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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 days

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Winter's King 10

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

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

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

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

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: have a wondeful thursday.

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

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

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Queen Jazlene slumps against her chair. She’s barely awake as her eyes glaze over. Despite your deflections at serving her, she’d drunk herself to excess, swiping away goblets that weren't hers. Her constant imbibition has not been missed by her husband. Slanted looks and gristly whispers did little to deter her, your own gentle girding only fuelling her irritation.

The king stands, stepping forward to overshadow his slouching queen. He raises a hand to the remaining crowd; the clumsy and drunken dancers, the chittering ladies, and the boasting lords. They turn their attention to him and hush.

“So I must retire for the night, I bid you all a hearty rest,” he pronounces, “and may tomorrow see a brighter sun shine upon us all.”

A hurrah is sent up in return and the king waits until the large hall falls back into its previous din. He turns slowly, his head down, and flares his nostrils at his queen. His golden eyes skim up and down the table.

“Come,” he takes her hand, “let us get you abed.”

Jazlene yawns and hiccups. She does not resist as he tugs her to her feet, though she teeters once upright. He swiftly hooks his arm around her, keeping her away from the view of the hall. He huffs heavily and ushers her around the bench.

“Maid,” he demands over his shoulder.

You follow as he carries on, finding a door behind the high table. The dimness of the corridor fogs around his figure as Jazlene’s slippers begin to drag. She babbles and gurgles.

“I warned you not to drink so much,” he mutters, “why can you not obey? Why can you not just do what is best for you?”

You tread behind them silently. The king falters and grunts, scooping up his wife before she can slip further down his arm. As he lifts her, her head lolls back over his thick bicep. He growls and presses onward.

As he reaches her chamber door, you come around to open it for him. He doesn’t say a word as he enters and you wait near the entrance as he lays Jazlene down on the bed. She is very silent and still, only the subtle rise and fall of her chest suggesting a glimmer of life.

You peer around as the king looms over her, his hand on the post of the bed as he simmers at her. His other arm bends as he rubs the bridge of his nose. You go to the vanity and take the now cool basin of water. You reach into your apron pocket as you hug the large bowl and cross to the bed.

You pull out a cloth as you sit on the edge of the mattress and balance the bowl against your bent leg. You wet the fabric and lean over the queen to wipe her face. The kohl around her eyes has begun to smear and a sheen of sweat layers over her rich skin. You sense the king watching your deliberate tending.

“You are good to her,” he remarks.

“She will not feel well in the morning,” you say, “I will make sure she has water to drink and a warm compress when she wakes, your highness.”

He’s quiet as he considers your words, “you will stay with her?”

You wring out the cloth and fold it over the edge of the basin before moving it back to the vanity. You face the king and clasp your hands over your apron, “she cannot be alone when she has drunk so much. Once...” you shake your head and let the statement taper out, “your highness, she will need me.”

“Hmm,” he pulls his hand off the post, pacing around the end of the bed and turn towards you, “once what?”

“Nothing, your highness. It was only a memory I had. It doesn’t matter now.”

“I would like to hear it,” he insists.

You swallow down the dryness in your throat, “your highness, well, her mother, the duchess, she is the same about wine. Once she drank overly much that she did not wake when her stomach revolted. If we’d not been there to watch over her, she might have choked on it.”

“Ah, yes,” he stops, just a step away, “that would be unfortunate. I will thank you then for keeping a close eye on my lady wife.”

“As is my duty, your highness.”

His eyes blaze down at you and he shifts on his feet, “but will you sleep?”

“Me? I rest in the cart--”

“We will not leave on the morrow, I have business yet in the capital,” he explains, “when the lady is awake, you will make certain she is conscious, then you will go and seek rest of your own.”

“Your highness, how generous, but she would need to break her fast, and dress anew, perhaps bathe--”

“There are other maids in this castle. I am commanding you to retire for the day. You will need strength for our pending departure,” he bids, “to serve your queen upon the road.”

You bow your head, apologetic, “your highness, I did not mean to argue. Certainly, I will do as you say. Thank you for minding me.”

He inches forward and your shoulders slant as you shrink for his closeness. You see his thick fingers twiddle at his side and his hot breath blasts over you like a brazier. He cautiously bends his arm and touches the front of your apron. You quiver as you watch his calloused hand climb up the stained fabric. He pauses and shudders, pinching the loose thread poking out from the belt. He pulls it loose and rolls it between his fingertips.

“You will have new clothes,” he backs away, feeling the thread, twisting it, “you are a queen’s maid now. Not some castle sweep.”

You squeeze your hands tighter as you stare at his tunic, “yes, your highness. Thank you anon.”

He turns on his sole reluctantly and looks upon the bed. You follow his gaze to his subdued wife. He hangs his head and puts his back to you before he pivots toward the door. He stalks toward it and pulls it open with enough strength to make the hinges whine.

“Good night, little maid,” he drawls just before the door snaps shut in his stead.

You raise your eyes completely and stare at the heavy wooden slats of the door. Your chest is knotted so tight you can hardly breathe. The king’s displeasure lingers even his absence. Is he unhappy with his inebriate wife or is it you? You quickly dismiss the latter. You don’t matter so much. No, his marriage is not an easy one thus far.

⚔️

You only know Queen Jazlene is awake as she spits bile onto the floor. Her head hangs over the side of the bed as she wretches and spews, coughing and gagging until she goes limp and groans. The acidic smell permeates the chamber and you come forward to clean it away with a cloth.

Once you’ve sopped up the mess, you leave her to dispose of the smelly rags and return with a cool, fresh basin and a new cloth. You help her onto her back, propping her against the pillows and clean her face anew. She moans as she keeps her eyes closed, a ripple in her forehead.

“Too bright,” she mutters.

“I will draw the curtains, your highness,” you assure her as you rescind the cloth and rise to do so.

She winces as you pull the heavy drapes together and groans, “my husband... did he not see back to my chamber?”

“He carried you here, your highness,” you explain, “you were not feeling well.”

“Mm, I still do not,” she decries.

“Shall I call for a bath?” You suggest.

“Do what you will but be quiet,” she hisses as she shades her eyes beneath her long fingers.

She gurgles as she sinks down and rolls upon her side. She curls up and you stare at her back. You go to the door and ease it open. You emerge and pass between the guards without. You are no more than a draught to them. As you approach the stairs, your name is called from ahead. You peer down the next corridor.

“Eh, there you are,” Bryce approaches. You can tell by the shine in his hair that he has bathed, “and what mission has you so intent?”

“I am to fetch lemon water for the queen. She has a sour stomach,” you say and turn back to the steps.

The soldier descends apace with you and chortles, “as she would. She can drain an ewer like no other I’ve seen.”

“Mm,” you hum grimly.

“Ah, pardon, I do not mean to be cruel,” he says, “it is only... often we reap what we sow, yes?”

“I suppose,” you allow.

“Speaking of, mouse, it is your turn to reap,” he spins and stretches his arm across your path, “king’s orders.”

You shake your head in confusion.

“The queen--”

“I will send another for her lemon water. But our dear liege and lord has bid that you rest your head. And I do concur. You are only mortal, little mouse.”

“But I must--”

“Obey your king,” he insists and rescinds his arm, crossing it with his other across his chest. “I’ve been given leave to treat you as prisoner if ye resist but I do not wish to go so far.”

You frown. You recall the night before. The king’s orders are not forgotten but you thought perhaps they mightn’t be standing. You bow your head and press your palm to your stomach, another memory flitting through your mind. The king’s hand brushing along the belt of your apron.

“I’ve acquired you a fine chamber,” Bryce says. “Gods, how could one ever be so glum about a bed of their own?”

“Sir, I am not unhappy,” you counter. “I am...” you lift your head, “tired.”

“Oh, how the fates align,” he quips, “come then. There is a bath and new dress too. I was too kind to mention it but you were starting to smell a bit too close to Daisy.”

You can’t but laugh and snort, “hey!”

“May as well take benefit in staying still,” he says, “now, let us hurry before the water is cold.”

You acquiesce and follow him away from the kitchen. You hope Jazlene is not discontent with your straying. You walk along several corridors and up to the second floor again. You do not expect to stop at one of thick doors meant for nobility.

“In here,” Bryce takes out an iron key and unlocks the door. He pushes it open and steps back. “I will come in an hour to look in on you but I trust by then you will be abed.”

“Yes, sir, thank you,” you affirm.

“Be certain to have some of the food,” he orders you, “much better than the goat meat I’ve been chewing on.”

You thank him one last time and enter on your own. He closes the door behind you and you hear the lock twist. The loud grind of cogs does not unsettle you. It’s rare you ever have a moment of solace, though often you feel alone.

You look around the chamber. It is much too grand for you. There is a wide bed at one end with a long canopy. The window lets in a warm breeze as the steam coiling from the large tub dampens the air. The furniture here is just as fine as that in the queen’s rooms.

You meander around and stop before the covered tray on the round table. You lift the lid and reveal an assortment of fruit and cooked oats drizzled with honey. Your stomach roars and clenches painfully. Without a thought, you sit on the stool to gulp the porridge from the brim. You empty near half the bowl before you stop to catch your breath.

You pluck at the citrus and devour the fruit with delighted purrs. When you have glutted your hunger to the point of discomfort, you lick your lips and rise. You near the tub as untie your apron. Your body aches for the heat of the water.

You leave the layers of your filthy garments on the floor and step into the depths. You sigh as you lower yourself in. Relief seeps through your flesh and enshrines you. You lay back for a time and bask in the calm. Before the water can cool, you sit up to scrub yourself clean.

When you finish, you climb out and pull on the shift folded on the top of the stack; a dress, and apron, stockings, and even shoes. There is no cap. You fish around your disposed clothing and retrieve your own. You soak it in the bathwater, wringing it out until it’s not so browned.

A knock comes at the door. You sit on the edge of the mattress and call to the visitor, “hello?”

