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pumpkin-stars · 2 years

Text

Reunion

Geralt of Rivia/GN!Reader

AKA Cottagecore!Geralt 2: Springtime Boogaloo

This can be read as existing in the same universe as Delay if you want to, works as a prequel or a sequel :)

Reblogs are very much appreciated 💕

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings/Content: Beefy!Geralt, soft!Geralt, established relationship where they still pine for each other a lot.

You wait by the window, watching the pink cherry blossoms coat the branches at the edge of the treeline, speaking of spring, the welcomed thaw.

The snow had melted two weeks ago, much to your goat’s delight - he’d grown tired of hay in the winter months and could finally snack on grass whenever he was outside the little barn. Your bees are busy too, pollinating all the flowers on your small patch of land, and soon you’ll have enough honey to harvest and sell at the market in the nearby village.

Spring doesn’t always bring the Witcher to your door - sometimes his work keeps him busy well into June and you spend over half a year worrying for his health… or you would, had he not gifted you a magical stone connected to a charm he wears on the chain of his medallion that glows a deep blue when he’s well and turns puce if he’s injured badly.

You know, even if he doesn’t visit, that he’s in perfect health after the long winter, the stone in pride of place on your mantel, glowing blue. He may not come for a long while, but still you wait, kneading bread with practised technique that means you can keep your eyes on the gate at the end of your garden and a few feet beyond for the tell-tale ripple of a disrupted ward.

He may not come yet, the blossoms mean nothing more than the start of his journey to you, but you will watch by the window until he does.

~~~

Geralt navigates the path easily, his well-trodden route a second nature after so many journeys down it. He travels it easier than the path to Kaer Morhen, there’s less danger in this patch of wood than on snowy cliffs, and the faint blue glow beneath his shirt settles any nerves about what he may find on the other side of the gate. Unlike his journey at the start of winter, when he doesn’t know how many brothers will have perished in the months since their last meeting, he can be certain that you will be waiting.

He doesn’t always visit so soon, but he had missed you more this past season than he had thought he would. Bidding farewell to you in mid-September and working on the other side of the Continent for a month before returning to the Keep and a colder winter in the mountains than usual had left too long since he had last seen you, your smile, your eyes… since he had last smelt your scent and laid beside your warmth.

It didn’t help that Jaskier had pilfered the floral, honey, and goat’s milk soap from his pack without him noticing, taking the soothing reminder of you. His ability to smell like you all winter gone. Even Eskel’s soap, made from Lil Bleater’s milk, didn’t smell enough like you to calm him down - he’s sure his brothers will tease him for (at least) the next decade after he’d spent the winter grumpy, pouty (as Lambert had put it), and a little short tempered - not that anyone other than his brothers would’ve noticed much difference in the length of his fuse. Except for you.

He’s missed you - he always does - but this time more than ever, and while he’d usually take jobs on his way to you, this year he’s refused to be distracted - if the problem is large enough, another Witcher can deal with it. He has somewhere more important to be.

~~~

He hadn’t intended to arrive at night. He could’ve timed his journey better and emerged from the treeline mid-morning after spending a night at the village inn. But he was restless - to be so close - and he was sure that, even if he’d directed her toward the village, Roach would’ve continued on her path to you - to your warm and uncrowded barn with the best quality hay and oats - far better than a tiny, cramped stable that wouldn’t even offer her the faintest sniff at an apple.

He always arrives in the day so, when they pass through the wards blocking out the rest of the world, he’s not quite sure what to do with himself.

When the sun is out, you run to him, hug him tightly and urge him to get Roach settled while you draw a bath… but now, with the stars lighting his way, he knows you’re sleeping, that a bath isn’t on the cards until you wake - and he’s unwilling to draw you from slumber before you’re ready.

Roach huffs, nudging his shoulder impatiently.

He smiles, nodding, guiding her to the barn, removing his pack and her saddle before grabbing a bag of oats. The goat is sleeping, thankfully, the little creature is always at odds with him for stealing your attention away.

