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#Geralt Fic
notyetneedcoffee · 5 months
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Stretch
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Kinktober - Size Kink NSFW - Adults Only
Summary - The Witcher is just so big.
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“I’m surprised to see you here.” You smiled up at the Witcher. “Particularly tonight.”
“Hmm.” He rumbled, though you noted his golden eyes kept darting down to you.
Standing close to him and wearing stays that held your breasts high, gave him a particularly enticing view. You knew how to take advantage of your small stature when it came to men. This man, however, was always a challenge.
People milled around the hall dressed in their finest. A large fire blazed in the hearth and musicians played. No one danced. This gathering was not that kind of celebration.
Some people considered the Trades Celebration archaic. The villages in these mountains, being isolated and small, would gather once every ten years. Some of the men and women would bed others from other villages to diversify the bloodlines of each isolated area. As the main objective of the celebration was pregnancy, a famously sterile Witcher seemed decidedly out of place.
“I could say the same for you.” Geralt finally said. “I would not have expected you to be anxious to become a mother.”
“I’m not.” You leaned a little closer to him to speak conspiratorially. “But there are great business contacts to be made here.”
He nodded. You were a herbologist. He often sought you out for rare and valuable ingredients.
“What brought you here?”
“Bruxa.” Geralt frowned. “After I cleared them out, I was offered a place to stay for a time and asked to attend tonight by Marthox.”
You grinned, glancing at the rich village elder and his four daughters. “Do you think he’s ignorant to the fact that you are unable to pass on your magnificent genes?”
“Probably.” He took a long drink from his glass.
“Do you plan to deflower one – or all – of his willing daughters anyway?”
“No.” He leaned down to your ear. The top of your head only came to his shoulder. “I’m more interested in something a little more feisty.”
“Then why are we wasting time here?” You grinned.
Geralt just turned and marched out of the hall. You had to jog to keep up with him. As soon as you turned the corner into a dark hallway, the Witcher paused. He swept you up and tossed you over one shoulder.
You swallowed a squeak, grabbing the back of his jacket out of fear of the height. “Geralt!”
“You were moving too slow.” He chuckled.
His room boasted its own large fireplace, stone bathing tub, and soft bed. You bounced in the middle of the mattress when he tossed you down. Geralt grabbed your foot to unlace your shoes. Laying there, looking at your foot in his large hands, feeling his strong fingers rub into the arch of your foot, lit the fire in your belly.
Geralt placed a knee on the bed and leaned over you. His white hair fell forward and you could smell the mead upon his breath. “It’s good to see you, little one.”
You touched his face, running your fingers over his high cheek bones and strong jaw. When you skimmed the soft skin of his lips, he lowered his head and kissed you. Your tongue eagerly reached for his as the kiss grew rough.
Geralt broke away with a satisfied noise. He gathered your skirts in his hands, lifting them to your waist. Your legs instinctively fell open for him as his rough hands slid along your thighs. As his thick finger teased your opening, rubbed around your clitoris, awakening your arousal, you laid your head back and studied his looming form.
You adored the time spent with the Witcher in bed. You felt tiny, delicate, and feminine under his touch. He exuded power. His strength could take your breath away, but you never feared he would hurt you. His wide chest engulfed you. His thick thighs pushed your legs so far apart.
Geralt’s head lowered between your legs, tasting your sex, licking and sucking at your clit. Fire circled through your body. You needed more. Pulling at the laces of your bodice, you desperately fought to free yourself from your clothes. Geralt manhandled you around, tugging at skirts and throwing away underclothes. Once naked, he again buried his face in your cunt with a determined growl.
You pulled at his white hair, shaking as his grumble vibrated through your clitoris. Two thick fingers slipped through your wetness, spreading your slick, pumping against sensitive flesh, and stretching you. Deep moans poured from your mouth as your hips rocked into his face.
Geralt rose to his knees, rubbing at your clit and fingers pumping wetly in your cunt. Your back arched as the coiling tension threatened to snap. The corner of his lip curled up. His gravel deep voice poured over you like warm honey. “That’s it, little one. Come all over my hand and I’ll stretch this pretty little pussy over my cock.”
You shook, cunt clenching at his fingers, wetness flooding over his hands.
As you lay there feeling your thighs quiver, Geralt stripped off his clothes. He did so with efficiency and no attempt at seduction, still the flex of his muscles and sight of his hard flesh caused the fire to flared hotter.
Geralt crawl over the top of you, mouth covering your breast and sucking your nipple to a hard peak. His kisses trailed up your neck, teeth grazing your skin. Kissing you, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue, he pushed your legs further apart with his knees.
You felt the wide head of his cock rub along your entrance. With immense control, he pushed in. The stretch bordered on pain, but under assault of his kiss, breathing in the scent of sweat and sex, your body rocked up against him to invite him deeper. Rocking slowly, each thrust pushing him further, filling you. Heat burned down your chest to settle between your legs.
He sat back on his heels, pulling your body along with him. You cried out at the change of angle, his cock hitting just the right spot. Your legs wrapped around his waist. Memorized you watched Geralt allow a drop of spittle to fall up on your clit. His thumb circled and stroked as he fucked into you harder.  
You moaned, back arching and hands clutching at the sheets.
“Fuck,” He growled. “Fuck, yes.”
You shook in his grip.
“Mmm.” Geralt’s hips moved faster, harder. “Again. Fuck. Come again.”
You squeezed your own tits. Geralt moaned. Your thighs quivered. You panted, breath escaping with each thrust. “Oh, gods!”
His fingers dug into your hips. He lifted your pelvis to meet each powerful thrust. Fucking you hard. You felt like you were being blissfully split into two. He growled. “I said fucking come for me.”
“Yes!” You snapped, shaking hard, whiting out.
Faster, rougher, and soon Geralt roared his own release.
He flopped back on the bed, pulling you along with him. You lay spread across his chest, a sated and boneless mass. No part of you touched the bed. You floated on a warm island of Geralt muscle. You rubbed your nose into the hair on his chest, breathing in his scent.
“Hmmm.” He sighed, one big hand coming up to rest on your ass. “Did I hurt you?”
“No.” You mumbled with a smile. “But I can’t feel my feet.”
“I’ll carry you if I need to.” The smile could be heard in his voice. “Cause I’m not through with you yet, little one.”
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sherlocksoft · 9 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 🖤
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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.
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nesillia · 10 months
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What You Don’t Know
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-> Summary: You don’t know that Geralt had been searching for you ever since Jaskier returned to him without you. You don’t know that he’d been praying to Melitele to make things right. You don’t know that he said he loves you, every night you weren’t there.
-> Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x F!Reader
-> Rating: 18+
-> WC: 3k
-> Warnings: very light angst, fluff, most of this is smut ill be honest lol, smut in the forms of: missionary, fingering (f receiving), oral (f), pet names: (my love, love, baby), kissing, biting, marking, panty sniffing (geralt is feral okay), mdni, geralt has feelings and deep regrets (as he should), happy ending!!
-> Notes: this is part two of Tragically, Meant to Be. Please read that first to understand what’s happening here. I didn't want to focus on the angst too much here, so I hope you enjoy this fluffiness/smuttiness and happy ending!
Also, I know the location of Rivia was lost to time in the 13th century (according to the wiki) let’s just ignore that. For plot reasons.
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It’s been months since you and Jaskier walked out of Geralt’s life. Months since he laid eyes on you, held you in his arms, tasted you. And try as he might to convince himself that he hasn’t missed you, or the bard, he knows he’s a liar. 
Geralt missed your scent, your taste, the secret smile you’d give him when you thought he wasn’t aware, the way your dewy skin seemed to glow in the sunlight. 
Most of all, he missed the way you genuinely cared for him. The way you’d make tea from herbs in a bid to soothe his restlessness at night, the way you’d cook the meat of his hunt in a way he liked, or the way you’d massage his tense shoulders after a long excursion. 
And as he lays awake now, body mere inches from the bard who had sought Geralt out, without you by his side, he realizes that due to a stupid mistake, he may never get to have these moments with you again. 
And it’s this realization that makes Geralt promise himself that he’ll search to the ends of the Continent if he has to, to find you. 
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At first, after Geralt leaves Jaskier in the nearby town of Velen, he goes back to Redania and searches the wilderness surrounding Oxenfurt. 
In the months that Geralt had been away from you, Jaskier said you and he never left the big city. Until, one day, you just vanished. 
Geralt spends weeks in the woods near Oxenfurt, to no avail. Next, he searches Temeria and Cintra. Although these yield an abundance of contracts for the Witcher, he turns them down one by one in his hunt for you. Each night he doesn’t find you, his hope slowly diminishes.
But then, when Geralt is about to come to terms with the fact that perhaps he will never find you, you pop up in the unlikeliest town. 
Geralt has just made his way to his oldest home, his first home: Rivia. As he walks through the wooden gates, he finds that although it’s been more than ninety years since he’s been here, it hasn’t changed much. The people he used to know are long dead, but their children and grandchildren now live on here. His old house is still there, a new family living in it. 
The people of Rivia stare, taking in Geralt’s hulking figure and odd appearance. It doesn’t bother him like it used to, when he was a new Witcher. Still, it doesn’t feel great to have the people you save glare and call you the monster. 
Geralt keeps his head down as he hitches Roach to a pole, before he struts into the local tavern. He’s greeted with something that happens every time he walks into an inn — the music suddenly dies, the lively chatter stops, and all eyes turn to him. He lowers his hood as he takes a seat in the far back, and then something peculiar happens. Geralt can suddenly smell your scent, getting closer and closer until — by Melitele, there you are. Standing in front of him, head down as you fuss with the apron tied to your waist. You haven’t noticed it’s him, and Geralt takes this moment to rake his yellow eyes over your form. 
You look the same, if a bit run down. Your hair is longer, pulled away from your face in a style that he knows you love. He can hear the steady thump thump thump of your heart, and it relaxes him to no end. You’re here, in his hometown — looking beautiful and alive and safe. And suddenly Geralt is overcome with the need to pull you into his arms, and so he does just that. 
You’re in his arms, struggling a bit because you still haven’t realized who he is. But he doesn’t care because you’re in his hold, healthy and alive and heart beating so rapidly against his own. 
“Let g-go!” You huff, wriggling out of his strong hold. Geralt pulls you away, big hands plastered to your shoulders. And then your eyes finally rove over him, stopping at the medallion before flicking up to his face. 
“Geralt?” 
His name on your lips sounds like heaven to him, and his eyes flutter close before he opens them to look at you. 
“Can we talk privately?” Geralt asks. After a moment, you nod, and lead him towards the back of the inn towards the kitchen. The owner gruffly nods at the both of you. The kitchen is warm, the fireplace gushing out heat. 
“Mary, the cook, shouldn’t be back for another ten minutes. What do you want, Geralt?” 
Geralt is, for once, at a loss of words. 
“I…” 
“How did you find me?”
Geralt doesn’t reply. He’s not sure what to say, once again. You huff in annoyance, crossing your arms. 
“I’m sorry,” he finally gets out.
“Pardon?” 
He sighs, pursing his lips while running his fingers over the stubble on his chin in thought. Geralt has never been good with words, but for you, he needs to — wants to — try. 
“What happened with Yennefer. I’m sorry, Y/N.” 
Geralt knows the moment he speaks her name it’s a mistake. He can hear it in the way your heart falters, breath hitches. See it in the way little tears start filling your beautiful eyes. In a flash, he is standing inches in front of you, grasping your hands and pressing them into the shirt that covers his chest, right where his heart is. 
“Feel that?” He asks, bringing a hand to wipe away the tears that fall down your cheeks. You bite your lip, worrying the flesh before nodding hesitantly. 
