#geralt of rivia x poc reader

[kikilefangirl]

Loved One

Geralt of Rivia x Black!Reader

(Word Count: 1.4K)

The peeking sun shot out from in between the blinds, bursts of light leaving a soft warmth on your face.

Before you opened your eyes, you felt the hard body beside you. The hair on his chest tickled your fingers as you tried not to wake him. The blood rushing through his heart roared in your ears as you laid there. Your eyes fluttered as you opened them slowly, blearing at the harsh light.

“Destiny is taking its course.”

You lay in Geralt of Rivia’s bed, his gruff voice softened from tiredness. You tilted your head to see those unearthly, golden orbs peering down at you through slightly hooded lids.

You frowned slightly as you sat up to face the Witcher. Away from his body, a morning chill sent goosebumps along your bare spine.

“You must guide her, Geralt.” You said softly, keeping your voice low. The two of you slept in this room while the owners and Ciri arranged around it.

Ciri, the poor princess from Cintra, orphaned and a fugitive at such a young age. Too young. You remembered the smell of smoke and blood poisoning the evening air, overpowering the earthly scent that usually awaited you at the castle gates.

You shivered at the memory.

Before the bile could creep up your throat, you shoved it back down. Death reeked over your lands once; and it had done the same to Ciri as her kingdom.

Geralt sat up as well.

“She needs better than me.”

You hooked your legs over his, and cupped a hand on his cheek. You savored the closeness reserved just for you, it eased the mounting tension.

“You cannot abandon her again, Geralt.” You pleaded, but the Witcher gave no quarter. His face remained unchanged, your hands still on him.

You ripped them away, climbing off your lovers lap with a detached sadness. That girl was the key to the latest tyrant to bring violence and destruction throughout the continent. You dressed and Geralt watched you.

Neither of you spoke as you gracefully made to leave.

“She is alone with no family to claim her. Certainly you would know how that feels.”

...

Your airy, breathy voice was unnervingly calm and fact like.

Anger brought Geralt to his feet in a blur. He sprang up from the bed, his beloved already slipping out the door.

Your words echoed in his head—his mother, Kaer Morhen, and his mother again.

“Fuck.”

Geralt surveyed the room as flashes of you invaded his senses. The smell of you— the peace he felt when you were near. Right now, the thought of you and your easy gentleness, made his jaw tighten with fury.

Your words had reached their target, and he hated it. Geralt didn’t like to dwell, not when he had already spent enough years hoping for the impossible. But of course he was breaking his rules when it came to you.

He grumbled as he too, dressed for the day, grumbling to himself in open annoyance.

…

The day was a series of quick bristles through fabric, a blur moving limbs attached to faces neither dared to gaze upon, and an audience.

Everyone noticed the icy cavern between you and your Witcher.

But you hadn’t lied to him.

You never lied to Geralt, a fault that probably made you rather odd company. All of your objections, your laughs, and your smiles were genuine with him. That wasn’t so for everyone—anyone else, but Geralt of Rivia.

You surveyed gorgeous plants hanging over the windowsill, long strains of bright green dangled in the air. A surprisingly elegant and simple touch to the modest cottage.

“—last us a fortnight.”

Your host announced, but you were hardly paying any attention. You were attending to Ciri’s knotted, freshly washed hair, and led her outside.

Your quick nimble fingers made quick work of the fine blond hair—it was nothing like your own. The girl looked so haunted and neglected on her journey to Geralt, you wanted to do something nice for her before the journey resumed.

“Ouch.” The young princess winced at your heavy handedness. You clicked your tongue, loosening your grip slightly.

“You are nearly presentable. Patience is becoming of every young lady.” You admonished, softly.

The two of you sat on the stone step before the front door. High grass tickled the fabric of your dress as you and Ciri traded stories.

You had never really imagined yourself as a mother, but you took to the princess of Cintra and she you. Mother-like then.

When you pinned her last braid, Ciri hummed in excitement as she glanced in the small mirror.

“Many thanks, Y/N. It’s beautiful.”

The girl’s demeanor shifted at the word—she shrank into herself, letting the mirror fall in the grass beside you.

“My people are dying and I am worried about what is beautiful.” Ciri’s lower lip quivered as she sank back to the ground.

You frowned at the girl with a kingdom on her shoulders.

“It is something you love and it will keep you grounded.” Your voice never wavered. It was a clear, calm sound that cut through the haze of Ciri’s emotions.

“What do you love?” She asked.

“I love Geralt, I suppose.” You replied without blinking.

Familiar amber eyes poked out from the door. It was a miracle the Witcher’s large frame fit anywhere. The princess didn’t seem to notice his presence, but responded nevertheless.

“And I love Cintra. What am I to do with that information?” Ciri’s eyes burned with desperation, for the answers to her problems.

You saw it and so did Geralt. The Witcher nodded, bowing his head a tad longer than he needed to. The corners of your lips turned up, forming a sad, delicate smile.

“I have my love, Lioncub of Cintra,�� Your eyes flicked up at Geralt, “I have fought many times to keep him with me, always. You must also fight for yours. Always.”

A determination brewed in the girl’s eyes, growing harder and harder with each passing moment. Gone was the clever, skittish girl who escaped the fall of Cintra through the sacrifices of others— no.

Something ancient coursed through her veins, and Ciri looked every bit the cold, ethereal Queen she truly was. You recalled Geralt’s mystified, and all together defeated expression.

The girl had more power that he paled against, and you had ignored his warnings. Ciri was more than a girl, or a princess for that matter.

She was the hope of her people and had a firm hand in shaping all of their futures—whatever they may be.

Ciri took in the wisdom you offered with a deep breath, you waited until her body sagged in an effort to keep upright. You ross to your feet and guided her inside, not bothering to spare the silver haired man a glance as you passed.

…

After Ciri promptly requested to be alone, you wished to be as well. Those plans fell apart when Geralt’s gaze— his impossible Witcher gaze— pinned you to the far wall.

“Y/N, I can see her hurt,” Geralt said in a low, gravelly voice.

He stood at his full height, making everything around him look smaller, all the sudden. You blinked, processing his words.

A silent apology followed as your eyes once again settled on him. You let your gaze drift to somewhere behind him.

“She has too much power to go on untrained.”

Clamping down on your own pride was easier because you were telling the truth. Geralt had said as much and you ignored him.

The Witcher offered an upturned palm. A peace offering. You took it and melted into him, savoring his warmth.

“I will not continue defying destiny.” Geralt broke the comfortable silence that had settled. You felt the hum in his chest when he spoke.

You kissed him then— on his neck, where you were nestled. Underneath his jaw, his chin, and finally his lips.

Whereas you were light and tender in your approach, Geralt possessed nothing of the sort. He returned your affection with a fierceness reserved for lovers only.

When the two of you finally separated, you held his face in your hands.

“I pray destiny will always bring us back together.”

Geralt gripped you tighter, the pressure keeping you in the moment. Proof that your love was real, that he would not let go of you even as times became more and more unsure.

“I will pray, too.”

#geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt x reader #Geralt x black!reader #Geralt x poc!reader #Geralt of rivia x black!reader #Geralt of rivia x poc!reader #the Witcher #the Witcher fic #black!reader #poc!reader #I slept on Henry cavill #I was wrong #geralt of rivia oneshot #this is my first time writing for Geralt #witcher ciri #Geralt angst and then fluff #joined a new fandom I guess

[sweetpickolwarrior]

The Three Times You Didn’t Want Them To Hear You, The One Time You Did (Part 3)

Established fic

Small!Brown!Female!Reader

Not too apparent but just letting you know in case.

Fic summary: You have been travelling with geralt and Jaskier for quite some time, you had always been told that your voice would take you places before you had no choice but to abandon your previous life. You still loved it though. This fic explores the times you let go and let yourself sing. We also explore your backstory and the developing relationship with your older and protective companions :)

PART 1 HERE PART 2 HERE

Chapter summary: Bit of a filler chapter, the wait was more so to plan out the rest of the story clearly. Y/N wants to repay geralt for his kindness and show Jaskier that she does not hate him, but has trouble with words and such. Further apologies for the wait... enjoy!

The fact that you had not been sober enough to truly appreciate the room that Geralt had decided to treat you with left you with a pang of guilt, but a wavering reluctance to bring up anything about that night lest he unnecessarily recall the sound of your voice. You don’t suppose he cared much, as far as you could pick out from that night, it wasn't something that mattered very much to him… but then why the room? The situation slightly baffled you. You much preferred going from contract to contract, tavern to tavern, losing yourself in the endeavours of your companions. You roamed the streets of this new, unusually pleasant town, the bustle of the morning bubbling through. Your mind turned to the small sack you had swaddled at the very bottom of your pack buried beneath your myriad of gatherings from your travels. A small, worn leather sack with a drawstring through the top, wrapped in an old sock that had outlived its original duty a few winters ago sat almost full, the weight of the coin inside at most an apple or two. You had kept it for emergencies, a few loaves of bread and some meat if rations had become sparse, a promise payment for a healer or mage, should one or more of you fall incapacitated while coin was low, an emergency room should the cold threaten to settle in someones bones too cosily, and should you feel the need to express gratitude to a generous but stoic witcher, apparently.

You wandered past a bakers stall, sweet pastries dusted with sugar beckoned, small honey dipped loaves with specks of lavender peeking through the golden slopes glinted in the morning light, puffy buns that had been baked with a clever twist in the top to result in a soft swirl sat in a neat row identical to the sweet fresh bread Jaskier had pressed into your palm earlier. You cringed at the thought of leaving so abruptly and didn't like all this coaxing going on, and hoped he would drop the subject so you could shove the topic down your tunic and carry on your simple shenanigans with the bard.