“Eh, it’s me,” Bryce’s salty timbre comes through the wood, “you sleep now, mouse.”

“Yes, sir.”

He taps the door and you hear his footsteps fade away. You recline across the bed and stare up at the canopy. You close your eyes but your stomach is uneasy. You don’t know why. The bed is too soft, the linens too fluffy.

You puff and sit up. You get to your feet and circle around the bed to the short bench across the foot of it. You tuck yourself onto the barely cushioned wood and bend your legs to fit. You fold and arm under your head. Much better.

It isn’t very long before you succumb to your fatigue. You don’t realise how tired you truly are until you’re buried in sleep. Heavy and dark, almost suffocating.

Behind your eyelids, you see streaks of colour, curling and rolling into visions. Shadowy forests and endless roads, the clop of horse hooves, the rattle of axles, and the crunch of boots in the dirt. The preening whine of the Queen as she splashes wine across your face. You gasp through the acrid sprinkle and fall backwards into air.

You land on a heap of hay. You’re back in Debray, in the barn where you would flit away with Merinda to eat or even steal a nap. She would watch at the window and you would doze or nibble. You look over but do not see her. Instead, another stands at the opening.

The king’s silver white hair hangs in waves down his muscled back. He wears only breeches as he stares off into the distance. The window greys with a storm beyond, pulsing from shades of dove feather to harrowing black. He faces you and his golden eyes glow like a wolf’s.

You sit up and whimper. He prowls closer and closer, thunder crashing as a great gust blows through the barn. Then all at once, the tempest subsides and the wooden walls turn to stone. You’re trapped beneath something unbreakable, like iron, wrists bound. You look at your arms, pinned by large hands. You look above you and find yourself straddled beneath the king.

He leans in, closer and closer, his fiery breath razing over you.

“Little maid...”

His growl snakes around your neck and you wake with a start. The bench teeters as you sit up, your hand gripping your forehead. You blink and look around, clearing the haze from your sleepy eyes.

Just as in your dream, you are not alone.

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

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nickfowlerrr · 4 months

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sit me on your throne.

pairing: geralt of rivia x curvy!reader

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

words: 4.3k

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

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

"You kneel before me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Your friend?" you wonder.

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

You quirk a brow, "Safe?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Geralt.”

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

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

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

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

You think.

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

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

You take a deep breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Did the clothes not fit?"

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

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

"I'll go with you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Now?" you question.

He nods once, "Now."

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

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

"What am I doing?"

"Princess? Your Highness?" you quote him.

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

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

"And what shall I call you then?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well I don't."

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

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

"I don't want any throne."

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

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

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

Unthinking, you step toward him closer.

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

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

Another step.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Geralt, I'm,"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I envy you, you know."

"Don't."

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

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

"And where will you go?" he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You part lightly and breathe,

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

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

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ro-is-struggling · 10 months

Text

Secret Encounters || Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Requested by anon

Summary: They know it's wrong, but they can't deny the desire and lust that overcomes them every time they are together.

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, porn with a little bit of plot (not really), fingering, penetrative sex, mirror sex, rough sex, size kink, belly bulge, breeding kink, dirty talk, mentions of cheating (reader is engaged), fem reader (she’s a princess)

English is not my first language

Word count: 3900

Notes: I promise I'll stop writing tragic princess x witcher stories after this one. Also, sorry for the shitty summary but it's only smut so it was kinda hard to come up with something lol

Geralt had never been fond of royalty, but the moment his eyes fell on hers he knew she was different. He didn't really understand why, but he felt some type of way whenever she was near. Her perfume was intoxicating, a sweet scent that lingered on his clothes and skin and accompanied him wherever he went. He could not escape her even when he wandered alone through the forest in search of the beast he had been hired to kill... not even when he was lying in his bed at night, surrounded by the darkness of the room as he tried to rest. Her scent enveloped him at all times, awakening something deep inside him. It drove him crazy, crazy enough to act on his desires.

He knew it was wrong, it was inappropriate to take advantage of the king's hospitality like that. And she knew it was wrong too, she was a princess soon to be married, a woman of high value who had no business with a witcher like Geralt. And yet, neither seemed to be able to stay away from the other. It was as if there was some kind of energy force pulling them together, the very will of destiny imposing itself over their own. When Geralt showed up at her chambers she knew she should have turned him away. No matter how much she had been longing for him to take her in his arms and make her his, the right thing to do was to reject him and move on with her life. In fact, she had opened the door with the intention of doing exactly that, but when her eyes met the imposing figure of the witcher, towering over her as his amber eyes admired her face, she could not resist the temptation. She gave in to her desires, crashing her lips against his in a desperate kiss as she slowly pulled him into her room.

The feel of his touch lingered on her body for days, her skin permanently marked by the roughness of his caresses and the warm wetness of his mouth. The sound of his grunts of pleasure as he buried himself in her echoed in her mind at all times. He was all she could think about. She knew it was wrong, but she needed to feel his hands on her body again, exploring every inch of her skin as he showed her pleasure like no other man could.

Despite their desperation, they were able to keep their hands off each other for a while. Though all their self-control disappeared by the time of Geralt's last day in the castle. After slaying the beast —and collecting his reward— the witcher was ready to leave when the king made him an offer he couldn't resist. There would be a feast in celebration of the fall of the creature that had terrorized the town and Geralt, as their savior, was the guest of honor. He would normally have declined the offer, although the promise of free food and alcohol sounded enticing, he hated the idea of being stuck with a bunch of drunken noblemen. However, this time it gave him the perfect excuse to stay there a while longer and say goodbye to the princess the right way —the way he knew they had both been fantasizing about since their last encounter.

The party quickly turned into a game of cat and mouse, defiant yellow eyes meeting hers in the crowd, admiring her lips as she laughed and the way her body moved as she danced. She was doing it on purpose, accepting the proposals of all the knights who bowed in front of her to provoke him. She wanted to spark a reaction in him, see how far she could push him, how far she could push the boundaries of their secret relationship. The thought of being caught filled her body with adrenaline, her heart pounding so hard against her chest that he could almost hear it over the noise of the party.

She waited for the right moment and took advantage of the first distraction to escape to her bedroom. Her eyes met Geralt's before disappearing behind the side door of the great hall, her desire-laden expression a silent plea for him to follow her. She sat in front of the large mirror in her room waiting for him, removing the jewelry from her hair and combing her hair without any haste. And just as she expected, only a few minutes after her arrival, she felt the sound of the door's wood creaking as it opened. She saw Geralt lock the door behind him in the reflection of the mirror and she had to hold back the smile that wanted to form on her lips —a failed attempt to save some of her decency and not look so desperate.

"You're not supposed to be here." She said as if his presence didn't make her heart race. "It's wrong."

"That's not what you said the other night." Geralt's deep voice was music to her ears, his slightly mocking tone awakening that tingle under her skin. He walked up to her, holding her gaze in the mirror as if challenging her. He stood tall at her back, close enough that she could feel the heat emanating from his body, but not close enough to feel the brush of his hands on her skin.

"The other night was a mistake." She affirmed, setting the comb aside. It was true, their furtive encounter, though pleasurable, had been a mistake. But they both knew well that neither really cared. The desire they felt, the tension in the air, it was all too much, it clouded their thinking leaving them at the mercy of their most primitive feelings.

Geralt reached out his hands to her, brushing her hair aside so he could caress her skin. He noticed how she stifled a sigh through the reflection of the mirror, his warm touch awakening that flame within her. His fingers moved gently across her shoulders, up her neck until they reached her cheeks. She closed her eyes and leaned into his hand, losing herself in the moment. It felt just as she remembered it, warm and hard, yet strangely soft and comforting at the same time. It was as if his hands had never left her skin, as if his caresses were permanently carved into her body.

"Do you wish for me to leave?" he said, his voice barely a raspy whisper. He knew the answer to her question, he could read it on her face, smell it in the air, feel it in the vein in her neck that throbbed rapidly beneath his fingers. But still, he needed to be sure he was right, hear from her lips the plea for his caresses. He needed to know that she was as desperate as he was.

She didn't give him a verbal response, just rose from her seat and pressed her lips to his. Geralt's hands closed around her waist, pulling her body against his as he quickly took control of the kiss. She didn't bother fighting for dominance, acknowledging her subordination to him almost immediately. She didn't need to win, she just needed to feel his hands on her skin again, gripping and caressing every inch of her body in a rush of pleasure until the early morning sun forced them apart.

There was nothing tender and soft about the way Geralt's lips attacked hers, only lust and desperation, but she loved every part of it. She loved the way his tongue invaded her mouth and how his teeth nibbled at her lips before moving his wet kisses down her neck, sucking and biting at the skin without fear of leaving marks. He knew he could do whatever he wanted with her as she was completely at his mercy, surrendered to the pleasure only he could give her. She didn't care if she had to spend the next week finding creative ways to hide the evidence of their furtive encounter, she just needed to feel him. She wanted him to mark her, to declare ownership over her body. She knew she belonged to him, always would, even if she never saw him again after tonight.

Clothes soon became a problem, a barrier that kept them apart, so desperate hands worked carelessly to fix it. Her dress was the first to go, the expensive fabric pooling around her feet leaving her naked body completely exposed to Geralt's hungry gaze. She should have been embarrassed, but nothing but lust and anticipation pumped through her veins. He was looking at her as if she were the most beautiful and sensual woman he had ever seen, as if she were a goddess he had the privilege of pleasing. Never before had anyone looked at her in that way, so intense, so filled with adoration. She loved it, it made her feel special, powerful.

Geralt didn't waste a second, calloused fingers caressing every inch of exposed skin. It awakened a fire inside her, a tingling that spread throughout her body, concentrating on her core. His teeth nibbled at the sensitive skin of her neck, sinking his canines into her as his hands moved down to her breasts, earning a couple of sighs from the princess as he showed attention to her nipples erect with anticipation. He smiled against her neck, proud of himself as the scent of her arousal lingered in the air. It was an intoxicating scent, the sweet forbidden fruit begging him to take it.

