#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—

[nickfowlerrr]

sit me on your throne.

pairing: geralt of rivia x curvy!reader

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

words: 4.3k

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

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

"You kneel before me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Your friend?" you wonder.

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

You quirk a brow, "Safe?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Geralt.”

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

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

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

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

You think.

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

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

You take a deep breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Did the clothes not fit?"

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

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

"I'll go with you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Now?" you question.

He nods once, "Now."

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

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

"What am I doing?"

"Princess? Your Highness?" you quote him.

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

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

"And what shall I call you then?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well I don't."

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

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

"I don't want any throne."

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

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

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

Unthinking, you step toward him closer.

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

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

Another step.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Geralt, I'm,"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I envy you, you know."

"Don't."

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

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

"And where will you go?" he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You part lightly and breathe,

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

[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 💛

[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

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[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.

[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.

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Tonality [4]

Pairing: Prince!Geralt x Princess!Reader

previous chapter

Summary: “The white wolf wants you. He’ll have no other.” As you grieve the loss of your father, your mother marries the king. Whilst you struggle to acclimate to your new life, you begin to suspect the interest your new brother has in you is less than familial.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Dark Fantasy, Darkfic, Step-cest, Medieval/GoT inspired AU, (Future)Smut, Dubcon/Noncon, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, MINORS DNI!!

A/N: a little more story, a little more tension, a little mor everything! what do you guys always, please mind the warnings, and enjoy!😊🥰 divider by @firefly-graphics​

 The Nilfgaardian banner snaps in the sharp, salt-laden breeze, the dark fabric bearing the crest of its namesake. The bright yellow sun mirrors the one in the cloudless sky above the keep. From your room, you can see their approach long before they reach the gates, a thin vein of black weaving through the countryside like a snake. The garrison pauses only briefly in the city, winding through the crowded streets in their pitch colored armor like a long satin ribbon. You grimace at the sight of them, swallowing against the sourness you feel growing at the back of your throat. 

 You do not know why the sight of them fills you with a dark foreboding, a shadow that looms in the space behind your thoughts. Perhaps it is the knowledge that you are expected to greet the Nilfgaardian envoy alongside your mother, the king, and the prince that makes your stomach curdle.  

“My Lady, should we not join their Majesties?” Kassandra’s voice draws you from your churning thoughts. “Her Highness would not be pleased if we were late.” You swallow the dry retort that your mother would not be pleased no matter what you did, and automatically feel guilt over the bitter thought. You grimace before nodding at Kassandra over your shoulder. 

 Nothing good will come of this. The feeling—no, the knowledge—is as familiar to you as your own name, appearing among your thoughts as if it had always been there. Only sorrow will come of this day. 

 “Are you alright, Your Grace?” 

 Your throat tight, you smile. “Y-yes.” I am grim without cause. You shake yourself, smoothing your hands down the stiff, unfamiliar dress. It’s new, gifted to you only this morning as your mother had informed you of her expectations. 

 “You’ll look lovely in this,” she had bade the servants to lay out the massive thing, a veritable ocean of fabric, with so many skirts and stays you find yourself amazed you can even move at all. You detest the restriction and corsetry of it all, fidgeting with a frustrated grimace as Kassandra opens the door. Your thoughts must be plain on your face, for she is quick to reassure you as you pass.

 “You are a vision, Your Grace,” she says, hurrying to your side as she closes the heavy door behind you. Despite your displeasure, her words do comfort you, and you offer Kassandra a watery smile in thanks. “I daresay you shall be the envy of every Lady in attendance.” 

 You laugh dryly. “Even you?” Kassandra’s response is unexpected—she shakes her head, pressing her lips together into a thin, apologetic smile.

 “No, my Lady.” She says softly. There is true pity in her eyes, which stings all the more. “Though there are many in His Majesty��s keep who would treat with the Gods themselves to take your place—and, exalted though it may be, I am not among them.” The words pass unspoken between you, true honesty masked only slightly by propriety. “I would not wish that for all the world.”

 The throne room is as packed with bodies as it was at your mother’s coronation only a few scant weeks prior, servants weaving deftly in and out of the crowd. It parts easily for you, people scrambling out of your path as you make your way toward the throne. Geralt stands to the king’s left, and you feel the weight of his gaze upon you so heavily it is as though he has touched you with his hand. 

 “My King. I trust you are well this morning?” He heaves a heavy sigh at your question, massaging the graying hair at his temple. 

 “As well as can be expected, given the circumstances.” King Vesemir graces you with a tired smile. “But I am glad these worries are mine. Would that they fall on mine own shoulders and save yours.” Of these troubles, you know only what little you have managed to glean from casual conversation and your own observations—the Lord of Nilfgaard has sent his envoy, along with a garrison of troops, to treat with the king. 

 Your mother scoffs. “You are a King, my love,” she says, tilting her regal head at him. “You can do nothing without rousing at least a little of the rabble.” 

 You take your place next to her, skirting around the prince with a wide berth. Your mother reaches for your hand, patting it as she nods approvingly at you.

 “You look as lovely as I thought you would.” Somehow, her complement makes you like your clothing even less. The dress is heavy and cumbersome, the corset laced so tight a deep breath makes the seams groan. 

 “It is the color.” Geralt’s interjection makes your mother’s smile thin and tighten, until the edges seem brittle like paper. “It suits you, sister.” Is there no line he will not cross? From behind his wide shield of plausible deniability he mocks you, his mouth quirking innocently as if he is unaware of the boundary he dances upon. Gracious acceptance is the only play you have, and he knows it as well. 

 “You are too kind, my Prince.” You clasp your hands together and face forward. It is surreal, almost, to see the calm with which he regards you now, when only a week ago he had raged at your door like a madman. Had you not seen it yourself, you would not think it possible. Though you would blame him for it, the nervous twisting of your stomach is not Geralt’s fault alone. The ill feeling that had taken root in your belly at the sight of the Nilfgaardian envoy still left you with a sour taste on your tongue, one that did not seem to wash away. 

 And the dreams…

 You shudder to think of them, the dark, creeping things that keep you awake long after the halls of the king’s keep have fallen silent. You have not wandered from your rooms again to your knowledge, but you’ve slept so little in the past week that you suspect it is less a matter of your self control and more the lack of opportunity. The nails on your fingers, hidden by the cumbersomely long sleeves of your dress, are bitten down to the quick. It is a new habit you’ve developed sitting in the crushing dark as you wait for the dreams to come. 

 Your father’s rotting face swims before you again. 