You strolled through, eyes on the dry dirt of the worn path through the centre, ladies walking with shawls wrapped tight around their shoulders gave you curt, tight-lipped greeting smiles as you passed through looking thoroughly disheveled. You had given up on dresses, petticoats, stockings and other such extraneous garments when tripping up on hems or sweating through layers upon layers had become more trouble than your chagrin had been worth. A tunic and breeches were sported now, along with unkempt, thick jet black hair. You tended to forget what a sight you would be to normal folks, constantly surrounded by the bard in his gaudy and intricate clothing (you still didn't know how he survived on the path) and a burly witcher clad almost always in armour and under that, similar garments to yourself. you supposed the three of you stuck out like an arrow between the eyes. Your mind flashed to what your mother may have said should she see you like this. It confused you for a moment, these memories suddenly deciding they were welcome in your conscious thoughts over the past few days. you stuffed the sudden pang of guilt and shame back into oblivion as your hands moved to your tangled mop, carding roughly through so you may find some semblance of being put together.

~~~~~~~~~~~

You tried hard not to cast your eyes down to your fingers, out of practice as they were. You tried to feel the sections, pick up more as you went, comb through soft with your fingers lest the ends get tangled, keep hold of the ribbon. Roach was being very patient with you. The fire warmed your back as you sat on your knees, tending to a horse who had decided to sit for you. You didn't know much of equine tendencies, but had heard that horses do not sit save for when it was going to rain. Your mind moved to days where your little troop had no choice but to trudge through hail, rain and thunder. She did not object and kept on wonderfully through these times and was rewarded with kisses and slips of dried fruit from you later on.

She had decided to understand what coaxing her to the floor with a brushing, soft words and rubs on her neck had meant that night and folded her legs, coming down with an impressive and somehow graceful thud. You supposed you couldn't know everything about everything and the clearest answer was that she’s just a very good girl. You relaxed as your fingers fell into a rhythm - right strand, left strand, ribbon, taking care to adjust the material so the nicer side was showing. “Expensive.” Geralt stated simply from behind. He was checking through his own pack, counting off vials of witcher potions and such. “Yes, well - an extra room must have cost.. and the food I didn’t touch” you focused on your hands, knowing Geralt was probably trying to avoid eye contact, too. After hearing a somewhat soft “hmm”, your attention returned to your fingers, having now grown a mind of their own. Roach’s auburn mane turned a dark coal in your minds eye, her soft huffs to small complaints of tugging too hard “hush now, or it won’t look nice” you barely whispered as her head jerked, it was an impossible task to try tie the hair of any child into a neat row, your sisters no exception. Your breath slowed as your mothers lullaby sat in between your lips, you tried to grasp the first note of the soft song.

Sisters? Here?

Your knees were cold and sore, kneeling on the ground so long, knobs of grass settling aches into your muscles; your hair unkempt and hastily scraped back, with a small leather tie, bumps hilling over your scalp that you had no care of. Your hands were dirty, grubby from foraging scraps of dry wood to keep warm through the night. Calloused from the past few years of plucking the string of your bow with arrows that reminded you with every swift hit that death was something permanent, immediate, inescapable. These hands were not the same ones that softly put braids in your sisters’ hair. These calluses were not the same ones that came from making music.

The first note of that bloody lullaby froze on your toungue.Best to stop trying to live in the past. Not that you were, trying that is. You wanted nothing more than those memories to keep sitting in the little box in your mind where they were meant to be. Happy, silent, unbothering. Instead they kept feeling the need to rise up, to pester you and drag you away, remind you that those days would never come back, that your whole life had vanished.

Well, this was your life now and different as it was, you needed to live in it. You pushed away the offending memories for the second time that day, focusing on finishing Roach’s mane.

Impeccable timing as always, Jaskier came strolling through after having washed everyone’s clothes in a nearby stream, no doubt a vein of the river you had found yourself in those few days ago. “Honestly, why do I bother? They're bound by fate to stink of ash and dirt anyway- I know! I could write a shanty about the smoked Witcher’s shirt - a real pub sway! Sometimes he smells of heroics and adventure! The whiff of a lady’s perfume often, but will always return to the ash of a trusty campfire” he leaned to put the folded pile down neatly. You were in awe of how these thoughts came running from your musical friend, you were convinced that he could write a song about watching clothes dry and still make it magnificent.

Ah. Exactly.

A dramatic gasp came from the bard, no doubt with a soft hand upon his chest. Your fingers tensed as you pat roach and tried to seem as nonchalant as possible.

"Now! Which one of you has been able to tie a bow so pretty all this time?”

You had laced the ribbon, as careful as you could to not disturb the strings, behind where they were pulled taut to the tuning pegs of Jaskier's lute, taking care that the tails would not brush against the front or impair his hands while playing. The ribbon you had bought was a soft lavender colour, embroidered with a deep violet, floral and feathery motifs weaving through the sleek fabric. You turned to see Jaskier caressing the fine fabric “I shall have to have an outfit made to go with this! Oh what a look that could be for the bardic competition this autumn! Simply revolutionary, a great stride forward in musical fashion! Bows woven through lutes, gods-” a theatrical palm to the forehead “How had I not thought of this before- and Roach! Oh! Exquisite, Y/N,” it seemed he had finally clocked onto the fact that this was your doing, both you and Geralt huffing amusedly as he was practically flying with excitement “I daresay Roach could be a fine show horse! Beautifully healthy and muscular, a shining coat, those deep glistening eyes- “She’s not a show horse” Geralt grumbled "I said could or rather might've been, had the twines of fate been wound a little looser.." You chuckled softly as your trusty bard rambled on into the night about how he knew a thing or two about show horses (being one in a past life, most likely) and you prepared your bedroll, smoothed it out with your hands and checked how close your damp clothes were to drying. When you reflected on Jaskier's words, you thought about how the warm and bitter smell of ash and smoke and fire made from Witcher magic was comforting to you. As you settled, you tried to smell other things, maybe someday you could smell half as well as a witcher if you trained hard enough. Ash, smoke.. the small burnt remnants of a meagre fish dinner, the distinctly horsey smell of Roach, the faintest traces of lavender lingering in your hair. You supposed you could try to hone in your hearing, too. You got comfortable, wriggling a little further in, catching a glimpse of the fine ribbon you had bought before closing your eyes...it was nice to see the splashes of the bright colour woven through your little group. You could first hear Jaskier mumbling on, the scratch of his quill onto the notebook he carried, the pops and snaps of the fire, the wind breathing contentedly through the leaves above, the last clinks of Geralt's potion bottles, then the slight crunch of careful steps in leather boots, his hands patting roach and hushed, almost inaudible whispers of him calling Roach his "pretty girl".

A/N : Hello, dears! I hope you've all been well and taking care of yourselves - I know it has been a tremendous wait. i've been planning the rest of the story out (i'm rly annoyingly particular about it) and lots of things have been a bit crazy the past two months. I hope this chapter isnt dissapointing given the wait but get ready for big angst, hurt/comfort and further progression of the story and characters in the next two chapters. I feel this filler was needed to transition into the next part of the story. I might change the description some as this story is not only about the fact that Y/N can sing, but also focuses on the way that changes her relationship with the boys.

More on the interactions of this night for the boys' POV in the next chapter probably x

I'm hoping the story is well fleshed out and flowing, and that its clear that singing is a great comfort and big part of Y/N's character. I hope its easy to immerse yourself and such. Again, its such a pleasure to receive likes and comments, and i'm very grateful to anyone who has read so far... be ready for great developments! As always, constructive criticism is welcome xxx Thanks gang!

Also yall thank my lil sister for helping me write this, she doesnt have an tumblr account so I cant tag her or anything but she super cool and rambling to her rly helps me organise my writing.

stay blessed!

tagged people:

@ladylizzieofdarbyshire i cannot find @sihxm i did try xxx

#the witcher (tv) #witcher #geralt #jaskier #geralt of rivia #reader #geralt x reader #jaskier x reader #platonic!jaskier x reader #platonic!geralt x reader #platonic geralt #platonic jaskier #mentor geralt #protective geralt #mentor jaskier #shy reader #reader has anxiety #developing friendships #tragic backstory gang #poc!reader #woc!reader #reader is brown #reader can sing #strap yourselves in for the next chapter gang

[for-a-muse-of-fire]

let’s tessellate

“let’s tessellate”

Fandom: The Witcher (2019)

Paring: Geralt of Rivia x Zahra Auberel (WOC original character).

Summary: The White Wolf returns to his den, and his woman. A “reunion” ensues.

Warnings: NSFT/18+ - you should not be interacting with this fic if you are under the age of 18. Oral (f receiving), rough/possessive sex.

A/N: Please accept this humble PWP as an apology for vanishing from the Tumblrsphere. The world is still very much on fire, but I’ve missed y’all a bunch. I’m afraid I will no longer be providing a taglist - it’s stressful, and I honestly don’t want to. Best practice would be to make sure you get notifs when I post!

Thank you, dear hearts. Enjoy!

The lashing rain and wind has left the tavern utterly empty. One of those mindless summer storms, it cropped up almost without warning. The sky had darkened and gone deadly quiet as the air sat heavy; heavy, and so thick one could feel it settle on the skin. Zahra had let her people rush home when the last patron had scurried out the door – Lucja had just cleared the alley when the wind had picked up.

Thunder growls. Lightning splits the tumultuous sky asunder.

Zahra watches, smiling from the safety of the kitchens. She’s always loved storms like this – unbridled. Dangerous. She watches the crest of trees over the village rooftops; the canopy whips, bends. She counts the beats between the lightning and bellowing thunder. With a grin to herself, she pulls her light robe closer and takes the last walk around, locking the service door, then the heavy oaken door at the front of the tavern. The dying fire barely puts off enough light to see by, but she’s wandered this place in the dead of night for most of her life. Besides, each bolt of light from the storm makes it look like high noon.

One such bolt illuminates the main room when she turns towards the back door. The figure standing there is lit, clear as day – the barkeep shouts, and very nearly jumps out of her skin. “Gods dammit,” Zahra curses.

Pale, soft lips quirk up at one corner. Geralt is drenched to the bone, standing just inside the threshold and dripping on the flagstone. She glares at him as the lightning fades, giving his handsome face back to the shadows again.

“You are an asshole, Geralt,” she hisses. “I’m putting a fucking bell around your neck.”

“I’d like to see you try, love.”

His voice is a match to the deadly rumble that buzzes the thick window glass. It hums over her skin, doing very little to quell the startled tattoo of her heart. Nonetheless, she glowers, bare feet easing across the floor towards him. He lets her slip past him to lock the door.

“Oh, I’ll fucking-well do it,” she threatens, turning to face him. “Big, silver bell and gaudy, terrible silk ribbon.”

The Witcher lets out a low chuckle and though he almost hesitates, he lets her rests her hands on his waist. Zahra peers up at him in the near-dark and feels a thrill chase coolly down her spine. Geralt’s eyes are a deep, shining black and somewhat sunken in their sockets; bruise-colored veins creep down his cheeks. His skin is smooth and pale as fine parchment, while his frost-colored hair is plastered to his cheek with rain water. A silver-toned flash lights the room again and she can’t help the way her breath stalls. Gods.

He may not like it when she sees him like this, but he looks deadly and powerful and it arrows something base and wanton straight through her.

“Injured?” Zahra asks, breathier than she would like.

Black eyes stare. Geralt tilts his head, just so, but grunts once – a wordless ‘no’. He doesn’t shy away or dodge when she reaches for him, and her swift brown fingers carefully loosen the buckles and straps of his leathers. She keeps her eyes on his, muscle memory guiding her through the motions. The silence sits between them, heavy as the thick summer air and only broken by rain and thunder. Zahra feels sweat catch at her collarbone, her heartbeat drumming sharply behind her ribs. Each quick beat feathers heat through her- heat that settles low beneath her navel. It pulses there, a slick heaviness between her legs; she bites her lip and slides the last clasp open. The Witcher’s black eyes drop to her mouth.

“Your heart is pounding, little rabbit,” he rumbles, almost grinning when she drops her eyes. She hears the rustle of leather as he peels his gloves away. “What’s got you on edge?”

Zahra huffs out an embarrassed laugh.  The tension breaks – cut by her movement and the growling thunder. The armor finds its place on the hooks by the back door. Geralt tracks her with the single-minded focus of his moniker. The wolf sizing up his prey. The heavy, knowing press of his gaze makes her shudder.

“Let’s get you into dry clothes, hm?” she murmurs.

She brushes past him as the room is lit by the storm. Powerful fingers close on the back of her neck and she gasps, stumbling when Geralt tugs and spins her to face him. He doesn’t kiss her, not exactly, but she feels the press of his mouth over hers. She can feel the damp of his clothes soak through her robe, pebbling her nipples against the plane of his chest. His lips are cool with rain, though his breath rushes hot over her lips and Zahra feels her knees go a bit weak. Geralt snarls, matching the tone and timbre of the thunder.

“I asked you a question, Zahra,” he growls. His nose traces a chilly line up the heated curve of her cheek; she exhales on a breathless moan. “I can feel your pulse. I can smell you…”

Geralt’s fingers tangle in the loose curls at the nape of her neck. Lightning lets her see his pale, beautiful face, and the midnight dark of his eyes while he gives her hair a gentle, demanding tug. He fairly dwarfs her, lets his mouth tease over hers as he rumbles, “You like it, is that it? You like it when I come to you like this?”

He walks forward, forcing her back until she feels the blunted edge of a table against her backside. Zahra braces her hands on the smooth, cool wood.

“What is it?” he murmurs. She feels a tug – he looses the tie on her robe, parting the silken fabric with his free hand. “Hm? Why don’t you tell me why it gets you so hot?”

Calloused fingers twist around her nipple and Zahra gives a short gasp. “I don’t know,” she says with breathless mirth. “You look – oh gods – “

It’s hard to think – let alone speak – with his hand cupping her cunt. Her eyes drift close, lashes fluttering over her cheeks as Geralt slips a finger between her swollen lips, catching the slick on his fingertips before he draws delicate little circles over her clit. Zahra’s voice breaks on a whine.

“Geralt – “ she pleads. Deep brown eyes spring open, meeting lightning-lit black and she gasps out:

“You look dangerous.”

The thunder shakes the room as the Witcher’s mouth covers hers. It’s a biting kiss, greedy with teeth and tongue. He keeps the teasing pressure over her clit, rubbing with the tips of his fingers until her hips roll down to beg for friction. Zahra whimpers when he breaks away, only to utter a breathless curse as Geralt drags open-mouthed kisses down the curve of her throat. The shimmer silk fabric of her robe is yanked open – the fabric slips down her arms. His stubble scrapes harsh over her skin, down her neck, between the valley of her breasts – over the softness of her belly where his teeth dig in.

She moans his name – it makes him smile into her skin. “Fuck, I missed that,” he growls.

Geralt kneels and replaces his fingers with his tongue. Hot, wet – firm against her aching cunt, he pushes the blade of his tongue through her folds and growls at the slippery-sweet wetness he finds. Zahra keens.

The thunder drowns out the sound.

The insistent press of his mouth, the steady flicker of his tongue – they light up under her skin, making her squirm and cry with each crest of sensation. With one hand pressed to the table behind her, she lets the other fist tight in Geralt’s rain-damp hair. The wet strands stick to her palm, tangle around her fingers as she tugs. “Gods – fuck,” she hisses through grit teeth.

Geralt knows her tells, by now. He knows when to flick the tip of his tongue over her clit, when to dip into the clenching heat of her cunt. Her voices goes rough, breathless and needy, in a way that makes his cock throb in the confines of his trousers. When he feels her begin to shake, he gauges the tell-tale tremor of her strong thighs and lifts one over his shoulder. Two fingers press in – Zahra’s hips rock, the sensitive walls of her cunt bearing down hard around the intrusion as she pants. The Witcher’s low moan hums against her clit, pulling a ragged whine up from her throat.

“Geralt,” she groans. “Darling - love – please please please – “

The flickering lightning gives her just enough to watch. Geralt’s plays at supplicant, single-minded in his devotion, though he still looks the part of a god to her, even on his knees. His handsome face tips up towards her, soft mouth slick with her cum – his black, black eyes are hungry when he meets her gaze. The Witcher licks a heavy stripe through her, closing his mouth briefly around her clit to make her jump and swear before he pulls away to stand. Fingers still buried deep, he takes a gentle grip on her throat with his thumb running soft circles over her pulse point.

“That’s my girl,” he rumbles when she shakes. The thunder plays at harmony with his voice. “What do you want, sweetheart?”

Geralt curls his fingers, strokes at that spot deep inside of her until she gasps. “Fuck me,” she whispers. “Geralt, please – “

Zahra hears him snarl in time with the thunder before he spins her. The silk of her robe pulls tight; Geralt uses the fabric to pinion her arms. His breath is harsh against her naked shoulder. With the racket of the rain, she doesn’t quite hear the sound of buttons sliding free, but then she feels the hot press of flesh and the beautiful, aching stretch. The Witcher gives a low moan into her skin, somewhere between relief and ecstasy.

He pulls his fingers through her curls at tugs. The motion arches her back into an obscene curve, forcing his cock so deep that Zahra shouts. It feels like the storm has taken up residence under her skin – lightning hisses from nerve to nerve. Geralt spears her wide open, somehow quelling the desperate ache while adding to it exponentially.

“Okay?” he pants into her ear.

“Yes – fuck yes,” she laughs, breathless and trembling.

She can feel his smug grin against her neck. Geralt flexes his hips, drawing the length of his cock out and then pushing back in to the hilt, making them both hiss. His rhythm rises and falls with the wind – with the torrential rain – and she is swept away by the tempest. He fucks into her with hard, greedy strokes that push her hipbones into the blunt edge of the table until she knows there will be bruises. The hand in her hair stays taught, but the hand holding the robe slips, pressing palm-down on the table by her hip. Damp, lightning-spiked air drags through her lungs as she gasps, moaning and pleading as Geralt murmurs against her temple.

Depraved, and sweet – possessive; he tells her how much he’s missed her, missed her sweet little cunt – fuck – missed how good she feels. “So good, sweetheart,” he moans. “So good for me – fucking perfect.”