Geralt isn’t sure what he can say to make you understand, so he’ll just show you. 
“My heart is racing, isn’t it?” 
Another nod. Your fingers flex over the plane of his pectoral muscle. 
“That’s for you, only for you.”
Your eyes race to meet his, and a little gasp leaves your teeth bitten lips. You tear away from him, barreling to the opposite side of the small kitchen with a snarl on your face. 
“Don’t fucking play with me, Geralt!” 
Geralt has never heard you curse like that in the years he’s known you. Sure, in the throes of passion you have cursed, but never like this. Not even on the night everything came crashing down. 
“I’m not, I swear. I haven’t even seen Y — her since that night. And even if I did, she’s not the one I want,” Geralt begs. “I want you.” 
“And would you tell her that, should she show up?” You demand, squaring your shoulders and seemingly ready for him to say n —. 
“Yes.”
He can see that you’re thinking deeply on his words, and after you don’t say anything for minutes, Geralt knows it’s time to leave. 
“I’ll go,” he whispers, shoulders dropped in defeat. He takes a step to leave the cramped kitchen, when you speak timidly. 
“Geralt… I’m willing to try again, but I want to properly be lovers. Call me selfish, but… I want you to be mine. Only mine,” you say, and Geralt, as he turns, can see the tears already dripping from your eyes. 
“If what happened back at that inn happens again, I will leave. And this time, you will never find me.” 
Geralt nods his head resolutely, walking towards you and pulling you into his arms. He wants to tell you that he would rather be slain by a Striga than make that mistake again. He wants you to know everything that happened in the past months.
Geralt knows that you don’t know that he had been searching for you ever since Jaskier returned to him without you. You don’t know that he’d been praying to Melitele to make things right. You don’t know that he says he loves you, every night. 
Geralt desperately wants to tell you all of this, to make you aware of the pain he’s been in, but as he holds your face in his hands, he realizes that he’s just content to be with you again. To hold you like this. To smell the lavender scent in your hair. And as his lips fuse with yours, to taste you again. 
“Let me go tell Edmund I’ll be taking the rest of the day off,” you mumble against his lips, a shy smile on your face. Geralt isn’t exactly sure why you seem embarrassed, but then he breathes deeply and — oh. The air is heavily permeated by a thick cloud of your arousal, smelling of lavender fields and bergamot. Geralt smirks, and soon — after getting the go ahead from a grumpy Edmund — you’re leading him out of the tavern and down the mottled streets, towards the edge of town. 
The walk is silent, but your arousal isn’t. It’s a loud song drumming against Geralt’s senses, enticing him and making him ache. You quickly open the door to your small house, dragging Geralt in and slamming it shut. You don’t waste any time, locking your lips to his. You taste of the sweetest of wines, and Geralt is sure he will never get tired of kissing you. 
“Wait,” he grumbles, pushing you away as gently as he can. He can see the bubbling rejection layering in your eyes, and he’s quick to shut that down with a swift peck to your saliva coated lips. 
“I need you to know that you owe me nothing. I didn’t come here just to fuck you, my love.” 
“I know, but… it’s been months, and I’ve missed you so much, Geralt. I want to, please?”
Your timid reply is more than enough for the man, and he easily picks you up and stumbles his way into what he can only assume is your bedroom. He has no time to look around, take in the room you sleep in every night, but he makes a mental note to do that later. 
Geralt releases you on the bed, before he’s kneeling between your spread thighs. He can hear your breath hitch, and he smiles reassuringly at you. 
“May I?” He asks, to which you hesitantly nod. Geralt has never done this with you, and he’s determined to make it a lasting memory for you. 
Geralt’s fingers are featherlight as he shucks off your slippers, as he ghosts over the skin of your ankle and calves. He keeps in tune with your breathing, listening to every stutter the higher he trails his hands. When he gets to the newly healed and jagged scar the Leshy gave you, he can’t help but lean down and press his lips to each line of tissue. 
“Geralt…,” you sigh quietly, and he can only imagine how much anticipation is coursing through you. 
“Patience. Need to show you how much I missed you,” he gruffly says into the skin of your scars. He laves his tongue over the flesh, savoring the taste of your body. He’s so close to where he desperately wants to be. 
Geralt works his hands up the meat of your hips under your dress, shimmying your smallclothes down your plush thighs. He can see that they’re coated in your slick, and in a moment of weakness, he brings them to his nose and inhales while he keeps his amber eyes glued to yours. It’s depraved, but the Witcher can see and hear the effect it has on you. Your breathing short circuits, thighs press as close together as they can with him in between, and a quiet moan slips out from your precious lips.
“Fuck, love…” Geralt mumbles, before throwing your smalls behind his shoulders and hitching both of your legs on top of his shoulders, spread wide for him. 
“I have to taste you properly.” 
That’s all the warning be gives you before he dives in, pressing his lips to your opening. He collects the slick there, sucking softly on the flesh before he brings his mouth up to suckle your clit. You moan loud, and then he feels your hands slither their way into his hair. 
“That’s it, baby,” he mumbles into your clit, vibrations rumbling up through your body at the action. Geralt brings his hand to thumb at your entrance, rubbing the slick around and coating your outer labia. His cock is pressing painfully against his trousers, and he ruts into the creaky bed frame for some relief. Geralt feels drunk off your scent, and your moans, and your taste. It’s almost too much for him, and yet he can’t get enough. 
Your hips are bucking against his mouth, thighs pressed tightly against his head and by Melitele if Geralt doesn’t love it. You taste of the beautifullest lavender fields, bergamot, and like him. Geralt pushes his forefinger and middle finger inside you, rubbing at your gummy walls and pressing deep deep deep. 
“Pleaseplease!” You whine, and Geralt opens his eyes to look into yours, love and admiration and lust all melting and shaping to make his amber ones. 
“Please, what?” Geralt says, thrusting his fingers in and out, smearing the slick, before repeating the motions. 
“M-More!” 
The moans falling from your lips cause Geralt’s cock to swell and pulse and leak. And Geralt can’t take it, ripping his mouth off of you and pushing his tight pants down his thighs. You watch his every movement like a hawk, before you’re bringing your hands low and pulling up your simple dress and tossing it somewhere, exposing your entire body to him. 
“Fuck, I missed you,” Geralt says reverently, watching as your nipples peak into hard buds. He immediately goes back to your pussy, sucking and slurping and pulling until you’re once again a moaning, writhing mess underneath him. You cum hard when Geralt pushes his tongue into your cunt, curling and thick inside you. 
He groans when your arousal rushes over his tongue, some dribbling down his chin when he presses himself deeper, nose bumping into your clit. Your body stills after what feels like forever, and Geralt audibly swallows the liquid in his mouth, before he’s pressing his lips to your clit just to taste you again. He inhales deeply, and if that isn’t almost enough for him to combust. Before Geralt can get too overzealous, you tug hard on his hair, getting him to – begrudgingly – look up at you. 
“‘S too much,” you slur, eyes glazed and cloudy with lust. 
“Think you can take me, love?” He asks, rising on his legs and shucking off all of his clothes, to the appreciative eyes of you. 
“Yes, Geralt. Please, I need you.”
He’s not sure who moves first, but then his lips are on yours and it’s messy. Your arousal is still on his tongue, pushing into yours and mixing saliva and cum into a taste almost as delicious as your pussy. Geralt brings a hand to his cock, pumping the shaft once before he’s lining up with your entrance and – at the whimper of you – thrusting all the way inside. It’s like your body is made for him, giving way and simultaneously pressing tight against his cock. Geralt’s balls slap against your ass, and he stills to give you a breather. 
“Geralt!” You cry, and suddenly your arms are wrapped around his neck, legs up on his hips, and you’re begging for him not to stop and to give you what you want. 
And Geralt obliges, pulling his hips until his cock is almost entirely out of your cunt, and then he’s thrusting back in rhythmically. Your body twists and tightens around his, breasts bouncing with every stab of his hips. He presses his lips to your ears, pressing a gentle kiss before he’s grunting low. 
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he grunts, the squelching of your pussy music to his ears. 
Geralt can feel your pussy tightening against his cock, and he feels that familiar coil of pleasure build so greatly in his abdomen – he isn’t going to last long. 
“Geralt, Geralt, Geralt,” you whine, like it’s all you know, like it’s a mantra that’s the only thing keeping you sane. 
“I know, baby, I know,” he huffs, bringing his mouth to the junction where your shoulder meets your throat, and then he’s biting the skin and crying out your name at the same time your pussy tightens, and gushes over his softening cock. Geralt is heaving like he’s run a marathon, and he gingerly pulls his flaccid cock out of your sopping pussy before collapsing on his back, beside you. 
“I love you,” he whispers, and he feels you turn on your side to nestle right next to him. His eyes are closed, but he feels you when you gently bring up a hand and card through his drenched hair, slicking them back from his face. 
“I love you, too.”
Geralt opens his marigold eyes, bringing a hand to cradle your cheek. 
“I’m never gonna let you go, my love.”
You smile at him, a blinding thing that causes his slow-beating heart to pulse in love. If you give him that smile for the rest of his life, he’ll never get tired of it. He leans forward and presses a chaste – almost too chaste for the unholy things that had been happening, moments earlier – kiss to your cheek. 
“I’m holding you to that, Geralt,” you murmur, eyes droopy.
After a moment, you speak again, “How did you find me?” 
Geralt thinks of what he’ll say. He’s not ready to tell you everything he went through and how he didn’t intend to even find you here, he doesn’t want to ruin this moment. So for now, he’ll tell you what he genuinely thinks, not what he knows. 
“Must have been destiny, my love.”
It seems to placate you, for you give him another megawatt smile before tenderly getting up. He grunts, about to get up with you, but you glance back at him and give him a chiding look.
“Rest, my love, let me take care of you.”
And so, for the first time in almost a year, Geralt relaxes and watches you get up. As you walk through the bedroom door, Geralt knows two things. 
One, that he will always love you. 
And two, that he will always follow you.
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cuddly-dean-baby · 5 months
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I saw your need for requests, and I come bearing a request! Could you write a Geralt/Male!Reader in which Geralt comes home super dirty and very tired but his boyfriend takes care of him ( I.e. bathes him, bushes his teeth/hair etc. pretty much whatever you feel like writing 😂); And then brings him to bed and tucks him in? Just anything super sweet and fluffy because he deserves all of that and more! Plus I’m a sucker for reverse comfort fics. Hopefully more requests come your way and you can get back into your writing groove! 💖💗
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Pairing: Geralt x M!Reader Words: 337 A/N: So I decided to merge these two together since they’re kinda similar and I went off the top of my head, I don't know what I did
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With his boots shuffling against the floorboards, he toes them off, noting in mind to clean the mud and blood off of them later on as he can’t be bothered right now. 
As he lifts his head up, he sees steam come out of the bathtub, knowing that his husband ran it for him. 
Geralt knows not to deny your love languages for him, so he strips out of his armour and clothes as he walks over to the bathtub. He eases his body into it, groaning in satisfaction as the heated water relaxes his muscles. He feels his eyes become droopy, so he closes them and rests.
He wakes up moments later to feel you brush his hair. Moaning a bit, he tilts his head to the side, feeling the plush of your thigh against his cheek as he closes his eyes again.
You smile, tying his white hair into a ponytail. “Food’s waiting for you.”
Geralt groans tiredly, meaning that he doesn’t want to move. “I’ve gotta clean my boots, clothes, and armour.”
“Already done, out on the line.”
He lifts his head off your thigh to look over at his said clothes and armour near the fire on a line, his boots clean of mud and blood. He opens his mouth to say something, but Jaskier runs in, going on about something.