 Sugar sweet—  

 You twist the heavy fabric of your sleeves in your nervous hands as you stare hard at the stone floor between your feet. 

 “What troubles you, Little Doe?” Geralt’s voice is as much of a surprise as his proximity, his side lightly pressing against your own as he leans down. You drop your hands to your sides like deadweight, suddenly aware of his eye. 

 “And why would you think me troubled?” You ask curtly. The prince’s wolfish grin sends a strange, hot pulse straight to your core, one you vehemently try to ignore. You are under no pretense, you know what the prince is, who he is. He has gone out of his way to show you, and yet—

 “I am apt to know trouble when I see it.” 

 The throne room doors slam open, leaving you no time to respond as every eye is drawn to the entrance. The instant hush that falls over the room is so deep that the herald’s voice is like a crack of thunder. At the same time, your stomach tightens. The dark warning in your heart rings again like a bell, clear and true. Though you still do not quite grasp its meaning, the message is clear—whatever you’d been meant to avoid had now come to pass, leaving no room for escape or denial. 

 “Presenting His Lordship, Duke Emhyr of Nilfgaard!” The duke sweeps into the throne room, his ink-black cloak billowing behind him. There are two of his own guards flanking him in their telltale black armor, like pools of animated shadow. Their faces are hidden by their helms, the sides carved like griffin wings. 

 The duke stops before the throne, dropping down to one knee. 

 “My King.” His accented common turns the words up at the edges, almost like a question. “Hail.” His face is handsome but severe, high cheekbones, fierce, beady eyes, and a thin mouth that curls up at the corners, just like his words. There is a scar on his face, long and thin and jagged, stretching from his left temple to the right side of his chin. His already wan smile thins further as he turns to your mother. 

 “My Queen.” 

 “Lord Emhyr.” The duke’s smile is wan as he dips his head again. “I bid thee welcome. I trust you found the journey pleasant enough.” The words are empty pleasantries, merely frivolous formalities exchanged before the truth is allowed to be addressed. 

 “Aye, Majesty, as enjoyable as one can find a carriage journey.” He straightens back up. “I would extend my many congratulations on your union. The Gods themselves could not have delivered a more beautiful Queen.” 

 To your surprise, it is Geralt who speaks next. 

 “We did miss you at the celebration, my Lord.” The remark is meant to sound like a casual observation—you know it is not. “Quite a pity.”

 Emhyr’s jaw tics. “Indeed.” He looks over his left shoulder, and motions the guards forward. “My deepest regrets. As I previously expressed to His Majesty, my presence was required elsewhere. As I am sure you recall, we do share a border with the Elves.” He spits the word like a curse. “Occasionally those savages do need a good reminding of where their lands end, and ours begin, Your Grace.” 

 You shudder. There are few elves left south of the heavily policed Nilfgaardian border, but you have met some. Savages. The word makes your lip curl. They are rather fond of that word, aren’t they?

 “I did bring a—belated—wedding present.” Between the two of them, the guards haul forward a small black chest, the polished wood glinting in the light. He pulls back the lid, and a murmur travels through the gathered courtiers at the sight of the jewels. A small fortune in dark blue sapphires sits within. King Vesemir stands, bidding two of the ivory cloaked kings-guard forward to take the chest.

 “A most precious gift.”

 “The mines remain prosperous. Perhaps Her Highness might have them made into something befitting her loveliness.” A smile creases your mother’s ruby lips, but it is sharp enough to cut. Neither does it reach her narrowed eyes. 

 “We cannot thank you enough for your gracious gift, my Lord.” Her voice is delicate, like breaking glass. “But I do not believe you rode for six days to bear witness to my beauty.” You are left to wonder in the brief moments before Duke Emhyr answers. If he will allow the truth to be broached, or if he will flee from it like a rat from a burning ship. 

 “Indeed my Queen, I have not.” He casts a look around, as if the words he is about to speak are for everyone there, not just the king. “Your Grace, I come before you today with only the deepest respect for your will, authority, and wisdom.” Duke Emhyr chooses his words carefully. He chooses them as carefully as a mason did his stones, stacking each one meticulously on top of the other. “But I do admit my heart longs for clarity on this matter. 

 Not a season past, when His Majesty announced an end to his long mourning period, and indeed his intent to marry once more, I did put forth my own daughter as prospect.” His accusation takes shape, and you watch your mother’s face tighten, her fingers curling around the polished bone arm of her throne. “And before this very court, His Majesty agreed. I had imagined a shared future of prosperity and happiness between both our great houses. I mean no offense, and so I beg pardon—”

 “And yet you have given it.” Your mother’s expression remains placid—her voice less so. You can almost hear the icy words forming on her tongue as her lips part to speak again, but the king silences her, holding up one steady hand. 

 “I appreciate your candor, my Lord,” he leans forward. “But it is Vesemir who rules here, not Emhyr.” All chatter ceases, and the chamber is as quiet as the crypt beneath it. “The decision as to who it is I marry is mine—and mine alone.” King Vesemir stands, descending the short set of steps until he is level with the duke. “It is I who bears the burden of ensuring the prosperity and stability of this realm. And while I am ever thankful for the service you have provided it… you would do well to remember that fact, my Lord.” 

 “Of course, my King. I—I mean only for the betterment of the empire.” It is then that his eye falls to you. “I see no reason a match might not still be made—”

 “Then we shall speak no more about it.” You watch the duke’s jaw tighten, his lips thinning as he fights not to show his displeasure. 

 “As you will, Your Grace.” You have not heard the last of this matter, of that you are certain. A sinking feeling rises in your stomach, like you’ve tumbled freely over the edge of a cliff. There is no going back, the feeling seems to whisper, goosebumps erupting across your flesh. A path has been chosen now and you will walk it—

 “I thank you again for your generous gift, Lord Emhyr,” the dismissal is obvious in the king’s tone. 

 “The pleasure is mine, my liege.” The words sound broken in his mouth, like he’s chewed them up. A cold finger traces down your spine as his eyes meet yours again. “I thank you for your counsel.” 

 —

 The sky is dark, angry black clouds roiling above the keep. You’ve not seen much rainfall in Rivia since your arrival, but today the clouds above you seem full to bursting, the smell of the imminent downpour filling your nostrils. Still, you take your time as you stroll through the gardens, stopping every so often to enjoy the sight of flowers in bloom. 

 “You are enjoying the gardens today, my Lady,” Kassandra’s observance is gently made, though she looks worriedly up at the sky. 

