#because it's largely a mental health thing but easily comes off as ungratefulness | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

playing--koi · 4 years

Text

Creatures Alike

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Rating: 18+

Warning(s): SMUT, brief mentions of violence and torture, brief mentions of blood and injury, swearing, unprotected sex (y’all this is a mythical world, but stds are very real here so keep that shit locked up)

Summary: A mysterious Witcher saves you from criminal sacrifice and quite a grim background of servitude and torture. Since he’s decided to nurse you back to health and treat you with compassion, you’ve felt something awaken inside of you for the first time in your bleak life.

Word Count: 5.7k

MASTERLIST

The coarse bark of the tree trunk pressed painfully into the skin of your back. You weren’t sure if the liquid you felt soaking through your rags was that of sweat or blood. The hot, sticky air of the forest was palpable and, if you weren’t otherwise occupied with being tied to a tree, no doubt the heat would’ve instead been the subject of your complaints.

So how had you ended up tied to a tree? Simple. You were a criminal, ostracized and locked away; a long life of torture awaiting you for the murder of your village’s king. However, you didn’t regret it. Hell, you’d practically give anything to go back in time and do it all over again, savoring the vision of that vile man’s blood that glistened upon your dagger.

He got exactly what he’d deserved and you’d sworn to every high priestess sent to talk to the “daughter of Lilit” that you’d never repent. As far as you knew, you had no relation to the demon goddess of the night, intent on exterminating the human race; though you decided you’d lean into it. It was easier to claim Lilit’s likeness than to relive the horrors that you’d experienced at the hands of that man.

You were an orphan that’d been left on the doorstep of the king one night. It quickly became the subject of town gossip because your ears showed that of elven heritage. Not fully, but certainly enough to be recognized. Against all suggestion from his council, he decided to take you in to one day become a servant girl. The village ate that garbage up from the palm of his unscathed, perfectly manicured hands; woes of his “kind, gentle spirit” and “innate care for all creatures, no matter how disgusting”.

It made you sick. He made you sick. With his creative list of unthinkable punishments that he saved for only you. The halfblooded elf who was used as an outlet for his rage. His council knew, his family knew, neighboring royals knew. And no one batted an eye. If it kept their king happy, drain the elf’s blood.

So it shouldn’t have been a surprise when you killed him. But evidently it was. There was talks of hanging you, burning you at the stake, stoning you to death; frankly, you’d lost track of the plethora of capital suggestions. Everyone cried of how ungrateful you were. That he’d accept one of your kind just to be murdered for his generosity. It almost made you laugh that these people were so busy sneering at you over a man that they only pretended to know the first thing about. In their minds, the honorable king would never lay a finger on an innocent creature, but oh, how wrong they were.

And now here you were. In the stead of public execution, you were now being offered as a sacrifice to the griffin that had been terrorizing the village. You’re pretty sure that everyone knew one lousy meal wouldn’t do anything to quench the abomination’s blood-thirst, but everyone was excited by the idea of a painful, terrifying, and gruesome death for a criminal such as yourself. Well, fuck them too.

You weren’t quite sure why they’d tied you up in the forest, considering griffins mostly traveled by flight, making it nearly impossible to see you hidden within the tree tops and thick foliage. Either you’d die by some miracle of the griffin finding you or perhaps another horrid creature, starvation, dehydration, or bandits. So many options, lucky you.

Lightheaded due to exhaustion and overheating, you couldn’t tell if you were imagining the noises that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. After years of mental torture and loneliness, you were more than aware of your mind’s ability to hallucinate quite grand things. Like that one time you’d managed to have an entire argument with your dinner rations. And you weren’t even sure if you’d won.

However you couldn’t imagine that your own mind would be able to conjure up the noise that you’d just heard. A growl so menacing and threatening, you were sure this was your end. And you hadn’t even seen the beast yet. You’d been through a lot, so you were not usually convinced that you wouldn’t survive something because, after so many days spent begging not to, you still prevailed. But this might actually be it.

And then you saw it. After many tales of such a beast; paintings, sonnets, songs, epic novels: a griffin. It was huge, grotesque, and sinister. Its face looked permanently smug as it traipsed in and out of your vision through openings. And it was on foot; how peculiar. But the closer you looked, the easier it was to see that it was injured. With a trail of blood closely following it, you concluded that it must’ve been its wings because, had it been another extremity, it probably wouldn’t have been walking as easily as it was.

But what creature would attack something so massive and menacing?

You kept your breaths as silent as possible, remaining as still as you could. You weren’t sure how good its hearing was. You didn’t really know much about griffins. You didn’t really know much about anything, to be honest. Spending most of your life hidden from the world certainly did an excellent job of also hiding the world from you. Whenever you could sneak a book from the king’s library, you would, but any of his more riveting, knowledgable ones were kept very far from your reach.

It was now far darker than it had been just a few minutes before, so you prayed to the gods that it wouldn’t see you. Seeming to be wandering aimlessly, the creature’s steps were slow and heavy before it made a sort of bedding with the surrounding leaves and curled up—as much as such a large body could “curl”—and began to snore.

Great, I pray to the gods for safety and instead they send a griffin to my exact location where it falls asleep, no doubt ready to maul me the moment I make an inkling of a sound. What a fucking joke.

Before you can agonize for too much longer, you see a flash of white in your peripheral vision and you whip your neck to face it. You see a man. A very large, very intimidating man with long white hair and dressed head to toe in black. He had weapons sheathed on his back and moved with a swiftness of someone who really knew how to use them. And he appeared to be purposely moving closer to the griffin. Oh no. He was going to wake it up and you were both going to die.

Well, he was just speeding up the inevitable. So you decided to watch. At least enjoy some entertainment in your last moments.

You couldn’t help but notice his pure beauty and the rugged nature of it. He was a daunting presence, one of indisputable importance and humble pride. He moved like both the lion and the gazelle; he was a contradiction, both gentle and dangerous. Reckless yet careful. Gods, he was approaching a griffin, yet it seemed to be just a daily occurrence for him. Maybe you both were going to live if his stature was anything to go by.