“Jaskier!” Geralt growls out, making the bard shut up.
“Oh, sorry, coming back later.” Jaskier is out of your sight within seconds.
Geralt plops his face back against your leg, not liking how he got disturbed. He groans in disagreement as he feels you move out from the back of him. “Bed, now. I’ll bring you some food.”
As he’s about to say something again, you interrupt him. “Roach is fed and brushed.”
He finally gets out of the bathtub, feeling you dry his body with a warm towel. “Mm.” He leans his body against you, pushing his face against your neck.
“The scary Witcher going soft for his husband.”
“Shut up.”
Henry Cavill + Characters Tags @enchantedbytomandhenry
The Witcher Tags @justreadingficsdontmindme @chrisevansangel
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starryeyedstories · 1 year
Note
Hello! May I please request the December prompt “snowball fight” + Geralt of Rivia (The Witcher) please? Thank you so much! Hope you have a lovely Christmas! :) <3
I just had to set this in the Cottage universe bc Geralt deserves some fun and fluff with his healer and Ciri! I hope you have a wonderful Christmas when it comes, dear one 🥰
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It was Ciri who threw the first snowball, confirming what you had known since the day you had met her: she was the bravest lass you knew.
As you watched the snowball explode against Geralt’s back in a shock of white against the black of his tunic, however, and watched the Witcher straighten slowly to his full height without turning around, you couldn’t help but think that it would perhaps be the last thing she ever did. She met your eyes across the garden and let out a nervous giggle as he turned, one raised brow the only hint at his emotions as he looked from Ciri to you and back again.
“Cirilla,” he said, a warning. The princess gulped audibly and you cleared your throat.
“How do you know it was Ciri?” you asked, crossing your arms, “You had your back to us.”
He narrowed his eyes at you in suspicion.
“It wasn’t you.”
It was your turn to raise your eyebrows.
“And just how do you know that?”
His grin was little more than a twitch of his lips.
“You would have missed.”
Ciri whistled lowly as he turned his back on you both again, returning to his task of repairing the fence around your vegetable patch as you stared at him indignantly. The princess, wrapped up snugly in one of your old winter dresses that you had altered for her, crossed the garden and held out another snowball that she had prepared to you.
“I’ll give you a crown if you prove him wrong,” she whispered, her voice full of the kind of mischief befitting a girl of her age. It warmed you against the cold to get a glimpse of it, to see her getting to take a break from destiny and just be a child. “Two crowns if you hit his head.”
Taking the snowball from her and weighing it in your hand, you grinned at her.
“I’d get your purse out if I were you, princess,” you teased, “I’ll have those two crowns.”
Time seemed to slow as your snowball flew through the air. Even as it left your hand, you knew that it was on course to hit its target on the back of Geralt’s head, and you tasted glory even before it hit home.
What you couldn’t have prepared for, however, was him turning round just in time for the snowball to hit him in the face.
You wondered if there would be somewhere for you to spend your two crowns in the afterlife.
Ciri’s laughter rang out through the freezing air at the sight of her mentor, snow dripping down his face and melting into his hair, his expression stunned. You realised a second too late that your hand was still raised from the throw, as good as a confession of guilt.
“Oops?” you offered weakly.
He didn’t respond, his expression unreadable, and you found yourself holding your breath as you watched him. Perhaps he would storm off, or shout at you, or shout at you and then storm off. The thought that you might have upset him made your gut twist painfully so that you didn’t notice at first as he knelt slowly to scoop up a handful of powdery snow.
Ciri, brave as she was, started to run at the sight of it, her laughter fading into the safety of your cottage before the door slammed shut.
“Come here,” he ordered, amusement creeping into the growl of his voice. You shook your head rapidly, taking a step backwards, and his grin was wolfish as he followed. “Come here.”
“No chance!”
You turned on your heel to run and barely a second later he was on you, one arm looping around your waist and pulling your back against his chest. His breath was hot against your ear as he huffed out a laugh at the squeal you let out. Out of the corner of your eye, you glimpsed his hand bringing the snowball towards your face and your own hands shot out to grab his wrist.
“Got you,” he growled playfully in your ear, and you had to bite your lip at the way the words made your stomach flip not unpleasantly, “Now what shall I do with you?”
“Please have mercy on me, Witcher,” you pleaded, fighting the urge to giggle even as the snowball in his hand inched closer to your face, “Mercy, please!”
His chest was shaking with laughter against your back; he was enjoying the game. You both knew that your hands on his wrist were doing nothing to stop him, that he was selfishly choosing to prolong the interaction. It sent heat through your veins to know that he liked being pressed against you as much as you liked it.
“I could show you mercy,” he mused aloud, his nose brushing the skin behind your ear and making you shiver, “But that wouldn’t be as fun.”
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Text
Stretch
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Kinktober - Size Kink NSFW - Adults Only
Summary - The Witcher is just so big.
“I’m surprised to see you here.” You smiled up at the Witcher. “Particularly tonight.”
“Hmm.” He rumbled, though you noted his golden eyes kept darting down to you.
Standing close to him and wearing stays that held your breasts high, gave him a particularly enticing view. You knew how to take advantage of your small stature when it came to men. This man, however, was always a challenge.
READ MORE
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The Witcher Masterlist
Geralt
The Devil’s Eye Soulmate AU, one shot
Summary: Everyone was born with one eye of normal color, and one Eye, the color of their soulmate’s eye. It was how those who were meant to be would find each other. At the first meeting of their gazes, the Eye would fade, leaving each soulmate with two eyes of their own same color. She was born with a Witcher’s Eye.
Jaskier
Larks Never Will series
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Summary: Jaskier, as always, is along for the ride on one of Geralt’s contracts in a faraway kingdom. In the midst of it all, he finds that his wandering affections have settled on one woman - he is falling for a mysterious and elusive servant girl in the royal household.
It seems she is somehow connected to this dark magic that keeps the kingdom in fear. The closer Geralt gets to uncovering the mystery, the further Jaskier feels from the truth. What does this mean for his aching heart?
Read on Ao3
Read the OC Version on Quotev
Non Canon Compliant
Series Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Magic, Background Character Death, Angst
Series Incomplete
Lavender and Rose Soulmate AU, one shot
Summary: The world turns to color at the first meeting of their gazes, and in the next instant, she has vanished. Jaskier finds his soulmate only for her to slip from his grasp in the same instant. That first burst of color will never leave his mind. She is soft lavender, and he will find her again.
The world turned to color, and she fled. He is passionate red, and she must leave him.
Soulmate AU: Jaskier sees his soulmate and his world ceases to be black and white. And then, she is gone; disappeared into the crowd. Will they meet again?
Lambert
The Silver Script Soulmate AU
Summary: Every day, Lambert cursed those damn words inked in the silver script of unbreakable magic on his arm. He just knew his soulmate would be so afraid of the big, bad mutant monster that she was liable to run screaming. No one could love a Witcher. He knew what his fate would be.
Every day, she lived in fear of the silvery writing along her wrist. She just knew that her soulmate was going to kill her, though she didn’t know why. Such things were extremely rare, but not unheard of. And by the words on her skin, she knew what her fate would be.
The Fates align, soulmates meet. Words are spoken, and the silver script turns to gold.
But what else?
Choose Your Own: Geralt OR Jaskier, Alternate Endings
The Edge of Night series
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Summary: She doesn’t know why she’s running, or who’s pursuing her. She doesn’t even know her own name. All she know is that she must run, or suffer a fate worse than death.
Jaskier and Geralt don’t know what to make of her, but they agree to help protect her. As fragments of memory return, the danger only grows. With the past comes the hunters.
Non Canon Compliant
Series Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Amnesia/Memory Loss
*This series will have two alternate endings, one Jaskier version and one Geralt version
Read on Ao3 (x Reader)
Read on Quotev (x OC)
Series Incomplete
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Note
You mentiomed witcher oc and this idea came to my head so now im asking it for a request:)
Geralt x fem!witcher!Reader
Reader very new witcher and gets cold one night and decides to go to geralt's room and asks if they can share beds? maybe she was in the snow the whole day so she didnt get time to warm up, so the night cold makes her unable to sleep
If possible can this be nsfw? (Dom!geralt sub!reader?)
Body Heat
geralt x fem!witcher!reader
warnings | smut 18+, minors DNI
wc | 2k
a/n | i love this! i'm obsessed with the 'i'm cold and I need to be near you' trope
***
Most people didn’t believe in female witchers, you didn’t even think it was possible until you became one. The trials had been excruciating and truth was, nobody knew if you would even survive. Vesemir had worked out a new formula, one that your body could handle. For a time, you thought you were dying, but in the end, you had survived. 
You were new to this, and if you were being honest with yourself, you had no clue what you were doing. For your first year on the path, Geralt would be right there beside you. It was a strange time for you. Everything had changed. Your body was brand new, and it was like you had to relearn everything. Your favorite change also happened to be the one that bothered you the most. Enhanced senses. You could now hear things so clearly, but that also meant that Geralt’s snoring was borderline unbearable. Your new sense of smell made all your favorite foods and flowers smell ten times as nice, but that also meant that foul smells were worse as well. There was a caveat to everything, but you figured you’d manage. 
You and Geralt left Kaer Morhen early that spring. The snow had melted, yet the temperature had not yet risen. By this point, you had been walking all day to reach the next town by sunset. You had not been making good progress. 
The light rain had softened the dirt beneath your feet, making walking almost impossible. Even your horses were having trouble. 
“The sun is going to set soon. We should set up camp.” 
“We’re not going to try and make it?” 
“It’s not worth it. Let’s get some rest.” Geralt seemed to be in some sort of mood. You couldn’t really blame him. The bitter spring air and the light breeze were now freezing the rain, and it was painful against your cheeks and ungloved hands. Every year you said you’d buy a pair, and every year you had forgotten.
Geralt had trouble getting the fire to light and stay burning. And by the time you were eating what little food you had, the first snowflakes fell. 
“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You dusted a chunk of snow off of your bread, sneering at it when it stuck to the ground instead of melting.
Geralt just sighed, pulling his hood further over his head. You copied his actions after you shoved the rest of your food into your mouth, then pulled your limbs in as tight as you could while laying down on the sleeping mat.
Sleep did not come easily that night. You were too busy brushing snow off of your face and mat. Though with your new hearing, you could tell that Geralt had fallen asleep. His heartbeat gave it away first, but then you caught a glimpse of his face through the unlit wet logs of the fire and he looked blissful. At least one of you was.
By the morning, the snow came halfway up to your knee. You groaned as you unburied yourself, standing up to help Geralt pack everything onto your horses. Not that you’d be able to ride them in these conditions. Hopefully, you would reach the village soon. 
An hour in and you were soaked. The snow had picked up again, and it showed no signs of slowing. When you looked at Geralt, you couldn’t read his face, as usual. You wondered if he was as uncomfortable as you. Were witchers even supposed to get cold? You didn’t know, and to be honest, you were too embarrassed to ask.
Your feet were starting to go numb, and it was impairing your ability to walk. But you tried your best to not let Geralt see. Before you tucked your hands into your pockets, you could see how little your fingers could actually move. It was like your hand had frozen. You knew that was a foolish thought, and you pushed it out of your head, clenching your fists in your pockets instead.
When the sun reached its peak in the sky, you saw the village. The guards at the gate gave you no trouble when entering, which you knew was all too rare. After securing two rooms at the inn, you knew you would be looking for contracts. Geralt had told you that at least for now you would be going on contracts together. For learning and for safety. You didn’t exactly have the same amount of training that the witcher boys had.