 “I feel I must,” you reply, leaning down to inspect a half-closed bud. “Summer here is drawing to a close, and I must admit I fear the cold.” You offer her a small smile over your shoulder. 

 “Have you no winter in Redania?” She asks, wonder coloring her words. “The land of eternal summer indeed.” 

 “No snow,” you agree, shaking your head. “Tis more like… autumn.” There is a wistfulness to your words you cannot suppress, a longing that brings moisture to your eyes. In truth, you doubt it will matter how many years you spend here at court—Rivia will never feel like home. Kassandra smiles thoughtfully. 

 “I should like to see it, my Lady,” she says. “Twould not be a chore to accompany you—if you wished it so. The winter here is harsh, even within the city walls.” 

 “Aye, winter on the continent is no easy task to weather.” The two of you turn at the sound of a new voice to face the speaker. Duke Emhyr bows respectfully, removing his cap as he does so. “I did not mean to intrude—I find the gardens less familiar than I imagined,” he adds, a small smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “Might I trouble you for an escort?” 

 You had not seen the duke since his spectacle at court the day prior, the matter of which had the courtiers aflutter with gossip. You suppose you, like Duke Emhyr, had been equally blindsided in the matter of your mother’s courtship and her subsequent marriage. Nervously, you wonder if his feelings of dissatisfaction—and possible animosity—extend to you by proxy. Kassandra curtsies, and you nod, forcing a small, charitable smile onto your lips. 

 “O-of course, my Lord.” You reply. “I myself find the task of navigating the keep daunting, despite calling this place home.” Kassandra falls into step just behind you, and you must physically stop yourself from commanding her to walk beside you. Though you’ve little personal regard for the importance of blood and titles, you know here in Rivia those things matter above all else. The duke is more than happy to ignore her, his hawkish eyes weighing heavily on you. 

 “How long has it been since your arrival at the White Keep, if you will indulge my curiosity?” 

 “Nearly three months.” Though you have kept count of every passing day since your arrival, to say it aloud makes homesickness rear up in your chest. The duke clucks his tongue pityingly. 

 “Tis a shame. Redania is quite beautiful this time of year. I have had the pleasure of many a visit.” He clasps his hands behind his back and casts a look at the dreary sky. “Nilfgaard is my home, but I would be a liar if I said I did not envy the beauty of the southern jewel.” The wistfulness in his voice inspires thoughts of warm autumn nights scented with pine and faded sunlight. But a warning echoes in your heart at the false note in it, the one that reminds you of the coy, prying questions of your mother’s ladies in waiting, only cloaked in a cleverer disguise.

 “Indeed.” You round the corner of a hedge. “I have never seen snow, now that I think of it. I should much like to, now that I am older.” 

 “Never seen snow?” The duke echoes your words, replacing your simple desire with shock. “Though I would not speak ill of your late father—Redania has never seen a finer Regent—I do believe he kept you far too sheltered.” It takes effort to keep your smile from going thin at the mention of your father. As  if in response, a dull ache throbs in your chest. 

 “How lucky for us, then, that his death should bring me here.” You flick the words from your tongue like the lashing of a whip. There is a brief moment of dark satisfaction as the duke’s eyes widen, and his confident words falter. 

 “My sincerest apologies, Princess, I did not mean—”

 “No, of course not.” You reply, swallowing against the sudden lump in your throat. “Forgive me, Duke Emhyr. My father I are—were, quite close.” You offer him an apologetic smile. “Might we speak of something else?” 

 “Of course, of course. My deepest sympathies.” He casts a furtive glance in your direction. “I hope you have been enjoying your time here, despite the… unfortunate circumstances.” You nod primly—for what words do you have to  describe the aching emptiness that fills you at the thought that home is a distant             thing now, the memory of a place you no longer belong. 

 “I have found ways to occupy myself.” You feel as thin as your smile. “The White Keep is large, there are many ways to spend ones time.”

 “And Her Majesty has certainly taken to her role,” he continues. “She has taken to court as though she were born here.” There is a note of bitterness in his voice. “Has she spent much time in Rivia? Surely during His Majesty’s rather short courtship—”

 “I know little of my mother’s courtship,” you say flatly, your eyes narrowed. “If you wish to know about it, perhaps you should ask her.” This time, it is difficult to leash your ire. You grow tired of the duke’s probing, his thinly veiled attempts to pick information from conversation behind the shield of feigned ignorance.

 “Highness—”

 “I trust you will can your way from here.” There is an unfamiliar coldness that underscores your words, one that uncomfortably reminds you of your mother. It is like hearing her own voice from your mouth, leaving a sour taste on your tongue. “Lady Kassandra, l believe we should take our leave.” 

 “At once, My Lady.”

 You leave him at the entrance to the gardens in the courtyard, sweeping past as his eyes bore into your back. 

 —

 “How does it end?” You are sat before the fire, a book held tenuously in your hands. Your loose, traditional dress is folded beneath you primly as the flames dance in the hearth. “How does it end?” Your father repeats warmly, chuckling as he leans forward to rest a hand on your shoulder. “You stopped reading.” 

 You can’t quite recall where you were now, the words seeming to shift on the page as you squint at them. 

 “I… I don’t remember now,” you say, glancing over your shoulder at your father. Though the flames are bright, his face is shadowed, but you get the feeling that he is smiling. 

 “The princess has just met the wolf,” he replies. “She doesn’t know it yet, but he plans to devour her whole—body, and spirit.” You look down at the page. “She is careful, the princess, and clever, but the wolf is sly, and he is not the only thing she has to fear.” You do not know why, but his words fill you with an incomparable sorrow. 

 “What else does she have to fear? Is the wolf not enemy enough?” You are crying. You don’t know why, but you are, tears pouring down your face and dripping messily off of your chin to stain the pages with salt. 

 “Weep not, daughter. She may yet avoid his jaws—and if not that, then perhaps she might at least turn him to her will. But the peacock—she is her true enemy.” 

 “A bird?”

 “Yes, dear girl,” your father’s voice goes strangely quiet as the fire burns low in the hearth, and the sitting room is shrouded in gloom. “For while her pretty feathers distract you, her beak plucks out your eyes.” 

 You wake blearily, blinking in the darkness as you struggle back to wakefulness. Instead of your bed, you are knelt on the cold, stone floor in front of the half-dead hearth. The embers that still smolder within are not enough to give off true heat, and pins shoot through your legs when you struggle to your feet. It is frigid in here, and you shiver, clutching your thin nightgown tightly around yourself. 