He was then standing over the sleeping body of the griffin, unsheathing his sword with delicacy so as not to awaken the beast. And without a sliver of hesitation, he chopped the overgrown bird’s head cleanly off its shoulders.

You gasped without a thought and he quickly searched the darkness for the source of the noise and you could feel the blood drain from your face. Sure, he’d saved you from the imminent danger, but what if he was the new imminent danger? A man that confident and sly couldn’t be underestimated by a prisoner tied to a tree.

In the dark of the night, you could make out his eyes just as they found you. His brows furrowed, no doubt confused by your predicament. You couldn’t imagine it was a common occurrence to find a woman tied to a tree in the middle of a forest right after killing a griffin. He slowly began to inch closer to you before he was only a few footsteps away.

You could now make out the rich amber of his eyes as they scanned your…dilemma. His face was nothing short of perfect— sculpted by the delicate fingers of the gods—and mauled ever since by the cruelty he’d clearly faced on the continent. His face was dirty and battered, like he’d picked a pub brawl with the wrong gang of thugs. But after seeing the cool and collected way he slayed that animal, you couldn’t imagine him losing any fight.

And then he spoke. A deep rumble that sounded harsh to unprepared ears. His voice was that of smoke; thick and mysterious—throaty and coarse. It awoke something primal in you that’d been stifled perhaps your entire life. So much so that you’d forgotten to listen to what he’d actually said.

“Ma’am?” He inquired, clearly trying to get your attention. Little did he know he had it undivided.

Your curiosity got the better of you and you couldn’t resist.

“Who are you?” You wondered aloud, your voice remaining constant in such a threatening situation. Due to the trials of your life, it’d been a long time since you feared death.

“Geralt,” he grumbled. Well, it didn’t exactly cover the complexities of your question, but it was a start.

“Are you going to kill me, Geralt?”

He grunted in response, but you could swear you saw a hint of amusement in his eyes. He pulled the sword from its place hilted on his shoulder and you closed your eyes to brace for impact, but instead of an untimely demise, you simply felt your balance slipping as the rope was no longer holding you up straight.

Before you could land face-first on the forest floor, you could feel a forearm reach out and catch you around the waist. Upon opening your eyes, you could see that you were angled toward the ground and, had this peculiar man not reached his hand out and almost effortlessly stopped your downfall, you’d have had a mouthful of twigs.

He pulled you back up straight and, after no longer feeling your need for his support, he left you to stand on your own—though he watched you like a mare would her foal. Making sure you didn’t immediately go topsy-turvy. The absence of his warmth around your belly was somehow even more uncomfortable than the sweltering heat. You couldn’t even begin to think how sweaty he was under all of that black leather. What you’d give to get him out of it.

You tried to physically shake the thoughts from your head.

“May I ask why you were tied to a tree?” He questioned, sizing you up, almost as if he was guessing what the reason could be himself.

“My village is convinced that I’m the daughter of Lilit, so they left me as a human sacrifice for that griffin,” you pointed to the recently-slain beast.

He raised his eyebrows at your confession. “So you’re the servant girl who murdered the king,” his eyes narrowed as he continued, “I’ve heard talk of you. You’re not exactly spoken about favorably, considering you killed one of the continent’s most well-regarded rulers,”.

You felt a pang in your chest. You were so sick of the assumptions that everyone made about you. How you were a no-good, selfish, bloodthirsty elf. Always defending yourself from people who would never know the truth. Well, if that’s what they all thought, there was no use trying to change their minds.

“That would be me.” You sneered, “Probably should’ve just left me to die, huh?” You pushed past him, stomping away from your beautiful savior. Even a mysteriously handsome man saving your life couldn’t be a source of happiness.

However you didn’t exactly have time to dwell on it too much before your vision blurred and you could feel your body giving out. You were dehydrated, overheated, starved, and possibly bleeding. When was luck ever on your side?

You crumpled to the ground, a deafening ring reverberating through your head. Your body ached as your mind blanked. You didn’t even notice that you were now being moved. Your eyes grew heavier, heavier, heavier.

There you were, back in the basement of the castle. Drenched in your own blood, the color a more muted red as it mixed with that of your sweat. Your ankle was raw from where the shackle was tightly bound to it, dirt and grime seeping within the cut.

You couldn’t possibly be back here, you’d killed him. He was supposed to be gone. But the sounds of his boots thundering down the stairs alerted you that it was far from over.

You startled awake, gasping for air. In a fit of panic, you jumped up from the makeshift bed you’d been asleep on, frantically searching the room for an explanation. You quickly came to the conclusion that you’d found yourself within an abandoned cottage of sorts. And you were not alone.

Geralt studied you with a confused intensity. His brows were furrowed as he sat in a chair that was situated next to the bed you’d been asleep in. An opened book was settled on his lap.

Your eyes drifted from him and instead looked down at your own body and saw that several areas had been bandaged, including places that you hadn’t even known to be injured.

“Clearly they’re not too kind to prisoners in your village,” He stated after seeing that you’d been studying your own wounds.

“Why did you help me?” You questioned.

He cocked his head to the side, confused by your response. He probably expected some sort of gratitude in your words instead of the cautious interrogation that he was now being met with.

“You said it yourself, I’m a murderer,” you pushed further, “so why did you help me?” You gritted your teeth, the pain throbbing in your head did nothing to assuage the rage you felt at his dismissal of you upon your first meeting.

He inhaled deeply before answering your question. “I was originally going to take you back to your village along with the griffin’s head in hopes of some sort of…compensation,” you rolled your eyes at his honesty, “but when I examined your wounds further, I didn’t think you would live through the journey without some proper treatment.” He answered frankly.

“So your plan is to heal me and then turn me in?” You scoffed.