When his fingers slipped between her wet folds, she let out a moan of pleasure as her grip on the witcher's shoulders tightened. It was as beautiful as he remembered, a harmonious melody traveling through him and going straight to his cock. It was the sound of temptation, of lust, urging him to carry on, to forget all rules of morality and decorum and take what was his.

“P-please, Geralt.” She pleaded against his lips. Her breathing was rapid and she looked up at him through half-closed eyelids. He slipped two of his fingers inside her with ease, pushing them as deep as he could and moving them until he made her moan. She looked so beautiful like this, her eyes closed in pleasure and her parted lips releasing those beautiful desperate sighs, completely at his mercy.It was an image that would stay in Geralt's mind for quite some time.

"I know, I know," he soothed her, his free hand coming up to caress her cheek. "I have to get you ready for me."

"I-I need to feel you, p-please." She whimpered in a pathetic, desperate attempt to get him to do what she wanted. She needed to feel all of him, his hot skin pressed against hers, his fingernails sinking into the skin of her hips as he buried his cock deep inside her, his ragged breaths in the hollow of her neck. She needed him as much as she needed the air she breathed and could wait no longer.

Thankfully he took pity on her, removing his hands from her body to unbutton his pants. She suppressed the whimper that wanted to escape her throat as she felt empty without his fingers inside her, knowing the sensation would not last for long. Geralt instructed her to turn over and her body obeyed him before she could process his words or wonder what he was up to. Her body no longer belonged to her, it belonged to him and always would.

He held her against his chest for a moment, one hand roaming her body while the other held her head steady facing forward. She could feel his hard member pressed against her lower back as his heat enveloped her completely. Their gazes met in the mirror once more and she saw the darkness of desire staining the beautiful yellow orbs. He buried his nose in her hair, inhaling her intoxicating scent before lowering his lips to her ear.

"I want you to look at yourself in the mirror as I fuck you, princess." Geralt whispered in her ear, his voice firm and slightly deeper than normal. His eyes never left hers in the mirror, studying her reaction in the reflection. "I want you to see how beautiful you look with your face scrunched up in pleasure so you'll remember it after I'm gone and your future husband can't make you feel this good."

He gave her no warning before pushing his hard cock into her tight wet hole, and he wasn't gentle either. A quick thrust of his hips and he was balls deep inside her as her velvety walls struggled to take him. Geralt was big, it was almost hard for him to fully fit inside her despite how aroused she was. But it wasn't painful, not in a bad way at least. She loved the way his cock stretched her, almost impaling her on it when it was all the way in. The burning only added to her pleasure, the knot in her belly tightening with the promise of her orgasm.

Geralt set a fast, torturous pace, earning a string of incoherent moans each time he touched that special place deep inside her. She could feel him twitching inside her as her walls closed around him, desperate to hold him in place. It was almost too much and not enough at the same time, a mixture of feelings born of her need for relief. The sound of skin slapping against skin combined with her cries of pleasure and Geralt's grunts filled the room. It was loud and she wouldn't be surprised if she discovered that someone passing through the corridor could hear them, but she didn't care. She felt too good to worry about anything else.

The pleasure she felt was so intense that she had trouble keeping her eyes open, her heavy eyelids closing involuntarily against the force of Geralt's thrusts. But each time she did, he tightened his grip on her jaw, growling in her ear for her to open them. The image reflected in the mirrored surface was too much for her to take. Her small figure wrapped in the strong arms of her lover towering over her and making her feel even smaller and more insignificant. The bulge forming in her lower belly with each thrust showed just how deep inside her Geralt was. His teeth on her neck, nibbling at the sensitive skin without taking his intense gaze away from her eyes in the mirror. And finally, her face, with parted lips letting out a string of melodious moans, and glassy eyes filled with tears that threatened to escape at the sheer intensity of what she was feeling. The expression of pure pleasure on her face was one she had never seen on her before —and she feared that after tonight she would never see it again.

It was all too much for her, and the possessive way Geralt was acting didn't help her in the slightest. He was determined to leave a mark on her, both physically and mentally. He wanted her to see traces of him on her own skin after he was gone, but he also wanted to make sure she remembered him. Make sure she remembered the intensity of the moment and the way he had made her feel. He wanted her to think of him every time her future husband left her unsatisfied, touching herself to relieve the pressure inside her as images of him in this very moment flashed through her mind.

He made sure to let her know his intentions between grunts of pleasure, feeling her walls close around his member with every word that left his lips. She liked it as much as he did and that only egged him on.

"Geralt, please," she begged, not quite sure of what it was she was asking of him. Please stop because the pleasure traveling through my veins is too much to bear? Please keep going and don't stop until I'm passed out from exhaustion and you've ruined me for the rest of the men? She wasn't sure, both options were equally valid.

"I know... just let go," he encouraged her, his warm breath crashing against the skin of her ear as he spoke. "Just let go for me, princess."

Her body took his words as a command and it wasn't long before the knot in her belly snapped, sending wave after wave of pleasure through her insides. Her orgasm hit her like a pile of bricks, leaving her completely stupid. Geralt's name escaped her lips like a prayer as she lost herself in pleasure. All thought left her mind, she could only feel as her lover's thrusts slowed, her body trembling in his arms from overstimulation.

She only had a couple of seconds to recover, whining as she felt empty when Geralt pulled away from her momentarily. Her legs were weak and she struggled to stand, so he took her in his arms and laid her down on the bed carefully. He settled into the space between her legs, taking a moment to admire her and caress her body before continuing. His hands ran over her warm, sweat-covered skin in an almost gentle way, an act that contrasted with the roughness of his behavior so far but was nonetheless welcomed by her.

The tenderness didn't last long, though, because once he slid his cock inside her once more, he returned to the animalistic grunts and punishing rhythm of his thrusts. This time it was more desperate and erratic, letting her know that he was close to his own orgasm. His cock twitched inside her, threatening to paint her velvety walls with his seed. The very idea was enough to have her on the edge again.

"You feel me, princess?" He said, taking one of her hands and bringing it down to her lower belly. He pressed it against her skin, trapping it between his palm and the bulge forming there from his cock. It added a new sensation and she couldn't contain the moan that escaped her throat. "Feel how deep inside of you I am?

"Fuck," she cursed, eyes rolling back as her free hand clutched at Geralt's wrist to make sure he didn't move it off her belly. The pressure felt too good, wave after wave of pleasure coursing through her with a force that left her breathless.

"I'm the only one who gets is deep, f-fuck, the only one who makes you feel this way." He wasn't asking, it was a clear statement, but still she nodded, letting out repeated affirmations between high-pitched moans.

"I belong to you... My body is forever yours, no one will ever make me feel this good." The animalistic growl he let out at those words almost pushed her over the edge, leaving her on the verge of her second orgasm. She knew he was close too, she could feel it in his erratic thrusts and the way his cock twitched inside her. She needed to feel him come undone for her, to paint her walls white as he emptied his seed inside her. She needed him to mark her, to claim her as his own. They both knew a relationship between them was impossible, but she would always be his in secret. Her body would always miss him.

"Please, I need to feel you." She managed to say between moans and ragged breaths. "I need you to fill me up, please." She sounded pathetic at this point, but she didn't care. All she cared about was feeling Geralt's seed trickling down her thighs as she tried to catch her breath.

The witcher groaned, a cocky smile playing on his lips. One of his hands flew to the headboard of the bed, the wood creaking under his strong grip as he adjusted his position. The new angle allowed him to reach even deeper —if that was even possible—, impaling her on his cock as she cried out in pleasure. Her nails dug into his back, leaving traces of red marks on his skin.

"You're desperate for it, aren't you?" he teased her arrogantly. "Don't worry, princess, I'm gonna shoot my seed so deep inside of you that you'll carry it for days. Is that what you want? You want me to mark you as mine? You want to feel me between your legs while you swear loyalty to your husband?"

"Yes! Fuck, Geralt, please... mark me, claim me as yours, please."

The witcher did not expect to find it so erotic to hear her admit her deepest desires, but he did. It awakened something inside him, a primal desire that took over his body. He became an animal, a fierce, possessive wolf that was desperate for some relief. After all, that was exactly what their relationship was, pure animal instinct, pure lust and desperation. An intense attraction they couldn't resist even when they knew how wrong it was.

He came with a loud grunt, emptying his load inside her warm, tight walls. She felt every drop of it, her cunt filled to the brim with his desire for her. The intensity of his orgasm triggered hers, her body trembling under Geralt's weight, her walls tightening around his cock, milking him for everything he had. His name fell from her lips as pleasure consumed her, a prayer begging him to stay with her. He knew it was impossible, but in that moment - mind clouded with pleasure as he felt her crumbling beneath him - he really considered it. He wanted to feel her body against his again, hear the sound of her voice as she moaned his name outside of his memories. He needed her.

But that was just a fantasy, the desire for the impossible. She was a princess who was soon to be married and he was a witcher who had nothing to do with the court and royal affairs. She was not his —even if her body was— and he was not hers. And that was the hard truth. So when he came to his senses he rose from his place on the bed, where he rested with her beside him. The princess watched him as he dressed, trying to ignore the strange feeling of emptiness that came over her at the thought that once he crossed the threshold of the door she would never see him again.

"Will I ever see you again?" She asked in a whisper, as if afraid of being heard. Geralt admired her naked figure on the bed as he contemplated his answer, liking the way the dim candlelight illuminated her skin covered in a thin layer of sweat. As wrong as it was, he would really like to see her again, but the truth was he didn't know if it would happen. The future was uncertain, especially in his line of work, so to give her a straight answer would be to lie to her.

"Only time will tell."

#geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x fem reader #geralt of rivia smut #geralt x reader #the witcher x reader #geralt x reader smut #the witcher #geralt of rivia #the witcher netflix #geralt of rivia imagine #henry cavill

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ramen-flavored · 1 year

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l0caltiredgirl · 2 years

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fanfiction writers are the literal backbone of society

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kiritella · 9 months

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For those who haven't read The Witcher, I feel the need to tell you some things...