The desperate whine that trickles up from her throat only serves to stoke the fire in his belly. She’s starting to shake, and whimper, voice climbing in pitch and volume to pierce over the howling wind. Geralt tugs at her hair, forces her to crane her head and meet the solid black of his eyes. He feels the flutter of her muscles around his cock, a desperate pulsing that drags a pitched snarl out of him before he presses his mouth to her jaw.

“Come for me, Zahra,” he snarls. “Come on - give it to me, sweetheart - “

Lightning fires off, storm cloud to storm cloud. Thunder snarls.

Her ragged scream clashes with the raging storm.

Geralt fucks her through the blinding orgasm until she feels him press tight against her back, frozen in his own pleasure while he pulses inside of her. He whispers his homily into her skin, chanting her name, filling her deep. The rapid beat of Zahra’s heart echoes in his ears. He grips her close, winds his arms around her torso ‘til that rhythm begins to slow. Carefully, he withdrawals, trying not to smirk when he hears her sharp inhale. Geralt tucks himself back into his trousers before burying his face into the fall of Zahra’s hair.

“‘Dangerous’,” he mutters, then chuckles. “Fucking hell, Zee…”

She giggles, sweetly winded, then squirms until the Witcher lets her turn in his grasp. She’s a sight. Soft brown skin dewy with sweat and shameless in her nudity. The smile she gives him settles somewhere between sweet and utterly filthy – it spikes heat straight through him all over again. Her clever fingers wrap around the chain of his medallion.

“I told you, Geralt of Rivia – you don’t scare me.”

She kisses him slowly. Savors the soft give of his mouth and licks the taste of herself from his tongue. Geralt’s hands ghost over her sides, palms pressing into soft, warm flesh. His teeth catch over the sweet fullness of her lip and he grins when she shivers.

“I love you, woman,” he mumbles against her lips.

Zahra draws back with a soft, but wicked grin. “I love you, Witcher,” she purrs back. “Now… take me to bed, hm?”

Geralt growls. “Yes, ma’am.”

#geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt x poc!reader #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #gerat x zahra #the witcher netflix #tutu scribbles

[ashthespaceastronautstories]

Unexpected

Unexpected

Pregnancy was the last thing he thought would happen, he was infertile and it has never been an issue before especially since he had been with you. And despite his work often carrying him away the two of you had remained monogamous.

You had loved him something he didn’t think he deserved someone’s love and affection, despite the occasional disagreements. He knew one day he would “retire” leave the training to the new Witcher’s to Ciri once she was ready. Though that would be a long while and luckily both of you had to plenty of time gods willing.

He was excited all he could think about was getting back to Kaer Morhen where you had agreed to live prior to pregnancy, Geralt wanted you closer and living here had done that and he knew you were more than capable of protecting yourself but it still put his mind at ease.

“How much longer before y/n has the baby.” Ciri inquired pulling Geralt from his thoughts.

“Another month or so.” Geralt replied.

“Are you excited? Will the baby be a Witcher too? How can she have a baby I thought Witcher’s and witches couldn’t.” Ciri rambled on.

“Hmm. I am looking forward to parenting a second child.” He answered looking over at Ciri who gave him a large smile.

“Y/N isn’t a witch...she’s something else you know that.” Geralt continued.

“I know that she makes amazing pastries, and that I’m her favorite.” Ciri said a large smile still on her face.

“Vesemir might disagree with that.” Geralt replied.

“You know I think y/n might be Melietele reborn, you know goddess of fertility, motherhood, peace and all that stuff and she managed to have a baby with a Witcher who everyone knows can’t have babies.” Ciri continued her explanation.

“She’s definitely a goddess.” Geralt nodded with agreement.

Finally they arrived at Kaer Morhen,putting their horses away and unloading their gear the duo made their way inside. The kitchen smelled of apples and spice and something else Geralt couldn’t quite name.

Ciri and Geralt made their way into the kitchen where you were currently fusing at Vesemir trying to sneak off with a pastry you’d just made.

“Ciri! Geralt!” You called ignoring Vesemir you made your way over to Ciri pulling her into a hug.

“Oh you stink.” You chuckled letting her go almost instantly, Geralt smiled pulling you into a kiss.

“How’s our little one?” He asked his large hand resting on your belly.

Geralt would be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying your pregnancy. He loved the look of your swollen belly, and the way your breasts seemed even more full because of the milk. It made his cock hard just thinking about it. He couldn’t wait for supper to be over to get you alone in the bedroom and take you over and over again.

“Did everything go well?” You asked in between bites of your food.

“We killed a werewolf and a vampire.” Ciri replied bouncing in her seat.

“You still need some work but you did good.” Geralt nodded.

The rest of the evening passed quickly and soon everyone was off to bed.

“Ciri thinks you’re a goddess.” Geralt said to you from the tub.

“I wish you.” You replied with a chuckle as you slipped into your nightgown.

“Well she’s right...and you shouldn’t bother putting that on you won’t need it tonight.” Geralt stated leaning back into the hot water allowing his muscles to relax.

“It may be summer but this place still gets drafty.” You replied sitting on the side of the bed.

“Fine. But don’t complain when I tear it off of you.” Geralt said glancing at you a mischievous smirk on his face. You could feel your face grow warm in the weeks he had been gone you missed his touch and him leaving your hips bruised.

“See anything you like?” Geralt asked standing in front of nude and barely dry.

“Maybe” you replied with a grin on your face as Geralt leaned down placing a hungry kiss on your lips.

#geralt x poc!reader #geralt x black!reader #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x poc #witcher geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia henry cavill #geralt fanfic

[nachtaiwrites2]

nerd vs nerd

nerd vs nerd henry cavill x f!black reader (this is just what I imagined)

(I love The Witcher in all of it’s iterations and I am happy they chose Henry and that Netflix was nice to The Witcher and that Yen was so beautiful and good that I forgot about whoever I wanted to play Yen and I could talk about it all day.)

               Lace fronts were a serious business to you and so was The Witcher. You had spent countless hours playing The Witcher 3 when it had come out, and that game even made you go back and play both of the previous game. You even picked up the books to read once you were done with the games. To say the least, you were a bit Geralt obsessed. It had to be fate that the creative director at Netflix had seen your work on Instagram and decided to give you a test run at designing the wig for the new show.

               You worked painstakingly for months, testing out colors of silver, white and grey hair dye against 613 bundles of hair. You tried several textures of hair, Brazilian to Peruvian, Indian to Russian. You had never worked so hard on a unit in your life.  Everything had to be right, from the ratty look of the ends, to the touches of dirt in the hair. Nothing was too much for Geralt.

               The day came where you had done all you could by yourself, but now you needed to custom fit the hairline to the actor that would be playing Geralt. You imagined Viggo Mortensen walking into the trailer. You would probably shit yourself, to be honest, but not before you placed the wig on his head immaculately. No, you would not fan girl until the wig was just right.

You were piecing out the slight crimps that you had put in the wig, making the wig more textured when the door opened. Your body froze and you didn’t turn around. You couldn’t turn around, you had to compose yourself. Who was it, Charlie Hunnam, Viggo, Anson Mount? Oh my god, Idris Elba?? Would they go black for this adaptation? God, you didn’t even consider them going with a black Geralt. If they did, you would have the shift the tone of this white considerably.

“Am I in the right trailer?” An English accent asked.

Well the English accent was right for Idris; the tone and inflection however were quite different. You turned around and was surprised but for a totally different reason.

“Henry Cavill?”

He smiled, “Yes, Henry Cavill at your service.”    

Superman?

Superman was going to play Geralt? Was this a joke?

You didn’t mean to, but you were sizing him up as he sat in his chair reading over his lines. Holding your precious shearing scissors to your chin, you tried to imagine him dressed in the gear, two swords on his back, puss peepers in his head. He would definitely make a good looking Geralt but could he play the part? Did he know who he was playing?

“Are you excited for this role, Mr. Cavill?” You spoke, your medium toned voice level, not portraying any emotion other than curiosity.  You began measuring the lace front against his head, as he looked at your reflection in the mirror. You could see his gears churn for a minute before he decided on an answer.

“Yes, it’s a great chance for me to flex my acting skills. And it’s Henry, please. Not Mr. Cavill.” He said smiling at you.

You pursed your lips slightly. Just flex your acting skills huh? He wasn’t committed to the role at all. “You know anything about The Witcher?”

Again, he paused to think, making you just a bit more agitated.

“A bit.” He decided on, nodding, before going back to his script.

He knew a bit, so maybe you could test him a little. “Oh, I’ve played some of the games. Did you know That Geralt names all of his horses Roach?”

Henry looked at your reflection for a moment, “Yes I did, actually.”

You smiled as you marked a place on his face with a marker, “Did you know it’s because he doesn’t want them to be special? So, he has no attachment.”

Henry smiled, “…. Actually, I believe that is never discussed in the books or the games. It’s just something that he does. However, I do believe Geralt has quite an attachment to roach, so much that he names each of his horses Roach just to keep that attachment.”

He folded his arms, and looked at your reflection just as you look at his. “Actually, the original name from the books is Plotka, which translates to roach. It’s a type of common fish that no one really fishes for. So, in a way I believe Mr. Sapkowski was showing that although Geralt’s horses are numerous, calling them the name for a common fish, Geralt has some kind of attachment to his ‘roaches’ and keeps each one alive by using the same name.”

“Wow.” You nodded impressed, and went back over to the wig where you bent down to make a note. “Very good Mr. Cavill.”

“I passed then?” You could hear the smile in his voice.

You smiled too, “I had no idea Superman was a nerd.”

“I guess you could say that. …You’re a fan, of The Witcher, I presume.”

“I guess you could say that.” You mocked him, deciding to play it down, not wanting to scare him with your status as number one fan girl of Geralt of Rivia.

“Well, fan, what do you think of me playing Geralt?”

You turned to Henry, now with a yellow measuring tape in your hand. “The truth Mr. Cavill?”

He smirked and your stomach flipped flopped, “Sure, although now I’m not sure if I want the truth.”

You spun Henry around so that he was facing you and then took the measuring tape and measured around the perimeter of his head, “Well, I actually always imagined someone a bit more mature. No offense, Mr. Cavill but you’re kind of too pretty for the role.”

Henry smiled at you. You noticed that when he smiled, a real smile, that his eyes shimmered. “I’m sure that’s a compliment. A beautiful woman has called me pretty, I’m damn sure that’s a compliment wrapped in an insult.”

You chuckled, “I mean there are worse things to be than handsome, so you don’t have to go home and cry that some irrelevant hair artist called you pretty.”

“You’re not irrelevant, obviously. The producers are really gunning for you to be the hair artist on the show.” He smiled. “And even if they weren’t, you’re still one talented woman.”

You grinned, pulling back from measuring his head to really look at him. He had obviously been working out. His shoulders were nearly bursting through his black t-shirt. He definitely had the physique to be Geralt.  Not that you were checking him out or anything. “Thank you. Now, let’s get this wig placed perfectly Mr. Cavill.” You turned him back around not wanting him to see your grin widen even more, forgetting that you were in front of a mirror.

He smirked, “It’s Henry…although…I’m starting to like Mr. Cavill, the more you say it.”

               God, you really hoped you got the job. - (author’s note: usually i am kind of against writing real people fics but geralt and yen are otp so…can’t go against that. also, i’m kind of opening up for real people fics…still kind of feels invasive though. anyway I hope you liked it. i won’t promise a part two cause i’m bad at continuing things.)

#henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x black reader #f!black reader #henry cavill fanfiction #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #geralt of rivia fanfic #henry cavill x poc reader #henry cavill x you

[plussizeappreciationfics]

Not sure if you’ve seen the Witcher yet but if possible can you do a black plus witch reader and Giralt and maybe he has to kill her but it’s a mistake and he saves her instead and some smutty smut takes place

Enjoy!

And yes, I’ve watched and loved the Witcher!

Getting killed and then revived by the Witcher includes:

 -You putting up one hell of a fight, not wanting to die

 -Geralt hating to having to kill you, every second you fighting back actually puts him in misery as he is drawn to you

 -Him then finally plunging his sword in your chest, watching you stare wide eyed at him and trying to whisper your last words, but nothing coming out

 -You falling lifelessly into Geralt’s arms

 -Him grunting in despair and regret while dragging your lifeless bod into his tent near a random river

 -After hours of drinking and shedding a few tears, he decides to find a Djinn to undo his killing

 -Jaskier helping him search through the river

 -Geralt actually finding a Djinn bottle and rushing back to his tent

 -Him granting Jaskier a wish out of gratitude before wishing you back to life

 -His final wish being that the Djinn will grant him three other wishes

 -You waking up and ready to fight Geralt all over again

 -But him beating you to it by kissing you hungrily, making your head spin from the lust and the tenderness of his lips

 -Jaskier fleeing the tent faster that a motherfucker

 -You and Geralt ripping each other’s clothes off before he starts pounding you into the floor, your name leaving his lips in low grunts

 -The two of you going at it for several hours, his stamina taking you off guard as he makes you cum and cum for hours

 Tag list: @jamesbarnesappreciationclub  l @pleasantdreamqueen l @disneymarina l @koizorahana l l @harleycativy l @itik-angsa l @sparklemichele l @melaninmarvel l @amethyst09 l @the-force-of-imagines l @bossyboyd03 l @enigmaticaphrodite l @pebblesz892 l @stars8melanin l @brittyevans l @toc1985 l @janeyboo l @badassbaker l @earthtocynthia l @lafayettes-baguettes-1 l @winters-beauty l @cannonindeez  l @ilovefanfic86 l @foureyedsiopao l @adorablespecialsnowflakes l @brittanyovens l @kanupps06 l @jazmynejack l @oliviajmarvel l @thebookwormslytherin l @theunsweetenedtruth l @talannalew l @littlexmissxfandomxlover l @amethyst-dreams-and-candy-canes l @dedebebe13 l @challaxkillmonger l @crimsonash330 l @booklover2929 l @aranelgrey l @panda-duuu l @thisismysecrethappyplace l @killmonsgyal l @lokislilcaribbeanprincess l @titty-teetee l @honey-anon l @queenxchallaxkillamonger l @princess-evans-addict l @hp-hogwartsexpress l @malindacath l @supernaturaltrashy l @letsdisneythings l @scorpionchild81 l @shado-raven l @alisoncdariel

-Emmanuelle 💋❤️

#toss a coin to this sexy ass mf #Geralt of Rivia #Geralt of Rivia x you #the witcher #witcher x you #witcher x reader #witcher x plus size reader #witcher x poc!reader #plus size reader #HC

[centrumlumina]

As part of the AO3 Ship Stats project, this list shows the 100 most-posted pairing tags on Archive Of Our Own in the period 24 July 2019 - 2 August 2020. This list was created by comparing the current number of fics with data gathered for the 2019 AO3 Ship Stats.

There are 71 M/M pairings on the list, 15 F/M, 3 F/F, 8 Gen and 3 Other. (Please note that on AO3, ‘Name & Name’ indicates platonic or familial ‘Gen’ relationships, while ‘Name/Name’ is used for romantic and sexual pairings.)

Of the 200 names on the list, 23 are women and 3 are characters of ambiguous gender, down from 28 and 3 in the 2019 list. 92 are POC, and 7 are racially ambiguous, compared with 64 and 11 two years ago.

For more information about the AO3 Ship Stats project, please check out the accompanying FAQs. You might also be interested in the All-Time Top 100 Pairings and the Femslash Top 100 list. These stats are also available on AO3.

ETA: Fixed the Change value for Merlin/Arthur Pendragon.

ETA 2: Fixed Race categorisation for Michael Guerin/Alex Manes.

A text-only version of this data is given below the cut.

Rank   Change   Pairing   Fandom   New Works   Total   Type   Race 1   15   Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)   Good Omens (TV)   20298   28726   M/M   White 2   72   Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn   魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù   10671   13130   M/M   POC 3   8   Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren   Star Wars Sequel Trilogy   9076   21306   F/M   White 4   28   Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier   IT (Movies – Muschietti)   8441   12227   M/M   White 5   N   Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion   The Witcher (TV)   7573   7573   M/M   White 6   1   Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter   Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling   7239   40312   M/M   White 7   5   Bakugou Katsuki/Midoriya Izuku   Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia   7070   16824   M/M   POC 8   0   Peter Parker & Tony Stark   Marvel Cinematic Universe   6807   17366   Gen   White 9   -7   James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers   Captain America (Movies)   6262   49659   M/M   White 10   4   Bakugou Katsuki/Kirishima Eijirou   Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia   6141   15375   M/M   POC 11   -5   Steve Rogers/Tony Stark   The Avengers (Marvel Movies)   5613   36264   M/M   White 12   68   Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)   Good Omens (TV)   5503   7928   Gen   White 13   -8   Jeon Jungkook/Kim Taehyung | V   Bangtan Boys | BTS   5254   23339   M/M   POC 14   5   Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug   Miraculous Ladybug   5183   19631   F/M   Whi/POC 15   5   Midoriya Izuku/Todoroki Shouto   Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia   5001   14073   M/M   POC 16   -13   Castiel/Dean Winchester   Supernatural   4927   84563   M/M   White 17   1   Jeon Jungkook/Park Jimin   Bangtan Boys | BTS   4596   17867   M/M   POC 18   N   Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)   9-1-1 (TV)   3716   3716   M/M   Whi/POC 19   5   Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor   Supergirl (TV 2015)   3614   13048   F/F   White 20   -16   Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood   Shadowhunters (TV)   3599   24787   M/M   Whi/POC 21   2   Pepper Potts/Tony Stark   Marvel Cinematic Universe   3569   17384   F/M   White 22   14   Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic   Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia   3565   7325   M/M   POC 23   N   Adora/Catra (She-Ra)   She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)   3538   4919   F/F   Whi/POC 24   15   Dazai Osamu/Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs)   文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs   3512   8768   M/M   POC 25   N   Wang Yi Bo/Xiao Zhan   陈情令 | The Untamed (TV) RPF   3446   3446   M/M   POC 26   -12   Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski   Teen Wolf (TV)   3249   59286   M/M   White 27   10   Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)   Merlin (TV)   3157   18688   M/M   White 28   -11   Kim Namjoon | RM/Kim Seokjin | Jin   Bangtan Boys | BTS   3155   16682   M/M   POC 29   66   Ayanga/Zhèng Yúnlóng   声入人心 | Super-Vocal (TV)   3111   5285   M/M   POC 30   -21   Min Yoongi | Suga/Park Jimin   Bangtan Boys | BTS   3026   19851   M/M   POC 31   -3   Sirius Black/Remus Lupin   Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling   2958   17686   M/M   White 32   N   Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist   The Magnus Archives (Podcast)   2917   3367   M/M   Ambig 33   60   Bakugou Katsuki & Midoriya Izuku   Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia   2672   5023   Gen   POC 34   12   Peter Parker/Tony Stark   Marvel Cinematic Universe   2623   6160   M/M   White 35   N   Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio   Haikyuu!!   