“Originally, yes. However, the more I’ve studied you, the more curious I’ve become.” He set the book on the ground and crossed his legs, leaning further back in the chair. Even from across the room, you could feel that the probing was about to begin. “Their stories don’t really align with what I’ve seen from you. What do you have to fear? Your village speaks as if they’re terrified of you. All anyone seems to call you is the daughter of Lilit, the elf with no soul—so what would you have to be afraid of?”

You sputtered out a laugh at the sheer irony of it all. What did you have to be afraid of? What a laughable question. What didn’t you have to be afraid of?

He stood from his seat and started to walk around the bed toward you and your body reacted before your mind even had time to register. You flinched, moving to protect all vital organs from the beating you felt to be inevitable. Your eyes were squeezed shut so tightly, spots were collecting within your darkened vision. Time stood still as you waited for the assault, but you couldn’t even hear his footsteps getting closer.

You slowly opened your eyes and moved your face from where it was tucked into your elbow. You saw Geralt standing there, his hands up in surrender as he looked at you with the mildest bit of sorrow.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he conceded, speaking in a way one might to a frightened animal, “It was unfair of me to pass judgment on you after our first meeting. Humans do it to my kind all the time and I know better than anyone how frustrating it can be,”.

“Your kind?” Your brows furrowed.

“I’m a Witcher,”.

Your eyes widened, remembering the stories you’d snuck from the library stacks about Witchers and their superhuman amounts of power used to defeat monsters across the continent. “You’re a Witcher?” You whispered, curiosity dripping from your voice. You were desperate to hear the tales of someone so well-traveled and brave.

“That’s enough about me, little elf.” He took a step closer to you. You narrowed your eyes at the nickname, but let it go quickly; it sounded more like a term of endearment than anything else. “Now sit back down on the bed, so I can redress your wounds. All of this excitement seems to have reopened a few cuts,” You obeyed, no longer preoccupied enough to ignore the pain.

He crouched down in front of where you were seated and moved to lift up one of your pant legs in order to check on the dressings. He continued this on your arms and legs for quite a while, very meticulous in his work to insure you didn’t walk away with any infections. It was then time to look at your back, the part you’d been dreading.

Sure, you knew he’d already seen it, but your back was covered fully in scars from your years of servitude. It was unsightly and you hated the reminders.

You faced the other direction, so you were now looking away from him. You carefully removed your old, tethered shirt. You used the raggedy material to shield any sight of your breasts, although you knew he couldn’t see them from his place behind you. He began to untie the cloth and remove the bandaging, goosebumps arising wherever you felt the ghost of his touch. Grabbing a damp rag, he started to clean the gashes that littered your back. You attempted not to hiss in pain, but it failed fairly quickly.

He slathered ointment onto your burning skin, lightly massaging it into the wounds of your back, making sure to take extra care of the areas that were especially banged up. This was all so foreign to you; these hands that held you with a gentle touch. Someone alleviating your pain instead of adding to it. You sighed in contentment at the sheer pleasure of another’s hands, especially those belonging to such a beautiful specimen, however pointedly you tried ignoring that fact.

Far too soon, the caress was replaced with more bandages and gauze. You were left internally whining at the loss of Geralt’s closeness. Before you went to put your same shirt back on, he tossed you one in far better condition that he must’ve found in the cottage.

You were fighting sleep, eager to spend more time in his presence. It was so soothing to you in a way that nothing else had ever been. He took one look at you, no doubt seeing your internal fight to stay awake. “Rest up, little elf,” he insisted, “I’ll still be here when you wake up,”.

And with that, you gave yourself permission to sleep.

You’d been trapped in the cottage with Geralt for roughly three days at this point, practically vibrating out of your own skin at the temptations you’d had to sit through. With Geralt constantly tending to you, the little amount of privacy the cottage offered, and having to bear witness to his perfectly crafted body, freshly soaked from his baths; a new side of you had suddenly awakened.

He captivated you. Your eyes followed him every moment you could get away with it. You certainly weren’t covert about it either. The feelings were just so new and profound that you were honestly just excited to be feeling them at all. Any common activity could become entertaining so long as Geralt was the one performing it.

You were entranced by his unexpected tenderness. He would sometimes sneak out at night to check on Roach when he thought you were asleep, making sure that nothing in the surrounding wood had agitated the horse. While his skills helped you to feel protected, his morality was what made you really trust him. He could’ve easily brought you back to your village, gotten a hefty sum, and been on his way. Hell, it wasn’t like you’d claimed innocence in the first place.

But no, instead he’d decided to offer you medical care using his own supplies, give you most of his hunting rations, find you shelter, and be the first person to ever treat you with true respect. So, what were you meant to do? Not develop any sort of feelings for him? That level of self control seemed utterly ridiculous.

Although it’d only been a short period of time, you felt so safe with him. He asked you questions and showed true interest in your answers. He comforted you after a few jarring nightmares. He asked your opinions on things and never made you feel ashamed if you didn’t know something. He told you some quite riveting stories of his travels and woes; of monsters and magic and all sorts of things.

You could feel a considerable predicament arising.

Before he’d left to go hunting, Geralt had been kind enough to prepare a bath for you. Your complaints of muck had probably started to annoy him at this point, so he pulled out all of the bells and whistles. Flowers, herbs, oils, scents, milks, powders; you didn’t even know what kind of concoction this was, but it felt fancy. So you were going to enjoy it.

You scrubbed your body until your skin was practically raw, not allowing even one granule of dirt to be left behind. Frankly, you’d needed the distraction that concentration brought. Anything was better than the devilish thoughts of Geralt that replayed in your mind at every moment since you’d met him.

And since it was your first time being truly alone in the cottage, maybe it was time to do something about it.

You couldn’t help yourself. It was the perfect storm of desire. The heat of the bath, the filth polluting your mind, the views you’d had the honor of seeing throughout the past few days; he was irresistible. And if the only relief you could offer yourself was within the confines of your own fantasy, then so be it.