Ciri was something around 10, I think, when she met Geralt, and was a terrible brat.

One of the first times Geralt met Ciri, he gave her a piggy back ride because she hurt her leg.

He told her a bed time story because she asked him to.

Geralt is a sarcastic bastard, especially with Ciri.

Ciri led Geralt by the hand when he had to be blindfolded while walking through Brokilon forest by the Dryads.

Ciri would cling to Geralt's thigh when she was frightened.

Geralt would cuddle Ciri so that she could fall asleep, and she would reach out to him as she slept.

There were hugs, and I think all of them were initiated by Geralt himself because he could see that Ciri was frightened or he was just very happy to see her.

Stay tuned for more...

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gemstone-roses · 3 months

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Safe

Summary: Geralt talks you through your orgasm.

As promised, I finished my essay, and as voted for by several of you, this was the fic you wanted posted first!

Warnings: smut, 18 + only! minors be fucking gone from here ! Vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, hurt/comfort, use of good girl, soft Geralt. Praise kink, brief mentions of panic. You know the drill. Female reader.

Please note I am not responsible for your media consumption.

The white haired Witcher encases you beneath him. His muscly arms holding steady on either side of you. His amber eyes show nothing but adoration for you as he thrusts his cock inside you.

“You’re doing so good for me” he groans, his thick cock twitches as you tighten around him.

It’s been hours, not that your complaining of course, Geralt exploring every inch of you with his fingers, his tongue, muttering praise and comments on how gorgeously stunning you are.

“Geralt” you whine, your pleasure building, your stomach beginning to swirl as it starts to cloud your mind.

“Your close” the Witcher observes, angling his cock so he hits deeper.

You wince slightly, he picks up on it, slows down a bit.

“your okay” he soothes, his big hands splaying across your thighs, squeezing, it provides comfort. “Look at me, love” his gravelly voice is soft, tender.

Your eyes flit to his, a half smile on his face

“There she is” he moves his hand to your face, runs a finger down your jaw.

He watches intently as your chest begins to heave, your pussy tightens round his cock.

“G-Geralt” you choke out, panicking slightly as your mind fogs.

“your safe, it’s okay, I’ve got you love” he assures you, his hand still cupping your face. Your eyes roll back as your orgasm begins to wash over you, your arm reaching to clutch Geralts. Nails leaving half moon indents in his skin as you moan beneath him. He snakes a hand down between you, callused finger pushing on your puffy clit. “Mm, keep making those pretty noises for me, your doing so well my love, you feel amazing wrapped around my cock” Geralt lets out a broken moan as he spoke, gritting his teeth as your pussy convulsed around him. “ Oh god Geralt, I’m gonna-

“I know, keep your eyes on me, breathe, good girl, good, that’s it” he hisses through his teeth as you clench hard around his cock. You whined as pleasure overcame your senses. Geralt cups your face, . “Let go, come for me” he demands, his stunning eyes wide with lust, brow furrowed slightly, you loose yourself in them as you release around him. Triggered by your orgasm, Geralts cock tightens and he paints your walls with his come, a low moan bubbling from his throat as he does. “Fuck my love that was incredible, you were incredible” he breathes, his voice cracked with pleasure. Your head is fuzzy with the aftermath of your climax, Geralts rough hands rub soothingly up your side.

“I’m going to pull out now, and I’ll clean you up my love, okay”. He states, his voice has that post orgasm croak that you just love and you nod.

You flinch slightly when the warm towel touches your core, Geralt leaning up on the bed on his side next to you. “Sh it’s okay” he soothes. “I love you” you murmur, shifting closer to him, you curl into him as Geralt pulls the quilt over the both of you. Wrapping his big arms around you he pulls you closer, encasing you. You feel safe like this, you always will. “I love you too my love” he smiles, placing a gentle kiss on the top of your head.

#geralt of rivia x reader #the witcher imagine #Geralt of rivia imagine #the witcher x reader #henry cavill imagine #geralt x reader #Geralt of rivia x female reader #Geralt of rivia smut

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sherlocksoft · 10 months

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Send You To Sleep Satisfied

Geralt x reader drabble

Summary: Geralt can’t sleep. Rather than settling for a restless a night, you offer an easy (and rather more pleasurable) solution.

Author’s notes: This is set at no specific time and has no particular context. I just wanted to give Geralt some comfort. Y’know, in a sexy way.

Warnings/content: nsfw - smut, handjob, gn!reader, exhausted and needy Geralt, extra lil gif at the end 🖤

A large hand slid roughly over your stomach followed by a heavy, muscular arm snaking around your waist and dragging you swiftly backwards.

‘Geralt!’ you exclaimed, your heart racing before you realised it was him, ‘I was almost asleep! You startled me-’

‘M’sorry,’ came his muffled reply, his handsome nose already buried deep in your hair, nuzzling against the nape of your neck. He breathed you in, holding you close and sighing deeply. ‘Can’t sleep.’

Steadying your breath, you shifted within his firm embrace, smiling at the grunt of disapproval you elicited by taking away the comfort of your hair and your back pressed flush to his broad chest.

Another comfort soon replaced this, though.

‘I can help you with that,’ you cooed, watching with delight as his heavily lidded eyes slid shut at the warmth of your fingers slipping past the waistband his tight trousers.

A whispered little ‘Oh-’ slipped from between his pretty parted lips. ‘You… mmh… you don’t need to-’ It was hardly a protest, his voice heavy with lack of sleep yet laced with obvious desire.

You stilled then, his erection steadily growing harder against your now unmoving palm.

His eyes opened, sharp beneath a sudden frown. ‘You don’t need to, but… since you’ve started…’ A bead of precum oozed from his tip causing a whine to escape his throat before he could stop it. His eyes clenched tight shut in shame. ‘Don’t stop?’

A knowing smirk pulled at your lips. Geralt never could resist the promise of a good orgasm when the opportunity presented itself at such a perfect moment as this.

He was too tired to fuck. This, you knew. But you could pleasure him to sleep as he had done for you countless times, his elegant fingers or clever tongue or thick cock working their magic to soothe your exhausted body and allow your tired mind to rest.

Your fingers curled loosely around his length, pumping lazily to begin with, massaging his cock with a hint of tenderness that had him melting.

‘Shh, Geralt, focus on my touch. Float away on the sensation of your pleasure… let me send you to sleep satisfied, relaxed….’ you breathed, easing his tension away with your voice as much as your hand.

His strong fingers grasped at your arm, fingertips driving harder into your flesh as you wanked him faster. You hoped he’d leave bruises, marks you could show him tomorrow that might make him blush. He rarely blushed, but when a flush of crimson powdered his cheeks, it was certainly a pretty sight.

His hips began to rock in time to meet your movements and his breath grew heavy, interspersed with blissful moans. His cock throbbed inside your grip when your thumb swiped over the tip, collecting the thick offering of precum that had steadily built up there.

‘That’s it, I can feel it-’ you breathed, ‘let go.’

His forehead pressed to yours, breath hot and heavy and tingling against your cool lips as his muscles rapidly tensed, his toes curled and his back arched.

‘Fuck!’ he growled through gritted teeth as overwhelming surges of pleasure rushed through his core to bring about his release, and he repeated, in a much smaller voice as the rapture subsided, ‘… fuck…’

As his cock softened, sensitive with aftershocks, gently, you withdrew your hand and sealed your mouth to his.

‘We’ll bathe in the morning, love,’ you whispered with a smile against his lips, not caring a jot about the thick creamy rope that had made a mess of his trousers and stained your arm, sticky against your skin. ‘For now, sleep.’

Geralt grunted. The tell tale signs of sleep began to pull at his features as the rush of his climax fell away to lull him into a peaceful slumber.

He huffed, amused. ‘I’ve slept in worse conditions. Besides-’ a small yawn interrupted him, exhaustion and the bliss of post-orgasm haze slurring his speech slightly as he continued, slowly, ‘in the morning, before anything else… I will be busy… making you scream my name.’

And with that, the calming sound of his low snore took over; the heat that had pooled at your core content to remain there until morning. For now you watched him rest until you were dreaming yourself. You dreamed of him.

#not s f w 💀#geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia smut #geralt smut #geralt comfort #geralt fic #henry cavill #sherlocksoft writes

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bimrwolf · 1 year

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Healing Hands by the Fire

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought your potions helped with that?”

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

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

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

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

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

Her face softened.

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

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

“Yes?” His expression never faltered.

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

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

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

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

“You’re angry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Geralt,” she mewled.

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

She nibbled his bottom lip. “You know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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companionjones · 10 months

Text

Enemies to Lovers?

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Fem!Reader

Fandom: The Witcher (Netflix)

Summary: A Witcher is regularly summoned to your kingdom to take care of a continuous monster problem. What will be your reaction to repeatedly having the Witcher in your castle?

Warnings: SMUT, Cursing

*******

“I do not trust a hulking beast to ‘protect’ this kingdom, no matter how many times he comes crawling back to us,” you recoiled.

Your mother spoke. “The Witcher did not come to us. We summoned him because of the unfortunate beacon for monsters our kingdom was built on.” She went on, “We may not...approve of his species; however, we do need help. That...unfortunately...comes in the shape of...What do they call you? The White Wolf?”

Geralt used his voice for the first time since entering the room. “That is correct, your majesty.”

Your mother sighed, “Alright. Tomorrow, your hunt for the Striga begins. As for tonight, let us drink and be merry to celebrate the quick return of our peace. Let the party begin!”

With that, the hall erupted in cheers.

Your mother turned her gaze back on Geralt and, with detest, extended, “You are welcome to join us, Witcher...just don’t touch anything.”

You sat back in your throne with your arms folded. You rolled your eyes.

Once the celebration started, you could only stay for so long before you were so repulsed you had to leave. You went back to your bedchambers.