After picking up a contract and consulting the local alderman, you retired to the inn. You shared a much needed warm meal with Geralt. Under the table, your feet burned. The heat of the nearby hearth was too hot for your frozen toes. It worried you, despite that, you said nothing. When the night ended and you reached your rooms, you exchanged goodnights and went your separate ways.
The room was poorly lit, with only a few candles littered about the room, not even a lantern in sight. You threw your bag at the foot of the bed and went to crouch in front of the fireplace.
Of course you had been trained with witchers signs, but you were still learning. You arranged your fingers into the sign and focused all your energy into it. But all you got was a spark. It took you three more tries to get a small flame. One which you barely managed to turn into a suitable fire. Once satisfied, you quickly changed into one of Geralt’s old shirts and tucked yourself under the covers. 
The sounds of patrons singing and yelling were too loud in your ears and the pillow did little to drown them out. And your hands and feet still stung with cold. You felt like you could cry. But you didn’t. You pulled on a pair of trousers and made your way to Geralt’s room.
He was at the door the second after your first knock. His hair was sticking up in the back and his eyes were somewhat squinted. You felt bad about the intrusion, but your desperate need for warmth trumped your feelings of guilt. 
“Geralt, I’m freezing. Is it ok if I sleep with you tonight?”
“Yeah, sure.” Well, he didn’t sound so sure. You wrote it off as due to his sleepy state.
When the bed dipped beside you, you sat up so your back was against the headboard. He did the same.
“You know, I don’t think that witchers are supposed to get that cold.”
“Yeah? Well, I guess the mutagens didn’t get the memo, Geralt.” 
“I guess not. Come here.” 
The witcher opened his arms for you, letting you squeeze yourself into his side, savoring his warmth. For a moment, you thought you smelled something strange in the air. You brushed it off, wrapping your legs around his in an attempt to get even closer to his warmth. 
In an act of intimacy, unknown between you and Geralt, he kissed the top of your head, holding it close to his chest. When his grip loosened, you pulled back to look at him. And in his eyes, you found the warmth you so desperately needed. In a reckless act, you leaned forward. 
Geralt quickly got the hint and closed the distance between the two of you. His lips were rough, but pleasantly so. They contrasted with yours just unlike the way your calloused hands brushed over his scar puckered skin.
Immediately after you pulled apart, you pinpointed the smell you had noticed. It was the smell of sex. Was your sense of smell that strong? Was it from a couple in another room? Was that what you were smelling? 
You grinned at him, with an air of anxiety crossing your features. Geralt got the hint and lifted you over him and onto his lap. You immediately felt the bulge in his trousers poking into your heated core.
“Is that what I’m smelling?”
A knowing nod from the witcher, “I can smell you, too.”
“Gods that’s hot.”
Geralt once again captured your lips in a passionate kiss. And in your mind, you had no idea why this was happening. You hadn’t even given Geralt a second look before, but all of a sudden you were overcome with powerful feelings for him.
He had a powerful grip on your ass as he ground you down into him. He swallowed the meek whimper you let out at the action, continuing an arousing rhythm while licking into your mouth.
“Gods, I want you, Geralt.”
“Be patient, love. Just wait.”
Rough hands worked their way under your shirt, feeling every inch of you before giving your breasts a gentle squeeze. When he went to lift up your shirt, you immediately shut down. Your face heated, too.
“Something wrong?”
“No, it’s just- it’s been a while and I-”
“I understand. Let me know when I can.”
His hands continued roaming your body as his lips kissed your neck and your collarbones through your shirt. He was tender when he kissed over the peaks of your breasts, and at that you tapped his shoulder, giving him the go-ahead. 
The expression of pure admiration never left his face when he lifted the shirt off of your body. His hands stilled on your hips as he kissed his way from your sternum to your lips. Your hands moved from his shoulders, frantically trying to get his shirt off of him. He obliged and then lay you down in front of him. He pulled your trousers off, leaving only a thin layer of fabric between him and you. Reaching out, you tugged on his waistband. When he stood, he relieved himself of both layers, revealing his impressive length. You quickly removed your final layer and lay out on the bed for him.
He laughed at your expression while positioning you on the bed below him. He left a sloppy trail of kisses down your stomach until he reached your cunt. His fingers were skillful when they breached you, and after a few seconds, he started to thrust them in and out of you. You reached down to get a firm grip in his hair; he took the hint and his tongue circled your clit a few times before sucking. When your hips bucked, Geralt threw an arm over your hips, holding you down while he made quick work of you.
You came embarrassingly fast. Using your hands to shield your face after letting out a final moan while coming down from your high.
“Uh uh, pretty girl. Let me see your face.”
You wondered if he could feel the heat radiating off your cheeks. No, no, you were overthinking again. The witcher kissed wherever he could, giving you the proper time to pull yourself back together.
He laughed when you pulled on his hair once more. “Impatient, aren’t we?”
“I just need you, please.”
You could feel the hard length of his cock pressing against your stomach, pre-cum creating a sticky trail. Geralt, once again, inserted his fingers into you. 
“Your cock, Geralt, please.”
“Patience, love.”
He worked you for a while, thumbing your clit with an intense pressure. When he felt you’d had enough, he replaced his fingers swiftly with his cock. Almost immediately, Geralt created an excruciating pace. Hard and fast, hitting your sweet spot every single time. When your hand went down to play with your clit, he swatted your hand away, circling it himself while adding increasing and decreasing pressure. You were all fucked out and blissful. 
The sweet sounds coming from the large man went straight to your core. In turn, you responded with sighs and moans while pressing your lips against his neck. When your noises came faster and louder, Geralt put more pressure into his circles around your clit. You swore you could see stars obstructing your view of the witcher’s face.
With one final thrust, your orgasm ripped through you. Your nails found a place on Geralt’s back, definitely leaving marks in their wake. His deep groan let you know that he didn’t mind it. His thrusts became sloppy, he began pounding frantically, chasing his high.
You were positive that if nobody in the inn had heard you yet, they had now. Geralt spilled into you with a loud groan and collapsed onto your chest, pressing sloppy kisses where he could.
“Geralt?”
“Yes?”
“I’m not cold anymore.”
The witcher laughed, pulling you into his chest, “That’s good to hear.”
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seidenbros · 2 years
Note
Hellooo :))) I hope I can send in a kinda smutty imagine with Geralt, where you're on the Road with him and he slowly fell in love with you but doesnt want to admit it. So when you're both staying at Kaer Morhen he trains you how to fight (cause you’re pretty clumsy), which leads on top of him after a failed move on your side. He cant resist you anymore and starts kissing you and carries you to his room where you end up in love making and later cuddling ? :) Thank you dear!
Hellooo! :) Thank you for this request and of course you can request this! I'm just always a little self-conscious when it comes to postig smut, because I'm never sure of it's any good, but hey, as long as I have fun writing it, right? And sorry that it took so long to write, it was just rather stressfull the last couple of days, even weeks, but writing gave me a way to escape all that at least a little bit
(I’m always happy to receive requests, so if you want to, send some in. If you need inspiration, here are some prompt lists )
Warnings: smut 18+, minors DNI Word count: 4101
_____________________________
Bottled-Up Feelings
It was your second year travelling with Geralt, and the first year, he'd left you in your hometown for the winter, but had picked you up once he'd come back in the springtime. This year, though, he was taking you with him to Kaer Morgen, to train you – that was his reasoning at least. It was the perfect place to improve your skills, because you had the time and the equipment. Not that he would put you through the things he'd gone through, since you were human after all, but it would be easier to do it there, instead of on the road. Sure, he'd shown you a thing or two, had taught you how to wield a sword, how to protect yourself, but there was still a lot you could learn – and he'd feel better if you did, because he wasn't always there to protect you. He tried, and he wanted to be there, but there would always be moments, where you weren't in his line of vision. One more reason why he took you to the keep with him, so that he wouldn't have to worry about you all the time.
Last winter had been hard on him, though he hadn't liked to admit it even to himself, but his brothers had pointed out multiple times how much he was talking about you, how his face lit up when he mentioned you name. Geralt had avoided them as much as he could after that conversation, but in the end, he'd had to admit that they were right. But he'd never made advances towards you, swore himself that he never would, because you deserved better than him, better than a Witcher.
What he didn't know, though, was that you were feeling the same way. Not at first, but by now, you'd developed feelings for Geralt as well. Later than he had done, but nobody knew about it, since you kept these matters close to your heart. You'd only realised it a couple of weeks ago. Geralt had been a friend to you, a protector, someone you knew you could trust. He'd gotten you out of precarious situations multiple times, and he'd do it again. Of course, he'd lectured you about it afterwards, but he'd quickly gone from angry to concerned, as soon as you'd apologized.
You'd gotten yourself in trouble more times than you'd like to admit, but you were trying not to put your foot in your mouth that often. That was your biggest problem: That big mouth of yours. You often spoke before you thought about your words, and your clumsiness made it even worse. But all these things were the little things that Geralt loved. Sure, he would sleep better if he knew that you weren't getting yourself in trouble that much, but he would be alright – as long as you were sleeping close to him and he knew that nothing would happen to you.
He took you to Kaer Morhen earlier than he usually went back home, so that you could get acquainted with the place, get to know Vesemir before you met the other Witchers. Geralt knew that it wouldn't be an easy meeting, especially since Lambert was always a little... well, not so welcoming to strangers, so it was probably good, if you knew your way around the keep and already had Vesemir on your side.
And you did! Vesemir had already heard about you, so he was curious to get to know you.
“Geralt didn't shut up about you the last time, he was home,” Vesemir had said upon meeting you, making you smile immediately. You could have sworn Geralt's cheek had turned pink, but you knew that Witchers didn't blush. At least, that was what he claimed, but you'd already seen it happen.
Geralt had shown you around, had brought you to you room, which was right around the corner from his room. By now, it was getting colder, but no snow had fallen so far. It was still warm enough outside when the sun was out, but the nights were beginning to get cold, so Geralt had made you a fire in the fireplace for the night. Of course, you hadn't slept the first night. On the road, you didn't have trouble falling asleep, knowing that Geralt was right there, and even though he was just in another room here... it was not the same. You needed a couple of hours, but then you'd fallen asleep – finally.
The next morning, Geralt knocked on the door to your room, but you were already awake, not really well-rested, but ready to start the day.
“Did you sleep alright?” Geralt asked, leading you down to the kitchen so that you two could get some breakfast.
“Not much, but it was okay,” you answered with a smile. You'd get used to it eventually, it was just that everything was new.
“Nobody really sleeps the first night, they're here. But after our training, you can get lots of rest. But first, we need some breakfast.” You needed it. Geralt could go without it, but he'd make sure that you would eat something before he showed you to surroundings and started the training he wanted to complete with you today.
Once you finished breakfast, Geralt waved goodbye to Vesemir who wanted to get some supplies, and lead you outside. When you'd arrived, it had already been dark, so now, you could see the view that stretched out before you. It was absolutely beautiful, and you already knew that you would spend some of the days out here, just enjoying the view. But not now, not today. Geralt showed you around, told you about the things he'd experienced here, though he didn't tell you everything – and you knew why. He didn't want you to hear about the horrible things. Things he'd told you late at night, when you'd both not been able to sleep, and he'd let you in on what had been going on inside his mind, what thoughts had kept him awake. It was better to focus on the positive experiences, so he told you about these. How, when they'd still been children, he'd run around with Eskel here, trying to determine who was faster.
“Ready?” Geralt asked once you'd finished your rounds and he'd taken you to the training ground. You wouldn't make do with anything that was here at the moment, but just practice dodging some hits and swings.
“As ready as I can be,” you said with an uncertain smile. Of course you knew that Geralt wouldn't hurt you, that he'd stop before he actually hit you, but you wanted to show him that you'd improved, that you were getting better, and that made you nervous.