He gives his horse another once-over before heading to the cottage, being careful of your ever-growing herb garden as he walks.

You always look so peaceful when you sleep, he thinks, that small smile a semi-permanent fixture on his face - at least when he’s here.

He’s careful not to wake you as he strips down, sniffs himself quickly (a little stale from the road, a bit horsey, but not too bad - not as bad as the last few times he’s arrived anyway), and moves to your bed, climbing under the covers carefully, not wanting to disturb you.

He frowns when he realises there’s a pillow between you both, lifting the blankets to get a better look, judging how easy it will be to extract it. You’re spooning it, face nestled into one end, a leg thrown over the other… and… his shirt around it… the one he’d left here after a Kikimora had slashed at him and torn it.

You’ve mended it, shoved a pillow in it… missed him so much that you needed to hug it and soak up the remainder of his smell.

He suddenly cares less about letting you sleep, shifting closer to kiss your forehead and swap places with the pillow, to give you the real thing and not some poor substitute that no longer carries any whiff of him.

“Mm,” he breathes as your head settles on his chest, his arms coming up to hold you, about to get his best night’s sleep since the year began.

~~~

You’re warm. Incredibly warm. You haven’t been this toasty beneath your covers since before winter. Since…

Your pillow moves under your head, rumbles with a snore, faint hair tickles your nose.

You smile softly, nuzzling into Geralt’s chest, letting your eyes open slowly, savouring the last moments of sleep and the first (conscious) moments of his company.

“Mm.” He hums, the heavy arm around your back tightens its hold, keeping you pressed against him - as if you’d ever want to leave.

“When did you arrive?” You whisper.

“Only a few hours ago.” He admits, “Go back to sleep.”

“And waste more of our time together?” You hum, “I’m sure you’d agree there are better things to do than sleep if you don’t want to get up.”

“Haven’t bathed.” He denies you.

“And you slept in my bed!?” You feign offence.

“Mm.” He smiles, cracking an eye open to look down at you, “You don’t seem to mind.”

You settle back against him, kissing his chest, “I don’t.”

He’s put on weight over winter - like a hibernating bear, bulking up on months of regular meals, training with his brothers, keeping warm in the Great Hall and not having to worry for his life or anyone else’s. It looks good on him, the extra muscle, the slight softness around his middle - the signs of prolonged relaxation. Though, compared to most others, a Witcher’s relaxation isn’t… entirely relaxing - logging trees to fuel fires in the Keep would be most men’s idea of a hard day’s work.

But Witchers aren’t most men.

“I missed you.” He says quietly.

“I missed you too,” You kiss his chest again, marveling at the difference a few months can make. He’s never scrawny - not by any means - but you’ve not seen him this bulked up before. “Did you come straight here?”

“Mm.”

“You didn’t even stop on the way? There’s a Wyvern-”

“Eskel will take care of it. I told you: I missed you.”

You smile, “How long can you stay?”

He tightens his hold, “Not long. A week at most. But I’ll be back as soon as I can be.”

“I know. You always are.” You sit up a little, just enough that you can look down at him, “Always.”

“Mm.” He smiles, reaching a hand up to cup your cheek, “I would stay forever if I could.”

“I know,” you cover his hand with yours, squeezing gently as you look him over, “But we both know you can’t.”

“One day.” He promises.

“Once all the monsters in the world are taken care of,” you nod, “or once you grow too old and tired for the job. We can sit on the porch wrapped in blankets and watch the bees all day.”

“Mm.” He pulls your head down, kissing you sweetly, “I’ll make sure I’m not too broken and old to fuck.”

“Good.” You smile, “that is the only reason I keep you around.”

He laughs, kissing you again, “Then you’d best let me up to bathe, dearest, else I shall overstay my welcome.”

~~~

He bathes quickly and thoroughly, washing the journey from his body with pleasured groans, delighting in the warm water and the scent of your soap. He tells you how Jaskier had pilfered his, and you promise to give him several bars when he leaves, so he shall never run out, even if the troubadour steals some more.