 You’ve no memory of leaving your bed, nor of kneeling in front of the hearth, and you sniffle as you make your way back beneath the canopy above your bed. There is a familiar ache in your tight throat that feels like you’ve been crying, and when you lift a shaking hand to your cheek. 

 Your face is wet with tears.

 —

 Your mother strokes your head as you sob, your tears soaking into her gown. 

 “I—I fear sleep, I fear waking,” you rasp, wiping at your sore eyes with the back of one trembling hand. “T-there is no respite from them. I close my eyes in one place and open them in another—” A hiccoughing sob cuts the words in half. “Mother I fear I… I fear I shall go mad if I see father again. His face—!” You bury your head in her lap as another round of shuddering sobs wracks your limp body. 

 It has been years since you have sought your mother’s comfort like this, and in truth you cannot remember the last time it was even offered. She had been surprised to see you at her chamber door at this hour, disheveled and still clad in your nightgown, but she had let you in after you’d tearfully recounted the contents of your dreams. 

 She strokes your head. “Nightmares, my love. Nothing but terrors spun up by your mind—brought on from stress, no doubt.” Her hand is cool and comforting against your forehead. “I shall have the healer assemble something for you.” 

 “T-thank you, mother.” You offer her a watery smile.

 “Anything for you, my love.” She strokes your cheek affectionately, the bandage wrapped around her index finger rough against your skin. “I do so hate to hear of your suffering, I will do what I can to appease it.” You smile wider, even as you swallow back the inappropriately bitter feeling that says you have been suffering all this time regardless. This was the response you had desired from her all those weeks ago when you’d begged her to send you home—and now, for some reason, it feels… hollow. 

 “What happened to your finger?” You ask, and she sighs, waving her hand dismissively. 

 “A hairpin, nothing to worry yourself over.” You dry your eyes, dabbing at them with a handkerchief. Your mother barely acknowledges the timid knock at the door before the chambermaid pokes her head inside. 

 “Highness? H-His Majesty is here.” 

 Your mother does not look surprised to hear this. If anything, the corners of her mouth curl up into a sly smile for half an instant before she nods. 

 “I see. I shall see to him in a moment—” The maid squeals as the King himself pushes past her, his eyes wild. 

 “Thayet!” He calls your mother’s name with a hoarse, desperate voice. “I have waited over an hour for you—oh.” He seems to note your presence with all of the recognition one would give a fly. His bright, golden eyes are cloudy with confusion—as though he hasn’t the faintest idea who you are, or why you are there. Recognition finally lights in his eyes, and he nods at you. 

“Princess. It is… quite late,” he says slowly, as if he is only now realizing that fact himself. “Should you not be abed?” Your face heats with embarrassment. 

 “Ah, y-yes, my King. I was… troubled.” Your eyes dart between him and your mother. “But mother has allayed my fears.” You gather your shawl about your shoulders, bowing your head respectfully. Of course he would visit her as a husband—that is a fact you suppose you have known since you came to this place, but to catch the King in your mother’s bedchamber was another thing entirely. 

 The eagerness in his eyes as he looks at her, the way he licks his lips—it reminds you uncomfortably of Geralt, and of the need you see mirrored in his amber eyes. You retreat from the sitting room, though the sound of your mother’s voice makes you glance over your shoulder one last time as the door begins to close. 

 “I shall send Callista with a sleeping draught,” your mother calls at your retreating back. “For the dreams.” 

 Your stomach turns uncomfortably as you watch the king latches onto your mother, pulling her close as he trails desperate kisses down her arm. You are too far away to hear the words he growls through his gritted teeth before ripping at the bandage on her thumb and sucking the injured digit into his mouth. 

 The door closes with a loud bang, leaving you alone in the dark, empty hall. 

 The peacock, your father whispers in your memory as you shuffle back toward your room in the early hours.

 She’ll pluck out your eyes. 

to be continued…

Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

[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 :)

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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.

[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

@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

[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.

[kte-alxxndr]

masterlist

fluff smut characters

fic recs

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Tonality [6]

Pairing: Prince!Geralt x Princess!Reader

previous chapter

Summary: “The white wolf wants you. He’ll have no other.” As you grieve the loss of your father, your mother marries the king. Whilst you struggle to acclimate to your new life, you begin to suspect the interest your new brother has in you is less than familial.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Dark Fantasy, Darkfic, Step-cest, Medieval/GoT inspired AU, Genre Typical Violence, Mild Descriptions of Violence, Slow Burn, (Future)Smut, Dubcon/Noncon, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, MINORS DNI!!

A/N: thank you so much to everyone who continues to read and support my work. i really hope you all enjoy this next installment, please don’t hesitate to drop me a comment or inbox me. reblogs are always golden ❤️

You are not, and then, all at once you are again. Awareness spreads like  contagion down each limb, and you know them again as it does. With it, though, comes the pain in your belly, sharp and biting like—

Like a blade. 

It fades as you force your eyes open, your clumsy hands searching yourself for the dagger’s handle. You do not find it, but the relief that floods you at its absence is short-lived. The darkness that greets your wide, panicked stare is so deep and unyielding that for a moment you wonder if you have gone blind—but as you raise your trembling hands before your eyes, you can see them clearly. But beyond, there is only darkness.  

No, not darkness—nothing. 

“H-hello?” Your voice is muted, muddy even to your own ears, the syllables thick and sticky like they passed through honey on the way. “Please-!” The hungry nothing swallows nearly everything but a sluggish, dull thump that echoes in your ears—it is the only sound in the resolute silence. You stumble forward with your hands out before you, fingers outstretched as you wait to encounter something, anything. You do not, though. There is nothing. No cool stone beneath your feet nor the caress of wind your skin. Even the sound of your footsteps is absent, stolen. All there is is the drum. 

It must be a drum, you think, because the sound is so deep it reverberates in your bones. Sluggish. Steady. Panic rises in your chest and you force it down with gritted teeth, your nostrils flaring. 

If this is death, I was right to fear it. 

Your dry tongue tastes like ash and earth in your mouth as you gulp down thick, gasping breaths. But there is no relief in the action, nor in the thick void that flows in through your lips, filling your throat with ink. There is only that sound, deep and heavy—thump, thump, thump.

A hand flies to your breast, pressing against the cool skin above your collar—but you feel nothing. There is no answering pulse from your own veins, your chest cold and quiet. A terrified gasp rips from your throat and you stumble, hands tangling in the torn fabric of your dress. Your blood should be racing, your ears thundering with the roar of it in your veins—but there is nothing. Nothing but the silence and the sound—

Thump.