The herbs and flowers floated around the surface of the bath as the milk and oil clouded the water, obscuring the view of your hand as it lowered down the skin of your stomach. You’d never felt such strong urges in your entire life.

It was your first time trying anything like this, but you’d had the pleasure of indulging in a few erotic novels throughout your time at the castle. Your fingers lightly caressed the flesh of your opening, teasing the sensitive area and imagining the droplets of water cascading down Geralt’s back earlier that day. How it’d feel to run your tongue across each rippling muscle, collecting the liquid in your mouth.

You sunk your middle finger into your core, feeling the wetness pooling inside of you. This man had you wound so tightly around his finger; you were practically bursting at the seams. Once you’d collected some of your slick on the tip of your finger, you pulled back and circled around your tiny bud of nerves. When you’d finally made contact, your body reacted in a way it never had before. Your legs twitched, causing some of the bathwater to splash from the tub, but you couldn’t find one care in the world, not even slowing at the sound.

A desperate whine left your mouth unexpectedly before you bit down on your lower lip, silencing yourself. The hand that wasn’t busy with your throbbing nether regions gripped the edge of the tub, almost numb at this point. You knew that if Geralt was the one doing this to you, that hand would be wrapped up in his bright silver strands. The thought of him doing anything to make you feel this immodest nearly had you drooling. His dexterous, strong hands taking ownership of your pussy, showing you just how accommodating he could be.

His name left your lips in a desperate plea as you finally found a rhythm that suited you. You felt as if your body was no longer your own as you continued your descent in the search of pleasure. You slowly worked yourself, wanting to savor this feeling. Your breaths were loud and labored as you arched your back slightly, searching for a path closer to release. Your mind replaying every word Geralt had uttered to you since you’d first met, clawing for any semblance of relief.

Your movements came to a screeching halt upon hearing the deep voice you’d come to know so well—now outside of your thoughts. You snapped your eyes open quickly, seeing his smug face staring back at you as you jumped to cover yourself as much as you could.

“Am I interrupting something?” He cocked an eyebrow.

You gasped, hot shame bubbling in your chest as you fumbled through any words you could get out. “Geralt—I’m s-so sorry, I really—”.

He slowly started to untuck and unbutton his black shirt. Your mouth went dry as more of his skin was exposed, effectively silencing your babble. The raised markings of his scars were covered in a light sheen of sweat that looked absolutely delectable. You could feel your pupils dilating, your mouth opening slightly without your control.

He smirked at the look on your face, tossing his shirt to the side. “Would you like some help?” He gave you an appreciative once-over to emphasize his proposition.

Your eyes widened as you prayed to every god that this wasn’t some twisted trickery. You nodded, fearing that your voice would betray you.

He stripped himself of his boots and the rest of his clothing. He worked quickly and gracefully, tossing the garments without a care as he walked closer to the tub. While you were obviously curious, you avoided any glances south of his abdomen, feeling too bashful to even look. Moving to get in the bath, he sat down in front of you. Now face to face, you were curious as to where he was going with this—before he hauled you up to sit on the rim of the bathtub completely emerged from the water, now completely at the mercy of his gaze. You were completely unveiled to him and you couldn’t cease the nerves that flared up in response.

He kneeled back down in the water and you quickly moved to cover you breasts. But before you could successfully shield them from his view, he moved one of your hands to grip the tub and the other to grasp onto his hair. He maneuvered your legs to rest over his shoulders, putting you on full display to his hungry eyes as his huge hands held you steady by your thighs. His dominant movements, situating you how he’d like caused a heavy pulsing feeling to arise in your already glistening cherry.

He kissed each of your thighs passionately, sucking marks into the skin with lips ghosting over each valley of skin—just shy of where you needed him most. The outline of your pubic bone, your navel; using his tongue to explore the plains and ridges of your body.

“Gods, I’ve been waiting to eat this sweet cunt since the moment I cut you from that tree,” His voice somehow got rougher in this moment, soaked in the intoxication of lust, and you could swear you almost fainted. But before you had time to burn out, you were lit afire once again as his tongue licked a long stripe up your aching center, wrapping his lips around your clit as he reached the bundle.

Your grip on his hair tightened as you let out such a guttural sound, urging him on as he made work of your sensitivity. You were covered in the wetness from your bath and, now that you were out of the water, your body felt slightly chilled which was a delicious contrast from the aching heat of your core as he devoured you. Not missing one morsel.

He pleasured you with such eagerness and paid close attention to each of your sounds, repeating movements that granted the noisiest and most reactionary ones. The obscene musing of slurps, licks, and Geralt’s moans had you seeing stars. Each time your body would pull away from him in shock, he’d simply pull you closer by your thighs, grinding you onto his face.

“You taste like heaven. How does that feel, little elf?” He questioned, golden eyes staring into your own. “Hmm?”

He was so smug, but you didn’t have it in you to be even the least bit annoyed. Because with his skillful tongue, he deserved to be smug.

You whined at the separation, desperate for the release you’ve been denied your whole life. You could barely handle another second without it. “Please, Geralt—” you nearly sobbed, panting in between words, “I’ve never felt this way before. Please let me finish on your tongue. I want it so bad,”.

“Fuck,” he whispered, eyes glazing over in desperation at the utterly wrecked look on your face. “Anything you want, little elf” his warm breath ghosted over your dripping cunt as he spoke, “I’ll give you anything,”.

He pulled you impossibly closer and licked into your center, using his nose to nudge and stimulate your bundle. His groans as he devoured you reverberated through your center, overtaking all of your senses as you neared the edge.

Geralt enclosed his lips around your clit, sucking it feverishly with his tongue—and your vision went white. You let out the most broken sound as your insides bursted. You tugged relentlessly on the hair that you assumed he regretted offering up to you, but his groans of pleasure actually made you question that hypothesis.