You give him breakfast as he sits in the tub, bread baked yesterday, freshly churned butter, some salted meat. The two of you sharing the simple plateful to get your energy levels up before you undoubtedly exhaust each other.

He tells you of his life since he left you, the new scar from a Striga on his shoulder, some still-healing yellowed bruises on his torso from brawling with his brothers, the stiffness that still infects his knee in the cold. He speaks of his joy at seeing his fellow Wolves again - no new losses to report, though all of them are beginning to feel their age.

You tell him of your time - leaving out the last few weeks spent watching the path from the kitchen window - how there were some prematurely born lambs at market recently that you’d considered buying, but had settled on stocking up on oats for porridge (and for Roach), how the goat had chewed through his tether during a storm and you’d spent a week clearing up the mess he’d made…

You both make mention of how you’ve missed the other, and upon his rising from the cooling water, promptly fell back into your bed to truly demonstrate your backlog of affections.

#i wrote this a while back and found it in my drafts today lol #geralt of rivia/reader #geralt/reader #geralt/you #the witcher/reader #geralt of rivia/you #the witcher/you #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt x you #geralt x reader #the witcher x reader #the witcher x you #stuffiwrote

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pumpkin-stars · 2 years

Text

Warmin’ Up

Joel Miller/AFAB!Reader. Smut.

Joel takes a bath in a stream while you watch, then he needs warming up.

This has been in my drafts for so long (mid-December whoops) and I finally looked it over again and managed to finish it! (thanks to @honestly-shite for making this post ages ago that I obviously saved in the doc at some point bc that prompted me to finish it mwah 💕💕) (and also more thanks to Maia for drawing joel in a stream way back when I first yelled about the idea)

I watched a walkthrough of TLOU1 last year (just before I wrote most of this) so anything that’s not quite in character is my bad oops, I tried.

Warnings/Content: Joel is naked from the get go, lack of shampoo, grey hair appreciation, swearing, teasing, fucking on the forest floor, praise, vaginal fingering, p-in-v, tiddy sucking, his hand over your mouth, temperature play (if you squint), reader is called darlin’ a lot

Word Count: 2.8k

Masterlist

🚨😡 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 😡🚨

The sun warms his skin as he steps into the stream, clothes folded neatly on the bank, still within reach - his gun on top for easy access just in case someone unexpected shows up and disturbs him. The water’s cold, biting, even with the warmth of midsummer in the air, his skin prickles with goosebumps as soon as his feet are submerged, the hairs on the back of his neck sticking up the way they do when he senses nearby danger, hunter and prey - like all humans have been reduced to these days.

There’s no danger now, though. Unless the fish suddenly decide to nibble his skin.

His nose scrunches as he wades in, a quiet grunt escaping him as his fingertips graze the water, one hand out to keep his balance as he steps over slick rocks, the other cradling his cock and balls against a direct onslaught of chill. He goes up to his belly button, barely able to see his feet - the water’s mostly clear, the rocks beneath darkening the depths, the surface marred by rushing white ripples leftover from the waterfall a short swim upstream.

The trees surrounding this part of the river offer seclusion, the old bridge downstream is impassable, overgrown with moss and weighed down by a fallen tree that makes this the only viable place for a bath: no metal contaminants, a strong but not too powerful current, plenty of places to duck and hide if an animal (or a hunter) comes along.

Not you, though. He won’t hide from you.

“You forgot the soap.” You smirk at him from the bank, lobbing the bar at his head, testing his reflexes as he catches it one-handed with a smile.

“Y’ever stop and think it was on purpose?” He drawls, “Drawing you out for some time alone?”

You shrug and sit on the rock beside his clothes, legs dangling down over the side, feet just above the water. “And what if I’d sent Ellie?”

“She wouldn’t’ve come out here just for soap.” He grins, “Knew I could count on you, though.”

You laugh, leaning back, head tilted away from him, grass in the sky and clouds on the ground as you relax as much as is possible, keeping an eye out for movement through half-closed eyes, listening to Joel as he moves through the water for a minute or two, squeaking indignantly as he splashes you. You sit up to glare at him, the world righted as he smiles at you.

