golden halo around them, dilating with lustful need. His breathing visibly changed as his grip on your calves tightened.

“Never… never have I seen something so perfect.” He whispered, his eyes roaming your nakedness as if he hoped to memorize each mole, each freckle, even imperfections you thought you had; he coveted as heaven-sent.

His finger tips tickled along the inside of your thigh, your face flushed with the heat of need and alittle bit of embarrassment from how he seemed to worship every inch of you all the way down to your very soul. He stopped momentarily at the apex of your thighs, his palm flattening over your mound as the pad of his thumb tentatively brushed against your slick coated clit.

The noise that bubbled up from his throat at this tiny bit of contact was inhuman, the primal part of his brain begging him to hurry the hell up and fuck you dumb. Though his heart, large and yearning for love quieted those thoughts.

“Let me touch you… please?” His voice cracking under the weight of the tension between you.

“P-please yes.” You whimpered.

“Thank the gods.” He moaned, salivating as he slipped one thick digit between your folds and sunk it deep into your hot, wet cunt.

“Oh…” He trailed off, eyes closing in ecstasy at the realization of just how wet you truly were.

Slowly pumping his finger, massaging circles with his finger tip against the spongy spot deep within in you, making you squirm. Soon enough he slipped a second digit into your pulsing hole, eliciting a gasp from the sudden shock of his fingers stretching you.

“Too much?” He asked, soothing you with his warm palm coming to rest on your hip.

“No. No it’s okay.” You moaned, “just… I need you, I need more.”

“Patience.” He mumbled, knowing you needed this before he would even consider fu- no, making love to you.

He laid flat on the bed between your thighs, putting a pillow under your ass for easier access. He continued his slow stretch with his fingers scissoring in and out with each thrust of his hand.

Bringing his mouth down to taste you after taking a moment to truly enjoy the sight of your swollen cunt swallowing up his fingers. His tongue darted out with the intention to circle your clit but the second he made contact with the warm and smooth flesh he stopped.

“Goddamnit.” He groaned low, his voice unintentionally rasped beyond its usual growl.

He inserted a third finger and stretched you even further, soothing you with his large hand traveling lazily across your breasts. Returning his mouth to your clit to devour you with the fervor of a depraved beast. It was as if the taste of you had set him on fire.

“Fuck… I- you just taste so damn good.” He spoke softly from between your thighs, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

“I can’t wait.” He admitted sheepishly. “I mean… I can if y-you need more that’s not what I meant it’s just-“

You cut off his sudden nervous rambling by squishing his cheeks together to get his attention. A wide grin spread across your lips.

“W-what?” He asked in surprise.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered.” You teased, watching his neck get red with embarrassment.

“Shut up. I’m not- nevermind.” He grunted, slowly removing his fingers from your drenched hole.

Moving to kneel in front of your spread legs, slipping off his boxers to reach down and wrap his hand around his massive cock, squeezing the base and rocking his hips forward, fucking his hand. He was truly a sight to behold. This brute of a man, acting this way, it was… strangely angelic.

He rubbed his swollen cockhead around your wet entrance groaning at the feeling of warmth from your pussy.

"I want to fucking own you, claim you as mine forever." His eyes bore into yours, filled with an intensity that made you think he truly meant it.

“You c-,” He cut himself off with a loud moan as he slowly inched his way into your tight cunt.

"Tell me you're mine, that you’ll belong to me… th-that you’ll promise me something," he growled, his hand gripping your hair roughly, forcing your head back so he could stare into your wide-eyed gaze.

“Yes, yes I- I’ll be yours, I’m yours.” You nodded vigorously, desperately clawing at his back as your legs wrapped around him.

Geralt groaned in satisfaction as he fully penetrated you, his large member buried to the hilt in your needy pussy.

"Good girl," he murmured, his hips rocking back and forth slowly at first, allowing both of you to adjust to the new sensations.

"Say it again." His voice was low, husky with lust.

“I-I belong to you Geralt. Only you.” You whimpered, hardly able to speak from how overwhelmed by the feeling of being stretched by his thick cock you were.

Geralt picked up the pace, pounding into you harder and faster. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through you both, bodies slapping against each other in a primal rhythm. His hand reached down to grope your breasts roughly, pinching and twisting the nipples until they hardened for him.