About fifteen minutes later, there was a knock at your door, You prayed it wasn’t your mother as you went to answer it.

Standing on the other side of your door was the White Wolf.

The two of you stood there for a moment, just looking at each other. Then, you took a step forward and hastily captured his lips with yours.

Geralt reacted just as passionately: he backed you up so the two of you collided with your door frame. From there, he picked you up bridal-style and carried you into your bedroom. He kicked the door shut behind him.

“Fuck, I missed you,” Geralt promised as he eyes bore into yours. He laid you on your bed.

“I guarantee you that I missed you mor--hhnn,” you cut yourself off with a moan when his hand snaked up your dress to palm your drenched cunt.

Geralt repeated, “I missed you,” he kissed you and went on, “This pretty pussy.” He kissed you again. “The sounds you make.” Geralt leaned down to start sucking on your neck.

“I hate being mean to you like that,” you told him breathily. Your eyes were closed.

Geralt started kissing down your neck and chest as he started working off your dress. He took breaks from your skin to remind you, “We have to keep us a secret. You know how your mother will react if she finds out.”

“Do not bring my mother up now,” you warned, much to Geralt’s amusement. “...But Gods, the things she said to you tonight--” Suddenly, you gasped.

Geralt had slipped two fingers inside of you.

You whimpered out his name and gasped again.

“It’s alright, my love,” Geralt coaxed in his deep voice as he pumped his fingers in and out of you. “Relax. Feel my fingers.”

“Geralt. Geralt, oh fuck. That feels so good.” One of your hands went to Geralt’s as you held his wrist close to your pussy. You were coming in no time. “Geralt-Geralt!”

“Sh, shh,” hushed Geralt. He kissed your forehead. “I’ve got you. Cum on my fingers.”

After you came down, Geralt helped you out of your dress. He then stripped off his shirt.

You sat up. “I’ll never get tired of seeing this.” You smoothed your hands up his torso to circle your arms around his neck. You used that leverage to pull Geralt down to you.

Geralt eased off his pants and promptly started grinding at your entrance with his sizeable cock.

“Come on, honey,” you smirked, “You know you want to.”

With a smooth smile of his own, Geralt sank into you.

Your lips were still curled upwards as your jaw went slack.

Geralt caught your lips in a bruising kiss as he pulled almost the whole way out of you just to thrust all the way back in. He swallowed your initial moan, just as he did each time he sunk into you.

After some time, you broke off the kiss to warn Geralt in broken words, “Gonna...Gonna...Geralt!” you whined.

“I know, sweetheart. Me too.” That last part was strained.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your toes curled as you came. You felt your whole body tense up, then slowly release itself in pulses.

Geralt released himself inside of you with two powerful thrusts. He grunted as he did so.

When you opened your eyes, you saw Geralt above you, mixing his breath with yours. He slowly opened his eyes. “I love you.”

Gently, you reached up to caress his cheek with your thumb. You pulled Geralt down for a slow, languid kiss. After it was over, you returned, “I love you, too.”

*******

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! Fill up that heart and reblog if you liked it! I would also really appreciate a comment, if you have the time. If you would like to read more, I have more stories over on my page. You should check it out. Have a nice day, night, or whatever time it is for you! <3 <3 <3

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #geralt #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt smut #geralt x reader smut #geralt of rivia smut #geralt of rivia x reader smut #the witcher smut #henry cavill #companion jones #enemies to lovers?

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 day

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Winter's King 11

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

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

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

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

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: friday, my day, am i right?

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

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You turn your legs over the bench, feet dangling over the floor as you look at the king, dumbfounded and dozy. He sits in the chair by the table, toying with a grab between his fingers as he watches you. Your heart hammers behind your ears as your breath licks like flames in your lungs. You daren’t ask it aloud but what is he doing there?

“I only meant to look in upon you,” King Geralt says as if he can hear your thoughts. “I fathomed the night was long tending to my wife and I would make sure you are well-rested.”

“Your highness,” you stand and smooth the front of your shift, realising you wear nothing more. No dress, no apron. You feel vulnerable to his golden eyes as they follow your hands. The fabric pulls taut on your chest before you can right yourself. “I... Apologies, I am unkempt.”

You search around and go to take your cap from where you hung it. You cover your shorn locks and tie it tight above your nape. The king’s eyes narrow at you.

“What is the purpose of keeping your hair short?” He wonders as he drops the grape back to the plate.

You look at him, shuddering, “I do not... it is only as I’ve been bid, your highness. In Debray, all the maids do so.”

“You are not in Debray now,” he muses.

You’re quiet. You’re not sure how to answer that. You gulp and grab the clean dress from the pile and throw it over your head. It hangs loose, not like Jazlene’s carefully cut and laced gowns. You reach for your apron and the king clears his throat. You stop and look at him.

“Your highness?” You blink, still dazed by his unexpected appearance.

“I did go to see the lady of Debray,” he intones, “she was in a poor state. She would not permit me in her chambers for her condition.”

“Oh my, your highness, I am sorry to hear. Shall I go look in--”

“She has maids a plenty,” he insists, “I hoped...” he leans forward and reaches to his belt. You notice the top of his slate grey tunic is untied and shows the trim of his chest hair, “to share a pastime with her. I hoped perhaps we might see past our differences at last and start our progress towards the kingdom. Alas, despite my warnings, she overindulged and has left herself incapacitated.”

You stare at him, clutching the apron. He flicks his fingers dismissively as his other hand brings forth a pouch, “leave that. Come, sit.”

You can only obey. You put the apron down and cross the chamber. As you near the table, he pushes the tray of dishes out of the way. You lower yourself onto a stool as he opens the mouth of the pouch. He pours out the rattling contents. Carved diced in varying shapes, symbols painted on each side, and man longer pieces that look like bone.

“It is a game,” he explains as the contents roll out, “I’d like to teach you.”

You look down as he sorts out the many pieces into sets. He is lithe in his arrangement. When he is down, he presses his hands flat to frame the assortment.

“You don’t mind?” He wonders, “if you are tired still...”

“Your highness, I am awake,” you rub your eyes and drop your hands to your lap. “A game? How do you play it?”

You lean forward and he seems pleased by your intent. He curls his fingers and takes a breath.

“It is like bartering at a market, or the like,” he begins, “you see how the pieces differ,” he points to the longer ones, “there are tick marks here,” he shows you how one has an ex, another a line this way and the next that way, and a circle in another. “We each have our dice,” he divides those up and pushes a set towards you, “it is a matter of trade and cost.”

“Hmm,” you push your lip out, concentrating.

He continues to explain the balancing and leveraging of each roll. How once you have collected all the pieces with a particular mark, you may wield a greater demand. You tilt your head thoughtfully, your own fingers drawing lines in the air as you make sense of his instruction. You think you understand but remain uncertain.

“We may begin simple,” he intones.

So suddenly are you swept up in the intricacy of the game, that your shock at his appearance dissipates. You can only think of the pieces as he rolls a die. Then the next. You follow his lead and when at last the first trade comes, you hear his offer but have no response.

“You have a question?” He prompts.

“I am thinking, your highness,” you squint as your forehead lines.

“I can tell,” he says brightly.

You peer up at him and smooth your expression. His cheek twitches as he leans back. You counter his offer and he clucks.

“Mm, I see,” he rests his chin on his knuckles.

He hands over his pieces and you bite the inside of your lip. You gather them to your side of the table and frown. You toy with the dice and wait.

“Your turn,” he urges, “unless you are not having fun.”

“It is an interesting game but I don’t want to be let to win,” you mutter.

“I am not letting you win. It is the first turn and it is a long game,” he chides.

“Mm, yes,” you pick through the dice, “your highness.”

He exhales and leans on the armrest, “take your time. I am no hurry to be away.”

You peer up at him and find his gaze set on you. You return your attention to the dice and toss them. He’s a king, should he have better things to do?

⚔️

“It appears you have bested me,” King Geralt sighs and puts his dice down, pressing his hand flat over them, “you have the mind of a councilour.”

“Your highness,” you bring your hands back to wring in your lap.

“Truly, you’ve taken well to it,” he remarks, “it has been some time since I had harrying competition.”

You offer a slight curve of your lips and look away. The window is dulled as the sunlight descends. You blanch and slip forward on the chair.

“Your highness,” you stand, “it is late. I should--”

“You may remain,” he assures you as he shows his palm kindly, “no hurry, little maid.”

“But... shouldn’t you--” you keep yourself from asking after his duty. That is not for you to mind, “the queen will need dinner.”

“As I said before, this place is ripe with servants,” he says coolly, “you should sit and bask in the time you have off your feet.”

You face him and slowly sit. He drags his fingers along the wooden armrest as his expression tightens. He watches you as his square jaw clenches, “unless you would rather be away from me?”

You twist around to look at the door, then to him.

“I will go wherever you command, your highness.”

“Yes, yes,” his hand balls to a fist, “that is not what I...” he sighs with exasperation, “I want to know what you desire. What do you want? What do you need?”

There’s a stirring in your chest as he leans slightly forward, his eyes alight. You peer into the golden pools and your lips part. He is a king and yet speaks as if he would serve you.

“I...” you wisp and clamp your lips tight, measuring your words, “I want to serve you and the queen, your highness. I want to serve the realm.”

He huffs again and grimaces, “for yourself. Not the queen, not me, not the people.”

“Hmmm,” you look down and shrug. You shake your head. You can’t think of anything. “I have a new dress and a hot bath and good food. I can think of nothing. What of you, your highness? What do you want?” You lift your chin slowly, “just for you?”

Your question seems to startle him. He winces and for a moment, seems breathless. He stands suddenly and takes a step forward. He’s close and you think he might lunge at you. You shy away, expecting the same wrath you inspire in the queen. He falters and backs away.

“I want...” he grits and turns his back to you.

He walks to the window and looks out onto the lawns. He hangs his head and grips the window’s edge. He lets out a gravelly sigh.

“I want you...” he utters, “...to come walk with me in the gardens. I would like to do so before we must depart.”