You make no attempt to hide the way your eyes rake over him, watching as he ducks beneath the surface to wet his hair, coming back up like some scarred and dangerous sea-god, the water running over his face, beading in his eyelashes and funnelling off his bearded chin, catching the light and making the greys in his hair stand out all the more against the dark brown tresses.

He reaches up, lathering the soap, chucking the bar back to you as he raises his arms to wash his hair, remiss to use it there, but your supplies of shampoo had run down, left you with bar-soap and nothing else. The nearest store (ten miles east) had run out of almost everything, just four bars left that hadn’t been raided by others… some people are still picky even twenty years after the start of the end. He hates the smell, and so do you - some synthetically sweet, supposedly-strawberry concoction. Throwing it back to you avoids it being washed away downstream, as much as he’d rather not have to use it again. Still, it’s better than blood and sweat.

Nothing beats feeling clean these days, and while you long for daily hot showers, a quick dip in a stream every few weeks is the best you can hope for when you’re on the road. In the woods.

He ducks below the surface again, taking a little time to rub at his scalp, removing all the soap and grime before he emerges, facing downstream. He cups the water, splashing it up to rinse anything he’d missed from his face, giving you the perfect view of water running down his back, over those broad shoulders, tracing patterns over the natural grooves of his form, and chasing each other down, back to their rapid-running home… over the divots at the small of his back, down over the cleft of his ass that just peeks out over the water.

He turns around, and a smile grows on your face as the water drips over his chest. The strength he has is obvious, even with the softness he carries. Greys litter his chest, a light dusting over his sternum, the curls plastered against his skin by the water, nipples pebbled from the temperature. You wet your lips as water travels over his tummy, snakes around and over the scar tissue - new and old, and continues into the depths, some drops getting caught in the hairs below his belly button, but what you want to see most stays hidden in the small waves and ripples caused by backsplash from his presence.

He laughs, hands on his hips, and your eyes snap up to his face.

“Gotcha,” he smirks.

“As if you wouldn’t look if we swapped places.” You scoff, brushing off the heat that curls up your neck and into your cheeks, throwing the soap back as he gestures for it.

“Course not,” he rubs the bar directly on his skin now, over his chest and under each arm, “But I wouldn’t be embarrassed about it.”

“No?” You smirk as he balances, washing his feet before straightening again, “Your cheeks are looking a little pink there, Miller.”

“It’s cold.” He excuses, and turns his attention from you, focusing on cleaning his dick properly as you examine the spreading silver on his scalp.

The soap flies through the air again, landing beside you with a well-aimed splat, and he walks slowly back to the bank, grinning at you all the while as your eyes are drawn to every inch of skin that gets exposed, watching the rivulets navigate his thick thighs and muscled calves.

He likes the air on his skin, takes a moment to feel the grass between his toes and stretch all the tense muscles, his back protesting from age and carrying several guns and half your supplies around all the time. The water keeps him cold, the slight breeze chilling him further as the sun tries its best to warm him up, its efforts paling in comparison to the heat in your gaze.

“Forgot a towel too.” He tells you as he walks to your side, “You didn’t-?”

“Fuck, no, sorry.” You frown, looking around you, even though you know there’s not one there.

“S’alright.” He smiles, “Have to get dry another way, hm?”

You nod, eagerly anticipating as he leans down towards you, tilting your head just-so as his face nears yours… pouting when he continues past you to grab his clothes.

His chest rumbles as he laughs, kissing your cheek before stepping back, stopping where the trees are a little thinner, where the ground is mostly flat enough for two. “You gonna help get me dry or what?”

“Sweetie you gotta get wetter first,” you grin, scrambling from your place on the rock, t-shirt halfway up your torso by the time you stop in front of him. He gives you enough time to peel it off the rest of the way before he kisses you, holding you with a cold hand, fingers starting to prune, against your bare waist.

You break from him first, “I’m not lying on the ground.”

His eyebrows quirk up.