2601   10485   M/M   POC 36   22   Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy   Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling   2583   10171   F/M   Whi/Amb 37   -8   Kim Taehyung | V/Park Jimin   Bangtan Boys | BTS   2507   9891   M/M   POC 38   -37   Keith/Lance (Voltron)   Voltron: Legendary Defender   2480   30317   M/M   Amb/POC 39   20   Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington   Stranger Things (TV 2016)   2438   5338   M/M   White 40   N   Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou   Haikyuu!!   2387   7629   M/M   POC 41   N   Patrick Brewer/David Rose   Schitt's Creek   2363   3150   M/M   White 42   5   Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee   NCT (Band)   2331   5854   M/M   POC 43   8   Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren   Star Wars Sequel Trilogy   2304   6506   Gen   White 44   N   Dabi/Takami Keigo | Hawks   Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia   2294   2930   M/M   POC 45   N   Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru   Haikyuu!!   2272   11155   M/M   POC 46   -24   Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Min Yoongi | Suga   Bangtan Boys | BTS   2259   12668   M/M   POC 47   N   Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier   Fire Emblem: Three Houses   2218   2218   M/M   White 48   28   Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth   Game of Thrones (TV)   2186   7063   F/M   White 49   19   Bakugou Katsuki/Todoroki Shouto   Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia   2169   4991   M/M   POC 50   N   Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh   IT (Movies – Muschietti)   2163   3116   F/M   White 51   3   Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley   Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling   2128   11699   F/M   Whi/Amb 52   -31   Sherlock Holmes/John Watson   Sherlock (TV)   2121   61544   M/M   White 53   -5   James Potter/Lily Evans Potter   Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling   2110   10125   F/M   White 54   -28   Jeon Jungkook/Min Yoongi | Suga   Bangtan Boys | BTS   2074   9498   M/M   POC 55   N   Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín/Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén   魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù   2073   2494   M/M   POC 56   -25   Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter   Hannibal (TV)   2064   17257   M/M   White 57   N   Kakyoin Noriaki/Kujo Jotaro   JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure   1964   3580   M/M   POC 58   N   Midoriya Izuku/Uraraka Ochako   Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia   1896   3983   F/M   POC 59   -46   Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov   Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)   1843   24332   M/M   Whi/POC 60   15   Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley   Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling   1838   9269   F/M   White 61   N   Poe Dameron/Finn   Star Wars Sequel Trilogy   1806   7238   M/M   POC 62   N   Kaminari Denki/Shinsou Hitoshi   Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia   1791   2732   M/M   POC 63   -38   Dan Howell/Phil Lester   Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)   1782   17316   M/M   White 64   -54   Keith/Shiro (Voltron)   Voltron: Legendary Defender   1764   13925   M/M   Amb/POC 65   31   Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders   Sanders Sides (Web Series)   1720   3917   M/M   White 66   N   Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow   Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell   1707   4803   M/M   Whi/POC 67=   -33   Kim Taehyung | V/Min Yoongi | Suga   Bangtan Boys | BTS   1651   7176   M/M   POC 67=   N   Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth   Fire Emblem: Three Houses   1651   1651   Other   White 69   N   Michelle Jones/Peter Parker   Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)   1639   3692   F/M   Whi/POC 70   N   Michael Guerin/Alex Manes   Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)   1635   2746   M/M   Whi/POC 71   28   Uchiha Sasuke/Uzumaki Naruto   Naruto   1625   7705   M/M   POC 72   N   Bakugou Katsuki/Uraraka Ochako   Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia   1617   3776   F/M   POC 73   -30   James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark   Marvel Cinematic Universe   1559   7456   M/M   White 74   -39   James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader   Marvel Cinematic Universe   1544   7724   Other   Whi/Amb 75   9   Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed   Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)   1534   3921   M/M   White 76   N   Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort   Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling   1511   6308   M/M   White 77   N   Jeon Jungkook/Kim Namjoon | RM   Bangtan Boys | BTS   1505   3911   M/M   POC 78   N   Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson   Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan   1501   6017   F/M   White 79   N   Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth   Fire Emblem: Three Houses   1495   1495   Other   White 80   N   Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester   Supernatural   1493   8791   Gen   White 81   N   Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead & Midoriya Izuku   Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia   1487   2200   Gen   POC 82   -37   Tony Stark/Stephen Strange   Marvel Cinematic Universe   1460   4912   M/M   White 83   N   Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist   Persona 5   1447   3285   M/M   POC 84   N   Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou   Haikyuu!!   1444   4932   M/M   POC 85   N   Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know   Stray Kids (Band)   1440   3091   M/M   POC 86   -33   Byun Baekhyun/Park Chanyeol   EXO (Band)   1431   6629   M/M   POC 87   -45   Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester   Supernatural   1416   27696   M/M   White 88   N   Leone Abbacchio/Bruno Buccellati   JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure   1415   2237   M/M   White 89   N   Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar   Lucifer (TV)   1413   4165   F/M   White 90   N   Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier   IT - Stephen King   1396   2268   Gen   White 91   N   Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard   All For The Game - Nora Sakavic   1392   4681   M/M   White 92   N   Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long   RWBY   1390   4358   F/F   POC 93   N   Midoriya Izuku & Todoroki Shouto   Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia   1378   2887   Gen   POC 94   N   Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker | Darth Vader   Star Wars - All Media Types   1369   4112   F/M   White 95=   -8   Kim Namjoon | RM/Park Jimin   Bangtan Boys | BTS   1365   4728   M/M   POC 95=   N   Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)   Avatar: The Last Airbender   1365   1828   M/M   POC 97   N   Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin   NCT (Band)   1360   3266   M/M   POC 98   N   Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier   X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)   1333   14736   M/M   White 99   -72   Loki/Thor (Marvel)   Thor (Movies)   1330   12863   M/M   White 100   N   Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders   Sanders Sides (Web Series)   1327   3132   M/M   White

#archive of our own #ao3 #fandom statistics #fandom research #racism in fandom #sexism in fandom #slash fandom #femslash fandom #fandom studies #ao3 ship stats #things i made

[hibiscuswrites]

🌺 Masterlist 🌺

‼️ = possibly triggering content

💦 = contains sexual content, not necessarily smut 

Rio 

Jealous/possessive Rio 

Domestic life 

Rio getting a call that his girl was mugged

Significant other was hurt in like a car crash or non-gang related incident

Rio's reaction to his boo strip teasing💦

Rio’s girl being pregnant

Rio meeting and falling in love with a female version of himself

Rio having his girlfriend meet Marcus for the first time

Rio taking care of his newborn baby and wife

Rio taking care of his little girl because mama is sick with the flu

Reader gets taken by a rival gang as leverage ‼️

Rio trying to win over a woman who he really can be himself with

Rio's reaction to you flinching when he breaks something or yells and what he would do to assure you that you were safe with him ‼️

Rio on his wedding day/night 💦

Rio’s girl giving him the silent treatment like after a fight

Reader it is Beth’s sister who is with Rio. She betrays him for her sister and the crew

Rio doing daddy duties/ taking care of Marcus and his new baby

Shower sex 💦

Rio’s reaction to the reader with a complicated relationship getting flirted with

One of Rio’s men steps out of line and makes a move on his SO

Rio hiring a shy nanny who he really likes to tease

Reader is frustrated by how much Rio’s been working and doesn't know how to bring it up. Reader starts acting different and eventually Rio gets her to tell him what's wrong

Rio’s baby girl calling him dada for the first time and giving him a big smile

Rio dating a younger reader

Reader & Rio going to an event where reader gets nervous and starts being overly critical of what she's wearing/how it looks on her ‼️

Rio getting hurt by a rival and his girl reacting & consoling him

You find out Rio slept with Beth and try to leave him but he cuts it off with her

Rio and a girl he is secretly in love with having to share the same bed

Rio finding a hickey on his girl that he’s positive wasn’t from him💦

Rio vs Billy 💦

How Rio would be with someone who put him and Marcus first and kept doing it until she cracked

Rio and the reader spending time with Marcus and admiring the new baby

Rio gives a little degradation after he finds you super wet, even though he hasn't touched you and he over stimulates you💦

Reader is black & someone makes a comment about her weight or her being a poc around him causing him to lash out‼️

Rio’s reaction to another man making you cry

Make-up sex with Rio 💦

How Rio would react and treat a girl he had feelings for but wasn’t yet dating who just got emergency surgery

Rio having an SO with long luscious hair and him washing her hair for her

Rio x reader where her ex shows back up in her life and tries to win her back/turn her against Rio and how Rio reacts to it

Readers boss blatantly flirting with her in front of Rio ‼️

Rio and the reader at their gender reveal or baby shower

Rio getting jealous by his S/O fangirling over a hot actor during their movie night at home

Rio’s normally very bold gf who gets shy with sexual things gets caught touching herself while watching porn 💦

Rio and Marcus picking up the reader (mom/wife) from the airport after a long trip, and they go home and spend quality time together

Rio and the reader having a romantic/sweet date night

Beth attempting to kill Rio’s SO because she’s jealous of her and what Rio would do in response

Beth making it look like Rio is cheating on reader with her. He finds out Beth planned it but reader leaves him & Rio getting revenge  

Rio with a girl who went behind his back to help Ruby, Annie, and Beth 

First time reader & Rio discuss what he actually does

Rio thinking his SO is cheating but she’s not

Rio taking care of his girl after she gets her wisdom teeth taken out

Rio saving a girl from some drunk trying to mess with her and that’s how they meet !!

Reader trying to leave in the middle of the night for a walk after a fight 

Rio finding out his girl is bi and ask of she wants to try it with him and a woman

Rio meeting the reader’s parents

You are Rio's ex/gf/ Marcus' mom/ and find out about Beth's "pregnancy"

Rio fingering his girlfriend 💦

Would ever snoop through his SO’s phone

Rio dating a clumsy girl

Drabble: Gunk kink 💦

How would Rio deal with his S/O being very sensitive and emotional

Rio with a tall reader

Rio taking his SO’s virginity 💦

Rio comforting reader who had PTSD and nightmares  !!

Strip Poker with Rio 💦

Making out with Rio would include 

Rio accidentally walking in on the girl he loves having sex with another dude

Getting back together with Rio and finding out about Beth’s pregnancy

Honeymoon with Rio

Drabble: Control your anger or you’ll have me to worry about

Working as Rio’s assistant/secretary and having a flirty relationship

Rio being friends with reader who is in a bad relationship and is very neglected by her current bf

Morning sex with Rio 💦

Beth shoots reader instead of Rio and then he thinks she's dead but she came back 

Rio with a sub SO who likes to be choked 💦

Rio and Billly share reader

Rio dating dancer reader 

Rio taking reader for her first tattoo

Quarentine with Rio

Rio with pregnant reader who doesn’t want to be a mom

Rio with shy trans mtf reader

Rio with reader who doesn’t want kids 

!! Rio getting with reader who was in an abusive relationship !!

!! Reader runs into toxic ex and Rio gets protective !!

Rio going to the club with the reader 

Reader taking care of and spoiling Rio

Rio with a pregnancy kink 💦

Reader doing the refusing to kiss your boyfriend prank on Rio

Latina reader unknowingly intimidates Beth and end up making her jealous when she finds out you’re together 

Rio shaves pregnant reader since she’s so far along that she can’t

Reader wants to post Rio on social media but he’s hesitant 

Rough blowjob with Rio💦

Rio’s reaction to someone threatening your life while out together 

Being Rio’s new employee who steals his attention away from Beth 

Rio with soft and innocent reader

Rio lets reader take control for the night 💦

Cops bring reader in for questioning and he pampers you after you stay solid

Billy Russo 

Jealous Billy

Fight and making up with Billy 

Billy’s been acting weird so his girl thinks he's cheating. She eventually can't take it anymore & he comes home to find her gone. He tracks her down and proposes 

Billy thinking his girl is cheating (She's not of course)

Rio vs Billy 💦

Billy gets reader pregnant in a fwb situation but is smug about it

Billy coming home to find you asleep on the couch surrounded by work

Billy finding out the Reader is pregnant and being delighted and determined to give his child a better life than he had

NSFW Alphabet 💦

Rio and Billly share reader

Billy worries reader will leave him if she learns the truth, but she already knows 

Protective Billy with hurt reader 

Frank Castle 

Reader has a really bad anxiety day and he’s soft with her and quiet‼️

NSFW Alphabet💦

Domestic life

Soft but still angsty “I thought I lost you” with frank after a bad night

Seeing Frank at the diner for a while before finally approaching him 

Geralt of Rivia

A kid tries to pay Geralt to kill a monster but the monster turns out to be an abusive parent‼️

Ray Merrimen

Ray’s new girl is coincidentally just in the bank he and his crew are robbing

Reader having a crime boss ex that wants reader back, and 2) finding out what Ray does and her reaction to it

Ray meeting a girl at the gym/dojo that can kick his ass, despite the size difference

Ray being your instructor at the gym would be like

NSFW Alphabet💦

Bratty reader who keeps bothering Ray while he's working on plans for the next hit because she wants attention 💦

Ray expressing how much he cares about you x plus sized reader ‼️

Going on vacation with Ray 💦

Ray’s stripper ex is trying to cause trouble in his new relationship because he moved on from her after he got out of prison

Ray’s reaction to his girl getting into a fight with someone or more like defending herself

Reader is feeling ignored by Ray so she seeks attention elsewhere, but it backfires

Ray’s totally smitten for the shy reader who doesn't think he'd be interested in her

Ray  spoiling his girl because he's nervous that he's about to propose

Ray just can't keep his hands to himself when reader is around 💦

Ray’s girl is afraid to tell him she's pregnant as they never talked about having kids

How would Ray react to his girl feeling neglected and seeking attention elsewhere

How Ray deals with reader’s male friend who tries to sabotage 

Jealous of Ray’s ex FWB, reader starts dressing and acting sexier 

Cuddling in bed with Ray

Ray taking care of reader during her period 

Reader thinks Ray’s cheating but he’s not

Reader is unsure where her relationship with Ray lies, he makes it clear she’s his

Joseph Seed 

Joseph with small and petite girlfriend

NSFW Alphabet💦

Joseph finds someone just like him, who believes in his vision and takes care of everyone, like a mama bear

Joseph's wife finding out she's pregnant

Having an atheist girlfriend 

Joseph falling head over heels for a new follower of his church

Joseph with a virgin SO💦

FC5 Misc. 

The Seed brothers learn about latina readers curly hair while in the bunker 

Jacob Seed 

Jacob with a tall girl, a blonde with blue eyes

Dom!jacob with newly subdued but bratty Dep 💦

Jacob with a chubby S/O 💦

Jacob with small and petite girlfriend

NSFW Alphabet 💦

Animalistic dom!jake with a breeding kink taking his plus-size wife 💦

Having an atheist girlfriend 

Jacob with a virgin SO💦

Jacob Seed and a super sweet/naive SO who looks harmless, but can kick ass 

Jacob and asexual reader 

Jacob taking his plus sized virgin wife’s virginity 💦

John Seed 

John dating a small, thin Hispanic girl with crazy curly hair

John with small and petite girlfriend

Having an atheist girlfriend 

NSFW Alphabet💦

John with a virgin SO💦

John secretly dating Dep reader 

Miguel Ángel Félix Gallardo

Miguel in bed (general)💦

Helping Miguel unwind after a rough day 

Miguel surprises reader after you thought he forgot your anniversary 

Miguel telling his child about how you and him met 

Nick Amaro 

Loving Nick coming home to reader after being away to work on a case 

Agent OA Zidan 

Having an interfaith relationship with OA

Plus size reader tag Black reader tag Latina reader tag

#jacob seed #joseph seed #john seed #far cry 5 #ray merrimen #den of thieves #rio good girls #nbc good girls #billy russo #frank castle #the punisher #geralt of rivera #the witcher #masterlist

[merakiaes]

WHAT I CURRENTLY WRITE AND DON’T WRITE

PAYMENT - COMMENTS EQUALS NEW CONTENT (PLEASE READ)

(Characters and fandoms for which requests are open are below the cut so if you don’t want to read the guidelines, you can just scroll down there. However, I do recommend you to at least skim through the “I don’t write”-section to make it easier for both of us!)

(IF YOU WANT TO REQUEST ME TO GIVE YOU A SHIP, SEE THIS SEPARATE POST)

MY ONLY RULE:

If you make a request, anonymous or not, you have to leave a comment on your fic. (Read more about why here.) Even better would be if you reblogged it to help get my work out to more readers!, but I will settle with a comment if you, for some reason, don’t want to reblog. 

This means there should always be a minimum of one comment under every requested fic I post - if I see that this isn’t being followed, I’m going to stop writing requests. Simple as that.

With that said, don’t bother requesting if you’re not ready to make this exchange because that’s just unpaid work. 

I DON’T WRITE:

Smut.

Songfics.

Headcanons.

Specified and inappropriate/illegal age gaps. Example, an underage student and an adult teacher.

Specified body types.

Body image issues & ED’s.

Male reader.

POC reader.

Specified physical features. (Hair colors, eye colors, etc.)

I try to stay as neutral to physical appearance as I possibly can so that everyone gets an equal chance at emerging themselves into the role, no matter the reader’s ethnicity, height, build, and so on.

Writing plus size!reader and writing about eating disorders and body immage issues is too triggering for me as I, myself, struggle with body dysmorphia on a daily basis.

TO THINK ABOUT WHEN REQUESTING:

Don’t be too vague with your request. For example, a request asking for a fic where “the reader is a character x’s sister”, or "the reader is shy” or”sassy”, is not enough for me to go on. I need a scenario, a plot, an action, an endgame, or a dialogue prompt.

Contrary to the previous point; don’t make requests with too much detail or too long of a timeline, either. I don’t have the energy nor time to write requests that are spread out over eternity and that would end up being as long as a novel.

When requesting prompts from my prompt-lists, ALWAYS include the number and name of the list, not just the quote. The lists you can request for are the following:

Fluff Angst Smut Kiss Hug Common tropes

Don’t get pissy if you request something and I kindly tell you that I don’t write that kind of thing, whatever it may be. I’ve had to deal with this a lot lately and it’s really annoying. All writers have their own, individual preferences, and that’s their right.

Keep in mind all that is written above, and feel free to send several requests if you want to guarantee that you get at least one of them done - some things are easier to write than others and I always appreciate having requests to pick from depending on my mood and current motivation.

Requests are currently open for the following fandoms and characters. Please send in requests!