Your breaths were deep and long as you looked down at him. He was still staring up at you with a look of pride—not cockiness—like he was excited to be able to share that impure moment with you. You moved your thighs from his shoulders and lowered yourself back into the tub, pulling him in for a kiss.

Your first kiss. And it was perfect. Although the order of events seemed a bit backwards, you couldn’t have hoped for anything better.

You could taste yourself on his tongue as he pulled you closer to sit on his lap in the water. His hardened member pressed against your stomach, so you decided it was his turn. You wrapped your fingers around his thick cock, all shyness from earlier dissipating, as you paid close attention to the tip. You pumped him slowly, slowly adding more pressure as you continued.

He inhaled a deep breath, almost as if he was holding himself back. “I’m going to take you to bed now, little elf” he enunciated his statement with a quick peck, “only if you’ll have me, that is—”.

You rolled your eyes at his chivalry. “Take me to bed then, Witcher,”.

You squealed in joyful shock at his show of strength as he quickly lifted you both up from the tub, water now cascading from your bodies and onto the surrounding floor. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care as you simply giggled.

You both fell onto the bed with water still dripping from your bodies, soaking through the sheets. You were a quilt of limbs, wrapped up in one another as your mouths communicated longing with deep, passionate kisses. While he was your only kiss, you could somehow tell that he tasted better than any others.

He worshipped your body with his hands, offering you the loving touch that you’d never felt. Whispering praise of how good you were doing and how lovely you were and how much he’d wanted you.

When he first entered you, he kept it jarringly slow—wanting to avoid any pain—but after he’d opened you up so well, there was only mild discomfort at first. Giving into your begs, he fucked you into the sheets with your prayers of more. You clawed at his back and he wished you would dig harder, so the memory of your first time together could scar and overwrite the brutalities that currently littered his spine.

You squeezed him so perfectly and brought him such euphoria. He never wanted to leave the warmth of your divine center, each thrust bringing you both closer to your end.

“C’mon, little elf. Come for your Witcher,”. Your Witcher was what did you in. You climaxed around his thick cock, the pulsing of your orgasm sending him over the hill right along with you. Both of you unleashing the most primal noises into the skin of the other; a shared moment of vulnerability between two creatures alike. This moment in which both of your worlds tilted in the most complementary way; a change that could be felt in the atmosphere.

He wrapped his arms around you tightly as you came down, grounding yourself in his slow breathing.

Once you’d both gotten cleaned up, you curled up in bed with Geralt as you laid your head on his naked pectoral. You studied him for quite a while as he played with the damp strands of your hair, battling sleep yet again, trying your best to lengthen this moment as much as you could.

But, of course, being the observant man he is, he quickly noticed your eyelids growing heavier.

“Rest up, little elf,” the smallest simper graced his eyes as he repeated his words from the first day in the cottage, “I’ll still be here when you wake up,”.

You closed your eyes with a ghost of a smile.

fin

A/N: Here’s my first crack at a fic for the Witcher (first of many, I’m hoping)!! I really hope you guys like it!! I’m not actually finished the series yet, so sorry if I get anything terribly wrong (I’m just trying so hard to savor it since it’s not back until 2021). I’m brushing back up on fanfic etiquette and writing style since I’m just getting back into the swing of things, so any feedback would be treasured!!! Let me know what you think, babies!

I used to have a tag list, but since it’s been so long since I was posting consistently, I’ve decided to abandon it--so if you wanna be tagged in my stuff, just drop by my ask box. I’d love to have you and I sincerely hope you didn’t hate this, ha! x g

#the witcher #the witcher x reader #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt fic #reader insert #geralt smut #geralt of rivia smut

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imaginetonyandbucky · 7 years

Note

Imagine Tony building robots from the latest movies Avengers watched just because he can (Wall-E, R2D2, BB8, you name it). His latest creation is Baymax, which he equipped with mental health assistance protocol and he gift to Bucky. Bucky loves it ofc, he wants to show his appreciation but unsure how to ask Tony out. Baymax helped.

I am satisfied with my care

It started with Steve.

Steve kept a little notebook to fill up with all the pop culture high notes he had missed in the past seventy years. Tony knew that. Everyone knew that. But Tony also knew that Steve was getting increasingly frustrated with how he was writing in way more than he was crossing off, especially because everyone kept saying, “oh, how could you not know that?” or “well, you have to see that!” about every little thing.

So, Tony took pity. Never let it be said that Tony didn’t have a heart. He sat Steve down on a Thursday and told JARVIS to start rolling the original Star Wars trilogy. Pretty soon, the other Avengers started trickling in as the movies played.Watching Steve and Thor react to the “Luke, I am your father” reveal was priceless. Tony was only sad that Clint had beat him to posting the reaction video to YouTube first. Steve fell in love with R2D2 and asked why robots like that didn’t exist in the future already. So then, Tony paused the movie showing to introduce the team to DUM-E, U, and Butterfingers. Tony beamed like a proud parent in the face of his tough ass teammates cooing at his bots.

After the Avengers trooped back up to the rec room and finished the movies, when it was just Tony and his insomnia, Tony realized that R2D2 wasn’t that much different from DUM-E and if he had been able to make DUM-E when he’d been a kid, then making an R2D2 bot for Steve should be no trouble now.

So, for Steve’s next birthday—which, July 4th, how cliché—Tony presented him with an exact replica of R2D2 with a fully functioning AI and everything. Steve actually cried. It was kind of embarrassing. But Tony was going to cherish that sunshine smile beamed right into his face for the rest of his life. And the only reason Tony had tears in his eyes was because R2D2 had rammed into his shin (the ungrateful bot).

(read more)

And then they watched Wall-E. Clint joked that he had wooed Natasha much the way Wall-E had wooed EVE. Natasha rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything to contradict him. So, of course, Tony had to make a Wall-E bot and an EVE bot, which he gave to Clint and Natasha respectively.