Thump.

Steady like a heartbeat.

Your heartbeat, drumming in the dark, empty nothing. The echo of it is dull in your ears as if through cotton, but it is the only sound, the only thing in the vast absence aside from you. It rumbles in your bones as you stagger blindly forward, your hands outstretched. The void that presses back against your hands is like spiders silk, strands of ephemeral nothing. You fist your hands in it, and for the first time you feel… something. Like ripping apart fragile cloth—only something inside of you tears too. 

The sensation of it makes you gasp, choking on the dark as it rushes past your lips and into your mouth like dry water. You pull at the ragged strips of nothing and they stick to you like wet paper. You push through the ragged hole into the white light beyond—and fall to your knees on hard stone coughing and choking. You draw the back of your hand across your trembling mouth and it comes away stained inky black, the texture like wet sand. 

For a moment, you heave there on the floor, sticky, pulpy blackness forcing its way up out of your throat. The air you gulp down tastes of something so distinctly alive that it nearly brings you to grateful tears. After a few desperate breaths, you force yourself up to your knees, bracing your hands against the wall as you stagger up to your feet. You feel weak, as though the earths pull might drag you back down to your belly at any moment. 

These… these are my chambers. 

You had not thought of this place as home before, but you are relieved to see it now. The siting area is a mess of gauze wrappings, half-mixed poultices and dried herbs scattered across every surface. It looks as though Healer Janna has been hard at work here, you note with a small, grim smile. The sound of rasping, labored breath draws your attention toward the bed. Though the dark, heavy fabric is almost entirely drawn, the soft firelight shining in through the gaps illuminates the shape of a figure beneath the covers. 

You cross the room with slow steps, trembling as you approach. The drumbeat roars in your ears again as your eye adjusts to the gloom. Your own features swim out of the darkness at you, pained and ashen, your lips pressed into a grim line. The shock of it draws a horrified gasp from your throat, and you stumble back, nearly falling over. The feeling it evokes in you is new, a mixture of terror and disgust as you tear your eyes away from the empty vessel laying before you. That’s it, you think to yourself as you slap a hand to your mouth to hide the violent gag. My body is empty. You retch, your hands fisting in the stiff, dirty cloth of  your dress as you fight to remain standing. 

“To see oneself without a soul is quite a sight indeed.” The sight of Geralt is nearly enough to send you to your knees as you stagger against the bedpost. “I think perhaps that is why they drew the curtain.” He stands by the fireplace, his hand resting upon the mantle. His molten eyes seem lit with the fire’s eerie glow. 

“I am glad to see you, Little Doe.” 

“What’s happening to me?”  Your voice is just as dull and muddy as it had been in the other place, the dark place. You shudder to think of it again, gripping the bedpost tightly. Even the sensation of that seems far away, as though your grasping hands merely clutch at the idea of it. Your step-brother’s expression turns concerned. 

“You’ve left your body, Dreamwalker.” The thought of looking back at the shell on the bed turns your stomach. “A living thing cannot be without a soul, my little witch. The body needs a soul.” The fear that twists in your belly at his words is sharper than the Duke’s dagger. Your eyes widen, your mouth trembling as you cling helplessly to the bedframe as Geralt moves toward you. 

“I—I am—I am not—” Your rebuttals fall from your lips unfinished, scurrying over each other in their haste to leave your mouth. You hold out a hand to halt his approach, and he passes through it like smoke. “I am not a witch!” His amused smile is as off-putting as the sensation of his body diffusing yours. 

“Not yet,” he agrees. “But you could be.” You think of the witch, her fingers tipped in purple-black ichor like they had been stained with pitch. “There is power in your blood. The same as mine.” The smile that flits across his lips is grim, and does not reach his golden eyes. “We are more alike than you know.” He moves as if to touch you and then stops, seeming to remember that he cannot. 

The fear coiling in your chest beats wildly against your ribs. He knows. You wonder if this means word has reached your mother—or worse, the King. There are no elves in the city save the Witch—and you. 

“My mother—”

“Knows nothing.” You’ve little idea what has inspired your step-brother to keep your secret, and a pit of iron forms in your belly as you wonder what steep price he will extract from you for the privilege. 

“Why? Why would you not…” The words stick in your throat. “You’ve no reason to lie for me.” Geralt scoffs. 

“It is an unwise King who would lead his people willingly to civil war.” Geralt looks tired, then, far older than the summers he has weathered. “We are not all so ruled by petty superstition as Duke Emhyr.” There is no lie beneath the words that you can tell, but they ring hollow anyway, like you’re missing parts of them. “It would be quite a waste to see you hung in the square.”  You swallow, your lip curling. 

“So I am to be your pawn?” The sneer curls your lips and bares your teeth. “Your grateful servant?” He laughs then—a deep, loud peal of laughter that strikes like lightning. You jerk backward, forcing space between you. 

“If my aim was your servitude there are more apt ways to ensure it.” He seems content to say no more than that, his golden eyes glittering like coins. 

“But there is a price.” You say, and the corners of his lips curl. 

“You think too poorly of your brother,” he purrs. In an instant, he is again the Geralt you are coming to know and despise. “I would ask nothing of you that you could not give.” His lips curl into a deceptively charming smile. “Indeed, nothing you would not want to.” Geralt’s eyes seem to focus on something behind your head, and the smile slips. 

“We might discuss this later. For now, little Doe, you must return to your body.” You cannot hide the repulsed shudder that passes through you at the thought of looking at yourself on the bed again. “You spent too long in the ether.” 

“Ether?” He rolls his eyes, and beneath the mask of his cool charisma, you see true irritation. Strangely, it pleases you. 

“The dark place, the between place.” He sighs. “Lay on the bed.” He pulls aside the curtain, and you swallow the violent retch that builds in your throat. You close your eyes and crawl onto the bed. You feel nothing against your palms but perhaps the slightest pressure. There is abnormal warmth emanating from the body beside you, however haggard your appearance. It is welcoming, even, like a soft embrace. You want to lean into it, so you do—though you doubt you could help it even if you did not. 

The room shifts, warping and twisting like smoke. You do not want to return to the cold, dark nothing, and you fight against it with all you have. Your will, however, seems as incorporeal as your spirit. As you spin back down into your own subconscious, Geralt’s voice seems to come from every crevice of the chamber—

“And do keep your promise this time, little witch.” 

—

When you wake, there is pain. 