You rise again, “yes, your highness, I will put my shoes on then.”

He puffs out into the deepening dusk. You can feel his frustration roiling from his figure. You grab the stockings and the shoes and return to the chair. You roll the stocking onto your foot and pull it up your leg, rumpling up one side of the skirt as you do. As you hike up the next, the king faces you, surprising you before you can drop the fabric back down to your toes. You sheepishly bend to put your shoes on, embarrassed.

“Thank you, little maid,” he approaches and offers his hand, “for keeping a miserable king company.”

You look at his hand. It’s big and calloused and lined like a map. The invitation seems overly friendly. You accept it, not so bold as to turn him away.

“Your highness,” You murmur as he squeezes your hand then lets his arm fall straight, tugging you away from the table.

Silently, he lets his grip brush from your hand and instead hooks his arm through yours. It is an overly familiar gesture but you allow it. What more can a maid do? As you near the door, he stops and untangles from you completely, stepping away as if struck by the oddity of his actions. He reaches for the door handle and inhales.

He opens the door and steps into the corridor, you follow him, just a pace back. He looks over his shoulder at you then turns ahead. You scurry to keep up with his long strides. He stops at the end of the hallway and you nearly collide with his elbow.

“I am not miserable because of you,” he angles his head towards you as he keeps his voice low, “if you worried...” he shakes his head at himself, “come, little maid.”

You do as he says and trail him through the corridors. It is late and while soldiers remain on watch, most of the lords and ladies have tucked away for their evening meals. The king continues his unstoppable advance with you at his heels. Down a flight of stairs and across the great hall.

Outside, several soldiers bow their heads at his passing and another nears. He dismisses them without a word. You carry on, sensing how his mood darkens with the sky. You’re uncertain of his demeanour, so suddenly shifting from affable to affronted. You didn’t say what he wanted and now he is unhappy. He can be rather like his wife.

He stalks onward to the archway that marks the green gardens of the capital castle. He passes between the leafy pillars and stops to look this way then that, then opts to walk along the middle row. You flit between the hedges behind him as the sky ripples with the looming night and a cool breeze stirs around your skirts.

He is silent as he walks, almost as if he’s forgotten you. You wonder if you fall out of step, if you are lost behind him, would he even notice? Finally, he slows before a pond dug into the center of the gardens, amid lilies and daisies and blue bells. The moon shines down and reflects off the tepid pool.

He treads around the edge of the pond as you stand by the bushes. He circles around to a wooden bench and sits. His shoulders slouch and he leans his head back. The silver light limns his strong features. When he opens his eyes, they glow as they did in your dream.

“I have come this far, I have conquered as I vowed to, I have vanquished the old king,” he speaks to the sky, “I have done all I sought to and yet I am wanting.”

You dip your head, sad for him. You might assume a king would be happy for all his gold and power. That a crown would bring delight as much as glory. All you see is a man in mourning. For all he’s won, he’s lost just as much. Loyal men and many months.

“I have a wife who is petulant, I have an ally who is cowardice, and I have nothing left here to claim,” he continues, “should I remain any longer, I might give it all up.”

He hangs his head and leans forward, gripping the edge of the bench. He sits in silence as he watches the water. A frog hops onto a large stone protruding from the shallows and steals your attention. You watch it leap again and again until it meets the other side.

“Little maid...” the sultry purr crawls over you and you glance over to find the king observing you, “sit with me.”

You shiver and cautiously make your way around the pond. You near him and sit at the end of the bench opposite him. You fixate on the moonlit water. He leans to grab your wrist and hauls you closer. You sidle down until you are almost against him. He slips his hand around yours, covering it in his grasp. He pulls it onto his thigh and rests it there.

He clings to you just like that. You feel a pluck in your chest for him. He has a wife who should share in his troubles but she is too buried in the anguish she made for herself. Yet, she is not there, and you are; a paltry substitute for what he truly needs.

Silence pervades the night but for the chirping of insects and the sweet singing of birds. The king’s grasp on you tightens, then lessens, and tightens again. He eases his hold entirely and pets your hand.

“Will you play another game with me?” His timbre is silty as he looks over at you.

“A game, your highness?” You babble.

He hums and nods, “a child’s game,” he explains, “it is simple.” He sits straight and pushes back his hair, “you will run and I will catch you.”

Your heart lurches. Your lashes flutter. You played the game before, when you were young, with the queen even. But that was years ago and you were smaller and faster. You look at the king.

“Your highness,” you utter.

“It’s my command,” he says, “run.”

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

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littlefreya · 1 year

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

(the link isn't porn dw)

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

And ...

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

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

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

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

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

Geralt is voracious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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ro-is-struggling · 4 months

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The Chase || Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Requested by anon: "reader constantly calling geralt the white wolf or just wolf during sexy time and him breeding his pups in her bcs of it???"

Summary: Geralt always tried to keep the wolf inside him caged in order to control his animalistic impulses, but with you that didn't seem to be required at all.

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI! Porn without plot, public sex (technically since they’re in the woods), rough sex, penetrative sex, fear play? (not really, but Geralt does chase the reader through the woods so maybe? adding it just in case!), scent play, size kink, breeding kink, dirty talk, biting (like there’s so much it’s a warning in this fic), fingering, possessiveness, a little fluff at the end, fem!reader

English is not my first language

Word count: 3300

Notes: This is definitely NOT inspired on THAT scene from beauty and the beast that has been going around twitter all week, nope, not at all

Geralt was used to being called 'wolf' or 'white wolf'. It was a nickname he'd had for most of his life and was constantly used by Vesemir and the other witchers. He never thought much about it, just like his own name, he had it so internalized that he automatically responded when someone called him by those nicknames.

That changed, however, when you came into his life. There was something in the way you pronounced those words that awakened a primal feeling in him. It was in the way you looked at him, eyes defiant and playful, waiting to spark a reaction from him. It was in the way your lips moved, always ending in a mischievous smile, and in the sound of your voice, sweet and seductive, inducing him to madness, pushing him to his limit.

Everything about you awakened in him an urge to possess you, to mark you as his so that everyone who saw you would know you belonged to him. He had to make an effort to stop his needy hands to caress your skin, and contain the desperation of his lips to kiss your neck and mark it with his teeth. He didn't care if there were people around him, they all ceased to exist when you called him wolf.

It didn't help his situation that you always played dumb, pretending not to understand the power you had over him. But Geralt knew it was all an act. He knew that you were well aware of the effect that the utterance of that nickname had on him. And you used it as a weapon, a way to get a response from him when you wanted to play. And today you were in a very playful mood.

"What is it? Is the wolf scared of losing?" you teased him, trying to persuade him to take the bet. It was a simple race through the woods, just get from point A to point B as fast as possible to win. Only you had no intention of winning. All you were looking for was the thrill of the chase.

Geralt gave you an unamused look, taking a deep breath to calm the revolt that your use of that nickname had awakened in him. But then, he sensed your perfume in the air, mixed with the intoxicating scent of your arousal. His look completely transformed, frown relaxing into a firm, intimidating expression. The game was on.

"Oh you don't want to play that game, bunny." He warned you, giving you one last chance to change your mind. Once the race started, he wasn't sure he would be able to stop. He could already feel his insides vibrating with anticipation, the chained wolf fighting to break free. He had been locked up for too long, his needs ignored and repressed, so when he let go there would be no turning back. He was hungry and you were offering yourself to him without hesitation. How could he refuse?

You approached him, taking the sword he was sharpening out of his hand and bending down so you could look him in the eye. Your movements were slow, sensual, captivating your lover's gaze. Geralt's eyes got lost in your cleavage for a moment, admiring the exposed skin of your neck and the valley of your breasts as he suddenly began to salivate with need. His pupils widened, staring at you with yellow eyes turned almost completely black with desire. He could barely contain himself and that only increased your arousal.

"I'm not afraid of you." you said, and Geralt held back the urge to tell you that you should be. "Are you, wolf?"

He stood up and suddenly his imposing figure towered over yours, forcing you to tilt your head up so you could look at him. He was so much bigger than you, so much more agile, that it was ridiculous to even imagine you could beat him in a race. But, again, that's not what the game was about.

Geralt leaned in towards you, his lips brushing your ear, his warm breath tickling your skin. "When you lose and you're on the ground begging for mercy, I just want you to remember that you asked for this." he whispered, defiantly, sending a shiver down your spine.

He looked at you and you knew it was time to run. He gave you a head start, knowing he could catch you without even trying —not only because he was faster than you, but also because you had no real intention of winning that bet. He watched you run through the trees, admiring the way your hair moved in the wind. Only when you disappeared over the horizon did he start to move. He walked at a slow pace at first, sharpening his hearing to follow the sound of your footsteps. But when he caught the scent of your arousal, he couldn't help but pick up his pace. It was like a drug to him, an intoxicating scent that messed with the hormones of the big, bad wolf he had set free.

Geralt let the scent of your floral perfume mixed with the sweet nectar hidden between your legs guide him towards you, an invisible force drawing him closer and closer to his prey. When he reached you, he found you hiding behind a tree, taking advantage of the moment to catch your breath. He heard you gasp as soon as you sensed his presence, holding your breath to avoid making your position known. Geralt smiled to himself, finding your small efforts to remain hidden adorable.

"You can't hide from me, bunny." He spoke, approaching you slowly. "I can hear the sound of your quickened breathing from miles away... smell the scent of your arousal... you want this, so why don't you come out and get this over with."

Geralt was offering you a truce, a chance for things not to escalate any further than they already had. Any sane person in your place would have taken it, it was the reasonable thing to do after taunting the wolf like that. But you were not just anyone. You wanted to face the consequences of your actions. You wanted to face the white wolf that Geralt tried so hard to keep in line. You wanted him to do whatever he wanted with you, that was the point of the game in the first place.