“Not naked.” You amend, grabbing the shirt from his hands and kneeling to lay it out quickly on the grass, feeling for any rocks or roots beneath it.

No use ruining a good fuck with a damaged spine.

You look back at him over your shoulder, eyebrows raising when you catch him looking at your ass.

“Get naked, darlin’. I need warmin’ up.” He smiles, setting his clothes within reach, gun on top just in case.

You grin, throwing a little twig at him as you turn over, sitting on his shirt as you contort, pushing your jeans down your legs, cursing at your own enthusiasm when they get caught on the top of your boots.

He waits, teeth gnawing his lip, watching as the pile of clothes beside you gets bigger, your nipples turning to stiff peaks against the cool air.

“You’re somethin’ else.” He drawls, one hand on his hip as the other brushes his bottom lip, looking down at you hungrily as you pull your underwear off, flinging it at him with a smirk.

He catches it, his smirk only growing when he feels the little wet patch you’ve left on them, “Well, look at this. I’m not the only one who got wet today.”

“Can you blame me?” You shift, leaning back on your elbows and spreading your legs for him, “I had a wonderful view.”

“And now so do I.” He almost growls and kneels quickly between your legs, half-hard as he guides you to lie flat, a large hand skimming your side as droplets break free from his beard and sprinkle your skin.

The cold water doesn’t bother you for long, Joel’s body looms over yours, and while it’s meant to be your role to warm him up, he’s doing a damn good job of getting you all hot and bothered.

“You really gonna let me fuck you out here in the forest, huh?” He grins.

“You can fuck me wherever you want to.”

He likes that, ducking his head to kiss you as his fingers trail over your stomach, leaving goosebumps in their wake, down and down, over that crop of curls, investigating your wetness.

“Fuck, you’re so good to me.” He breathes into your mouth, using your slick to coat his fingers before he presses one inside.

“Joel-“

“Shh, darlin’, can’t make too much noise in case o’hunters.” He smiles.

You know as well as he does that you’ve cleared the area, that the only people around are Ellie, safe and sound in a little cabin upriver, and a couple of disarmed corpses who’ll only disturb you if the infection suddenly helps them stand back up (in which case everyone still walking is well and truly fucked).

Still, you’re willing to try and stay quiet if he wants you to.

Your hands trail his torso and back, using the opportunity to feel as much as you can, checking for stiffness and hidden aches he won’t tell you about. You’ll need to work his shoulders once you get where you’re going, help him release all the tension he holds there, smooth out the knots as best you can.

He presses deeper, curling the finger up to brush your spot, and you abandon your exploration of him, eyes rolling back, sensitive from so many days untouched.

He grins as you gasp, tilts his head to kiss across your jaw and down your throat, sucking a mark into your neck as he adds a second finger, pumping them in and out in a steady rhythm, scissoring them to open you up for him.

“Joel…”

“I gotcha,” he smiles, “So wet already, darlin’… all because’a me?”

“Mhmm,” you nod, clenching around his fingers.

He adds a third, his thumb swiping over your clit, “gonna make you cum ‘fore I fuck you.”

“Get to it then,” you grin, gasping moments later as he withdraws, “Joel?”

“If you’re gonna be like that, I ain’t gonna do anythin’.”

“Please?” You wiggle your hips a little, enticing him back, “I’m sorry, I won’t talk back, you’re in control.”

“That’s right, darlin’.” He nods, “I am in control.”

Your eyes roll back as he slips two fingers in again, pumping them a few times before the third rejoins.

“Oh, Joel!”

“Shhh,” he whispers, “What’d I tell ya?”

“Sorry,” you match his volume, “So good…”

He grins, leaning down to kiss over your chest as his thumb rubs your clit once more, his teeth grazing lightly over your flesh before he sucks a nipple between his lips, eyes on yours.

He’s so good… it‘s so much… Those three fingers so thick inside you, meticulously providing pleasure with the same skill he handles a gun, trigger finger curling and applying just the right amount of pressure for the best results… The scratch of his beard on your skin, the drops of water that run from his body to yours, their temperature warmed between you as you fight off the cold together.