Perhaps it is more apt to say that you wake beacuse there is pain, deep and biting as you force your eyes to open. Your lids feels heavy, like you’ve not abided the task of lifting them in quite some time. Each breath feels strange, rattling in your chest. Sunlight streams in through the parted canopy curtains, and you wince, blinking away the spots trailing across your vision. 

I live.

You feel… weak. Disconnected from your body. It nearly takes more strength than you have to sit up, and you gasp, falling back against the pillows as pain lances through your belly and up your spine. With clumsy fingers, you pull back the covers. You are dressed in one of your loose cotton shifts, and as you tenderly trace the shape of your own body through the fabric, you can feel the thick layers of bandages wrapped tightly around your middle. 

Gingerly, you roll up the hem of your nightdress, your jaw set tight. You follow the edge of the wrappings with your finger. It’s fit snug around your waist, padded thickly with gauze to the left of your navel. It still seems somehow like fantasy, that the duke had stabbed you, that you had felt the cold bite of his steel deep in your belly—

That you had lived. 

“Witch.”

Trembling, you press your hands to your face. Duke Emhyr’s accusations still sting as they echo from your memories, his hatred burning hot like coals behind his eyes. Is he only the first of many? You wonder, wincing sharply as you reach for the goblet of water on the stand by the bed. It’s almost too heavy for you, but you grip it, and bring the edge to your lips. 

The sound of voices begin to echo down the hall, heralding the approach of other people. As quickly as you can, you adjust your dress and draw the covers back up again, waiting for the door to open. 

“—asleep, Your Majesties, when I left to fetch a clean pail of water—”

“And left her alone?” Your mother’s incredulous voice grows louder as the doorknob rattles, and then clicks open. She glides in first, her ornate gown trailing behind her, whispering against the stone. Her eyes narrow as she peers around your chamber in distaste. 

“Have the servants clean up this mess,” she says, the words cool, authoritative. Your mother has always been one for orders, only now there is a smugness to the command, an expectation that the bearer dare not fall short of. Kassandra hurries in behind her, water sloshing in the wooden pail she holds by the handle. She sees you first, nearly dropping the bucket in surprise as her eyes widen. 

“Y-Your Majesty!” She gasps, practically throwing the bucket to the ground as she rushes to your bedside. “Oh thank the Gods!” Your mother gasps at the sight of you, her delicate brows rising. 

“Thank the Gods indeed.” Your mother approaches you, perching herself on the edge of your bed before embracing you. “My daughter… I thought I might never see your eyes open again,” she cups your face affectionately, and though you had not felt the urge to weep before, suddenly your eyes fill with exhausted tears. She is, after all, your mother, staring down at you with concern and relief lining her face. You press your face into the crook of her neck, breathing in the honeysuckle scent of her skin as you sob.  

It’s so much—the Witch, the duke—your mind feels both full to bursting and disjointed with the knowledge of every moment of it all. Elf-kin. Witch. Princess. My lady. Your Grace. Doe. Who are you? What is your name? You know not when last you heard it. You do not know when you became such a meek little thing, so easy to trap in a box to bring a hammer down upon—

But you hate it. 

“You may leave us. I shall call when we need you.”

Your mother hums softly, stroking your hair with gentle passes. She works through the tangled mess as you cry, parting each snare with a motherly diligence that reminds you of summers spent catching fireflies and frogspawn. You cling to her, like a child with a scraped knee. When she has worked her way through every section of your hair, she sighs, massaging your scalp with the tips of her fingers. Finally, when your sobs turn to hiccoughing breaths, your mother sighs, her hand dropping from your head to your bandaged middle. 

“That man is paying for what he’s done to you.” You do not know how her voice manages to be so soft, and yet so hard at the same time. “I will not allow this sin to go unpunished.”

You shiver. “What…what do you mean? Where is Emhyr?” You are glad you cannot see her face, because the smile that drips from her words sounds crueler than anything. 

“The place he’s going to die.” Your mother sounds almost joyful. After a moment more, she releases you, dabbing at your tear-stained cheeks with the soft, flowing fabric of her sleeve before stroking the pad of her thumb over the curve of it. 

“Why did you leave the castle?” Your mother’s face looms before you, her brows knitted together with concern. There’s something else, though, something beneath that. You don’t know how you see it—by rights, she’s given nothing away, and yet you see it still. 

Suspicion. 

Why would your own mother be suspicious of you? You hang your head. 

“I—I just wanted to see the city.” You make the words sound like an admission. “Without a guard.” 

“And look what your stupidity has wrought!” She hisses, gesturing at your belly. “You’re lucky Geralt noticed your absence when he did—did that little, the—” Your mother purses her perfect lips in frustration as she attempts to recall your only lady-in-waiting’s name. “Katherine? Did she help you with this idiocy?” As far as you can tell, she has swallowed your lie whole. You hope it does not work its way up out of her throat to bite you later.

“No, no, I… I just snuck out while the guards were changing, Kassandra knew nothing of it.” You are more glad than ever that you had ordered her to stay behind, the thought of what might’ve happened to her had she come along makes you shiver. The duke did not seem to be much in the mood to deal with stray ladies. The mention of Geralt makes you press your teeth against the inside of your cheek.  Your mother sighs, shaking her head as she pinches the bridge of her nose.

“You are too important to lose.” She regards you with serious, dark eyes. “Do you understand me? You are my only daughter—I can have no more children, you know this. Nor could I replace you if I tried, my love.”

“Yes, mother.” You place your hand over hers. “I understand.” You can find no sign in the relieved cast of your mother’s features that betrays any heritage other than the one you know, and your father is too long in the ground to ask yourself. “I’m sorry I scared you.” You had never been particularly good at lying, the words sticking together and jumbling on your tongue as you tried to string them into something coherent. Now, however, you deliver one after another, your hands steady as stone. 

I’ve more to lose now than I did stealing biscuits from the kitchens.

“I won’t do anything like that again.” She smiles at you, and it is like sunlight, warmth washing over your skin. You do not know how she does that, make her approval something to crave and bask in, even when you cannot trust her. She makes you want to. 

“Thank the Gods.” She presses a kiss to your forehead. “Then all is forgiven.” 

—

You have slept for nearly a full week, you find, as Kassandra helps you bathe and dress. Your mother excuses herself to attend to other matters, and you breathe a sigh of relief at her absence. After all, your head still reels with the truths that you’ve had little time to untangle yourself. You revel in the quiet as Kassandra helps you peel off your old nightgown and step into the copper tub. The water smells vaguely of cloves, and you know this is by order of the closest thing to a witch Rivian faith will abide within the castle walls. 