"That's it," he growled, his hips pistoning deeper. "Now promise me you’ll never fed from someone else again."

“B-but Geralt.” You started to protest.

“Promise me.” He said sternly one hand shooting up to firmly grip your neck. “swear you’ll never do that again.”

“But I c-can’t!” You said frantically.

“You can and you will.” He tightened his grip on your neck and your ass with his other hand as he fucked you mercilessly. “you’ll feed off me and me alone. Everyday if you have too.”

Geralt's eyes flashed with a primal possession as he continued to thrust into you, claiming you body and soul.

"I don't fucking care if you have to hold me down and drain me till I bleed out," he growled, his voice deep and commanding. "You belong to me now, and you’ll only feed from me."

In response, you moaned in agreement, nails scratched down his back, leaving red lines in their wake. He could feel your pussy rhythmically pulsing, knowing your orgasm was building rapidly.

“Do you understand me?” He growled aggressively shaking you by the neck.

“Y-yes… yes I understand I promise. I promise.” You nodded, gasping for breath as you clamped down on his cock and came hard around him. Screaming out his name as you flooded his cock with squirt.

You couldn’t help yourself, it was all so much, so overwhelming, You were still so confused and still so terribly hungry. So you bit him. Sinking your sharp fangs into his neck as your orgasm peaked and began to slow. Starting to lap up his blood like an animal starved.

“So fucking good.” You whined, licking your lips and moaning as he kept fucking into you.

Geralt roared in ecstasy, his cock throbbing inside her as you bit into him. Blood rushed down your throat, helping to quench the insatiable thirst that had brought him to this fucking village in the first place.

"Fuck... yes." He growled, his hips pumping faster, harder. "Drink from me, you fucking whore." His words were laced with lust and self-aimed disgust; mixed together in a toxic brew.

He reached his own climax shortly after, filling you up completely with his seed, marking your spent body as his own. Breathing heavily, he leaned over you, sweaty bodies sticking together.

"You're mine now," he panted, his eyes glazed over with satisfaction.

You nodded, lips and fangs still attached to his neck, hungrily drinking down his warm blood.

“Best I’ve ever tasted.” You moaned, cunt contracting around his cock that stayed slowly, softly fucking into your cum filled cunt.

“Sweet… rich. Like- like chocolate.” He smiled at your whining, moaning mess as you lapped and sucked at the puncture wounds.

Geralt's heart raced wildly as he watched you drink from him, a perverse pleasure washed over him. He shouldn’t like this, he shouldn’t do this, he should stop you, he had duties to uphold and right now? Right now he was failing miserably. Despite know how badly this could end, how horribly this situation could escalate; he couldn’t… wouldn’t, let you stop now.

"More," he groaned, his voice strained with need. "Give me more."

You nodded, detaching from his neck and making him sit up against the head board.

You slowly sunk back down on his half hard cock. Licking away the stray drops of blood running down his chest.

“Tell me when I need to stop.” You said sternly. “don’t let me hurt you okay?”

You kissed down his throat, sinking your fangs into the opposite side of his neck and rocking your hips on his cock.

Geralt's chest rose and fell rapidly as he tried to catch his breath. "Gods above... you're- oh ohhh," he managed between panting breaths. "Keep going, don't stop."

His hand reached down to cup your ass again, squeezing firmly before roughly slapping it. "I want more of this... all night if you can handle it."

“Fuck.” You groaned, detaching from his neck.

“I’ll ride you all night if that’s what you want.” You said, devouring his lips in a bloody kiss. “but I can’t keep drinking from you much longer.”

He whined and gripped your hips in protest. A real, throaty whine; you didn’t even realize he was capable of making such a sound. If you weren’t so drunk off the power of making him so weak for you… you might’ve died right then and there.

“I can’t, I’ll hurt you.” You tried to reason with him. “you’ll have to tell me when to stop, when you start getting light-headed.”

Geralt's eyes fluttered shut as your tongues tangled, their bodies moving in sync once more. "I can handle it," he growled, his voice deep and husky with desire. "Just... keep going."

He wrapped his arms around your waist, holding on tightly as you rode him, his fingers digging into the meat of your shoulders possessively.

You doubled down snd rode him hard and fast, his grip would definitely cause bruises but you didn’t care. Never in all your years had you been with a man this eager to let you feed. It was intoxicating, watching him love every second, it made it all even sweeter.