You came out of hiding with your hands up in a feigned sign of surrender. Geralt walked a few steps towards you, eyeing you with suspicion. You held his gaze, trying to hide your true intentions. But in the end the smile on your lips betrayed you, letting him know that you didn't plan to give up easily before you had a chance to run.

You barely made it a couple of steps before you felt the warmth of his body against yours, his arms wrapped tightly around you to keep you from escaping. You squirmed in his grip, trying to free your arms from his strong hold, but it was pointless. Geralt was much bigger and stronger than you, so you weren't going anywhere if he didn't want you to. He pressed you against him, pinning your back to his chest as his hands intertwined over your stomach, effectively imprisoning you against his body. You felt his nose against your neck, sniffing your scent with animalistic desperation. It made you tremble, eyes rolling to the back of your head as your heart pounded with anticipation. You pressed the curve of your ass against the bulge growing in his pants in response and you felt Geralt’s chest vibrate with a repressed moan.

"I got you." he growled against your skin before sinking his teeth into the sensitive area of your neck. "You're mine, bunny. Mine."

"I'm yours," you moaned, relaxing into his arms, tilting your head more so he could have better access to your neck. You wanted him to mark you. You wanted him to claim you as his own. "Please, take me." you begged. It was an airy whisper, but Geralt heard it with perfect clarity. And your consent was all he needed.

In a matter of seconds, your back was pressed against the grass as Geralt hovered over you. His hands were all over your body, lifting your skirt and unbuttoning the ties of your top to expose your breasts. His lips kissed every inch of exposed skin, but there was nothing romantic or sensual about it. It was rough, desperate, Geralt sucked your skin with the intention of leaving marks, sinking his teeth into your flesh as he growled that you belonged to him. It was too much and yet not enough. The pleasure coursing through your body was almost unbearable, but you needed more, you needed to feel all of him.

"You knew exactly what you were doing... calling me that name, making me chase you around." Geralt inserted a finger inside you without warning, earning a moan from you. You were so aroused, so desperate for his touch, that he had no trouble at all pushing deep into your core, moving his digit with ease and reaching up to brush against that sensitive part inside you that turned you into a moaning mess. "This is what you wanted, didn't you bunny? You wanted your big, bad wolf to chase you around and pin you down right in the middle of the woods, huh?"

"Y-yes, f-fuck." you managed to blurt out between moans and quickened breaths. Geralt inserted a second finger inside you and the air got stuck in your throat as the pleasure overwhelmed you. He increased the pace of his movements, showing you no mercy as his fingers moved in and out of you in desperate, almost aggressive movements. You could feel the knot in your stomach tightening, ready to snap at any moment.

"You awakened the wolf on purpose. This is exactly what you wanted, didn't you?" he growled in your ear, playfully biting your ear lobe. You could only reply with an incoherent moan, closing your eyes to focus on the pleasure coursing through your body. But that wasn't enough for him, Geralt wanted to hear you say it. "Answer me!" he demanded and you were forced to open your eyes just by the authority in his voice.

"Yes! I-I wanted this, I-I wanted the wolf to fuck me. Please..." Geralt smiled showing his teeth and you couldn't help but think how much he resembled a real wolf when he looked at you like that. His lips were slightly swollen and covered with saliva after working on marking your skin, his pupils blown wide with arousal. He was looking at you like a wolf looked at its prey, desperate to jump at you and devour his meal.

"Beg for it." He said through gritted teeth. He removed his fingers from inside you, leaving you empty and unsatisfied. It took your pleasure-clouded mind a few seconds to process his words, too focused on the high you'd lost to let out anything more than whimpers of frustration. But that was exactly what Geralt wanted. He wanted to see you completely desperate, surrendered under his body, begging for his touch.

"Please, wolf, I need you... I need to feel you inside me, please." You begged him, looking up at him through your eyelashes. He took his fingers covered with your sweet nectar into his mouth, sucking them clean as he moaned around them. It was the hottest image you had ever seen. He was so focused on the taste of your arousal touching his tongue that for a moment you feared he might not be able to hear your pleas for attention.

“I’m yours to take… please, wolf. I need you.”

The pathetic desperation in your voice was enough for Geralt. He wasted no time, freeing his cock from its confinement and thrusting it into you in one swift movement that left you breathless. He was big and even though your arousal was seeping down your thighs, it always took you a moment to get used to the way he stretched you. He showed you some mercy, giving you a few seconds to adjust while he enjoyed the way your walls closed around his cock. Nothing compared to the warm feeling of your walls wrapped around his cock, pulling him inside you, inviting him to stay. It was the closest he had ever been to heaven, if there was such a thing.

Geralt let out a grunt as you began to move your hips against him, urging him to move. He placed his hands on either side of your head, effectively imprisoning you under his large, imposing figure. Then he gave you a sloppy, wet kiss, biting your lower lip before moving closer to your ear. "Just remember you asked for this." He whispered, sealing your fate.

The rhythm he set was fast and rough, his hips moving against yours desperately. The sheer force of his thrusts was such that you had to cling to his body to keep from sliding upward each time he entered you. It hurt a little, but in the most delicious way. He hit that special place inside you with every thrust of his hips, turning you into an incoherent moaning mess that could do nothing but dig your nails into his back in a desperate attempt to keep you grounded. Pure pleasure coursed through your veins as you felt Geralt pressing deep inside you, filling you and claiming you as his. Your sweat covered skin was on fire, only finding relief when the witcher's cold medallion that dangled over your face made contact with your body.

"Scream! I want to hear you, bunny. I want to know how good I'm making you feel." Geralt demanded and your body instantly obeyed, as if he was the true owner of your mind. "That's it, don't hold back. No one is going to find us here, you can scream all you want. It's just me and you."

The forest filled with your moans and Geralt's animalistic grunts. He couldn't contain himself, seeing you underneath him with your tangled hair full of dry leaves and your watery eyes full of pleasure was too much for him. He couldn't stop the fast rhythm of his hips even if he wanted to. The wolf inside him wanted to ruin you completely, to mark you as his and make sure you were never satisfied with any other man but him. You belonged to him, now and forever.

"You wanted this, you craved it... my little bunny, desperate to get fucked like a bitch in heat." He growled against the skin of your neck, sinking his teeth into the sensitive area below your ear.

"Yes! F-fuck, please... I'm so close." You begged him, feeling the familiar tingle spreading in your stomach as your toes curled. His fingers traveled to the little bundle of nerves pulsing between your legs, stroking it with rapid circular motions that increased your level of desperation. You were so close to your relief it was almost painful, but you wanted to wait, to hold back your pleasure so you could explode alongside Geralt.

"You want me to fill you up, mark you as mine, huh? Breed you with my pups so everyone knows you're mine?" It was an empty promise and you both knew it. Geralt was sterile and no matter how much he wanted to, he could not father a child. But that didn't make his words any less arousing. The idea of being his and having his child growing in your belly to prove it was so enticing that you couldn't help but entwine your legs around his waist as a way to make sure he didn't slip out from inside you.

"Yes, please! I'm yours, I always will be and I want everyone to know!"

"That's right, you are. And I'm yours." Geralt grunted, leaning his forehead against yours to look you in the eye as he quickened his movements, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he chased the sweet relief. "Can you feel how deep inside you I am?" He took your hand and pressed it against your lower belly, where you could feel the bulge of his cock moving inside you. "I'm going to shoot my seed so deep into you, you'll carry it inside you until your belly starts to swell up with my pups inside it. Is that what you want?"

"Yes! Please, give it to me, wolf! I need to feel you, please." You begged with your last breath, almost bursting into tears from the intensity of the pleasure you felt.

Two more thrusts were all it took for Geralt to push you over the edge. You came with a cry of his name, nails digging into the sweaty skin of his back as your warm walls tightened around his cock, forcing him to stay inside you. That was enough to trigger his own relief, his cock twitching inside you as he shot his load deep inside your cunt, painting your walls with pearly white ropes of cum. And yet, he continued to thrust inside you, making your body shake from the overstimulation. He wanted to make sure his seed stayed inside you. He wanted to be able to smell the mix of his relief and yours on you for the rest of the day.

When he finally pulled away you groaned, feeling empty. Geralt let out an airy chuckle as he dropped down next to you, struggling to catch his breath. He pulled you close to him, wrapping his arms around you and resting your head on his chest. Even after all that, he still needed to hold you close, to feel the warmth of your body against his.

You stayed like that until your breathing returned to normal, reveling in each other's closeness. You were so relaxed in his arms that you might well have fallen asleep if not for Geralt breaking the peaceful silence by clearing his throat.

"We should head back." he murmured, his fingers tracing imaginary lines on the exposed skin of your arm.

"I would if I could move." You joked as you began to feel the pain in your tired muscles. You didn't regret anything, though.

"I'm sorry."

You lifted your head from his chest to look at him, giving him a smile to ease the guilt he might be feeling for hurting you. "Don't be, you did exactly what I wanted you to do." You reached up to kiss him and he gladly reciprocated, cupping your cheek with his free hand so he could deepen the kiss.

However, he pulled away faster than you expected. You whined again, but he ignored you, getting up from the floor and shaking the dirt off his clothes. "It's getting late, we need to go." He said and you huffed. You weren't ready to move yet.

"Geraaalt" you complained, pouting. He looked down at you, ready to scold you, but was distracted by the sight of his artwork in all its glory. Your sweat-covered skin glowed under the afternoon light, highlighting your beauty. Your body was covered in his teeth marks and a trail of reddened hickeys trailed from your neck to your breasts and disappeared under the fabric of your dress. You carried his scent on your body, his seed inside you and his teeth marks on your skin. That alone was enough to awaken the wolf inside him once again, though he held back.

"You look beautiful." He said, kneeling beside you to help you knot the ties in the front of your dress, hiding your breasts and the marks he had made behind the fabric.

The softness in Geralt's eyes was such that you felt the need to hide your face, feeling embarrassed and somehow more exposed than when you were having sex. However, he didn't give you time to react as he quickly pulled you into his arms and made his way back to the hut. You relaxed in his arms, wrapping your hands around the back of his neck and snuggling against his shoulder.