“We're taking it slow, alright?” Geralt smiled, because he could feel how nervous you were, could hear your increased heartbeat. He knew that you'd try your best, but it was okay to make mistakes, because you could learn from them.
You were off to a good starts. Geralt explained what he would do and how you had to react, how you could counter his attack, and you succeeded. Maybe, you were a little too happy with your success, because your next move made you knock Geralt over, and you followed suit. The only difference was that Geralt's back hit the hard ground, while your fall was cushioned by his body. You landed right on top of him, your body flush against his, your eyes still closed from anticipating the impact. Slowly, you opened your eyes, but when you looked right into Geralt's eyes, your cheeks flushed pink due to a mixture of embarrassment because you'd knocked both of you down, and being so close to him – on top of him.
“I'm so, so sorry, Geralt, I think I tripped or got my foot tangled,” you tried to explain, playing back what had just happened, but you couldn't say for sure what had happened. “Are you okay?” Deep down, you knew that Geralt couldn't really be hurt, maybe a little discomforted, but a part of you still worried, so you had to make sure.
“More than okay,” Geralt mumbled, his eyes fixed on you. Beneath your hand on his chest, you could feel his heart beat faster, something you'd never experienced before. You'd fallen asleep with your head on his chest after a particularly exhausting day like this, and when you'd woken up still in his arms, you'd realised what you were feeling for him, had admitted these feelings to yourself.
He should get up with you, put some distance between the two of you, return to teaching you... something. But he couldn't even think straight right now. Your scent filled his nose and clouded his mind. His eyes dropped to your lips, but what made him lose control were your fingertips that dug into his chest. He raised his right hand to brush some loose strands from your face, before he ran his fingers along your cheek to the back of your neck, carefully pulling you closer so that he could seal your lips with his. It was not what he had planned to do at all, because he'd actually wanted to keep his feelings, his desires to himself, but apparently he'd turned his head off.
He caught you off guard with this, but that surprise quickly vanished, and was instead replaced by the soft feeling of his lips against yours, by the warmth that spread through your chest and settled in the pit of your stomach. Was this some kind of dream? The grip that tightened on you arm told you that it wasn't, that this was indeed happening.
It was you who deepened the kiss, who suddenly wanted more, because now that you'd started this, you didn't want it to end, wanted more of him, more of this. Geralt groaned deep in his throat, his fingers tangling in your hair. He'd been thinking about this, dreaming about it for so long, he could hardly believe that it was really happening, especially because he'd never wanted to take that step, but right now, he wouldn't think about it any more.
You wanted him, you wanted more than this. Once you'd ripped your lips from his, you sat up slowly, ground your hips against him. His moan sent another shiver down your spine, which settled right between your legs. You could see the fire in his eyes, something you'd seen before, but which had never been directed at you.
Geralt grabbed hold of your hips and rolled over with you, but instead of kissing you again, which your lips were already aching for, he got up and left you without the warmth of his body. For a moment, you thought he'd simply walk away, that he might be angry with you for something, but then he leaned forward to take your hands and help you up.
“Not the right place,” he said, holding your hand in his, before he turned around to walk swiftly back with you to the keep, to get inside, where it was warmer. You were only able to take two steps, when you felt the pain in your ankle that gave in beneath you.
“What's wrong?”
“I think I hurt my ankle.”
You looked down, but due to the boots you were wearing, you couldn't see anything. Geralt didn't want to waste time as it seemed – and to be fair, neither did you – and gathered you in his arms so that he could carry you inside. As soon as you opened your mouth to protest, because you could still walk, he kissed you to shut you up. Needless to say, that worked wonders, because that kiss settled right in your chest. You knew that you wouldn't be able to win such an argument with him anyway, so instead, you enjoyed being this close to him, being taken care of.
Geralt carried you all the way to his room and set you down on his bed. Before he did anything else, he lit the fire to make the room nice and cosy – more for you, because he knew how quickly you got cold. Right now, you were anything but cold. Your body felt like it was on fire, but you needed more of what you'd already shared with him.
Without a word, Geralt carefully took off your boots to inspect your foot. Gentle fingers touched your skin, when he pushed your pants a little bit up to get a better look at your injury.
“I think some rest will do. No training tomorrow, and for the rest of today: bedrest.”
“But not without you,” you said immediately, reaching for his hand. His lips twitched up into a smile, before he joined you on the bed.
“Did you really think, I'd leave you alone here now?”
“Well... I was hoping you wouldn't, so that we could pick up where we left off.”
That was everything Geralt needed to hear, because in a matter of seconds, his lips were on yours again. Still sweet and soft, but also more demanding, which made you sigh into the kiss. You ran your fingers through his hair, scraped his neck with your fingernails, before you grabbed hold of his shoulder with one hand, when you felt his hand on your breast. A gentle squeeze before he rubbed his thumb over your nipple that was already erect beneath the fabric.
Geralt scraped his teeth over your bottom lip, started kissing down the side of your neck, taking his time while doing so. He only stopped to take off your clothes and throw them aside, but then he connected his lips with your soft skin again. He ran his fingertips along your side, leaving goosebumps everywhere he touched, while he pressed open-mouthed kisses further down until he reached your breast. He looked up to you for a moment, but then he pulled your nipple between his lips, sucked hard on it, which elicited another moan from your lips.
“Fuck... Geralt,” you breathed, digging your nails into his shoulder again for a moment, but you quickly let go again, ran your hand along his arm, feeling all the scars that adorned his body. They were a part of him, told their own stories. Some people might look away from them, might think them ugly, but for you, they were just a part of the man you loved. His scars didn't change the way you saw him one bit.
Geralt sat up once more to rid you of your pants as well, to have you naked right in front of him. Feeling his eyes all over your body, you felt the urge to cover yourself, a moment of insecurity, but Geralt smiled down at you, taking all that uncertainty and insecurity away.
“You're absolutely marvellous,” he said shaking his head, as if he couldn't believe it himself. No man had ever made you feel so safe, so cherished as Geralt managed to do.
You sat up just so far that you could put your hand to his cheek and guide him back down to you, so that you could kiss his lips. Geralt rocked his hips against you, making you feel just what you were doing to him, making you suck in a breath from the friction he was creating.
“Off!” you demanded, bunching up his tunic, trying to get it off him, but you weren't able to do that alone. Geralt had to do his part as well, but instead, he grabbed the tunic himself and pulled it over his head.
“Much better.”
Your words made him chuckle, but that chuckle died down when he felt your hand on the bulge in his pants, when you palmed his cock. Geralt started kissing your body again, your collarbone down to your sternum, before he paid special attention to your nipples again. At the same time, he ran his hand up your thigh, getting closer to where you wanted and needed to feel him the most, but before he reached that spot, he stroked back down towards your knee, knowing how much he was teasing you with that. To get a little revenge, you tightened your grip on his cock, making him groan deep in his chest again.
That was the moment that Geralt chose to give you what you wanted and needed, when he slid his fingers between your already wet folds, catching you by surprise. Without a warning, he pushed two fingers inside you, making you moan his name. Your fingers wrapped around his forearm for a second, but then you ran them up his arm to his chest again.
He moved his fingers agonizingly slow inside you so that you moved your hips against him, wanting more of what he was giving you. Geralt wasn't having it, so he put his arm over your hips, pinning you in place.
“That's not fair,” you whispered breathlessly, trying to pout, but the next moan broke from your lips, shattering that look on your face immediately.
“I don't always play fair, you know that.”
Which... was an exaggeration, you knew that, but right now was not the moment to discuss or argue about that. Especially not when he lapped his tongue against your clit. You were already sensitive, knew that it wouldn't take you long to reach your climax. Geralt kept going, flicking his tongue against your clit again and again, watching your every reaction, especially when he curved his fingers upward and hit the right spot. With that, he made you come undone, made your body go tense beneath him, your inner walls contract around his fingers. Your moans were music to his ears, and he enjoyed every second of it, kept going while you were riding your high.
Only when you went limp, breathing heavily, did he pull back and sit up to watch you for a moment. Your head was still spinning, but you felt him move. When you opened your eyes, you could see him taking off the rest of his clothes, before he joined you again. You reached out your hand to place it on his chest, a content smile on your lips.
“You need a break?” he asked with a smile, leaned down to press a kiss to your lips. You seized that moment to put your hand on his cheek and kiss him once again. You also wrapped your legs around his hips to pull him closer to you. When you felt his cock against your folds, you shivered slightly.
“All I need is you,” you whispered then kissed him again. Geralt used his hand to guide his cock to your entrance, dragged it through your fold a couple of times before he slowly pushed inside you. Too slow for your liking, because you wanted to feel him fill you up, but once he was buried completely, you felt like you were able to breathe again. Geralt gave you a moment to adjust to the feeling of him. It was a sweet kind of pain, that eased once he started to move, once it was replaced by the sheer pleasure that consumed your body.
“You're so beautiful,” Geralt whispered against your lips, slow thrusts meeting the movement of your hips, driving you nearly insane. He gently cupped your face when he kissed you again, dragged his lips over your cheek to the side of you neck down to your shoulder.
“Geralt... you won't break me. I'm not that fragile,” you said with a smile, your fingernails running up and down his back next to his spine. It was probably exactly what he'd needed to hear, because he finally picked up his pace. His teeth scraped against your shoulder, before he straightened up. He only pulled out so that he could sit up in his knees. Grabbing you by the hips, he pulled you closer, buried himself inside you again with a long, hard thrust that left you breathless for a moment, before you moaned his name again.
He'd switched the angle like this, hitting just the right spot with his thrusts now, that weren't as gentle and slow as they had been in the beginning, and you loved everything about this. If he kept going like this, it wouldn't take you long to come once more. As if he knew it, he ripped one hand from your hip and started rubbing your clit with his thumb.
“Oh fuck... Geralt... fuck.” You only managed incoherent words, not really what you wanted to tell him. Geralt kept going, increased his tempo even a bit more, which pushed you over the edge, made you come again, nearly screaming his name this time, as he fucked you through your orgasm to stretch it out.
Seeing the pleasure on your face, hearing his name from your lips, made Geralt nearly combust. It was a sight he wanted to see more often and he hoped that he would.
The movements of his hips became more erratic, his grip tightened around your hip, when he felt his own orgasm overcome him. He spilled inside you with a few more thrusts, before he practically collapsed on top of you. Just for a moment, his full body weight was on you, but you didn't mind. In fact, it felt good, but Geralt was afraid that he would crush you, so he propped himself up on his forearms.
You opened your eyes to look at him, to push the sweaty hair from his face and kiss his lips. Your lips lingered on his for a moment, before Geralt slowly pulled back again.
“I'll be back in just a second,” he said before he got up and vanished, leaving you worried, but when he returned with a cloth and cleaned you up, you felt nothing but love for this man. He was so gentle and caring, which you'd never experienced with anybody else.
Once he was finished, Geralt lay back down beside you and pulled you into his arms. No, he definitely didn't want to leave right now, instead he'd rather spend his time cuddling here with you – and figuring out what exactly had just happened and where that would lead.
“Y/N...” he said quietly, running his fingertips up and down your spine, holding you close to him. “I never expected this to happen and honestly... I never intended for it either.”
His words made your whole body stiffen. Was he going to tell you that you had to leave now? That it could never happen again?
“But I am glad that it did.”
Okay, that at least made you a little calmer, but you were still worried about what he wanted to tell you with that.
“I just...” Geralt sighed, trying to find the right words. “I've been in love with you for more than a year, but I just never wanted to make you feel like you had to stay with me. You deserve someone better, Y/N. Someone who can give you the life you deserve, who can give you a family.”