CRIMINAL MINDS

Spencer Reid

Aaron Hotchner

Derek Morgan

Luke Alvez

Emily Prentiss

Penelope Garcia

Matt Simmons

Will LaMontagne

Clyde Easter

MARVEL

Tony Stark

Steve Rogers

Peter Parker (Tom Holland & Andrew Garfield)

Loki Laufeyson

Scott Lang

Bucky Barnes

Stephen Strange

Jack Thompson

Bruce Banner

Eddie Brock

Helmut Zemo

Darcy Lewis

Daniel Sousa

Logan Howlett

Natasha Romanoff

Sam Wilson

Nathan Summers

Pietro Maximoff (Aaron Taylor-Johnson)

TWILIGHT

Paul Lahote

Leah Clearwater

Edward Cullen

Charlie Swan

Mike Newton

TEEN WOLF

Derek Hale

Jordan Parrish

Peter Hale

STAR WARS

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Kylo Ren

Ben Solo

Armitage Hux

Anakin Skywalker

Poe Dameron

Padmé Amidala

Young Han Solo

STRANGER THINGS

Steve Harrington

Billy Hargrove

Jim Hopper

REIGN

Sebastian “Bash” de Poitiers

Leith Bayard

Louis Condé

James Stewart

Darnley

Prince Henri

Claude

Mary Stuart

THE WITCHER

Geralt of Rivia

Jaskier

PRISON BREAK

Lincoln Burrows

Alexander Mahone

KONG: SKULL ISLAND

James Conrad

Reg Slivko

Earl Cole

TRANSFORMERS

William Lennox

Sam Witwicky

Robert Epps

DIVERGENT

Eric Coulter

Peter Hayes

Tobias Eaton

HARRY POTTER

Fred Weasley

Draco Malfoy

George Weasley

Cedric Diggory

Remus Lupin (young & adult)

Hermione Granger

Bill Weasley

Ron Weasley

Neville Longbottom

Severus Snape

GAME OF THRONES

Sandor Clegane

Jorah Mormont

Edd Tollett

Jon Snow

Gendry Baratheon

Jaime Lannister

Sansa Stark

TRIPLE FRONTIER

Ben Miller

William “Ironhead” Miller

Francisco “Catfish” Morales

Santiago “Pope” Garcia

Tom “Redfly” Davis

PEAKY BLINDERS

Tommy Shelby

Arthur Shelby

John Shelby

Finn Shelby

Alfie Solomons

Ada Shelby

PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN

James Norrington

Will Turner

Jack Sparrow

THE HAUNTING OF HILL HOUSE

Luke Crain

Steve Crain

Theo Crain

MISCELLANEOUS

Dan Torrence (Doctor Sleep)

Detective David Loki (Prisoners)

Floyd Lawton (Arrow)

Smitty Ryker (Hacksaw Ridge)

Captain James Nicholls (War Horse)

Sam Drake (Uncharted)

Daryl Dixon (The Walking Dead)

Rick Flag (Suicide Squad)

Nathan Prescott (Life Is Strange)

Sweet Pea (Riverdale - first season only)

Jace Wayland (The Mortal Instruments, 2013)

Murtagh Morzansson (Eragon)

Jason Lee Scott (Power Rangers, 2017)

Jesse Zeklos (Vampire Academy)

Matt Campbell (The Haunting in Connecticut)

Nick Jones (House of Wax)

Ludovica Storti (Baby)

Reid Garwin (The Covenant)

Tyler Simms (The Covenant)

Fezco (Euphoria)

Feel free to reblog this to spread the word!

#spencer reid x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #derek morgan x reader #draco malfoy x reader #fred weasley x reader #tony stark x reader #remus lupin x reader #steve rogers x reader #peter parker x reader #loki laufeyson x reader #scott lang x reader #bucky barnes x reader #stephen strange x reader #ben miller x reader #will miller x reader #francisco morales x reader #santiago garcia x reader #tommy shelby x reader #james conrad x reader #eric coulter x reader #floyd lawton x reader #sam drake x reader #daryl dixon x reader #andrew siwicki x reader #detective loki x reader #bash x reader #steve harrington x reader #billy hargrove x reader #jon snow x reader #sandor clegane x reader

[witcherfanfics101]

[sweetpickolwarrior]

The Three Times You Didn’t Want Them To Hear You, The One Time You Did (Part 2)

Established fic

Small!Brown!Female!Reader

Not too apparent but just letting you know in case.

TW(for this chapter) - 3rd person descriptions of intoxication (mild?)

Fic summary: You have been travelling with geralt and Jaskier for quite some time, you had always been told that your voice would take you places before you had no choice but to abandon your previous life. You still loved it though. This fic explores the times you let go and let yourself sing.

PART 1 HERE

In the days that followed, Geralt had not mentioned the river incident during training. they never talked about the episodes. He had caught glimpses of you practising your sword strokes in the mornings, caught onto the way you counted your steps, moving with a rhythm that was rehearsed and almost musical. But combat was not like music. Far from it. you could afford to take your time and be meticulous when conducting your bow and arrow, however, swords were rarely so forgiving. You miss a beat, you die. Even so, he supposed, you were coming along well.

To say Jaskier was having trouble containing himself would be an understatement. He was practically bursting at the seams, wanting to hear the warm tones of your voice again. He had been told by Geralt that the alghoul hunt had shaken you, and understood how letting your voice free after Meletile knows how long would have felt. The yearning and relief in your voice had touched him in his bones and memories of performing for the first time after sickness, or a bout of dejection rang in his head. Though he supposed the longest he had ever gone without uttering a full bar would have been less than a week. He wondered how hard it must be for you to keep your passion locked away, suppressing it if you felt in any way like he did when singing. He had met milkmaids with voices sweet as honey who could care less that they could carry a tune, tavern keepers with brassy voices thick and golden as the ale they served that only sung to watch the clock tick to close. But he knew you felt the sound you created cradle you, the way your eyes were closed, the glimpse of your wistful sways, basking in the safety of the melody you were singing, his only regret now being that he cut your comfort short.

You had been undoubtedly back to your usual, chipper self for quite some time now, and he reckoned that after almost two days of silence on the issue (prescribed by Geralt) you would be shifted by a little persuasion.

The bard began to strum a well-known tune, one he knew everyone on the continent had heard. One he often used to gauge where his pupils were starting in his single year at Oxenfurt. The unperturbed original version was chock full of melisma, dynamics, and sung in off-beats before being simplified for children to be taught in schools. This inevitably led to those children singing it in their playgrounds, and when these children grew, sung (in the loosest possible sense of the term) in pubs late into the night; losing all semblance of its former beauty. the memory of the thudding, syllabic, droning chorus sung over and over made Jaskier cringe.

“Geralt, do you know this one?”

your ears perked up at the familiar words, but the melody was something more developed and bouncy, much more pleasant than the veritable chanting you had often been subject to when tucked away at the back of a tavern.

Jaskier’s voice flit about the words like a spring bird, you payed close attention to the way he controlled his breathing and projected so effortlessly, beauty added to the song you knew so well made you smile.. That is until you felt the bard jostle up to your shoulder, “surely you’ve heard this one, Y/N, come on, I could use a harmony!”

He continued, drawing out his vowels, giving you space to come in, but you shrank away. You knew that he would not have forgotten the unwelcome experience by the river, but you dared hope over the last few days.

“I dont know how to do that, Jask.” you muttered. He could sense that you had started to close up, but he felt some gentle coaxing and encouragement would bring you out of your sudden shell. Unfortunately, Jaskier’s definition of gentle when it comes to things like encouragement is about as akin to the word as a frog to a bird.

“Well, as you may know, I was a professor at Oxenfurt’s school of music, and I can assure you that within this very hour, we will be singing harmonies to make Meletile herself weep!  Here’s your note, young protege” He sang this last phrase, letting it ring so you could catch on. You attempted to shoo the bard away, pushing out a chuckle and putting on a polite smile so as not to offend your eager friend. It’s not that you didn’t want to sing with him, it’s just that… well, you couldn’t. You were no stranger to harmonies at all, being able to work them out for your small group of friends who would run off to sing behind the schoolhouse at every spare moment, the parts clicking neatly into your head like the nock of an arrow to the taut string of your bow.  You could almost see a harmony like a road winding along a melody and remembered the warm resonant feeling when your voice blended with another perfectly, listening as if you were one entity, blindly trusting your voice to take the right path. Over the last few years, one of your frustrations had been that while traipsing over the continent on your own, singing had kept you somewhat sane, it just irritated you that you could hear a lovely harmony along in your head, yet you could not sing two parts at once. You supposed you really did miss it. Maybe-

These thoughts must have passed in a flash as right then, Jaskier was hooking his arm through yours quite alarmingly, his step falling into a lively jig;

Somehow he kept his breaths even and the sound still flowed out, unobstructed, while you were pulled harshly out of your thoughts.

"Jaskie- hey, hey! Stop! I don't know what you're talking about, okay?" You shook the bard off, not meaning to come across as harsh, but you couldn't help it. He shrugged off your rejection and marched off, no doubt to prod at Geralt now.

You didn’t want this to be a thing. You had been without singing for quite some now and were sure that you could live without it. You had people who cared about you again. Jaskier would give you the food he left over, let you borrow his blanket when you were cold, he would always try to be making you laugh and would pick you flowers from the paths you walked. Geralt would always look back to check how you were, he let you ride roach when you were on your bleed and your legs felt they were going to fall off, he was a veritable wall when it came to standing between you and danger.  Why would you need to sing to yourself like you were still a child? It was time to move on. That couldn’t happen if you started going along with Jaskiers sudden obsession with being a duo. It was soon to blow over you were sure. Just have to wait it out.

You lagged slightly behind and listened from a distance. You let yourself focus on the thought of having some proper food and a warm bed soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Geralt’s shoulders dipped slightly as the three horseshoes tavern came into view, the amber glow spilling out of the windows to the dirt street softening the nip of the brisk night. He pat roach on her shoulder as they neared the front of the tavern, leading her to the right while Y/N and Jaskier made their way into the warmth of the tavern, the stables waiting for the chestnut mare. He led her into the small pen, dismissing the stableboy with a wave. He proceeded to check the bedding was dry as roach set to touch the nose of the horse in the next stall. He slowly undid the buckles of her saddle and undid her reins as she took a long drink from the trough within the stall. He had become fond of this tavern during his travels, watching it grow from a horse stop to a pub and then an inn over the many years. The swell of the chorus to "Toss a coin” gushed through the walls and Geralt knew he was to be greeted with an uproar when he entered. He let his mind drift as he pulled out Roach’s brush.

He wasn't to keep Y/N waiting very long, but he thought she may appreciate a moment to herself. He let his mind wander a little as he brushed roach before leaving her for the night. He had noticed how Y/N would clam up at the mention of her accompanying Jaskiers musical endeavours. He wondered why as, as far as he could remember, her sound was not unpleasant at all. He remembered the way she had snatched herself away from the conversation earlier, holding onto her arm like she was cradling herself. Geralt picked up little signs of discomfort in his… well… friends, he supposed.

Jask would become less verbal and more softly musical, he would hold his lute, often slung on his back when not using it, to cradling it around his front, as if constantly mid-song. Y/N would let her thick hair down as if she could hide away behind it, hold her arm, and often trail a ways behind the two if they were on the path. She had taken to slipping behind him, actually, and ushering Jaskier to her side, using the broad witcher and her tall friend as a sort of wall between her and the world if they were places where there were people or if she felt one of her episodes coming along. Not many words were needed, to Geralt’s convenience when it came to things like this. He was glad that the girl had taken to trusting him, though he still only knew snippets of her past. (Though he knew that a lot of her information on him had come through the bard’s songs.)

Still, there was a mutual understanding between the three that was pleasant and unperturbed. That was until Geralt had realised that she had effectively been shutting herself up when it came to singing. He didn’t see why it was such a big deal if he was honest. Jaskier certainly wasn’t afraid of it. He had observed over a great any years people who would hum to themselves while working, walking, and the like. Ladies in brothels and pubs warbling over the bustle, even if they sounded more akin to banshees than sirens (that some would claim to share blood with, for extra coin) mothers singing to their children out before their houses… in fact… if he tries quite hard, he thinks he recalls a soft melody… something with long, sad words in front of a wooden arm chair, fingers running through his then... brown curls, he thinks.

Roach has had enough of a brushing.

He makes his way into the tavern, the smell of ale, sweat and stew making the air thick and heavy. A swell of patrons surrounding the table Jaskier was is currently perched upon raise their tankards in his direction “WOOIIIIII(WAHEEYYY)”. He urged the corners of his lips to a slight curl and gave a nod in their direction. The Trio’s arrangements for the night had not yet been set as geralt harboured all the coin for the moment. He would have to keep Y/N waiting a moment longer.

After the alghoul hunt, geralt had a hefty jangle in his coin pouch, initially from the coin of slaying the beasts, then some more due to the fact he had been able to sell some marrow at the same market he had got the apples from Roach.

He paid for two rooms that night - a room with two beds and a room with one. He felt that it would be nice to treat Y/N with a proper dose of privacy through the rocky last few days.

The trio usually bought a room that had two beds and took turns sleeping on the floor. Geralt rarely slept, opting to meditate instead and when he did, he insisted that he had never been used to the softness of a bed, and it was enough that he was out of the cold and rain. This had led to many occasions where he might not have paid for a double bedded room in the first place, the youngest of the three ignoring him and placing her bedroll over the floor that he would be forced to take the bed, the witcher stubbornly placing his bedroll on the other side of the room that she would wake up during the night and take the bed, and sometimes Jaskier joining them on the floor simply because he enjoyed “camping indoors”.

Making his way to the back of the tavern where Y/N was, he heard the opening notes to “toss a coin” once again, he supposed that they would toss more if the bard subject was within the room. He caught Y/N eyes, reaching to finally unbutton his dark cloak, she had reserved a relatively secluded booth at the back of the tavern, her bag strewn over the table as to show she did not want company, her arm draped over her drink and her eyes… glassed over?

“Geralt! Come sit… there’s space”

She tugged lightly at his sleeve as he came to sit down resting her head on her arms atop the wooden table.

“We came here to eat and sleep Y/N”

“But you and Jask drink!” she whined “Besides’ve only had one… pint… before this one...yeah”

In the few months they had been together, Geralt had never seen Y/N drunk, she would often help Jask nurse his drink if she hadn't any water left from her pack. Even after a successful hunt, she would turn down Geralt's offers of buying her a pint. He always thought it was because she had never actually been drunk, it would have made her extremely vulnerable travelling alone all this time, and he figured that she had not done so around him because she was afraid of what they may think of her, what she may be like, the net removed to catch her thoughts. Needless to say, he did not expect this tonight.

“ Y/N you’re barely five foot and you’ve eaten what today?”

“Hey! I’m almost five foot two, andI’vee eaten just about enough of Jask’s horseshit about singing to last me a lifetime”

So that’s what this was about.

“Hmm...he thinks you sound good. Do you want meat or potatoes?” he tread lightly.

“M’not hungry. I dont sound anything. I haven’t sounded anything for ages.”

“Hmm”

~~

The girl nibbled on a few potatoes from Geralt's plate, electing to ignore her bowl of meat, now leaning back, clutching her tankard close to her chest. Odd.

Jask had taken to playing toss a coin in an insatiable loop, the patrons of the Three Horseshoes not seeming able to get enough, the clink of coins coming in a wave every chorus -

“He wipe out your chest… something.. Pest.. friend of humaaanity.. Hmm hmm hmm rest…”

Y/N’s eyes were closed, a soft smirk on her lips as she leant back in the booth, her voice trailing along the words of the song haphazardly still sounding...nice. Geralt decided not to comment, the song having a somewhat fresh flavour coming in clumsy slices from his smaller companion.

“Pour him some aleeee... ” geralt was fast to react, catching the girls wrist, the drink sloshing over the side of her mug.

“Let’s go up.” he’d had enough of the bloody song for about three lifetimes.

He ushered Y/N through the tavern, her pack slung over his shoulder. Jask caught his eye as they were walking slowly through and he was...glaring? Geralt was just about done with indecipherable emotions and was glad he’d get a moment to himself before the bard came up to their room if he had not chosen to go and chase some poor lass.

Geralt was practically pulling Y/N up the stairs as a mother cat does a kitten, her feet all but failing her on the creaky wooden steps

“Harmnising.. Mmmfghsnn cocky...teach me...I can bloody harmonise.. din’t evennn go to ..to Oxenshite…dn’t need to be bloody taught..mmff”

“You sound nice.” geralt had certainly let his tongue loose tonight; it seemed fair as he wasn’t sure how much Y/N would even remember and that she had also let her voice loose before him, if not completely of her own volition.

“m’not nice geralt.. ’ve killed people.. Let people die-”

“You have your own room tonight.” he hastily added, he did not need her mind wandering down that path in this state. Gods, he knew it would be a hole to climb up out of especially if she were to spend the night alone. Maybe he would take the room, perhaps it was a mistake to-

Y/N’s weight had shifted into his side “you’re nice.. Jask can pay for my druddy blinks..his fault ‘nyway..druddy blinks”

They had finally reached the room, Jaksiers voice floating up towards them

“Lovely ladies and gentlemen, I believe we have had enough excitement for the night - a final round of applause for our dear protector!  A soft ballad now, ladies and gentlemen, to ease us into this splendid night”

Geralt pushed the flimsy door open (he was glad to be just next door) and Y/N practically threw herself onto the bed, letting out a sigh.

“I know this one” she mumbled, legs still dangling onto the floor, eyes closed.

The witcher set her pack down at the foot of the bed and went to shift her so she could get under the covers as she started to sing along, loose ribbons of sound falling in a pleasant heap. Again, he decided not to comment, drinking in the sound to make up for having to be the only one dragging through this night completely sober. Her voice lingered on the notes a moment more than they fit, words being replaced by simple mm’s until a soft burst of a familiar phrase came through. She sighed as the covers of the bed rest just below her chin, he could still see her foot wagging along to the ballad as he clicked the door shut.

Finally sitting in front of the fire in the room he would be sharing with the troubadour, he started to meditate, focusing on the wood beneath his knees, the warmth on his face, and the thrum of the voices below and beside. There had been a shift - Y/N was no longer walking along the same note as Jaskier, her voice was gliding somewhere lower, the sound slightly more deliberate than a moment before. The unsteadiness he heard in her voice reminded him of his first swordstrokes after wintering in Kaer Morhen. Hesitant, yet sure. Afraid he had forgotten everything yet trusting his muscles to carry him. He could not decipher the words from her mouth, but every note, however wavering and reluctant fit with the clear bright sound of Jaskier beneath. The witcher felt he could hear the lumber of the tavern resonate with the emulsion of the two, he let out a deep breath, almost feeling the wood curve to him.