Clint about crushed Tony to death while he squealed in happiness about the dinky little bot trundling around them in circles. Natasha watched EVE fly about with an undecipherable expression. When she closed in on Tony, he froze in fear, but then she gave him a chaste peck on the cheek and he blushed bright red. Steve made cracks about the great Tony Stark blushing while Tony cursed at him. Steve’s bot tried making friends with the two new ones.

Tony couldn’t help but smile at his new family loving the bots he made as much as he did.

Of course, Tony couldn’t forget about his Science Bro TM. They marathoned Doctor Who together, so naturally, Tony just had to make Brucie his very own K9. Bruce was shocked by the gift, which made Tony’s heart break, but then he gave Tony a shy little smile of pleasure, and Tony about melted.

Thor didn’t spend a lot of time with the rest of the team. He was either performing princely duties up in Asgard or hanging with his astrophysicist girlfriend out in the middle of nowhere. But when he was staying at Avengers Tower, he enjoyed the team movie night with even more enthusiasm than all the rest of them put together.

Not wanting Thor to feel left out, Tony made him a toaster with an AI named Toasty (okay, so Tony wasn’t the best with naming things) so that he could toast his pop tarts wherever he went. Thor almost broke Tony’s ribs with a giant bear hug. He actually even composed an epic poem about his new toaster companion.

That video got even more likes on YouTube. And this time Tony was the one who got to post it. Ha, take that, Barton.

When Steve brought his new bird friend around the Tower after the whole SHIELD/Hydra debacle, Tony tore Steve a new one for not asking for his help. Oh no, let’s not ask the guy who designed the Tricarriers for help in taking them down. And let’s just ignore the computer genius a phone call away and just release all the SHIELD/Hydra files online willy-nilly. Steve took the tongue lashing, all shame-faced but with a stubborn little pout on his lips.

To mollify Tony, Steve offered up information about the Winter Soldier, who apparently was actually Steve’s BFF from the dark ages, and asked Tony to help find him. Well mollified, Tony politely greeted the rather shell-shocked Sam and then went down to his workshop to start the search for the elusive Bucky Barnes.

In between running search algorithms and sending Sam and Steve out to likely locations, Tony found the time for some hobbyist tinkering. The next time Sam stopped by the Tower, Tony presented him with a BB8 bot.

Sam looked puzzled as he watched the cute little bot roll around. “What’s this for?”

Tony said, “Well, I figure you’re pretty much part of the team at this point and everyone else has got one.”

Sam smiled up at Tony from where he was crouched on the ground petting BB8. “Oh, well then, thank you very much for the gift. But I gotta ask, why BB8 specifically?”

“You’re basically like Cap 2.0, and everyone knows BB8 is like R2D2 2.0.”

Sam laughed. “Thanks, man. No, really, you’re the best.”

“Um, you’re welcome,” Tony awkwardly accepted the praise. He quickly hurried back to his workshop.

When they finally found Bucky, Tony couldn’t help but think that the man was a mess. Bucky was going to need a lot of headshrinkers and a bunch of other help that Tony wasn’t sure how to provide except offering money to help pay for it all. Steve wouldn’t take his money and after much arguing back and forth, Tony had conceded the battle to the red, white, and blue Stubborn Pillar of Stubbornness.

Well. That just meant Tony had to figure out another way to help. He was a helper. A fixer. He could totally do this.

He couldn’t do this. Or, at least he didn’t know how until the whole team (including Bucky) watched Big Hero 6 for one of their movie nights. Baymax was perfect. He could be a constant companion to Bucky without being as intrusive as another human being. He could hug Bucky. And wake him up from nightmares. And best of all, if Bucky went into one of his fugue states where he attacked everything in sight, Baymax could be easily fixed.

It took some doing to figure out how to make what basically amounted to a blowup snowman move. But of course Tony wasn’t a genius engineer for nothing. After a week of sleepless nights, he was finally done.

Tony went looking for Bucky on the floor he shared with Steve. When the elevator door opened, Steve was there to greet him. R2D2 beeped at him from nearby.

“Hey, Cap. Hello, R2.” Tony greeted absently while he looked for the guy he was actually here to visit.

Tony found Bucky lurking in the shadows of the living room doorway.“Ah-ha! Frosty, there you are!”

Bucky froze in alarm at the sight of Tony coming towards his carrying a small red case (it had been easy peasy to make Baymax’s case smaller than it had been in the movie; after all, he was the master of miniaturization, between his arc reactor and his suitcase suits).

Tony thrust the case out at him. “Here you go. Present for you.”

Bucky glanced helplessly at Steve before accepting the case. He asked, soft and bewildered. “What is this?”

Tony said, “Set it down on the ground, go on. You’ll have to plug it in later. The case is a charging station. It’s Baymax. Or well, my version. I figured you could use one. Here, you just press the button in the center and he pops out.”

Bucky looked overwhelmed. “Um, thanks.”

Tony shook his head. “No, no, you’re not supposed to say thanks until you’ve actually seen the gift. Come on, try it out.”

Bucky set the case down and pressed the large button in the center. The case started unfolding and the bot started inflating. Less than a minute later, Baymax stood round and tall in front of Bucky.

Baymax raised a hand for a wave. “Hello, my name is Baymax. I am a Healthcare Companion. Are you in distress? How may I help you?”

Bucky’s eyes looked wet as he stared at the bot. He coughed and said roughly, “Thanks, I’m fine. For now. Oh, um, my name’s Bucky.”

“Hello, Bucky, nice to meet you. You are crying. Would you like a hug?”

Bucky nodded mutely.

Baymax walked forward and wrapped Bucky up in a bear hug. Bucky let his arms encircle the bot and sank into the hug with a sigh. They stayed like that for a solid minute before Bucky pulled back and Baymax let go.

Bucky turned to Tony with red but dry eyes and a genuine smile. “Now can I say thank you?”

That smile about knocked Tony down. It was absolutely gorgeous. Thankfully, he had enough wits about him to reply, “Yeah. No problem.”