Healer Janna’s meager magics have kept your body on this side of the abyss, even as your soul has wandered. What little she is allowed she has done, and you are grateful for it, though you suspect the Witch in the lower city might’ve done a better job. 

As Kassandra assists you in unwinding the soiled bandage around your waist, you grimace at the sight of your wound in the mirror. On your side, practically parallel with your belly button if you traced a straight line around. It is not particularly long, but you know by the ache inside that the damage is far deeper than the external cut you see. 

“Tis a miracle he missed anything important,” she says, applying ointment to the wound with gentle fingers. “Damnable man.” She winds fresh, clean bandages around you, and you grit your teeth against the pain. You are growing used to it, though. Your mother has laid out another Rivian dress for you, but you do not even consider it, grimacing as you return it, unworn, to the wardrobe. Winter is coming, and you know the light, flowing dresses of your home are ill-suited for the biting chill that already permeates the castle halls, but you reach for one of them anyway. 

You reason that the tight corsetry your more local garments might irritate your healing wound, and Kassandra makes no mention of it as she helps drape you in the comfortable and familiar dress you choose. A small part of you, though, knows this act for what it truly is and revels in it—defiance. 

“I was so worried,” Kassandra says, sweeping aside your curls to pin a swath of gold colored fabric across your shoulders to create the illusion of sleeves. She has gotten quite good at it, and you wonder if she has been practicing. “When you didn’t come back, and then the prince—” She shakes her head. “I never should have let you go!”

“I shall not have you claim responsibility for my actions,” you reply. “Nor those of the duke.” 

“Did you… Did you meed the Witch?” She asks, her eyes wide. For a moment you consider your answer, and then you nod.

“She… She was not what I expected.” Kassandra has proven herself more than trustworthy, she has been loyal—and not just to the crown, but to you. And even so, you hesitate to tell her what it is you know now, the thing that changes everything and nothing all at the same time. Less elf blood in you than I could hold in my hand, but aye, kin we are, still. You have had so little control since you arrived on these shores, so little choice. One stands before you now, a forking path toward ends you cannot see.

“She told me things about myself I had no way of knowing, but that I feel in my marrow to be true.” You swallow. The last person who heard your name and the word elf in conversation drove a dagger into your belly, and the instinct to hide, to coil yourself up like a snake and be unseen, but you forge ahead anyway.

“What? What did she tell you, my Lady?” 

“She… she told me I was elf-kind.” You watch Kassandra’s face, waiting for her to run for the guard—but she remains seated, earnest concern still gracing her features. She seems to take it in, her brows scrunching before she nods. 

“You are still my Lady, Princess of Rivia. This does not change that.”

You practically sob with relief. Your mother’s coronation had done more than tie you to this strange, new city—it has made you enemies. Scores of them, actually. You suppose you should not feel something akin to joy at the knowledge that Kassandra is not among them, but it blooms in your chest as a grateful smile spreads across your face. 

“I know not from whom this lineage comes,” you say. “But the duke…” You grimace. “He knew, though how I can only guess. He said he could see it in my features—he could tell their favor simply by looking at me. Can you?” To your surprise, Kassandra scoffs. 

“As winter feeds spring, so does suspicion feed doubt. His theories needed little proof, I’m sure. If I might be blunt, Majesty, I have observed you many times, and never once have I wondered if you might be anything other than human.” She finishes pinning your dress, stepping away to admire her handiwork. It’s almost as good as when Madge did it, but there was a distinct Rivian quality to the neckline she has created with the flowing, loose fabric.

“May I be blunt myself, Lady Kassandra?” You ask, turning to face her. She nods. “I am grateful for your loyalty, do not think I question it’s truth. You have been a true friend to me, even when the very Queen has demanded otherwise of you. Why?”

She thinks for a good few moments, her brows furrowed. She seems to choose her words carefully, ordering them all together before she answers. 

“The Queen does not even know my name, Majesty, despite my father sitting upon her very own husband’s council.” She replies. “Your mother knows her allies, and she knows her enemies; and I suppose that leaves little space for those who belong in neither camp. Loyalty is not given, Lady, it is earned. Any that is acquired easier than that should not be trusted.”

The jewelry you are required to decorate yourself with feels especially heavy and overly ornate today, the crown weighing heavily on your brow. You know it would be near scandal to be seen without it, though, and so you remain good and still as Kassandra pins it in place. Now, at last, you may finally leave your chambers, aided in part by Kassandra’s steady arm. Walking is an arduous task, and you find yourself tired and panting by the time you reach the end of the hall. You have no destination in mind, but staying in your chambers feels claustrophobic. 

“And here I thought I would find you resting.” Geralt’s voice spreads out over the silence like honey. “I suppose I should have known you would not stay abed longer than it took to open your eyes.” He stands at the curve in the stair, his hand resting on the bannister. His silver-white hair is pulled back away from his face, and the silver wolf pendant at his throat peeks through the unbuttoned neckline of his shirt. 

“I am pleased to see you on your feet again.” The insinuation behind his words makes your cheeks warm. You have not forgotten the closeness of him, the safety of being pressed against his chest. 

“After a week, I fear I have slept long enough.” You reply with a wry smile. “Thank you.” 

“Were you going down?” He ascends the last few steps and offers you his arm, and after a moment of brief consideration you accept. After all, Geralt is much sturdier than Kassandra. Quickly—so quickly you almost do not notice it yourself—he softly sweeps his thumb over your knuckles as he settles you on his arm. It’s an overtly affectionate gesture, one that makes your stomach churn and flutter. 

“Thank you.” 

Geralt holds you steady, patiently waiting for you to situate yourself on one stair before lowering yourself to the next. Patient was not a quality you associated with the prince, but he demonstrates it now, taking the staircase step by halting step. His hand is warm on the small of your back, and it does not wander. After a moment, you feel the rumble of his voice begin in his chest just before he speaks again, turning back toward Kassandra, just behind you on the stair. 

“Ah, I did almost forget, my Lady, your mother did bid you join her at your earliest convenience. I do believe she mentioned a Lord Arasmus?” Kassandra’s pale cheeks instantly go cherry red as she stares down at her clasped hands. The corners of her lips, though, curl upward into a small, but telling smile. You feel a mirroring one growing on your own features as you chuckle. 

“Why Lady Kassandra, you did not inform me of your impending engagement.” You tease, and she huffs, her entire face turning scarlet as she glares at you. 