You licked the thin trickles of blood from the newer bite mark before tilting his head back harshly and tightly gripping his hair in your fist. Cocking your head to the side you dragged your tongue across his throat before sinking your fangs back into his skin, right over his Adam’s apple.

This bite would make the blood drain faster, make him lightheaded quicker, it was messier but you got the feeling that he might like it that way.

You clenched down around his cock and your legs shook as he moaned loudly. The vibration of the noise could be felt through your fangs, reverberating in that tiny animalistic corner of your brain. Triggering you to cum violently on his cock, fangs digging deeper accidentally.

He groaned, his voice hoarse with desire. "Don't stop."

He arched his back, thrusting harder into your tight hole, his orgasm nearing its peak.You moaned in agreement with him, pulling his hair tighter and keeping his head tilted back. Your other hand with an iron grip on his shoulder as you rode him violently, as hard and fast as you could handle. Even then he was still thrusting up into you, his hands roaming my back and ass.

Geralt's cock twitched deep inside your tight channel, spurting hot cum to paint your inner walls white. He groaned deeply, his entire body shaking with the intensity of his orgasm. His hold on you loosened slightly, allowing you to collapse onto him, breathing heavily. Your sweaty bodies were intertwined, covered in a mess of blood and cum.

After several long minutes of heavy breathing, Geralt finally managed to speak, his voice raspy from exertion. "That... was fucking amazing."

You licked and kissed away the remaining trickles of blood, circling your hips slowly on his softening cock.

“You okay? Do you need anything?” You asked in concern, blood dripping from your lips and chin as you made him look up. Gently using your thumb to pull underneath his eye so you could check to see if his iron level was too low after having drank so much from him.

Geralt's eyes fluttered open, his vision still a little blurry. "I'm fine," he panted, reaching down to stroke your hair affectionately. "Just... give me a minute."

He sat back against the headboard, catching his breath as she continued to move on him slowly. You slowly raised off his lap, stepping down from the bed and giving him a gentle kiss on the forehead.

“Stay right here, I’m gonna go get you something to drink and something sweet to eat.” You cooed in a soft voice.

“Please don’t pass out.” You added; half joking-half serious.

Geralt chuckled softly, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to regain his composure. "I won't," he assured you, watching you walk out of the room with an expression of pure bewilderment etched on his features.

He should feel bad about this. About disrespecting his fellow Witchers and breaking the code, he was quite literally ‘laying with the enemy’ as that old saying goes. Though he didn’t.

‘Cause you were an ethical vampire, right? He’d noticed the pattern of victims, slimy criminals, horrible husbands and fathers. The world would be better off without them anyway, and it’s not like you were going nuts like a cat in a bird cage, you seemed like you had self control, he reasoned.

Not every monster is just… a monster, right?

Maybe he was just light headed. Maybe this was all a fever dream or a trip from an accidental mushroom mixup. Or maybe he was just loosing his fucking mind, but at this point he was more than willing to be certifiably insane if it meant having more of you.

TagList:

@wickedtactics @tsugumiholic @kingdomhate

@burnthecheshirewitch@cherrylooney@star611

@tahliac11 @exquisit?corpse @jeldog @arzua10

@bby-imasociopath @depressed-kay

@aliciaasky@naty-1001 @mrsmikaelsxn

@illiethefairy @slut-4-ani @offthethirlwall

@slutforhayden @ausskywalker @angelsadmired

@slut4starwarssmut @chocolatepalacecloudhoagie

@starkiller419 @hearts4mitski4 @no1klet @lethargic

@allhailbuckybarnes @shadowhuntyi

@bobtheturmpetman29 @mortalheartache

@fallinlovewithevil@sythethecarrot

@joshfutturmansrighthand @chaoticantihero

@vadersslut @luvvfromme

Let me know if you want to be on this tag list or nah! I love you all so many xoxo (my feelings will not be hurt if you don’t wanna get tagged for non-Anakin content)

[steviebbboi]

Geralt of Rivia Masterlist

🌶️ = smut; 🥹 = fluff; 🩹 = angst

The Witcher's Conquest 🌶️ (Geralt of Rivia x Sorceress!Reader)

Summary: Geralt has had many women before. You were not like other women. You were his ultimate conquest.