~~~~~

In the lower half of the Three Horseshoes, Jaskier had watched till the pulsing crowd before him grew sparse as he announced his wind-down. It was a good night for coin on his part, and he could've made even more, singing out till the sun broke through the wee hours or the innkeep shooshed him away. However, he wished to retire with the rest of his troop. Especially since he was to give geralt a hearty piece of his mind when he arrived. This town had clearly seen much of the witcher over the years, pleasant mumblings with Geralts name instead of witcher and butcher had littered through the tavern when they entered. Rare, but welcome. They even cheered him as he came through the doors!

The muscle memory of his calloused fingers started to fade as he neared the end of the song, added a few musings of his own since he could not entirely remember the lute score, he landed gracefully on a perfect cadence, his voice waning away.

There were 4 people left before him now, a young couple, nuzzling at each other in a close booth, the innkeep and a young maiden sat cross legged well nigh his feet. He figured he would have chased after her was this some other night, her pretty blonde curls cascading past her shoulders. However, the bard needed questions answered and his bones ached from sleeping out in the cold for the better part of a week.

“Ladies and gentlemen” he started, hushed, much less declarative than earlier on “it has been my absolute pleasure” he held his hand out to the girl on the floor and raised her up, planting a feathery kiss on her fingers “to sing for you tonight”. He straightened himself up and strode out the room, not turning to see the remaining patrons’ reactions to his somewhat hasty departure, however much he had tried to wrap it in a neat bow.

He passed the stairs in a flurry, and spotted a room with the door ever so slightly ajar, Geralt’s way of showing him what room they were in, had he not the chance to disclose. Jaskier figured Y/N would be asleep by now, and so his anger would have to be quite silent. Since seeing geralt lead Y/N up, he had felt the red hot emotions bubble up inside of him, however much he hid behind soft songs, words and kisses.

“Geralt! What the fuck!” his whisper harsh and piercing “she sang?! She was singing?! Next to you! What did you say? What did I do wrong? Answer me geralt or I swe-”

“Listen” the witcher's amber eyes met him with a cool gaze as Jaskier then realised that Y/N was not to be seen in the room. His mind slowly registered the single word and the bard perked slightly when he heard a soft, round sound seeping through the wall.

“She said she knew the song. The last one.”

Jaksier hastily pressed the side of his head against the wall, soaking up the sound.  She was winding somewhere around the chorus, not all the words present.

“she was singing with you " the witcher still knelt with his eyes closed “lower than you but.. Together”

Jask's eyes widened slightly as he began quiet ministrations to relieve himself of his lute for the night, still keeping his ear tuned to the soft hums next door.

“Harmonies?” he asked, praying Geralt may spill a bit more.

“I know nothing of music bard… but it fit. Well.”

“I still don’t understand where this came from, Geralt.” Jaskier thought she didn't even know the words to Toss a coin, but as he glanced over to the farthest corner of the tavern that night whilst atop a table, he was sure that Y/N lips were moving in unison to his, Geralt sat beside her, almost ignoring her it seemed. It just made no sense to him. Perhaps he had pressured her with mentions of his academic endeavours? Geralt exhaled audibly through his nose as his mouth twitched upwards. His version of a chuckle Jaskier supposed.

“She’s drunk”

“D-drunk? Very drunk?? Gods - I know I upset her a few days ago, but today I tried - that is-”

"It's not you, Jask" a breathy laugh followed "she tried to throw her mead at me thanks to your ditty"

"Yes well, I suppose that is one way to take it" Jask smiled as he slipped under the covers, noticing that the sound next door had slowly crept away. "She's sleeping?"

"Hmm."