He swaps nipples, leaving a trail of kisses between, flicking over it with his tongue rather than sucking it into the heat of his mouth, his warm tongue contrasting with the cool air. Your cunt clenches hard, hips bucking up into his hand as he strokes over your spot, and laughs warmly around your nipple.

You cling to his shoulders, leaving little half-moon imprints in his skin as the pressure builds, his fingers working you up and up, higher and higher. Your lips part in a silent cry, breath stuck in your throat as you cum hard, Joel smiling against your chest as you lock up tight and turn to jelly moments later.

“So good,” He repeats your words, keeping his fingers inside you as you come down, catching your breath, “So tight when you clamp down.”

You smile at him, a little dazed from the pleasure, moaning quietly as he pulls out of you, resituates himself, hard cock warm, ruddy, and throbbing against your slit.

“Ready for it, darlin?”

“Always,” you breathe, pulling his lips to yours, coaxing him closer, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him inside.

He goes easy, the familiar path, sliding home in one motion until his hips meet yours, grunting as you gasp, both grateful for this moment of relative calm - relative safety - and the privacy of your surroundings.

“So fuckin’ wet.”

“All for you, Joel,” you smile, “So hot.”

He smirks, “Yeah I am,” and ducks to kiss you again, starting a steady pace, too slow to make anything build except your impatience.

“Joel-!”

“I got you, pretty thing,” he grins, speeding up slowly, making sure to angle his hips just right.

His hands roam over you, rhythm never faltering, fingers drawing patterns in the water that clings to your skin, tracing JOEL through the droplets on your stomach. It tickles, and you squirm beneath him, until he thrusts harder, setting his forearms either side of your head, his face hovering above yours, broad shoulders blocking your view of the trees around you.

“You gonna let me have my way with your pretty pussy?” He wonders, “Let me fill y’up so ridin Callus makes ya squirm?”

“R-riding with you always makes me squirm.” You point out, breaking out into a loud moan moments later.

He grins, adjusting his weight again, moving to cover your mouth with his hand, “What’d I tell you about keepin hush?”

“Mmmf!” You whimper beneath his palm, clenching hard around his cock.

He laughs, speeding up yet again, knocking your breath from you, “Touch your clit, darlin… Wanna feel you cum around me.”

Your hand moves down, doing as he asks, more noises muffled as his own grunts and gasps are free to permeate around you. You can’t help glaring when he kisses the back of his hand, teasing you yet again as he denies you kisses just because you moaned. His smirk is insufferable, and you know, next time, you’ll get your own back somehow… whenever and however that may be.

“Fuck, darlin…” Joel grunts, “Takin me so well…”

He’s been riling you up for days, even when you haven’t been pressed close on the horse he’s found every excuse to touch you. A hand on your back as he moves past you, his thigh brushing your leg as you eat in whatever shelter you’ve been able to find, his touches lingering as you switch over night watch duty, waking you with a breath in your ear and a hand on your hip.

The only solace you’ve had from it is knowing he’s just as desperate for a fuck as you are. Proven by the way he pounds into you now, both of you desperate to claim a release, a moment of relief from everything in the world.

Your thighs shake, and Joel’s hand over your mouth tightens a little, knowing your close, that you’ll need his grip to hide your cries of pleasure from the birds twittering overhead.

“Mm-!” you whine, “Mmm-!”

“Come on, darlin, that’s it, cum for me, go on, yes… yes, that’s it, that’s it-!” His words are cut off as you orgasm, choking his cock as you clench hard, pussy pulsing around him desperately.

It’s only a few thrusts before he follows you, teeth bared, turning his cry into a strangled groan.

The two of you stay in position as you get your breath back, though your legs slip from around his waist and to the floor. He releases your mouth once his jellified body will cooperate, smiling as his forehead meets yours.

“Think I need another bath.”

#stuffiwrote #joel miller/reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller/you #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller fic #pedro pascal character fic

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