“Okay, stop that right now.” You sat up so that you could look at him. Concern was showing all over his face. “Geralt... Why do you think I came along with you? Why I stayed with you? Do you think I want a life in a small town? I could have had that, but instead I started travelling with you.”
You put your hand on his chest, right over his heart.
“You are everything I need in this life. You are the one who makes me happy, never doubt that, okay?”
Geralt was stunned by your words, but he still managed to smile. He covered your hand with his, gave it a little squeeze, before he raised your hand to press a kiss to your palm.
“Okay.”
You knew that it would take some time to really convince him that you meant what you'd just said, that you didn't want any other man, another life, but you would gladly tell him every day if it meant that you could be happy together.
With a smile on you lips, you settled back into his arms, leaned your head against his shoulder and closed your eyes. This right here, this was what you wanted and needed in life. The man you loved.
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bookished · 5 months
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DEFYING DESTINY
MASTERLIST | INBOX | TIP ME
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-> Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x f!reader
-> Word count: 0.4K
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"Do you know why I chose to save you?" Geralt asked, his chest rising and falling quickly due to his accelerated breathing.
"Free labor?" You smirked up at him, trying to give an explanation to everything that was happening.
"No, little sweet. You've got a world in your eyes. You were never meant to be some noble's wife. You were meant to be free." Geralt admitted, his husky voice low and slow, so you knew he meant it.
Why he decided to do this, you still don't know. You were confused as he took you away from Lord Aildwuss and his castle. The way he didn't want any of the mages offering to him and chose you, was highly suspicious, but you accepted it as your fate anyway.
Geralt had never been one for grand romantic gestures. He was a man of few words, a Witcher who had long ago grown used to the solitary path he walked. But when you witnessed the way he took you far away from that castle, you knew he meant it.
The night was cool, the moon casting a gentle glow on the cobbled streets of the city. You had your freedom now, and that was thanks to him.
You turned to face Geralt, your eyes filled with gratitude and something more – a warmth that had been absent from your life for far too long. He could see the relief in your smile and the weight that had been lifted from your shoulders.
"Thank you, Geralt," you said, your voice trembling with emotion. "I can't begin to express how grateful I am for what you've done."
Geralt simply nodded, his own gaze steady and reassuring. He wasn't one for flowery speeches or dramatic proclamations, but his actions spoke louder than any words. He had saved you, not for glory or riches, but because it was the right thing to do.
As you walked side by side through the streets, Geralt couldn't help but notice the newfound lightness in your step, the way your laughter rang out freely. It was a stark contrast to the life you had led as a pawn in the noble's games.
"I owe you everything," you said, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between you.
Geralt glanced at you and gave a small, rare smile. "No need for that," he replied. "Just promise me one thing – don't let anyone control your destiny again."
You nodded, determination in your eyes. "I won't, Geralt. I've tasted freedom, and I won't let it slip through my fingers."
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Did you enjoy it? Please, consider leaving a comment, reblogging, sending feedback in any way or buying me a coffee. If you would like to request something, go and message me. Also, if you'd like, you can check my masterlist or send me any prompts. Happy reading!
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honeywitchers · 1 year
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Awful Plan, Great Result
A/N:  This is from another one of my blogs that I decided to seperate my Witcher content from.  I plan on deleting the original from that blog so if you have seen this before under a different name I promise I didn’t steal the story!  This piece was inspired by @creativepromptsforwriting
Pairing: Geralt x Fem!Reader
Content and Warnings:  Strong language, love sick Geralt, foggy brained Geralt just wanting to be loved, guy in an all green outfit thinking he can take on a witcher, violence because Geralt has had enough, soaking wet Geralt, love confessions, if you squint during the fight scene it might morph into Fiona fighting off the bandits in Shrek, wee bit of blood because bitches get stitches
Word Count:  2,934
Summary:  Geralt of Rivia finds himself to be hopelessly in love with a soft spirited cottage dwelling woman.  How does he confess his true feelings for her when he doesn’t even fully understand his own emotions?  In quite possibly the strangest, yet most fitting way he could.
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She was beauty.  She was not just beautiful, she was the very definition of it.  Even her breathing was filled with elegance.  Her smooth skin mimicked the finest of silks that only royalty could ever imagine to afford.  The way her hair complimented the tones within her face was almost unreal.  Her features appeared cheerful almost always, no matter the situation, positivity leaking from each and every pore…..so why and how was it possible that a man like Geralt of Rivia could fall for her?  He was the complete and utter opposite; rugged, rough skinned, quiet, constantly thinking of the dangers that fill the Continent, often dirty, and skilled in combat.  Yet, despite all of this, she was the very sun in his sky, the stars to his moon, the flower to his soil, the…..you get the idea.  The problem with this, however, was that she had not a single clue that he felt this way for her, completely oblivious to his undying love for her.  All they seemed to be at this point were oblivious, emotionally constipated, and…….idiots.  Complete idiots.  Any onlooker could see that this was not a simply platonic relationship.  Come on, the two were living together!  And they had been for almost a year now!  So anyways, here we are.  The ever so odd tale of Geralt of Rivia and his……roommate.
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The spotless wooden dining table Geralt had taken a seat at within Y/N’s cottage kitchen was almost buckling underneath his mass and the weight of his bulky armor.  The dirt covering his arms and legs were surely destroying the cleanliness of it.  He had just returned from a hunt that turned out to be a large group of villagers playing a trick just so they could get a chance at seeing the witcher in action.  Geralt quickly realized this but not before he lost his footing and tripped over a partially buried root in the forest, rolling down a long and bumpy hill.  Way to add insult to injury, universe.  
Quietly grumbling curses under his breath, he did his best not to disturb the cheerful humming of Y/N, who was chopping up carrots for a stew she planned to make.  Or more so attempting.  The blade on the knife was terribly dull.  Her cooking escapades had clearly taken a toll on the tool.  It was all she had, so she had to make it work.  Although, Geralt couldn’t help but find the sight amusing.  Geralt’s eyes blinked rapidly and his posture straightened as if a light bulb had just gone off in his head.  That’s it!  He knows how he will profess his love!  This is quite possibly the most romantic action a witcher could do!  He suddenly stood from the table with determination, almost a little too fast, startling Y/N.
“Where are you going?  You just got back.”  Y/N questioned Geralt as he made his way to the door.
“I uh….need to go into town.  I….forgot something.”  He pathetically tried to come up with an excuse to hide his true intentions.  
Before another word can leave Y/N’s mouth, Geralt was out the door and on his way to who knows where.  She shrugged her shoulders and continued to shred—cut the vegetables on her cutting board.  
Geralt loved and hated the fact that her cottage was practically in the middle of nowhere.  It left them unbothered and with privacy but he still found himself annoyed that he had to trek through a grove and winding dirt paths just to get into town.  He chuckled lightly as he came across a root hiding in the ground of his walking path.
“Hmm….not this time.”
Less than ten minutes later, Geralt began to approach a river.  He was getting close.  
“Thank the gods it’s not raining.”  He said to himself.
The universe, being the absolute pain in Geralt’s ass, decided that sunshine and no rain was much too easy for the dear witcher.  Why not throw a……minor?  Yes, minor inconvenience his way, instead of allowing him to just walk his way into town and back smoothly.  No, no, that would not do.  
“Behold, witcher man!  For I am Wulfgar, and I am here to take your coin!”  A loud, high pitched male voice yelled out.
Geralt’s eyebrows furrowed and he turned around in the direction of the voice.  What he sees is not what he was expecting.  Standing ten feet before him stood a short statured man donning a green tunic and matching pants that were just a smidge too tight.  A green pointed hat sat upon his bowl cut hair.  A fashion expert, honestly.
Pointed towards Geralt was his embarrassingly small silver dagger.  Confidence somehow oozed out of the mysterious bandit as he chose to lunge forward without strategy or thought.  Because of the overwhelming bewilderment the witcher was experiencing, he jumped backwards just a hair too slow, resulting in the coin pouch at his hip being slashed open.  Just as luck would have it, half of his coins were dumped into the river.  Geralt grunted and unsheathed his sword, four times the size of the measly dagger Wulfgar wielded.  
“Back off.”  Geralt warned.
“Uh, uh….I…..I mean no harm, witcher.  It’s….just a tough time, you know?  So um…anyway…..please don’t um…..KILL ME!!!!!!!!”  Wulfgar stammered and ran away.
“I uh….okay.”  Geralt rolled his eyes and put his sword back into its holder.  “Fuck!”  He reached down to his coin pouch, coins were still slowly spilling out onto the ground.  Like a beggar, he scoured the ground to pick up and salvage every last one.
Geralt considered turning back but brushed the thought off, knowing he couldn’t show up back at the cottage empty handed after he told Y/N he was going out.  That wouldn’t make sense and it would only lead to more questions that he wasn’t currently prepared to answer.  Instead, he began to think about how much of an idiot he was for believing this could work.  Of course Y/N would never love him.  He couldn’t even do this one self appointed task.  Useless.  
“Fuck.”  Having a way with words, he cursed and treaded forward, feeling light raindrops begin to hit his skin and dampen his hair.  What else could go wrong?
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A short time later a now drenched Geralt waltzes into town square.  The place is growing more and more quiet as he notices people rushing inside and merchants packing up the items at their stalls to avoid the increasing rain.  Fearing that he missed his chance to come up with anything, he sprints towards the last remaining merchant.  
“Wait!”  He shouted.  
The merchant looked up to him, eyes widening at his appearance.  “Sorry, the rain is bringing all of us in for the day.  Come back tomorrow.”  The merchant went to turn away and continue packing without giving Geralt a second thought.
“Please, just….show me what you have.”  Geralt pleaded with the man, hoping there is at least one item that even remotely resembled what he was looking for.
The merchant’s eyes narrowed and he stared in silence for a moment.  “Witchers pay double.”  He crossed his arms and stood firm.
Of course, because that’s exactly what he needed to hear after losing half of his wealth to the murky fast flowing waters of the river.
“Fine.”  Geralt gritted his teeth, ready for the excursion to be over.
The merchant moved aside so Geralt could look at what his options were.  His eyes examined the items laid out in front of him.  There were four rolls of twine, a mysterious piece of cloth that appeared to have been white at some point during its existence, two cabbage heads that had been massacred by the wind and rain, rendering them inedible, and…..a knife!  Just what he was looking for!  A perfect kitchen knife to aid his one true love with her cooking!  She shall never fret or strain her wrist again!  He would wrap it in the softest of cloths and bend on one knee, hand stretched out, ready to release all of his pent up emotions and—
He realized it was in fact not a kitchen knife, but a dagger.  A deep sigh escaped the witcher.  It was a slightly rusted short dagger that was surely made for simple combat.  A.k.a not something he originally planned on giving his soft ray of sunshine back at home to help her cook.
“How much coin for this?”  Geralt held up the so-called weapon.
The merchant eyes his torn coin pouch.  “Whatever you’ve got left.”
And so goes the last of his coin.
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On his way back to Y/N’s cottage, Geralt is in a constant battle with his thoughts, telling himself over and over that he should not have gone out, how he wasn’t worthy of her love, how she could do so much better than him.  How could he think it was a good idea to bring her a dagger that she didn’t need or even ask for?  Especially one in a not so tip top shape condition.  
Naturally, his one person conversation is interrupted by none other than…..Wulfgar.
“Now, witcher!”  Wulfgar shouted.  “I’ve got friends this time!  And they have bigger swords than I!  You will come to regret the last hour, mutant.  You should have simply given me your coin!”  