The men continued in hushed whispers, Jaskier coaxing the haps of the night from his friend like he would the events of a hunt he was not present for. Geralt entertained him, somewhat grateful that the story he was entrusting was not to do with monsters, blood or death this time.

~~~~

The morning was crisp and light as you woke to a quiet, empty room. Your brows furrowed as your head felt heavy against the pillows. You rose, a bitter taste lingering upon your dry tongue, seating itself at the back of your throat. You didn't mean to get drunk last night and it wasn't what you expected. You tried to push your thoughts to the back of your mind and made your way hastily to the stables, grabbing your pack trying to ignore the churns in your stomach.

The morning sun flared in the clear sky, the cold air still and electric. You squinted until the canopy of the stables sheltered you. You greeted Roach, kissing your hand and giving a rub above her nose, the mare huffing in response.

"Good morning Y/N" you heard Jaskiers voice, hushed and deliberate and turned to see him holding a small wooden cup of tea

"Chamomile. It will help."You sipped on the tea, sweetened with a little honey leaning against the wall of the wooden structure.

"Where's Geralt?" You felt how raspy that would have come out had it not been for the few sips of tea.

"On the look for some contracts, I suppose. A nice town, this. Good coin. Oh! Here,"

He handed you a heel of bread, soft and fresh smelling.

"Thank you, Jask."

He shuffled over to you, shoulders now touching

"sweet tea and sweet bread, young miss. Cure of all cures. Trusty after unruly nights at Oxenshite"

Hazy glimpses of a low rumbling voice, swathes of people chanting a song, warm covers and your own voice swimming amongst all these scenes.

Oh good grief.

Your eyes widened at the unorganised reflections, you thought people drank because it actually helped things. Gods, never again."I- uhh.. need to see geralt about… swords." You stumbled away hearing Jaskier chuckle warmly to himself.

A/N

Hey ya'll thank you for being patient with me I know it took ages and this is literally the last day of the deadline I set for myself a fortnight ago 0_0 but I really hope you're enjoying the story far! Thank you so much for the notes on the last chapter I haven't published any stories in a very long time and it's nice to know I can still write lol. Reblogs, comments and criticism are very welcome! Please let me know if you'd like to be tagged in further chapters/stories and if you have any tips on adding tags and things i'd love to hear them as I'm still trying to get the hang of navigating Tumblr as a writer again it's changed quite a bit lol. Thank you again and chapter 3 will be on its way!

mwah x

tagged people

@ladylizzieofdarbyshire

PART 3

#Geralt of Rivia #Jaskier #fluff #Geralt x Reader #jaskier x reader #platonic #platonic jaskier #platonic geralt #poc reader #small reader #reader can sing #soft geralt #mentor jaskier #mentor geralt #established trio dynamic #emotional hurt/comfort #angst #jaskier is oblivous #yet again #concealed past reader #developing friendships #brown girl reader #i have never been drunk forgive me #witcher #the witcher #the witcher (tv) #the witcher (game)

[for-a-muse-of-fire]

imagine being loved by me

Fandom: The Witcher (2019)

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x fem!poc reader

Summary: You clock him as a witcher the moment he steps into your tavern - his kind never scared you the way the did the rest of the village. So he kills things for money? What’s the alternative - being overrun and eaten alive by things that go “bump” in the night? Given your complete and utter lack of shame, you proceed to flirt mercilessly with the White Wolf, and the night just gets more interesting from there.

Warnings: NSFW/18+ ONLY I STG, GET OFF MY LAWN DAMN KIDS. Smutty smut smut, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, I’d say some dom!Geralt if you squint a bit, plus some standard violence and swearing. Geralt and reader both say fuck a bunch.

A/N: Inspired by my current obsession with Hozier’s song, “Talk”. Y’all, I think this is the first legit thing that I’ve written in several years. Like, at least 5. Maybe more. It’s not perfect, but I still did the damn thing, and that feels pretty rad. Some of you lovely people requested tags - like a dingus, I did not keep track, so this is me doing by best. I honestly don’t think I have to fortitude to keep up a taglist, so I’ll do my absolute best to tag everything under #tutu scribbles so it’s easy to find.

I'd be the sweet feeling of release Mankind now dreams of  That's found in the last witness Before the wave hits, marveling at God

He appears in the doorway towards the end of the night. Most of your patrons have stumbled home, save for one small table that has been carousing with a mission. You’re ready to read them the riot act when the stranger steps into the tavern, ushered by a blast of sharp winter air. You notice him right away, mostly because he might be the largest man you have ever seen. He’s tall, and so broad-shouldered that he brushes the door frame on his way in. You momentarily forget what you’re doing in favor of gawking a bit, bar rag paused mid-swipe when he pulls back the hood of his heavy cloak.

Gods on high, he’s handsome. Almost pretty.

Features that belong on a marble statue and a soft looking mouth that you can’t help but focus on.

He takes a cautious glance around the room and catches you staring. Given that you don’t know the meaning of the word “shame”, you don’t bother to duck your head, though you have enough sense to not grin out-right like a loon. It’s difficult, though.

White hair. Honey-gold eyes.

What really gives him away is the silver medallion that swings out from under his cloak. The size of a large coin, it shows a snarling wolf’s head in profile.

A Witcher.

He holds your gaze and something shivers its way down your spine. His boots carrying him silently across the worn floorboards and you find yourself trying to fluff your hair, make the riotous curls behave for once. You move to meet him when he sits at the end of your bar – even seated, you’re nearly eye-to-eye with him. The smile you offer is a crooked one, bordering on coy.

No harm in a little fun.

“Just in time, friend,” you rib him gently. “I was getting ready to close down and call it a night.”

“Lucky me,” the witcher rumbles. Rumbles - you’re not sure what else to call it. His voice sounds like gravel and thunder. His golden eyes take in your face, and you feel warm, in spite of the drafty space. Something in the vicinity of your stomach starts to flutter excitedly.

Testing the waters, you lean against the bar top with crossed arms. His eyes dip to the swell of your breasts at the top of your bodice.

You grin. “What’s your pleasure, Witcher?”

Gold eyes snap up to meet your darker ones and there is heat in that gaze. The witcher lets out a low kind of a sound, that soft mouth of his turning up at one corner.

The fluttering thing in your belly turns liquid – molten.

 “Ale,” he says, handing over a few crowns. “Please… miss.”

 “Right away.”

You pull a clean tankard from it’s spot and you turn your back to fill it. Being under his gaze isn’t unlike standing in direct sunlight – you can feel it press warmly against your back and shoulders. You try to focus on pouring a decent pint, but all you can think about is the fact that it’s cold out, and it’s been far too long since you’ve had someone warm and vital in your bed. The golden-eyed man behind you certainly seems vital.

Mind made up, you turn to present him with his ale and lean into the bar again. His eyes dip down the line of your neck, a little farther, and then up to find you grinning.

“Enjoy,” you tell him “Get comfortable, Witcher. I’ll be nearby if you need me.”

He “hmms” at you, very nearly grinning himself. Teeth caught against your bottom lip, you pull yourself away and begin your end-of-night duties – gathering empty bowls, cups, dirty utensils – to bring them through to the kitchen. You find yourself stealing one last glance at the witcher as you bump the kitchen door with your hip and slip away. A song, some manner of bawdy barroom ballad, comes to mind unbidden and you find yourself humming tunelessly to yourself as you start the washing.

You swear, you’re barely gone a few moments when you hear the racket begin. Raised voices, drunk voices – damn, you’d forgotten the table of stragglers – and the low rumble of the witcher. An irritated sigh huffs up from your chest and you dry your damn hands on your apron, leaving the rest of the washing in the basin.

The loud voices of drunk men become more clear as you step up to the door separating the kitchen from the tavern: “We don’t want you here, fucking mutant.”

There’s a crash, then the thud of fist hitting flesh. Dammit. So much for your fun tonight.

You swear under your breath and reach for your only real weapon – the heavy wooden baton has a place of honor beside the kitchen door. Slowly, quietly, you easy your way back into the main room. With the layout of the tavern, you’ve appeared behind the drunks – the witcher can see your movements from where he stands, the idiots can’t. The witcher’s mug of ale has been shattered on the floor. He’s surrounded, three drunks around him and the bar top at his back. The red mark high on his cheekbone gives you a hint as to who swung the first punch.

Golden eyes meet yours. You see his jaw tense, and he gives a short jerk of his head; ‘stay back,’ the motion says. It’s almost enough to make you take pause, until you see the glint of a blade; the witcher is focused on you, not on the knife that one of the drunks just pulled. Adrenaline zips through your system and you lunge without thinking, wielding language most unbecoming of a lady. How you manage to keep from tripping on your skirts is beyond you. The would-be knife fighter gets three bone-rattling strikes – knee, diaphragm, nose – and drops, clutching his face with some creative profanity.

His drunk cohorts gawp stupidly at you. You glare daggers in return.

“You are no longer welcome here,” you snap. “Get the fuck out, or it’ll be you on the ground next.”

They considering their bleeding, whimpering friend on the floor and decide not to chance it. You keep your club at the ready, watching as the morons pick up their wounded friend and usher him out the door. The breath that you didn’t remember holding comes whooshing out, and then you turn to your last guest. He’s tense as a wire, fists still clenched – your voice seems to snap him out of it:

 “All right, Witcher?”

He exhales, pulling his focus from the door and back to you. “Yeah… yes,” he replies. You watch him flounder a moment, as if he’s just realizing what happened. “Thank you. That was… thanks.”

 “Any time.”

That’s apparently not a response he’s heard before – it shows on his face for the briefest of second, and then you can see the barrier drop behind his pretty gold eyes. He seems cold as the winter outside when he speaks again, “I’m sorry for the trouble, miss. Thank you for the ale.”

A few more crowns appear from the folds of his cloak – he leaves them on the bar, and you can’t help but blink at him as he starts to make his way to the door. It’s entirely possible that you should leave him be, but you still find yourself calling out:

 “Hold on, Witcher!”

He almost ignores you, leather-gloved hand on the heavy iron handle of the tavern door. You can’t help it – he starts to curse under his breath, and you find yourself grinning about it. He’s still grumbling when he finally turns and those honey-colored eyes find your face again. You tilt your head, curls akimbo across your shoulder, and offer up a soft smile.

Some of the ice behind the witcher’s eyes starts to melt and you could swear he’s trying not to smile back. “… Geralt,” he rumbles at you. “My name is Geralt. Of Rivia.”

 “Geralt of Rivia,” you murmur, and offer your name in return. “Please, Geralt. You’re nearly knifed in my establishment and I think courtesy dictates I offer you something by way of apology. Besides… when was the last time you had a hot meal?”

That perks him up. He may not be fully human, but he’s still male.

You exhale, a breathless chuckle of sorts, and move closer. If there’s an extra sway in your hips, well, you can’t help that and he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s momentarily distracted by the cut of your bodice again and you preen internally. You offer him the hand not holding your club and smile up into his face.

“Come and sit with me, Geralt of Rivia.”           

         ___

After the broken tankard is swept up and the spilled ale dried, you disappear into the kitchen and return with a plate for your guest – the night’s dinner special. Braised beef, potatoes with garlic and butter, and roasted winter vegetables from your garden out back. Geralt, finally stripped of his cloak and gloves, tucks in with the ravenous hunger of a tired traveler. He shovels a mouthful down, then stops, blinking down at the plate.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, frowning.

He very nearly speaks with his mouth full, thinks better of it, and swallows. “This is fucking delicious,” he says, deadly serious. You laugh.

“Thank you.” Pride swells in your chest; you’ve always been proud of your cooking. “Most of it came from my own garden.”

Geralt hums. His next bite is smaller, and he takes his time chewing it. The sight of him enjoying his meal makes you feel contented. He eats, and you go about your work. The fire in the hearth has burnt down some, but it’s enough for you to be able to finish the night’s cleaning. When you slip back behind the bar, Geralt’s plate is empty – he may have actually licked it clean. He seems almost content himself as he finishes his ale.

 “Still hungry?” you tease. He squints at you for a moment, but the corner of his mouth ticks up.

 “No, thank you. I may not need to eat again for a few days.”

You laugh at that, “Good, that’s what I like to hear. Stay put, all right?” You nod at the bruise that’s started to bloom on his cheek. “I think I have something for that…”

The empty plate is cleared and you grab a small basket from the kitchen. After filling Geralt’s mug one last time, you pour a small goblet of wine for yourself and come to sit next to him at the bar. He watches you as you open your small kit. “A cook, a fighter, and a healer?” he muses. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Can’t sing for shit,” you shoot back. “And a cook, yes, but you’re very generous, calling me a fighter, or a healer. Really, I think I just know enough about either to be dangerous…”

Geralt snorts indecorously. “I think our friend with the broken nose might beg to differ.”

“Doesn’t take much skill to break a nose – long as you swing hard enough. Hah!” You’ve found it – the little salve jar at the bottom of your kit. You turn to Geralt with a grin and hold out the jar for his inspection. “I hear your lot are the expert on this kind of thing. What do you think?”

He “hmms” again – you rather like that sound – and twists open the top of the jar. You watch him give a careful sniff before he peers in to look at the contents itself. “Frankincense,” he mutters. “Honey… mugwort? Good mix.”

You grin. “Thank you. Does the trick for black eyes and stove burns. Gimme that – “ Taking the jar back, you take a sip of your wine before tapping the big witcher on the knee. “Turn this way, please.”

He cocks an eyebrow, but obeys, and you move to stand between his splayed legs. Gods, but he’s warm. Heat rolls off of his body like the warmth of your tavern fire and it’s all you can do to keep from leaning into him. By the way he’s eyeing you, you’re not sure if he’d mind. You tap a little of your healing salve onto the pad of your ring finger and place the jar back on the counter – when you meet his gaze, he nods in silent consent. Gently, you take his chin in your hand and turn his bruised cheek towards you.

 “You heal faster than most, I’ve heard,” you murmur, gently pressing the salve into his skin. “But I can’t imagine getting hit in the face feels good.”

Geralt snorts again. “No, it doesn’t. Not something you really get used to, either.”

“… Geralt, how many times have you gotten punched?”

 “This week, or…?”

You blink at him. When he smirks back, you realize that he is, in fact, pulling your leg. “Oh, you’re the funny one, are you?” you say drily.

He continues to smirk as you grumble, tugging his chin so you can finish applying your salve. Both of you go quiet. The silence isn’t strange – it’s almost comforting. You hear the last intact log on the fire pop. Outside, the wind has picked up. It whistles past the windows, makes what’s left of the fire gutter in the hearth. It’s going to be wickedly cold tonight. You consider your room upstairs, that empty bed…

 “Geralt?”

 “Hmm.”

You chuckle. Your hand drops from his chin and he uses the opportunity to meet your gaze again. It’s at that moment that you realize just how close you are, and perhaps he notices too. Golden eyes scan your face lazily – heat blooms in your chest when his gaze drops to your mouth. He can probably hear the way your pulse kicks up, what with those heightened senses of his.

Maybe the night wouldn’t be a wash after all.

“I have a hunch,” you mumble. “Don’t be alarmed.”

You kiss him. His lips are dry, but smooth. He lets you lean into him, hands braced on his powerful thighs. His palm is so warm against your hip that you can feel it through your skirts; the sensation makes you shudder against him and sigh into his mouth.

Geralt growls, and you feel a desperate, aching heat settle between your legs.

The hand at your hip presses into your lower back and you stumble into him. You taste the ale on his tongue, try to lick the bittersweet flavor from your mouth as his other hand joins in to squeeze at your ass. He crushes you closer – even through the sturdy material of his trousers, you feel the hard line of him straining against your belly. A whine cracks its way up from your throat, and you want…

You want.

 “Stay with me,” you gasp, pulling back for air.

Geralt’s eyes are hooded, his lips slick and kiss-swollen and it takes every ounce of your willpower to keep from lunging in to bite at him. You run your tongue along your own bottom lip and he tracks the motion hungrily.

“Stay with me,” you say again. Your arms wind around his neck. “Keep me warm tonight, Geralt of Rivia.”

He grins slow, pulls you back to him – the tip of his nose is cold when it traces up the line of your neck. “I think I’d like that…”

Teeth and tongue and lips map the curve of your neck. Your fingers tangle their way into the witcher’s hair and tug when he sucks a bruise onto your pulse point. He rewards you with a low sound, breathless and hot on your skin. Oh, he likes that.

 “Keep that up,” he growls. “And I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”

You tug again.

The dam breaks.

You’re not sure how, but his hands feel like they’re everywhere; pushing through your curls, squeezing at your hips, groping at your waist. It’s like he’s trying to break you apart, piece by piece. Strip you open until you’re nothing but bared nerve endings and gasping breath.

Somehow, you make it upstairs and into your room. It’s a miracle that the only clothing left behind in the tavern is his cloak and gloves. Everything else is strewn this way and that through your room – your bodice ends up thrown over a chair and Geralt’s shirt nearly gets stuck on a rafter. One of his boots ends up by the cold fireplace and he kicks the other one off as he whips your chemise over your head. He crowds close, pushes you back until he has you laid out naked across the bed.

Geralt’s grin is lopsided – wolf-like – as his golden eyes take in your bare skin. Your breath stutters when he lowers himself, lips hot and smooth on the skin of your neck. He nips and bites his way down your torso, pausing only to lave his tongue over the dark peak of one breast, then the other. Fire shoots through you and your eyes slam shut – you gasp his name, make him chuckle into your flesh. Strong hands ease your legs apart and you jump when he bites at the softness of your belly, just below your navel. You can feel his low laugh more than you can hear it.

 “Easy, little rabbit,” Geralt murmurs. You breathe out a shaky chuckle and prop up onto your elbows, just in time to watch the witcher reach up to tie his shock-white hair away from his face.

Your mouth goes dry. That wolfish grin is back.

His breath is hot on the crease of your thigh. “I’m just getting started,” he rumbles.

Then Geralt swipes his tongue up the slit of your sex and you wonder for a moment if this is what being struck by lightning feels like. His tongue finds your clit and it is suddenly very hard to think anymore. Your back bows up from the bed as you groan brokenly. One hand shoots down, fingers reaching for something to keep you from flying through the roof, and you grip at the witcher’s hair again. The growl he lets out buzzes against your core and it all goes fuzzy after that.

You feel him grip bruises onto your thighs. You feel the rasp of his stubble. Then, pressure, followed by delicious fullness a Geralt pushes one finger, then another into your slick heat. He stretches you, twisting and thrusting his fingers in time with the flicker of his tongue. You gasp for breath, hips lifting to meet Geralt’s mouth. He seems to be enjoying himself as much as you are – he growls against you, and the hand on your thigh jerks you closer. The sound his mouth and his fingers on you is utterly depraved, wet and sloppy.

Geralt’s fingers curl inside of you, pressing up towards your navel. You come, hard and fast, crying his name.

Over the thunder of your heart, you hear him growl against your thigh, “Fucking beautiful…”

He lays a few biting kisses to your inner thigh before he stands and swipes the back of his hand over his mouth. You stare up at him with outright hunger as he strips off his trousers. He’s solid muscle, battle-scarred and gorgeous, thick cock curving up towards his belly. He smirks, but doesn’t move, seemingly content to let you feast your eyes.

Once you’ve had your fill, you meet Geralt’s hooded gaze and push yourself back on the mattress. With a little extra arch in your back, you crook a finger. Geralt crouches and crawls up the bed to you. His hips settle between your parted thighs, hands braced on either side of your head. Those eyes of his scan your face hungrily before he lunges in for a kiss.

You lick the tang of your cunt from his tongue. The underside of his cock slides against your clit, making you arch into him with a whine, “Geralt…”

He hums low in his chest, shifts his weight to bring one hand up to cup your cheek. “Look at me, sweetheart,” he rasps. His thumb strokes slowly over your cheekbone. “Look at me – want to see your face – “

Geralt shifts back and thrusts home, hard – the blinding pleasure punches the air from your lungs in a shout. Your hands fly up to grip his back. “There it is,” he groans. “Good girl…”

All you can do is mewl in response, trembling. The thumb brushing at your cheek moves to your mouth, pressing and stroking at your bottom lip. You meet Geralt’s gaze with lust-glazed eyes and suck the tip of his thumb into your mouth.

 “Fuck”, he hisses.

He drags a slow thrust out, and pushes back in to the hilt over and over. Each heavy thrust of his hips drives you into the mattress and you meet him eagerly, pitched cries muffled by his thumb. Geralt curls himself over you. His thumb pulls from your mouth with a wet sound so he can grip your chin instead, force you to meet the heat of his eyes. It’s skin and sweat and heated, desperate pleas. Your hands grip at his shoulders, his back, nails leaving lines of red that only spur him on. The witcher pushes at your chin, baring your neck to him so he can scrap his teeth against your sweat-slick skin. You clench around him with a low cry.

His lips press against your ear and he starts talking, rumbling, low and filthy. Your eyes nearly roll back into your head.

Fuck, the mouth on him. He tells you how fucking good you feel around his cock, how wet you are for him; it’s a litany of debased promises and you can only gasp in return. The rumble of his voice, the drag of his cock pushes you higher and higher, tightens the coiled lightning in your belly. You are unconcerned with keeping quiet.

Geralt slips a hand between your bodies. The pad of his thumb pulls across your clit and you are gone, your orgasm fierce and relentless. You keen, whole body curling up into Geralt’s chest; your teeth catch his shoulder and you bite down hard enough to bruise.

The witcher gives a ragged shout into the side of your neck. He pulses into your clutching heat, hot and steady.

Neither of you move for what seems like an age. You feel sticky, and sore, and it feels good. Geralt shifts at last, carefully slipping out of you – you both shudder with the last aftershocks. “Fuck,” he grunts.

“Pretty sure we just did, love,” is your slightly slurred response.

Geralt squints down at you, but you just smile sleepily back, and it’s enough to make him laugh. Like a good gentleman, he makes certain to roll off of you before he collapses on his stomach with grumble. He pulls you into his side; you hum contentedly. The blistering heat beneath your skin has begun to cool, and you feel wonderfully boneless.

The witcher can barely keep his eyes open, but he tries to focus on your face. “All right?” he mumbles into a pillow.

“More than,” you murmur back.

“S’good…” And he’s out cold.

 You follow soon enough.

         _____

You don’t wake until the next morning, sore, but very pleased with yourself. Winter sunlight, bleached and cold, pours in from the casement. There is a brief pang of disappointment when you reach for Geralt and find him gone, but then you hear the crackle of a fire and turn over. It’s a lovely sight. The witcher stands from his crouched position in front of your now-lit fireplace, and you take a moment to admire the well-sculpted curve of his backside as he pulls his shirt on. He’s found his trousers and boots, as well – pity.

 “Thank you,” you mumble, sleepily. He turns to you as you sit up, bedsheet clutched over your nakedness.

 “Don’t mention it.”

You study his handsome face for a moment. His expression is unreadable, but his golden eyes are warm. “Leaving?” you ask.

 “Have to,” he tells you. “Unless your town has a noonwraith that needs destroying.”

 “No, thank fuck.” You stand and stretch with a groan, tying the bedsheet over your breasts. “Well, come on, then.”

Geralt chuckles, but follows you downstairs and to the kitchen. Into a kerchief you tie a loaf of bread, some good cheese, salted pork, and dried fruit. The witcher looks at you with something akin to surprise when you hand him his provisions. You simply smile back and step into him. He allows you to wind your arms around his neck, meeting you halfway in a kiss that makes your heart skip a beat. You don’t want to let go, but you force yourself to step back after a few breathless moments.

 “Goodbye, Geralt of Rivia,” you murmur. You consider more, almost don’t, and then, “If, ah… if you ever find yourself out this way again – “

“I will. I’ll have to.” He gives you a crooked grin. “Only place I can get good meal around here.” 

You laugh outright, and it seems to make Geralt’s grin widen. Following him back into the main tavern, you insure he has his effects and provisions before you watch him take his leave. With a shiver, you recall the newly lit fire in your bedroom and find yourself taken the steps two at a time to get there. Between the cold, bleached sunlight shining in from the window and the warmth of the fire in the hearth, it doesn’t take much to convince yourself that a lie-in is just what you need.

Your pillow still smells like him.

#geralt of rivia #geralt x poc!reader #geralt x reader #geralt x you #the witcher #the witcher netflix #all aboard the smut bus #poc reader #fanfic #fanfiction #geralt smut #tutu scribbles #the wench and the witcher

[for-a-muse-of-fire]

this is hungry work

the wench and the witcher

"this is hungry work”

Fandom: The Witcher (2019)

Paring: Geralt of Rivia x Fem!POC Reader.

Summary: Your Witcher will be gone at first light. He’s determined to keep occupied until then.

Warnings: NSFT/18+ - you should not be interacting with this fic if you are under the age of 18. Facesitting, overstim, intercourse, sweet-yet-possessive!Geralt. It’s... it’s just smut, y’all.

A/N: Full disclosure, I tried to tell myself I wouldn’t use this song for any of my fics and I should have known better. It’s just peak Hozier, and I would be remiss for excluding it. I have approximately 3 fics left in this series - yikes, I accidentally wrote a series - and then we’ll see where the Wench wants to go from there...

@coconutxraikage - @onyour-right - @ly–canthrope - @kianya-loves - @c-s-stars - @gczanetti1 - @alwaysnatz - @agniavateira - @witchernonsense - @owillofthewisps - @hina-chans-stuff - @yespolkadotkitty​ - @wastingmypotential​

The only Heaven I'll be sent to Is when I'm alone with you I was born sick, but I love it Command me to be well, amen...

The light of the full moon shines in from the window, fills the room with the silver-ice glow. It’s cool and soft – enough to see by, making up for the embers that now barely smolder on the hearth. It should be cold without the fire’s warmth, but the heat flashing over your skin leaves you misted with sweat. It weighs down your curls and makes them stick to the back of your neck, to your face; each sharp inhale feels heavy and damp in your lungs. One hand grips the headboard so hard that your palm aches.

The other hand is fisted in Geralt’s hair.

Your thighs bracket his head and he holds you in place over his mouth. His fingers press bruises into your flesh. With a ragged cry, your body arches and your hips press down; you grind down onto the Witcher’s greedy tongue, calling his name as you come again. You briefly wonder if anyone has ever died like this. The low vibration of the Witcher’s growl hums over the tender, throbbing flesh of your cunt and you double over, whining.  Trying to pull away is futile; his grip on your thighs is too strong.

There’s no counting at this point. The pleasure borders on agony and Geralt is relentless.

He leaves in the morning.

It seems he’s determined to keep himself occupied until then.

“Gods,” you pant as your hips rock in time to the tide of your orgasm. “Geralt – “

Hazy golden eyes flash up at you, the dark of his pupils wide and fathomless. Your limbs feel like water, putting up no resistance when the Witcher shifts and turns you onto your back like you’re a ragdoll. He fairly glows in the moonlight, miles of pale skin stretched over powerful muscle that flexes beautifully as he pulls your legs over his shoulders. The tip of his tongue flicks sharply over your clit and you jump with a low hiss, “Son of a bitch – “