“Tis nothing of the sort, Highness. His Lordship is quite a skilled botanist, a-and p-provided my expertise in the gardens—” She stammers out a parchment thin explanation that you fight not to poke holes through as you nod seriously. “I m-might assist with the selection. A-and the planting, maybe.” Her eyes flick up to yours. “Might I be excused, my Lady?”

“Of course.” Kassandra skirts around the two of you, glancing back.

“Thank you, Majesty.” She bows her head politely before she disappears around the curve in the staircase and is gone. Her footsteps fade too, and as the silence settles, you realize you are well and truly alone with the prince. He helps you down another few stairs before breaking the pregnant silence. 

“You choose interesting allies, Princess.” He’s so close you can smell his skin pine and sun and earth. “But that one I think you have chosen especially well.”

“Have you only come to complement me?” You ask, hoping fleetingly that you look as unaffected as you sound. He sees too much, you decide stoutly, stomping down the butterflies filling your belly. Even when you don’t think he sees anything at all.

“And if I had?” Your own reply turns to cotton in your dry mouth. For a moment, Geralt’s golden eyes go hot and hungry like they had that night in the corridor. Your skin pebbles with the awareness of him, his size, his proximity. His breath ghosts over the curve of your cheek.

“Then I suppose it is lucky for you that I come with more than one purpose.”

“And that purpose would be?”

“Clarity, Princess,” he helps you down the last few steps to the landing. “Clarity.” The hall is dotted with servants, and stray lords and ladies whose names and exact stations all escape you, but you accept each gracious bow and earnestly delivered platitude with as genuine a smile as you can manage.

“Oh Your Majesty! How good to see you up again, I do trust your mother gave you my condolences.” 

“You poor thing! Princess please, you must rest!”

“Highness you look wonderful, I do love Redanian fashion so.”

“That vile, treasonous man! How awful, I trust you have kept well?”

You are grateful when you’ve finished wading through them, their cloying perfumes and grasping hands are almost overwhelming to bear. As you clear the crush of lower nobility crowding the outer hall, Geralt steers you toward the throne room. 

“What do you know of the Hunt, Princess?”

The Hunt. You know what everyone knows, you suppose. “The Witcher-Kings of old led them first, to cleanse the land of monstrosities.” You had learned this fact as surely as you had learned your letters. “I know the last one was before I was born.” Geralt scowls at this, his brows furrowing. 

“My father has not led a hunt in over sixty years.” You cannot stop your shocked gasp. From what you’d thought, they were led every fifteen years like clockwork. There were always monsters, things born of chaos and flesh, and there always would be, so long as chaos remained tangled in the realms of man—that was what you had been taught, at least. But to hear one had not been lead in over sixty years… You shook your head with disbelief. 

“In the days of old, there were many Witchers, Princess.” There is no emotion in his voice nor on his face, but somehow, you can taste the sorrow beneath his words, heavy and cloying. 

“And now?” 

“There is only one.” Geralt brings his free hand to the wolf pendant. He does not lead you into the throne room proper, instead steering you past the massive carved doors. “My father called a hunt two nights ago, while you still slept.” Your brows furrow. Why now? Why after all this time?

“Why?” 

“I aim to find out.” 

Geralt casts a swift look down the empty corridor, and pulls aside a heavy woven tapestry, one of many lining the hall. Instead of stone behind it there is a narrow door, one with no knob or handle—only a keyhole. Geralt produces a slim silver key from his pocket, pressing it silently into the lock. You have to step sideways to make it through the doorway, but once you do, you find yourself in a cramped, dark hallway. You start at the feel of Geralt’s hand on your shoulder. 

“Forward, Princess.” With one hand dragging along the wall, you take a few cautious steps into the dark. 

“Where are you taking me?”

“To learn the answers to both of our questions.” The ground slopes upward beneath your feet, and behind you, Geralt urges you forward. You are reminded uncomfortably of your time in the dark place—the prince had called it the ether—the crushing weight of the silence and the vast emptiness of it all…You shiver. Finally, there is light ahead, and you feel your shoulders sag with relief to see it.

The tiny circular room is perhaps no wider than an arm’s length, light filtering in from the gold mesh that runs around it in a tight band. You realize you are in one of the pillars of the throne room, and you stand on the tips of your toes to peer down through the thin braided metal to observe the scene below. You do not recognize every person in attendance, circled around the stone table behind King Vesemir’s throne, but you can place enough of their faces to understand—the council is gathered here, and they are gathered because of you.

“—is Treason. It cannot be argued.” Lord Jakoby is perhaps the youngest member of the council, aside from Kassandra’s own father. “And it cannot stand.”

“No one argues that Duke Emhyr has committed a grave offense—”

Your mother’s cool voice silences every other in the room. “Conspiring to murder the Princess is more than a grave offense.”  You watch her tilt her head, threading her fingers together beneath her chin. “Would you have us send him back to Nilfgaard to gather his armies with a spanking, then?” There is an uncomfortable murmur that passes around the table. 

“No, my Queen, I would not.” He holds his hands up placatingly. “I simply suggest there might be other ways to punish him that do not result in civil war.” Lord Thay combs his fingers through his thinning hair. “The Nilfgaardian army is not a light threat, your Highness. They protect our westernmost provinces, which, need I remind you, produce most of the kingdom’s wheat and grain! Duke Emhyr is no backwater lord with a horse a cart and an unwed daughter to his name, he is Regent of Nilfgaard! We cannot simply behead him in the square!”

Vesemir holds up a hand, and you watch your as your mother presses her lips into a displeased line. 

“I have heard from Lords Thay and Jakoby, Duke Rhone and mine own Queen. Lord Lightfoot, I would hear your thoughts as well.” Kassandra’s father was not a man of many words—he had barely said hello and goodbye at your own mother’s coronation—and he had thus far proved your impressions correct as he sat at the end of the table, utterly silent. And for another few moments, he remains so. 

“Duke Emhyr’s treason cannot be tolerated—but the North must be treated with care.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Her Majesty is right. Duke Emhyr’s treason cannot stand, regardless of his position. There will be strife, Majesty, it cannot be avoided.” He bows his head. “But perhaps it might be mitigated. You must use this hunt as an opportunity to remind the people of your strength. Of the futility of standing against you, my King.” Vesemir is silent, as if weighing the value of each word. 

“And should it come to war?”

Lord Lightwood grimaces. “The beetle is a fearsome foe to the ant, Highness. But it may still be crushed beneath a boot.” 

to be continued…

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