Three of the humans making up Wulfgar’s makeshift army came up behind Geralt in an attempted sneak attack and managed to snag the one sword he brought along with him, having left the other behind to be sharpened later on in the day.  The witcher positioned himself into a defensive stance, looking at his surroundings.  He counted six men in the group, all funnily enough sporting the same puke green outfits like they were part of some wannabe cult.  The only thing left that he had besides his fists and signs to defend himself against the five swords and Wulfgar’s short stub was…..the dagger.  
First, he fought off the three men who took his sword, one jumping on his back and immediately being thrown onto the ground, the second being knocked unconscious with a single punch.  He took out the third using the Aard sign, knocking him against a tree.  Two more men came running at him, swinging their swords haphazardly through the air, praying that one of them would draw blood from the witcher.  The men however were very much unaware of their….lacking skills and were disarmed easily and knocked out.  
Geralt then turned to Wulfgar, the last man standing.  He was practically shaking in his boots, having just watched all of his friends fail miserably at taking down the witcher.  After a moment, he bends down and picks up two of the swords left on the ground.  He lunged forward again and this time nicked Geralt’s face, also slicing off a thin piece of leather covering his shoulder for extra protection.  He looked to the side at his ruined shoulder piece and looked back at Wulfgar.  He stepped forward slowly with an intimidating aura bouncing off of him.  Wulfgar was stopped dead in his tracks in disbelief that he just made contact with the witcher.  With one swift motion, Geralt swipes the sword out of the bandit’s hand, causing him to lose his balance and fall onto the ground.  
“Uh….uh….uh Mr. Witcher, please.”  Wulfgar started to stammer.
“You will stay away.  Or I will kill you where you stand.”  Geralt warned, bearing his teeth.
Wulfgar was left in shock, eyes wide and not blinking as he watched Geralt start to walk away.  Somewhere in his tiny little brain, the idea of trying one last time to win overtook rational thought.  He pulled out a small throwing knife that had been hidden in his pant leg, aimed, and threw it at Geralt.  Just as how the rest of the day had gone for him, the knife sticks in his shoulder directly in the spot where his leather had been cut away.  All Wulfgar hears is a short grunt from him and before he knows it, Geralt grabbed the dagger he purchased and sunk it into his thigh.  
“FUCK YOU, WITCHER!!!  YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS!!!  YOU AND YOUR…..YOUR STUPID HAIR WILL REGRET THIS!!!”  Wulfgar screamed and was attempting to army crawl away.  “AND….AND YOU KNOW WHAT?!?  YOUR MOTHER IS A WHORE!!!”
Geralt rolled his eyes at the empty insult attempts and once again continued his journey back to Y/N’s cottage, bloody dagger in hand.  Oh man, he fucked up.
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Once outside her cottage, he stopped and took a deep breath.  What the hell just happened?  He started off his day sitting at her kitchen table waiting for dinner and then boom, he’s wielding a dagger he bought for her and used it to stab someone after he beat up six people.  Ah, yes, the unpredictable life of a witcher.  
Finally, he opened the door to Y/N’s cottage.
“Geralt!  Where have you been?  I thought you were just going to market?  Did you take shelter from the rain?  And did you–”  Y/N cut off her own string of questions.  “Is that a cut on your face?”  She stopped cooking the food she was still attempting to make and ran over to him.
“Oh….yeah….”  Geralt responded, still standing in front of the door.
“What happened?!?”  She reached up to touch his face but his head jerked away on instinct, causing her to pull her hand back.  “Geralt….where did you go?”
“I….went to town square.”
“Yes, but…..Geralt.  Your face is cut, you have no supplies from any stall, your coin pouch is gone,”  Y/N pointed to his hip where the pouch once was.  “and….your pocket is….bleeding.”
“Oh…..yeah…..that’s probably from…..this.”  Geralt said quietly, slowly pulling out the dagger he bought for her.
At this point, Y/N has no idea what to say to him.  He said he was going to market, then came back with nothing but a bloody dagger and blood on his skin?  What happened to his coin???  A hundred questions ran through her mind as she stood there in silence, eyes locked onto the dagger in his hands.  
“I….got it for your cooking.”  Geralt broke the silence.
“My….cooking?”  She repeated.
“Yes.  Earlier you looked like you were having….issues cutting the food for your stew and I was just watching you struggle sitting there thinking about what I could do to fix it and how I could make you have an easier time and—”
“Geralt.”
“What?”
“What are you talking about?”  Y/N asked, still dumbfounded.
Geralt stayed silent for a minute, trying to rake over his options.  Should he tell her not to worry about it and walk away for the night?  Should he brush it off as just trying to help with her cooking?  No.  That wouldn’t explain why he had no coin and was decorated with blood.  He started to ponder whether he was ready to risk it all or not…….it was time.
“Y/N…..please accept this gift as a token of my love…..”  His eyes darted off to the side.  “For….uh….you.”  
As if the situation couldn’t get anymore confusing or awkward, Geralt reached out to hand her the dagger laid out on both of his palms.  She wrapped her hands in her sleeve and took it out of his hands.  A moment of uncomfortable silence passed as the two stared at each other.
“Geralt, this is a dagger.”  Y/N said firmly.  “And it….it has blood on it.”
Geralt stood there speechless, fully taking in that he just confessed to someone with a bloody dagger that neither of them needed or wanted.
“Listen, I tried to get you something you could use every day and help you but this fool of a man made me lose half my coin and then it started raining so the merchants started to leave and I saw that and figured it was close enough to a kitchen knife so I bought it but then on my way back I ran into the same dumbass but he brought friends this time and—”
In the middle of his rambling, Y/N had set the dagger on a nearby surface.  She then cut off his borderline incoherent thoughts by grabbing his face and pushing her lips onto his, creating an intense first kiss between them.  She eventually pulled away to examine the face of the confused as heck Geralt.  That….was the last thing he expected to actually happen.  Did….did his dumbass plan work?
“You’ve felt for me all this time?”  Y/N asked, hands still cupping Geralt’s face.
“Mhm.”
A huge grin spread across her face.  “You fought off a gang of men, almost got killed, trudged through the cold rain, lost all your coin, and came home covered in blood…..just to get me something that might help me a few times a day?”
Geralt ran a hand through his hair and laughed at himself, listening to Y/N sum up all of his day’s fuckery.  She was correct.  He did all of that just to bring home the wrong thing.  
“I guess….I just love you.”  
“You guess?”  Y/N prodded.
Geralt’s face softened.  “I love you.”
“I love you too, Geralt.  Now, kiss me again.”  
“My pleasure.”  The witcher smiled and kissed her once again.
It was a terrible, stupid, horrible, foolish plan………and it worked.
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notyetneedcoffee · 6 months
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Harvest
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Kinktober - Food Kink NSFW - Adults Only
Summary: You take a tray of Harvest treats to the Witcher
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You brought the heavy tray to the room outside the inn, the one by the stables. Usually, only groups or families with small children stayed in the large room. The owner didn’t like too much disruption in the main house. He was convinced the Witcher was trouble, so he got the stable room.
Knocking with your elbow, you waited.
The big man opened the door with a scowl. He was still wet from a bath, wearing only a loose pair of cotton pants. His eyes swept over the variety of foods on the big tray and his expression relaxed.
“I didn’t order anything.” His voice was deep and rough.
“I know. These are from the Harvest Festival. No one will miss them, and I figured you’d be hungry. Can I put this down? It’s heavy.”
He stepped aside. You put the tray on the big table, taking a dark purple grape for yourself. “You look like you made it out in one piece.”
“Hmm.” He picked up the tankard of ale and drank. With a sigh, he thanked you. “Are you going to help me eat this, or are you going back to the festivities?”
“Geralt of Rivia wants company?” You teased.
“Select company.” He gave a half smile.
Settling into the chair, Geralt pulled at your hand until you sat upon his lap. “So what do you recommend?”
On the tray was a selection of food from the village. Wedges of cheeses were piled high. A bowl held fresh grapes. Another had figs dripping with wildflower honey. A selection of savory pies were filled with venison or ham. Small cakes were decorated with dense creams in fancy designs.
“These are fresh.” You took part of a sticky fig in your fingers, holding it up. He bit into it, taking half. You popped the other half in your mouth. When Geralt captured your hand and brought your fingers to his mouth, you hummed in delight.
Geralt pick up another, holding it to your lips. You ate, staring into his golden eyes. When you licked and sucked his fingers clean, you felt him harden beneath you. His mouth covered yours, tongue battling yours. His large hand cupped the back of your head as he drank from sweetness your mouth.
His hands pulled at the laces of your bodice, releasing your dress. It slipped off your shoulders to expose your breasts. Geralt dipped his fingers into the cream from one of the cakes and painted your nipples until they were tight and hard.
Geralt pulled you higher, taking your flesh in his mouth to suck off the sweet cream. He hummed in satisfaction. You instinctively tugged at his white hair, not to pull him away, but to hold him tighter. He suddenly stood, laying you out on the table beside the tray.
He tugged your dress off as you kicked off your shoes with a giggle. You reached for him, but Geralt captured your hands in his.
“No. I’m hungry. Lay back.”
You followed his orders, excitement tickling your stomach. Geralt picked up a cake with white cream and jam. Tasting a bit on his pinky finger first, his brow arched. Using two fingers, he drew sticky lines over your stomach and along your inner thighs.
A moan escaped your throat as he licked the sweetness from your skin. His fingers dug into your hips. As his head got closer to your core, he held your legs firm to keep you from squirming. As his mouth covered your sex, you gripped his hair. His tongue was talented.
Your thighs tightened around his head as the fire spread. His deep growl reverberated through your sensitive flesh, sending shivers throughout your body. Geralt sucked on your clit, humming deep. You shook, torn between pulling away and demanding more. He did not relent. He relished in his task, devouring you. He knew every mewl and moan, drawing you closer to the edge. The coil snapped, you pulled at his hair and clawed at the table, coming apart.
Geralt tugged your limp body forward, burying his cock deep. Your back arched as he set a fast and powerful pace. Your hand hit the tray of food in your flaying. Rich, sticky honey covered your fingers. Smearing the sweetness over your breasts, you then licked your finger before holding it out for him. Geralt’s mouth licked and sucked at your hand.
He bent forward, sucking and biting at your tits. The sounds he made grew more demanding. His pounded into you harder, making the table creak. “Yes!” You cried. “Fuck me hard!”
Messy and feral, Geralt took your hips in a bruising grip. His pace increased. Groans and curses fell from his lips. You gave over to the feeling, panting, aching, shaking.
“Fuck,” He groaned. “Fuck, going to… fuck.” He roared, burying himself deep, coming hard and pulling you along with him.
Dazed and sated, you giggled at the matting of hair and honey on his chest. “Looks like someone needs another bath.”
“Hmmm.” He gave you a rare smile. “At least this time I won’t be alone.”
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cavillanche · 2 months
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Last Night
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A Geralt drabble - OFC wakes up after a night of heavy drinking and finds she's not alone. Rated T ~500 words
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The room was spinning before her eyes opened. She gripped the sheets, begging the world to stand still as she groaned.
"I don't think it works that way."
The deep male voice made her bolt up straight. She clasped a hand over her mouth as nausea washed over her. The white-haired man jumped to his feet, and shoved the chamber pot in her hands just in time.
"Haven't seen anyone that shade of green in a long time."
He lay a wet cloth across her neck while she leaned over. The balmy dampness helped to ease the tension that vomiting always gave her.
"Who are you?"
"Geralt."
She stared at him and wiped a large clump of hair from her forehead. He was large. It would have made her wary if he weren't keeping his distance.
"You were in the tavern. I remember you." She slowly looked around the room. "Where are we?"