“Well, thanks. This is the best gift anyone has ever gotten me.”

Steve had the good grace to save Tony from his emotional constipation by saying teasingly, “What, Bucky, you’re telling me the plums I got you this morning wasn’t the best gift anyone’s ever gotten you?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Shaddup, punk, I’m having a moment here.”

“You’re having a moment alright.”

“Don’t make me come over there and kick your smart ass.”

“I’d like to see you try!”

Tony chuckled to himself to see the two of them bicker at each other. “Well, I’ll just let myself out.”

As Tony sidled towards the elevator, Steve paused in his squabbling and turned to give Tony a smile even more brilliant than the one he gave Tony for giving him R2D2.

Tony clutched at his chest in the elevator. Ugh. Super soldier smiles were aggravating his heart condition.

It warmed Tony’s old, scarred heart to see Baymax being put to good use. Bucky used to spend most of his time holed up in his and Steve’s floor. Now, it was common to see his roaming around the Tower with Baymax at his heels.

Tony wanted badly to ask JARVIS to tell him if Bucky was sleeping better, but even he, as socially inept as he could sometimes be, knew that was kind of creepy. At least the shadows under Bucky’s eyes seemed fainter and he smiled more and actually talked to people other than Steve. Tony thought he might be able to just live off of coffee and Bucky’s smiles.

In fact, it wasn’t just Baymax and Bucky that Tony was happy to see. The other Avengers still seemed well pleased with their bots even long after the novelty had worn off. Clint had managed to talk Wall-E into rolling around the vents with him. Natasha and EVE bonded through target practice—EVE was programmed with a bunch of combat flying sequences and Natasha had a repurposed laser tag gun. Steve and Bruce both seemed less depressed with their bots around. BB8 was a big hit with Sam’s nieces. And Toasty had some managed to become temperamental and refused to toast anything except Thor’s pop tarts. Thor beamed proudly and called Toasty a most loyal friend.

Was it possible for a heart to grow ten times bigger and still fit in a man’s chest?

Tony really shouldn’t have fallen asleep in the common room. He’d known tonight wasn’t going to be a good night. He’d known nightmares were coming. He should have hidden in the privacy of his bedroom. But of course, for all that Tony was a genius, he could be really dumb sometimes.

And so, here he was, out where anyone could walk in and see him, shaking apart at the seams and trying to keep the screams behind his teeth. He loved his brain. But sometimes, sometimes he fucking hated it. You’d think one horror would wipe out another, but nope, his brain strung them all together like Christmas lights and played them back to him like the world’s shittiest highlight video. Afghanistan. New York. Malibu.

Tony let out a shriek of surprise when he felt himself being lifted into the air. He instinctively struggled but whoever he was struggling against was too soft to be human. The lights suddenly turned on and he blinked against the brightness to see that he was being cradled by Baymax.

“Tony, are you okay? Do you need a hug?”

“Now you ask?! After you scared the shit out of me swooping in out of nowhere?”

“I am sorry. Would you like me to put you down?”

Tony, feeling ridiculous, grumbled, “No. You’re fine. You can hug me. If you want.”

Baymax shifted Tony until he was vertical and therefore able to be hugged. For some reason, Tony’s feet were dangling in the air. Tony didn’t think Bucky ever had to deal with this. Bucky’s feet were always solidly planted on the ground whenever he was hugging Baymax.

“Baymax, what is—oh, Tony.” Speak of the devil.

Tony snuggled further into Baymax for show. “Sorry, Bucky, I’m Baymax’s new favorite. We’re running away together.”

Baymax’s head swiveled around. “You are both my favorites.”

Tony pretended exasperation. “You’re ruining the joke.”

Bucky walked further into the common room. He must have seen something in Tony’s face because he asked softly, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Tony grinned so widely he could feel it stretching the corners of his mouth. “Nothing’s wrong. Why do you ask?”

Bucky shook his head and said gently, “Knock that off. I know your smile doesn’t really look like that. Besides, Baymax responds to distress. He’s with you. Hence, you’re distressed.”

“Hence? Really?” Tony joked.

Bucky just looked calmly back, not taking the bait.

Tony sighed. “Okay, you got me. Hey, Baymax, can you put me down?”

Once Tony was set back down, he patted one inflated arm and said, “Thanks, buddy, I am satisfied with my care.”

Baymax backed off and stood unobtrusively to one side like a puffy friendly ghost.

Tony slumped down into the couch. Bucky came around to sit next to him. “You want to talk about it? Steve tells me it might help.”

“And does it? Talking?”

Bucky shrugged. “Sometimes.”

And so Tony told him everything. Starting with that fateful trip into the desert. Getting blown up by a bomb with his name painted on the side. Waking up with a hole in his chest. Yinsen. God, Yinsen. Coming back and having everyone think he was crazy. Obie’s betrayal. Just…everything.

It felt like a flood was coming now that he’d opened his mouth. It hurt, but it was good. To be able to let it flow. To have Bucky there to hear him. And during one of the hard parts—honestly, they were all hard, but sometimes certain things hit him harder than others—Bucky had held out his hand for Tony to take.

And through it all, Tony realized that his heart wouldn’t get too big for his chest because maybe he’d finally found someone to share it with.

~CatZY

#winteriron #tony x bucky #tony stark #bucky barnes #prompts #catzy #Anonymous

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somefactssomeopinions · 6 years

Text

Mental Health

Note – I may not provide opinions on this post. This isn’t certain.

Note 2 – I will be speaking as though his death was caused by Mental Health issues. Things are still being uncovered about his death.

Note 3 – I dislike people who self-diagnose because they tend to be attention seekers and ruin opportunities for people with the problems to actually come out. They take away the feeling of people with the actual problem. I used to self-diagnose (will later get into it) however I have grown out of that phase now.