"I love you." you said in an almost inaudible whisper. It was as if you were speaking more to yourself than for Geralt to hear you. As if the words had escaped your lips as you were lost in thought.

But Geralt's hearing was exceptionally good. And he couldn't help but smile to himself as he heard those words.

#geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x fem reader #geralt of rivia smut #geralt x reader #the witcher x reader #the witcher smut #geralt of rivia x reader smut #geralt of rivia imagine #henry cavill #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher #the witcher netflix

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ramen-flavored · 3 months

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#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin x reader #baldur's gate 3 #Joel Miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us #Geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia x reader #the Witcher #video game boyfriends #my babies #my loves #loml #ramen-flavored

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ultralightpoe · 5 months

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Spellbound Part 3- Geralt of Rivia

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

Word Count: 3093

Description: Part One and Part Two

Warnings: Heavy smuttt y'all

Enjoy!

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

Every human had a beginning, middle and end.

Every monster had a beginning.

Every Saint had a beginning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Allow you?”

“To bathe you.”

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

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

“You won’t jest?”

“Never.”

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

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

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

“Not me. You.”

“You, with me.”

“I do not want to-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“About kings and dragonslayers?”

“No, about monsters.”

“How so?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—------------

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

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

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

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

Finally you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then how-”

“Yennifer smuggled you out-”

“Then what of the coin?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop what?”

“This will ruin everything-”

“How. So.”

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

“Do you love me?”

“Y-”

“Do you love me as I love you?”

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

“Then what does it matter?”

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

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

“I was cruel and-”

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

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

The warmth fills him the second you touch him.

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

“You deserve better.”

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

“You want me?”

“I need you, Geralt.”

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

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

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

“After what you have been through…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So….. fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll never leave again.”

“I’ll kill any man that touches you.”

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

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

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

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

—-------------

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

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

“Not your lover, but your closest friend.”

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

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

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

“He took little one to get some water.”

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

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

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

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

“Don’t get any ideas.”

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

“Guess your spellbound then.”

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

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

@sagelovesreading

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

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joelslegalwhre · 1 year

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Thank you sm! And thanks for the request love, i hope you like it <3

Destiny

pairing⁀➷ geralt of rivia x fem!reader

word count⁀➷ 1.5k

summary⁀➷ Geralt finds you injured in the woods (more in the ask)

warnings⁀➷ soft!geralt, fluff, mention of blood and injuries, swearing (only once tho), use of y/n once

a/n⁀➷ As always, tell me if I missed a warning please!

🥤my kofi if you’d like to leave a tip🩷

You had expected this day to be different. You were supposed to help your uncle and learn more about herbology so that one day, you would know as much as he does about taking care of the people in the village.

Not lying here, on the slightly damp forest ground.

It would be a long walk back to the village, and your wounds and aches would not make it any easier. Your limbs felt heavy. Your body ached. And before you could fight back, you were defeated by tiredness.

Your eyes opened abruptly as you became aware of sounds coming closer and closer to you. A horse was coming towards you, on it an incredibly muscular man who looked familiar to you.

You had never met him before, but when he came closer and you saw his bright amber eyes, you knew who he was, what he was.

When he saw you, lying there on one of the big roots, he quickly got off his horse.

"Wait here, Roach." he told the horse.

Fear washed over you as he slowly approached you.

"Please, don't hurt me." Your voice was soft, almost a whisper. But witchers could hear better than ordinary people, he had heard it clearly enough.

The witcher stopped for a second and seemed… offended? He shook his head slightly and looked you in the eyes.

"I won't hurt you." His voice was low. Incredibly deep.

There was sincere in his voice, it almost gave you goosebumps.

He was terribly attractive, and his eyes both frightened and fascinated you. He came closer and closer to you and you could only follow him with your eyes. Your fear had eased a little, but it wasn't completely gone.

"It's not that bad," you said quietly as his eyes examined your wound. "I just need to rest a bit before I-" you made a hissing sound as he lifted the fabric covering the wound. "You are not fine." he grumbled.

He knew you wouldn't be able to walk one step on your own without collapsing. As the witcher walked to his horse and took an elixir-like phial from one of the pockets, he asked,

"What happened to you, who did this?" his voice almost sounded angry. But not because of you.

"I was gathering herbs. My uncle needs them to medicate the people in the village. And-" you had to swallow at the thought of the attack.

"There were three-three men. They were looking for someone." The witcher grimaced in anger, as if he already knew what they wanted.

"They wanted to know where the Butcher of Blaviken was."

He said nothing but an annoyed "hmm," his hand still holding the fabric so as not to cover the wound on your hip.

The witcher looked you in the eye, and up close, his own ones were even more special.

"Don't move." he demanded and you nodded. Then he dripped some of the elixir into the wound. It burned like fire.

"Ahh fuck!" you had to bite your lip to stop swearing. "It'll be over in a moment." He took your hand and nodded at you encouragingly. You squeezed his hand so hard that your fingers almost started to hurt.

"Breathe, can you do that for me?" He spoke so calmly and collectedly. You looked at him again, his gaze never leaving your face the whole time. Then you took a deep breath, as deep as you could under the pain. And as quickly as the pain had come, it was gone again.

You were breathing heavily and it felt like you had been running for hours. The witcher bandaged your wound and looked you in the eyes again. The fear you normally had of his kind, fear that was taught as a child, was now completely gone. If he hadn't come to find you, you would still be lying here now and would probably faint in no time.

He had saved you.

"What's your name?" you asked the witcher quietly as he lowered the bloody piece of cloth onto the tended and protected wound. He inhaled sharply. "It's okay if you don't-" you started but he spike over you. "Geralt of Rivia." He replied.

Your lips parted a little. You blinked in surprise as you looked at him. Geralt had gotten up and walked to his horse to put the vial back. Quietly you whispered, "The Butcher of Blaviken."

He turned to face you, "I'm sorry they attacked you."

You were astonished, because you didn't expect an apology. Actually, he had nothing to apologise about either. After all, the men were not acting on his orders.

You smiled at him weakly. Suddenly everything felt so exhausting, breathing, being able to see, everything.

"It's the potion," Geralt answered your unasked question. "It makes you tired, to heal your wounds in your sleep."

"Oh." you said softly, before you felt two strong arms lift you up. Then you fell asleep.

Geralt entered the small village on Roach, and you laying safely in his arms.

All conversation died down when they noticed the witcher.

However, when they saw you in his arms, some began to whisper.

„He's a witcher!" "What does he want with her?" "Did he kill her?" "Where did he come from?"

Geralt knew exactly where to take you. A healer was usually quick to find, but especially in such a small village. "Stop Roach."

He got down, careful not to hurt you.

Your uncle opened the door before Geralt could knock, but when he saw you, his face paled. "Y/N-" His gaze went to the blood on your coat then darted to the witcher.

"She needs to lie down." Geralt commanded. He looked at your uncle with a penetrating gaze.

"What have you done to her, Witcher?" There was hatred and disgust in his voice.

"I healed her." Geralt replied dryly.

He pushed past your uncle and quickly found what he was looking for.

He carefully laid you down on the small bed.

Your uncle hurried after the witcher, but when he saw you, he realised that what Geralt had said was true.

Your coat was bloody but the wound looked well taken care of. "I put a potion in her wound, it should work. She'll have to sleep for a while for that to happen though." Geralt sat down on the floor beside your bed and leaned his back against it.

Your uncle looked overwhelmed, but he knew well enough that there was nothing he could do now.

"Thank you, Witcher.".

"Hmm." Geralt simply replied.

While your uncle went to his herbs to make you some tea, Geralt closed his eyes and took a deep breath in and out.

With a loud gasp, you woke up. You looked around in confusion, as you saw familiar walls and herbs, the ground was softer than before in the forest. As you slowly sat up, leaning on one elbow, you knew you were home.

Something moved beside your bed. No, not something, someone. Geralt stood up and looked at you with a soft gaze. "How are you?" he asked in his deep voice.

Your eyes went to your wound, or to the place where it had been. Your skin was completely healed, no cuts, no blood. You brushed your finger lightly over it, but it didn't even hurt anymore.

"Thank you." you whispered gratefully without really answering his question. "Thank you Geralt."

You stood up and in a matter of seconds you wrapped your arms around his strong torso. "Thank you." you mumbled into his chest once more.

Geralt was surprised, and at first he just stared down at you. You still had your arms wrapped around him when he carefully put one arm around your waist, then the other. He smelled terrible but that didn't matter right now.

He had saved you. You looked up at him, still in the embrace. Something in his eyes had changed, his look had changed. You didn't know what it was.

Geralt, however, knew, and he could not suppress it.

The way you looked at him without any fear, how you had thanked him so many times. Nothing even suggested that you thought he was the monster so many people saw him as.

Slowly his arms moved down your back. Your faces were so close that you could see the finest, smallest scars on his face. Geralt could hear your heart beating, not evenly but fast and irregularly. You looked into his amber eyes the ones that had even followed you into your sleep.

His hands pulled you closer and the moment, when his lips met yours, fast yet slow, hungry yet gentle, felt like time had stopped. As if there was only this moment, only the two of you. Your fingers played with Geralt's hair, feeling his strong neck and pulling him down even further towards you.

When you had to gasp for air and your lips parted, he still held you close to him. You bit your lip as you looked at him. Geralt exhaled heavily. "I don't believe in destiny," you whispered. "But you might've changed that."

༄ Don't copy, translate or republish any of my works on any app or other platform please. I only post my work on Tumblr and Wattpad.

Reposts are always appreciated, they really make my day🧡

#geralt x f!reader #geralt x you #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt x y/n #geralt imagine #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia #witcher geralt #the witcher x female reader #the witcher x you #the witcher x y/n #the witcher x reader #the witcher #henry cavill x fem!reader #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill #e writes #e writes ‚the witcher‘#em's masterlist

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