"My room at the inn next door."
"Your room? Did we—"
"No."
She groaned and put her head in her hands. "What happened?"
"You don't remember?"
"I remember… those men."
"Four of them."
"Yes. Loud, overbearing—"
"Asses."
She laughed and immediately regretted it.
"Sailors," she said. "The downside of being so close to port. I challenged them to drink."
"You did." The corner of his lip turned up. It could barely be called a smile.
"I remember the first one passing out. After that…."
"You outdrank three of them. The fourth held on long enough to have one more than you."
"Ah, damn."
"The tavern declared you the victor. They'd never seen a woman drink like that before."
She smiled. "How did I get here?"
"I didn't like the way some of the men were looking at you after. No one knew who you were or where you're staying, so I brought you back here to sleep it off."
"And where did you sleep?"
He jutted his chin toward the empty space next to her. "It is my bed."
She ran her eyes over him, and her hands over herself. Her clothes were still on properly, and he still wore the clothes from the day before, wrinkled and clearly slept in.
Geralt drew the curtain on the small window aside, and the light split through her head like an ax.
"No. Please close that."
"Sorry. Just checking the sky. I have to head out. Do you have a room?"
"I hadn't gotten one yet."
Geralt shook his head. "Always settle your room before drinking." He dressed himself with his sword and other accessories. "I'll pay for one more night on the way out. You can stay here."
"You don't have to do that."
"I know I don't." He stopped after opening the door. "You'll want to drink a lot of water. It helps."
He closed the door and was gone. She sat staring at the worn wood, left with a pounding head, and a churning stomach.
At least she didn't have to worry about finding a room.
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thorst · 2 years
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Tea and Tinctures (1?)
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F!Reader x Geralt of Rivia • Slow burn M for canon-typical violence, rating may change • Draws from Witcher 3: The Wild Hunt canon & books 1 & 2, not the show • No warnings
You were holding a tree branch the first time you saw him. Brandishing the feeble chunk of wood in front of you, feet spread, chest heaving. Your poor horse lay dying behind you, and the monster had moved so fast you didn't even know what it was.
He came from the wood. Eyes glowing gold only round the rims, pupils blown to inky black in the moonlight, the backs of his pupils reflecting like a cat's. The sword in his hand gleamed the sharp white of snow, and you knew it must be of silver. You were relieved, at first, that the figure belonging to those golden eyes had been of a man, though a chill ran down your back at his hair, white as the moon above. The butcher of Blaviken. The White Wolf. Uncle had said of all the witchers - which he believed shared far more in common with the monsters they slew than with the men they'd once been - this one was the worst.
"Which way did it go?" He growled, and while his voice was rough, it was far from the bestial grunting you'd been taught to expect. You point into the woods behind you with your stick, past the crumpled form of your poor Sandy.
"I didn't see what it was," you call to his back as he bolted, fearless, into the brush. You supposed it was his nature to be fearless; everyone said witchers didn't feel anything, anything at all.
You stared, heart still pounding hard enough that you could feel every thrum of your blood, into the wood where he'd vanished for more than a few moments before returning to your fallen horse. Her eyes were blind and glassy, and you offered a silent prayer to Melitele before collecting a pouch of herbs and potions from your saddle bag - mercifully on the side facing the sky.
You clutch the beaded bag to your breast, staring into the forest and listening with straining ears. Before long, you hear the hissing shriek of a monster, the clash of steel and claw, the grunt of a man - perhaps in pain. Squaring your shoulders, you sling the little bag cross-body and will yourself into the wood.
You were a green witch of, in all honesty, middling talent. Not enough to gain the notice of the sorceresses of Aretuza in your youth, at any rate, but enough to see you exiled from the town of your birth when one too many babies died one winter. Deaths which had nothing to do with you, you note bitterly as you pause to listen to the wood, which had grown still and eerily silent but for the noise of the clash between man and monster.
You supposed he wasn't a man, picking your way towards the noise, more cautious with every step. And you weren't convinced that was such a terrible thing. You racked your brain for his name - you knew very well he would not want to be called Butcher, maybe not even White Wolf.
The noises stopped abruptly, a crash and a cry ringing through the forest that you felt must have meant death for the beast. You hadn't seen it properly - a gryphon? That seemed odd, this close to town. The forest song took up again as you continued to pick your way towards where the fight had been.
It isn't long before you see the witcher in a small clearing, his back heaving with panting breath. A deep gash runs the length of his side, and the head of the monster dangles from one hand. He turns to face you with a look of mild surprise.
You can see him better now, the moon for the moment unobscured by cloud. The scar that curled over one eye and over a cheek reminded you of a poster you'd seen as you fled your home town. Geralt. That was his name. Geralt of Rivia.
You held his gaze for a long moment. You were surprised he didn't speak; all the men you knew would be quick to admonish you for having been on the road in the woods at night in the first place. This one just seemed to be waiting to see what you'd do.
What that was was reach into your pouch to retrieve a tincture for his wound. "You're bleeding," you offer simply, and step closer.
He blinked at you, strange catlike eyes narrowing in confusion.
With a click of your tongue, you close the distance between you and set to work as best you can. The witcher is fever-hot, and now that you are closer to him, you note that he sways slightly where he stands.
He is a good patient, though, this famed and feared Butcher of Blaviken; as you press a poultice of mashed herb and root against the deepest part of his wound he makes not a sound. Larger men than he had hissed and sworn or even struck at you over similar treatments. The Witcher simply offers his free hand to hold the bandage steady until you can fasten it with a pin of ash, whittled by your own hand. You glance at the head hanging from his fist, gore and blood dripping wetly to the forest floor in the stillness of the night. Not a gryphon - you couldn't be sure what it was at all.
Not that you were an expert on monsters by any means, but as a woman living alone in the wood, not far from a hostile town, well. You tended to keep mental inventory of many and varied dangers.
You had been at your trade for twenty years and change, and you glanced up to your patient's face, one palm pressed flat against the bandaged wound. His flesh still burned, and his eyes were still blown inky-black, though you could see moonlight dance in them as he scanned the wood. "You are gravely injured, Witcher."
"Mm." he replied, in that moment more familiar to you as a man than in any other. Your lips purse, and a sigh begins, but he speaks before you lose hope entirely that he would heed any wisdom you might offer. "I was wounded before I took the decotion."
His voice is rough as a cat's tongue and deep as a well and you strain to make sense of it, even in the quiet. But you have learned enough of your craft to know a little more than village folk of witchers, and your voice is clear and confident. "And they are poison at the best of times, even to your kind." He nodded, and if you didn't know better, you'd think he was relieved he didn't have to explain further.
Right. You raise your eyes to the wood, gazing homeward, then back to where poor Sandy would lie until the forest claimed her. You would have to make do. It was not so far, and you were strong enough from your years alone; you did hope the witcher didn't keel over entirely, however. "Come with me," you begin, stepping in to his injured side and pulling his arm across your shoulders. "I know Witchers prefer coin," here the big fellow huffed a chuckle, but you couldn't tell what he found funny, "but I at least can drive the toxin and the fever from you. Letting you die would be poor payment indeed."
To your surprise, he made no complaint, leaning heavily on your offered shoulder as he limped beside you. "White--"
"Honey, I know, save your strength. I may not be good enough for Aretuza, but I know more than nothing, Geralt of Rivia."
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starryeyedstories · 1 year
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Okay, you can’t tell me that Cottageverse! Reader and Geralt wouldn’t be adorable with Dialogue 39. The subtle amusement but care from Geralt, Reader getting to relax and enjoy herself? Come on
You’re so right, bestie
Dialogue 39: “Looks like you’ve had a few drinks!” - “You haven’t had enough if you’re noticing. Come on, bar’s over there.”
Christmas prompts
Warnings: Alcohol consumption
The Cottage at the Edge of the Woods
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The cottage was empty when Geralt arrived, shaking the snow from his cloak and boots before he crossed the threshold. No odour of sickness lingered in the air and everything was perfectly in place, right down to the greenery which you had brought inside and decorated almost every surface with for the season, and so he wasn’t worried for you. You were likely in the village, tending to the sick, and would be back soon.
As he busied himself with starting a fire to warm the room, he heard the scratching of your key in the door and smiled to himself, standing to greet you. His smile faded, however, as the scratching at the door continued without you making an appearance. With one hand on the dagger at his belt, he stalked over to the door and pulled it open.
You all but fell through the doorway, landing against his chest with a muffled “ooft” as he caught you and held you steady. As you straightened up, swaying on the spot, he kept his hands on your shoulders as he looked you over with concern for any sign of injury. The easy smile on your lips reassured him, just slightly.
“Geralt! What are you doing here?” you asked loudly, your voice bubbling with joy.
The sharp sweetness of mead on your breath melted away his worry as you hugged him tightly, leaning just a bit too heavily on him so that he was in fact holding you upright as he helped you through the door and closed it behind you.
“Someone’s had a few drinks,” he commented in amusement.
“And you-” You poked him clumsily in the chest and hiccuped before continuing. “-haven’t had enough if you’re noticing. Come on, the bar’s over…” You trailed off, looking around at your surroundings as if you had only just noticed them. “…there. Oh. When did I get home?”
Laughter bubbled in his chest and he fought the urge to let it out. He had never seen you with a drink in you and yet it didn’t surprise him at all that you were just as sweet and adorable as you were when you were sober.
“I think we should get you to bed,” he told you, steering you gently towards your bedroom, “How much did you drink?”
“Only a- hic!- little bit!” you insisted, leaning on his broad shoulders to kick your boots off, “Wait. Wait! You’re here. Are you hurt? Do you need me to-”
“I’m fine, my love,” he told you firmly, the knowledge that you were unlikely to remember a word he had said in the morning giving him the confidence to let the term of endearment slip out, “I just wanted to see you.”
The worry that had flashed across your face vanished, leaving you with a soft, sleepy smile on your lips as you sat down heavily on your bed. His heart ached in his chest as he knelt before you to loosen your corset for you, knowing that there was no chance of getting you changed completely for bed. You let out a scandalised gasp that had him panicking that he had hurt you, holding his hands up in alarm as you flopped back onto your bed. He watched you as he carefully pulled a blanket from the foot of the bed over you and you caught his wrist in your hand before he could pull it away.
“Watch it, mister,” you warned him, no heat in the words and an uncharacteristically serious expression on your face, “I…I have a…”
He found himself listening keenly, curious to hear what you were about to say. You were toying with the cuff of his sleeve, your fingertips brushing his inner wrist and tracing the lines of his veins, distracted. He found himself covering your hand with his own to get your attention, curious to hear what you had been about to say.
“What do you have?”
You frowned in concentration and he was powerless over the fondness with which he looked down at you. Seemingly having gathered your thoughts, you looked him in the eyes as you reached up to poke him in the chest.
“I have a Witcher.”
His smile was soft, the warmth that always seemed to spread through his chest in your company spilling over.
“Is that so?”
You were playing with his fingers now, letting them dance with your own, and you didn’t look away from them when you replied.
“Mmhmm. He’s big and scary and he’d kick your arse if you lay a finger on me. He wouldn’t hurt me though. He’s very sweet on me.”
He laced his fingers with yours and squeezed; your eyes lit up.
“He is that,” he murmured, his voice soft with fondness.
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Kinktober 2023
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It's been so long. I know. I've been neglectful. Haven't I?
Well, I'm back and feeling as kinky as ever!
I have loads of good stuff for you. Bucky. Steve. Bucky AND Steve. Geralt of Rivia. And maybe a surprise or two...
I will be updating my Master List and if you want alerts, you can follow my posting page and turn on notifications for exactly when the stories go up.
It's good to be back!
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