Note 4 – I am not a psychologist

Following Jonghyun’s death, I have seen reports of this death be linked to suicide and mental health. I want to speak about Mental Health and I feel like this helps me talk about it. This seems cruel and rude, may even be seen as me using his situation as an excuse. I don’t want to refrain from this as I know I wouldn’t have spoken about this topic if nothing related to Mental Health had come up, whether that is because of Jonghyun or another figure that is important in peoples lives.

Who was Jonghyun? Kim Jong-hyun was the lead singer of a very well known South Korean K-Pop group known as Shinee. His stage name of Jonghyun was very well known throughout the community of K-Pop and he had made many songs that resonated with hundreds of thousands of people. His death has affected many people in all walks of life and it brings attention to a hard-to-get-into topic. Mental Health.

How common are Mental Health “problems”? Well, for one, there is a test you can take online or read a book on lots of known mental health “problems” and no matter who you are, you will most likely have one. The reason the word ‘Problem’ is put into speech marks is that they are actually not problems but more of a difference. This difference isn’t necessarily bad. In fact, some mental “problems” such as High-Functioning Autism are so interesting. A show you can watch on Netflix is about a High-Functioning Autistic teenager/adult known as “Atypical”.

How do most of them start? From personal experiences, I can say that mental health problems almost all commonly stem from a thing known as “expressive suppression”. Not all forms start like this. E.g. Depression. There are two types of depression. One of them is a mood and one of them is a hormone problem in your physical system. The mood may be something like extreme sadness such as after a breakup. What is Expressive Suppression? Expressive suppression is when something as small as hiding certain emotions can affect you in disastrous ways. A reason(s) expressive suppression may come about is due to someone trying to show off an image they prefer of themselves, due to their environment or due to their beliefs. In fact: “simply suppressing the facial expressions that accompany certain emotions can affect “the individual’s experience of emotion” (Niedenthal, 2006, 165).”. It changes your day to day life. This is supported by the fact that when you fake a smile, you start to genuinely smile. Try it.

This then, of course, branches off into different illnesses such as social anxiety which can lead to even larger problems. I am no psychologist and let me make this clear: I self-diagnosed myself with expressive suppression due to how I was and felt a couple years/months back. Mental health is also (largely) the main reason people kill themselves, (every 40 seconds another life is lost due to suicide, it’s one of the largest causes of death). Their mental state may be prone to change due to how their families are, friends, school, physical well-being and amount of exercise. This isn’t to say that you can’t get better.

You can get better. You can. You can call multiple hotlines for different things such as:

Suicide Hotline UK: 116 123 (All week, 24 hours)

Anxiety Hotline UK: 08444 775 774 (Mon-Fri, 9.30am-5.30pm)

If you’re already suffering: 0300 5000 927 (Mon-Fri, 9.30am-4pm)

For parents/teens: https://youngminds.org.uk/https://youngminds.org.uk/

Why should you? Well, why not? There is going to be a tough segment in this section which will work with some people and not with others. If you don’t speak about your problems because you’re afraid to burden others, why wouldn’t you try and help yourself instead of distancing yourself? You shouldn’t put people that care about you in emotional turmoil when you may have a chance of changing it. It may not feel like it but nothing feels like it may happen at first. I never thought I would get with my current girlfriend but I did and now the thought of us separating is bizarre to me. You can’t know something unless you try it. And if you fail, try again. You shouldn’t fear failure. And if you do fear failure, message me and explain to me why so I understand and try to help then.

My personal view on mental health: I believe you can get past it as long as you talk and aren’t afraid. This is much easier said then done. Some people don’t bother telling anyone anything due to their fear of being rejected or bothering the other person. A “great” example of this is Melanie Martinez’s victim. You may be afraid of speaking to friends because they may not understand or listen which is completely rational. However, you need to know that “No one will understand” isn’t a valid excuse. There are so many people out there. If you don’t understand where I’m coming from, let me explain it like this.

Imagine the past however many of your life. Imagine how unique you feel it is. Now imagine that for the 180 people in your school year, the thousands of people in your town, the millions in your cities. So many unique experiences and 7.5 billion people to share them with. People are professionally trained to deal with a problem that may be specific to you, charities which may be specific to you. Whether your problem is that you got raped or you are suffering from depression. There are people out there that will understand.

Important: I am not calling you stupid or ungrateful. Quite the opposite. I’m merely giving you reasons as to why you should seek help if possible, why you shouldn’t feel this specific way. Obviously, you can’t control your disease inside out, but you can subdue it. You can’t force the others around you to listen, but you can find people that will. A man you can look up to for this is a YouTuber known as Daniel Howell, an internet persona who had clinical depression and did something about it. (I chose him as he has a large reach, audience, articulation and lots of people fall under his wing and he understands, not just due to him being famous)

How can you help? You can help by doing a lot. Providing a shoulder to cry on, being kind, telling the other person it’s okay. I am very good at reading emotions so I can tell when something is off very easily so I ask the person “Are you okay?” and they reply with “Yes.” I don’t want to pry on and make them feel pressured and you shouldn’t unless you are certain there is a chance it will benefit them. Also, don’t treat mental illness as serious when someone serious dies. I understand this is contradictory to the reason I had started this post with but millions of people suffer. Mental Illnesses shouldn’t only be highlighted when someone huge is suffering from it. Sometimes you can’t even tell if someone has a problem like in the case of Jonghyun. This is even worse. I don’t know how to help these people. I wish I could.

I dislike this post as I couldn’t convey the messages I wanted to preach or be able to articulate well. I believe it sounds forceful and commanding and degrades people with these problems rather than helps. If you’re reading this, please tell me how I can improve on sensitive posts like this. Thank you for reading.

Edit 1 -- I have found out that South Korea also has one of the highest suicide rates in the world so the likeliness of Jonghyun killing himself is high. The pressures on him, the dependency presented by the fans on him and the struggle of his work may have been too much for him. 40 people (on average) kill themselves in South Korea a day. I am still talking as if his death is caused by a suicide. More information is being released.

#jonghyun #depression #mental health #mental disorder #help #try

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