Geralt chuckles softly, noses at your damp curls. “I’ve met sailors who swear less,” he taunts.

You give a breathless laugh of your own. “You’re one to talk – oh!”

Fingers press, three thick digits slipping into your cunt with an obscenely wet noise and little resistance. The stretch makes your toes curl.  Geralt laps casually over your aching clit again to pull a sharp, desperate noise up from your throat.

“M’gonna miss that sound,” he growls and repeats the motion.

You whimper. His fingers press and thrust in time with the movement of his tongue until you’re shaking and cursing, fingers gripped tight in his shock-white hair. He groans against you when you tug, pushing the pads of his fingers up to stroke and circle over that soft spot inside of you – the one that makes your back arch from the bed as lightning goes flashing up your spine. His mouth closes over you, his cheeks hollow to apply a teasing suction and your voice breaks on a whine, “Geralt - fuck - I’m gonna - “

It’s a violent rush of blinding sensation – you shout, gushing over Geralt’s fingers as your hips rock into his mouth. He doesn’t stop.

You come again. And again.

He doesn’t stop until your muscles ache, until your voice is raw and you’re begging brokenly for respite. Panting, you glance down to see your Witcher smirking, his mouth pink and swollen, slick with your cum. He bows his head and makes his slow, ambling way up your body, chasing each flex of your muscles with a nip of his teeth. He’s already littered you with deep red marks, spots that you’ll press your fingers to when he’s gone, relishing in the dull ache. You shiver when he traces the bruises with his tongue, whine when he takes a beaded, tender nipple into his mouth. The sharp thrill of pleasure makes your cunt clench down on nothing and you whisper his name.

Geralt rumbles appreciatively. He guides you onto your belly, settles his warm, solid weight over your back. His lips feel like a firebrand on your shoulder blade  – his cock slicks over you, catching over the tiny ridge of your clit and making you gasp, “Please.“

He growls into your neck, easing his hips forward. The length of him splits you open, stretches your sopping cunt around him until you sob. It’s a slow and filthy pace that he sets. He rocks into you on a deep, grinding rhythm that makes you grit your teeth around a moan. Your fingers curl in the rumpled bedding beneath you. You feel the wet heat of his breath against your shoulder, the scrape of his teeth, and the steady, torturous rock of his hips. Your voice is a broken, ragged thing, harsh to your own ears when you cry.

A sharp, sudden push of his hips punches the breath from your lungs. “That’s my girl,” he pants against your hair. “Sweet girl – you take me so well, sweetheart. So fuckin’ pretty, taking my cock.”

He fucks into you, deep and unrelenting strokes. You pant, and grunt, too fucked-out to be self-conscious about how you might sound. You feel utterly spent, like there’s no possible way your body can respond, or keep up, but it does – you do. The Witcher pulls you up in one powerful motion, sitting back on his haunches and crushing your back to his front with one arm gripped tight over your chest. His skin is sweat-slick and scorching hot against your back. You grip at whatever you can reach, grasping at his hair, clawing at his arm; he chokes out a groan and his free hand pushes down the softness of your belly until his fingers brush where the two of you are joined, where you are stretched around him, soaked and quivering.

“Let me hear you,” he rumbles. “Say it, sweetheart – tell me – “

A flex of his hips. You feel every blood-hot inch of his cock, and clench down – your legs shake as you whimper, “Geralt – “

“Say it.”

He thrusts up into you, hard – a claiming. “Yours,” you gasp. “Oh gods – m’yours. Yours yours – “

The pads of his fingers drag over your clit. Your muscles lock. It’s a conflagration in your blood, roaring through your veins, leaving ash it its wake – your voice cracks as you scream. You hear Geralt snarl and swear as his hips stutter – he trembles against your back, pulses deep inside of you – filling you with the sticky heat of his cum. Your eyes roll back and then you’re floating, warm and boneless as if drifting on an ocean tide.

Geralt’s voice drifts through the fog. You come to as he pulls you against him, cradling your head on his shoulder while he strokes your limp curls away from your face with a tenderness that constricts around your heart. He’s watching you. Staring; as if attempting to commit each line of your face to memory while his thumb brushes at the corner of your mouth.

“Say it again,” he mumbles.

You have to remember how to breathe for a moment. “I’m yours,” you whisper.

Geralt kisses you lazily, delicately, and rolls you under him. His remarkable stamina has him pressing against the inside of your thigh again, hard and slick; you gasp when he slides in. You’re tender, borderline sore, but your hips still lift to take him. Your cunt still pulses at the welcome intrusion.

“One more, sweetheart,” he purrs against your mouth “Give me one more, c’mon…”

The Witcher barely moves. Just soft, shallow thrusts of his hips with his forehead pressed to yours and his fingertips tracing soothing patterns over your sensitized skin; you shake beneath him. The both of you balance on that precipice for an age, until a lark begins to call out its song in the courtyard outside. Geralt manages to coax one last slow, shivering orgasm from you; he moans into your mouth as he comes – you feel the steady throb of his cock, the warmth filling you as you shudder. You’re vaguely aware of Geralt’s weight settling beside you. Exhausted as you are, you utter a murmur as he curls you into his side.

Geralt’s fingers trace soft, meaningless sigils over your back as you let sleep take you.

#geralt x you #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia #geralt x poc reader #geralt x woc reader #the witcher #the witcher netflix #fanfic #fanfiction #the witcher fanfiction #the wench and the witcher #tutu scribbles #nsft

[for-a-muse-of-fire]

The Wench and The Witcher | Ficlet Series (Complete)

Geralt of Rivia x Black OC - inspired by the works of Hozier

NSFT/18+ only -  these fics are not meant for anyone under the age of 18.

imagine being loved by me

be as you’ve always been

chivalry fell on its sword

how easy you are to need

happily i’m unfazed here, too

and that kind of love

youthfully felt

i’ll crawl home

in the woods somewhere

and flew like a moth to you

oh what a sin

what did you bury?

PROMPT: “you can’t dictate what’s best for someone else”

like (your) love

be still my foolish heart

and it’s easy done, our little remedy

i will never grow so old again

to derail the mind of me

and the damaged love she made

by the still of your hand

make it enough

i’d be home with you

watch the world go by

some tender charm

tame your demons

this is hungry work

before the otherness came: part I, part II

oh, but you’re good to me

#geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt x you #geralt x ofc #geralt x black ofc #geralt x poc reader #the witcher #the witcher netflix #fanfic #fanfiction #oc: zahra auberel #geralt x zahra #tutu scribbles

[for-a-muse-of-fire]

before the otherness came

the wench and the witcher

“before the otherness came”

Fandom: The Witcher (2019)

Paring: Geralt of Rivia x Fem!POC Reader.

Summary: Geralt realizes how much he has to lose.

Warnings: NSFT/18+ - you should not be interacting with this fic if you are under the age of 18. Fingering, intercourse, sex as a coping mechanism (again, jfc Geralt). Smangst!

A/N: This is absolutely the brainchild of @witchernonsense​, who provided me with this scenario and then helped me flesh out the next parts that I have planned because she is my DARLING TUMBLR WIFE. Listen, I got a taste of the smutty angsty and it’s just *chef’s kiss*. Love me some emotional turmoil, y’all. Title and lyrics from “As It Was” by Hozier.

Part 2 can be found here.

@coconutxraikage - @onyour-right - @ly–canthrope - @kianya-loves - @c-s-stars - @gczanetti1 - @alwaysnatz - @agniavateira - @witchernonsense - @owillofthewisps - @hina-chans-stuff - @yespolkadotkitty​ - @wastingmypotential​

And the sights were as stark as my baby And the cold cut as sharp as my baby And the nights were as dark as my baby And half as beautiful too 

He’s awake long before dawn, too agitated to try for a few more hours of sleep. He tries to relax again. Failing that, he tries to close his eyes and quiet his mind – find the stillness that comes with meditation – but the peace is illusive. It won’t come. He can’t shut out the sleepy, easy rhythm of your heartbeat, nor the warmth of your hand over his chest. Geralt gives up before long, rises carefully - you don’t move, which shouldn’t make him feel relief like this. He finds his clothes, quietly sets about strapping into his armor and tries not to be distracted by the scent of your skin. It teases at his nose. He can still taste you on his tongue.

As he pulls the last buckle taught, he hears you murmur and lets himself look. You turn in your sleep, curl over the pillow he’s vacated. The dark of your hair spills over your neck and face and his fingers itch to push through it. He should wake you. At the very least say goodbye, but the words cloy. They sit heavy in his mouth, an unwieldy chill behind his teeth.

You look soft, and warm, and so fucking lovely in bed that it grips around his heart.

He thinks suddenly, wildly, about throwing down his sword and his armor and crawling back under the covers.

His weapons could gather dust under the bed.

You would wake up curled next to him every morning and smile like the beaming sun. He could repair the roof, keep learning how to bake – smell of your soap and fresh bread instead of gore and road dirt. Worst thing he would be covered in would be cooking oil.

Fuck he can see it – that quiet, boring, simple life and what’s worse, he wants it. He wants it so much that it hurts, deep down into the pit of his stomach and not even the thought of his inevitable return can ease the pain. The idea of leaving, the thought of being without again – it’s a hunger-pang ache. It gnaws at him.

Geralt grits his teeth as he pulls his boots on. You hum sleepily when he ducks in and kisses your cheek, but he’s out the door before you begin to wake.

It’s mostly quiet downstairs, though he hears the rattle of a cart on the road outside. The sky outside begins to wash from inky blue to muted gray with the coming dawn. He takes quick inventory of what remains in his pack, using the list in his head to distract from the pull of desire and the temptation of soft, willing skin upstairs. The scent of you lingers on his hair, in his clothes – you’ve seeped down into his very pores, it seems, soaked him in the sweet, honeyed smell of you.

That scent, clover honey and fresh herbs, suddenly grows stronger and Geralt frowns until sees you coming down the stairs. The soft fabric of your shift whispers over your bare legs and that’s when he realizes your scent is off. It’s tainted – too sharp, too bitter. He sees why when you falter at the last step and the sight strikes like the blow of a mace.

He’s seen you cry – from laughter, from rage, from sorrow – but this is different. This is the sharp, acrid scent of fear under the salt-brine bite of tears and a hollowness behind your dark eyes that hurts to see. Your jaw works, your full mouth twisting before you duck your head, but not before he sees the wet shine on your lashes.

He needs to leave. Needs to walk away because this is suddenly far too real, too raw, but his feet carry him towards you instead and he tastes salt on his tongue when he kisses you. You gasp – sob – against his lips and the noise twists between his ribs. Your heartbeat thunders in his ears and he grips at your hair, your waist, while your fingers tangle and fist into his hair. His hands twist in the light cotton of your shift, bunching the fabric as he lifts you into his arms; your legs grip over his hips.

“Don’t go,” he hears you whisper; it’s soft, and broken, and sad. “Don’t go.”

Geralt squeezes his eyes shut. He manages to set you on the smooth surface of the bar, shivering when your fingernails scratch over his scalp. His gloves hit the floor. Your legs are warm and soft under his palms, and between them is slick and wet and sweet. The smell of you, rich and heavy, sends a shock of arousal straight through him, sudden as a lightning strike. He groans, letting his fingers stroke over your swollen, slick flesh until you’re panting, until you shake apart in his grip, moaning into his mouth. Your fingers tremble as you yank open the buttons of his trousers.

It’s not gentle, not by a long shot. He ruts into you with sharp, greedy strokes and you cling to him, panting hotly against his cheek. Your heels dig hard into his backside. Each shuddering gasp from you seems to take root in him, grips around his heart with grasping vines to squeeze, to bloom with heat and light and fuck all he doesn’t want to leave. He doesn’t want to leave.

He doesn’t want to leave you.

So, he kisses you hard. He draws you close and breaks the tracks of your tears with his thumbs, licks each soft, bitten-off sound from your mouth. You whisper his name when you come; the silken grip of your cunt drags him along, blinds him with the white-hot shock of his orgasm. He grits through a moan with his face pressed into your hair.

You won’t look at him, after.

He picks up a clean rag from the pile folded nearby, lets you clean the mess as he rights his trousers again. Still, you won’t meet his gaze. The thick curtain of your hair hides your face. Geralt picks up his gloves, watching you weep silently. You don’t flinch from him when he touches your cheek, pushing back the fall of bed-wild curls, but he feels you drawing away. Like you’re trying to curl up and vanish.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs.

He hears you give a wet sniff; you finally lift your head. Your lovely, dark eyes are bloodshot and bright with unshed tears. There’s a heavy, awful thing pressing at the back of his throat; it’s bitter when he swallows. He chews the inside of his cheek, bites his tongue - he tries not to let himself drown in the deep sorrow behind your eyes. The ache between his ribs thrums.

“I will come back to you,” Geralt whispers in a rush. He crowds close, pressing his forehead to your temple to breathe you in. “You’re - ”

The ache surges in time with the slow pulse of his heart, catches him off-guard. “You’re my home,” he breathes.

Geralt feels panic claw at him, snaring with freezing cold fingers. He forces himself to breathe through it as he presses a rough kiss to your temple and turns on his heel. It feels as if he’s watching everything happen instead of being there – he takes his pack, his weapons and the next thing he knows, he’s managed to swing into Roach’s saddle. The world snaps into clear focus again.

The panic twists, the cold mingling with the ache.

The Witcher grits his teeth, spurring the bay mare into movement. “Shit,” he hisses to himself.

#geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt x you #geralt x poc reader #geralt x woc reader #the witcher #the witcher netflix #fanfic #fanfiction #the witcher fanfiction #nsft #the wench and the witcher #tutu scribbles

[for-a-muse-of-fire]

before the otherness came (2)

the wench and the witcher

“before the otherness came”

Fandom: The Witcher (2019)

Paring: Geralt of Rivia x Fem!POC Reader.

Summary: Two years go by.

Warnings: Language, some violence and sexism. 

A/N: Part 2 of my “As It Was” fic set. Once again, big love to my darling Tumblr wife, @inber​ ,for helping me sus these bad boys out. This was a beast to write, and I think the longest think I’ve banged out. I will always and forever second-guess my ability to write angst, but I did it and it’s y’all’s problem now.

@coconutxraikage - @onyour-right - @ly–canthrope - @kianya-loves​ - @c-s-stars - @gczanetti1 - @alwaysnatz - @agniavateira - @inber​ - @owillofthewisps - @hina-chans-stuff - @yespolkadotkitty​ - @wastingmypotential​

Part 1 can be found here.

Tell me if somehow, some of it remains How long you would wait for me? And how long I've been away

Heartache has a particular bite to it. It’s bitter – metallic - like holding a copper coin in your mouth, it sits heavy on the tongue. You’ve been trying to choke back the taste of it since Geralt left.

He always takes a piece of you with him when he goes but gods it feels different, this time.

This time the empty space left behind is jagged. It splinters. It breaks off sharp little pieces that slice deep as you try to go about your life. As you try to pretend that it’s fine, when you try to keep moving, and working – walking and talking and living as if there isn’t a piece of your own heart missing. It’s exhausting. You end your days almost too tired to sleep, curled up in your empty bed and each night. Your fingers reach out and drift over the space where he should be and the chasm widens.

More jagged bits break away. More cuts, more pain.

You hadn’t started to worry, really worry, until Geralt had been gone for two months. It wasn’t uncommon, but the longer you went without hearing word, the more you worried. When you still hadn’t heard anything in four months, the fear set in. The Continent is vast and wide, though – he could be anywhere. 

After six months, the fear turns to dread. After ten months and no word, nothing, you’d reached out to Jaskier, but even his connections had their limits and that was when the sorrow found you. There was a chance the White Wolf didn’t want to be found, but the more likely alternative, well.

The Path is dangerous. Geralt of Rivia is big, and bad, but he’s not invulnerable.

You haven’t seen him in over two years. No one has.

With a shaky inhale, you pull your gaze from the flame of the candle at your elbow. You make another attempt to focus on the open ledger in front of you with middling success. The sharp bits, the cutting bits he left behind have mostly been pieced together. Some days you can almost ignore them, but today it feels like you’re on the verge of breaking apart again. Swearing quietly, you tally the last of the earnings for the week and flip the book closed before rubbing at your aching eyes.

You take the small flask from your desk drawer. The brandy is smooth and warm on the way down, dulling the edge of your pain until you feel like you might be able to stand and smile in the land of the living. Another sip and you decide to try and do just that.

It’s not terribly crowded tonight, but the people eating your food and drinking your ale are in good spirits. It warms you some, watching them smile and laugh over your recipes. You cast your gaze across the room, grinning and waving when your name is called until your eyes light on a newer face at the bar. He’s certainly handsome. Curly copper-colored hair, pretty green eyes – some manner of tradesman by the cut and styling of his clothes. Not poor, but certainly no well-moneyed type; that lot doesn’t drink here. The copper-haired stranger catches you looking. He has one of those secretive smiles, dimpled and cheeky, and you find yourself returning the one he flashes your way.

You touch the necklace at your throat. It’s almost enough to give you pause, but…

The redhead’s name is Nathaniel. 

A carpenter and a shameless flirt, you let him buy you a pint of your own ale and don’t mind when he touches your hand. He listens to you when you talk about the tavern and your cooking, tells you that you make the best rabbit he’s ever had, and you let him slide closer as the evening wears on. His hand is warm on your lower back, his voice lilts in a sweet Skelliger brogue, and he’s entirely too charming for his own good.

When he starts to call you ‘darling’, you don’t feel like correcting him.

You let him tuck you against his side, relishing in the way he bows his mouth close to your ear and you nearly miss the way the room goes quiet. You’re not sure what makes you tear your gaze from Nathaniel’s lips, but then you meet a pair of honey-gold eyes across the room, your heart stops.

Geralt’s face passes through a number of emotions in a split second before you see him shut down.

Gods on high. The bastard’s alive.

Elation and relief make you feel dizzy, you such in a breath and it feels like being punched square in the ribs. Fuck’s sake. The bastard’s alive – he’s been alive this whole godsdamned time.

It suddenly feels as if the stays of your bodice are laced too tight. The room is too loud, too crowded, and the copper-haired man at your side far too close. Nathaniel’s hand brushes down your spine and you bristle, squirming away with a muttered apology. You hear him call after you and ignore it, at least until he grabs your wrist and pulls.

“Hold on, darlin’,’ the redhead leers down at you. “I dun’ think we’re through yet.”

“Let go – “

“Nooo, I dinna think so – “ He pulls again, hard, and his palm chaffs against your skin until you hiss in pain. “You cannae just leave a man high and dry like this, lovey,” Nathaniel says with a smirk. “Come on. Why don’t ye take me upstairs and you can make it up to – “

Over the Skelliger’s shoulder you see the hulking form of the white-haired Witcher and you’ve never seen Geralt so angry. Soft lips are curled back into a deadly sneer, bright eyes flashing with malicious intent. You say his name, warning him off to no avail; you’re not his focus. He grips Nathaniel by the collar and pulls; the smaller man is yanked away and you stumble as his hold on you is broken suddenly.

“Geralt, stop,” you bark.

Nathaniel regains his footing before glancing between you and the Witcher. He looks gobsmacked, at first, and then he laughs, but there’s no humor in it. It’s mean; spiteful.

“You let a Witcher have you?” he scoffs. “Fuck all, love – if I’d-a known you were that easy, I would’nae tried so hard. You’ll let jus’ about anythin’ settle between those pretty legs, won’t ye?”

Geralt snarls, actually snarls, before grabbing the redhead by the shirtfront and slamming his fist across his face. You shout at him to stop. Nathaniel breaks the grip on his shirt with a sweep of his arm before returning blows; man and Witcher ignore your furious cries for cessation, trading blows like brawling idiots, until you roar, “Enough!”

You throw all your weight at Geralt, shoving him hard enough to knock him off balance and away from Nathaniel. “I said enough!” you bellow.

Man and mutant are panting, the former bleeding from his nose and the latter sporting the beginning of a good shiner. Nathaniel sneers at you, “Mutant-humping bitch.”

With a snarl of your own you spin – a flash of metal, and the point of your dirk sits at the redhead’s pulse. “This is my bar, boy,” you snap. “You don’t speak to me like that. Set foot in here again and I’ll finish what he started – do you understand me?”

Nathaniel’s eyes go wide before he glares and spits at the hem of your skirt. Regardless, he does as he’s told. You watch him skulk out the door with your teeth grit so hard that your jaw starts to ache. The rest of the bar is silent as the grave and you can feel embarrassment flush your cheeks with heat. Poor Lucja behind the bar gapes like a fish in a dry stream. It takes a second to find your voice. The dirk slides smoothly back into your bodice.

“I’m sorry for the disturbance, friends,” you call out, grateful that you sound steadier than you feel. “Accept a round, on me.”

At the bar, one of your old regulars makes a show of clearing his throat. “See that, lads?” he growls. “That’s why you don’t tangle with the lady of the house.”

The unbearable tension breaks, laughter rippling lowly over the room. You almost smile, and then you look back to see Geralt. Something awful and prickling hot starts to claw through you when you meet his gaze. The terrible, gut-wrenching feeling only gets worse when you turn towards your study and he follows. You know the sensible thing would be to throw him out on his ass, but you let him follow and turn to face him when the door slams shut.

He just… stares at you. His gold eyes are flat and impassive, handsome face gone hard, and the heat in your gut goes so cold that it hurts. You’re on him in two short strides, both hands shoving hard at his chest. Geralt barely wobbles.

You haul back and slap him hard across the face instead.

The momentum snaps his head to the side; you hear him exhale, slowly. When he turns back to pin you with his gaze again, his eyes flicker dangerously. “Don’t,” he growls.

You strike him again.

He bursts into movement so quickly that you give a short scream of surprise. You swear at him, punching at his chest, trying to kick at his knees – or his groin – before your back hits the wall hard enough to rattle your teeth together. Geralt pins your wrists with bruising force, presses his full weight into you until you’re immobilized. “Don’t you fucking hit me,” he snarls.

You bare your teeth at him. “I oughta black your eye. Put me the fuck down.”

“You gonna calm down?”

“Try it and find out.”

Each short exhale rushes over your face, disturbing the curls that have fallen over. Geralt moves slowly, flint-cold eyes fixed on yours as he eases back. You yank yourself away from him as soon as your feet hit the ground and rub at your sore wrists. Beneath the anger, beneath the hurt and embarrassment, you feel the sharp stab of your old heartache. It shifts in your chest, pieces of jagged glass that drag over the bits of yourself that you had so carefully packed back together.

Oh, it hurts. It scrapes you raw. The pain snags at the breath in your lungs, but your fury surges to the foreground and you shake with it. Your nails dig crescents into the flesh of your palms.

“You asshole,” you spit. “You do not come here and attack my fucking customers – “

“Sweetheart – “

The petname makes you see red. “Don’t fucking call me that. Don’t you dare – you do not get to storm in here half-cocked after you vanish and try to, what, defend my fucking honor?”

Geralt growls from low in his chest. “He all but called you a whore.”

“And you all but treated me like one,” you bite back.

“That’s not fucking fair – “

“Not fair? You fucking left, Geralt. You were gone – “ You choke on the words - they sit too heavy in your mouth.

“For fuck’s sake – it’s my life, the Path! What the fuck am I supposed to do –“

“Try picking up a godsdamned quill.”

Geralt’s teeth click together. You see his jaw twitch, watch his golden eyes flash with barely contained anger and you feel your eyes begin to smart. His face goes hazy and you hate it – it feels like weakness when all you want to do is put your fist through something. The tears spill over your lashes and you wipe at them, angry and embarrassed.

“Two. Years,” you snarl. “Two fucking years I waited, and you couldn’t be arsed to send word?”

The Witcher barks out a laugh, sharp and cold as splintering ice. “You call that waiting? Found the first hard prick looked like he had money and hopped on, so maybe the ginger cunt wasn’t wrong - “

The rage, the hurt surges – bonfire hot – and you turn, grabbing the inkwell from your desk to pitch straight at the Witcher’s head. He dodges with curse and the glass shatters, but the cacophony does nothing to cover your howl:

“I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD, YOU BASTARD!”

The words tear their way up from your heart, breaking open the makeshift cage where that fear had been desperately packed after weeks, then months of nothing and damn him. Jagged bits of yourself run you through and let the grief well up. You try to grit your teeth against it, try to force it down, but those sharp pieces cut and bleed you.

“You unimaginable bastard,” you hiss. “I thought you were dead and – and Jaskier didn’t know where to find you – no one did. Gods damn you, Geralt. I thought I would never see you again.“

Your voice cracks. Geralt’s stares at you, wide-eyed, and you have to drop your gaze. You bite your tongue and close your eyes, shoulders trembling with each silent sob. If only the earth could open up and swallow you whole – you wish for it, pray silently for it, to no avail. The sound of the Witcher’s footfalls breaks through and you expect to hear the door closing as he leaves. Instead, you feel his fingers close on your elbow. You open your eyes, staring hard at the ground; you can see the toes of his heavy, dirt-caked boots butted up against the edge of your skirt. Geralt’s fingers pull once, gently, and that’s all it takes; you stumble forward against his chest with a low keen.

His grip is just shy of too tight. You feel the press of his face against your hair, so familiar that it hurts. He whispers your name, curls his fingers in your hair to keep you close. Your hands fist in the black of his shirt. He lets you cry until there is nothing left.

When your breathing evens and the tears have ebbed, you let him tilt your face up to his, but his expression is no easier to read. It stings at you – salt in the open wound – and the space around your heart aches. His gloved thumb drags gently over the apple of your cheek and you’re tired, of a sudden. Too tired to keep fighting this.

“Damn you, Witcher,” you breathe. “I love you.”

Geralt goes utterly still. Frozen like a cornered cat. You see a flash behind his pretty golden eyes before his hand drops away from your cheek. The look on his face makes your stomach turn over. “I never meant to hurt you, sweetheart,” he mumbles.

Humiliation has a particular taste to it.

The bitter, copper bite coats your tongue and, this time, you can’t swallow it down. It has thorns now, burrs that stick in your throat. You’re not sure why you laugh – it’s a hollow, bitter sound.

“Of course you didn’t,” you say as your voice shakes. “No, you just… you just ran. I said I was yours, and you made a promise, and then you ran.”

The leather cord on your necklace is old enough that it gives with little resistance when you pull. Geralt’s brow creases when you take his hand, but you watch his face go ice cold as you press the wolf’s tooth into his palm. You retreat, move away and behind your desk to pick mindlessly at a few papers before you stop and simply brace there. The smooth, polished oak is cool under your hands.

Geralt’s voice is rough over your name – you grit your teeth and snap, “No. No more. I have done with you, Witcher. Leave me be.”

He doesn’t move, at first. You can just make out his still form in your periphery, and you feel the weight of his eyes on you before he turns, making his silent way to the door. There’s a creak of old wood on ancient hinges. The tavern noise rushes back in for a moment and is cut off with a slam. You screw your eyes shut against a fresh wash of tears to no avail.

You manage to bite your cheek hard enough to keep your sobs muffled.

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