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#geralt smut
shellyshellshell · 2 days
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The Offering: Part Five
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Attn: I know this is random but I’ve been wanting to do like a little epilogue I guess to Geralt and Flower’s story sooo I hope y’all enjoy!!!
Word Count: 943
Pairing: Ancient Deity Geralt (The White Wolf) x Reader
Summary: You and Geralt make your family complete
Warnings: 18+, sex (p in v), face sitting/riding, creampie, smidge of breeding kink?
Previous Part:
Part Four
Three Years Later
After the day you and Geralt first made love and the threat of anyone coming after you was gone, you two settled into life together. Sometimes Geralt still went for offerings, others he would hunt and grow crops of your own. You two were truly in love and often spent days lying about making love.
This was one of those days. The two of you had made a proper room for yourselves in the little cottage and in the morning he took you there, before taking you out in the river. Now the two of you were laid on the pile of furs in front of the fire. Geralt was settled between your legs, rubbing his length between your folds slowly. “Please Geralt,” you begged. “Just like this first Flower. It feels good, does it not?,” he questioned. “Y- yes, but I need more,” you gasped. “You are insatiable today Little Flower,” he smirked. He didn’t have to guess why, he knew you were ovulating, his senses telling him so. “I just want you,” you say as you cling to him. “You have me,” he whispers before watching you fall apart for him.
Once you’ve relaxed he leans down and kisses you languidly before flipping you. “I want to taste you,” he says as he pulls you up to sit on his face. He groans as he takes your puffy clit into his mouth. His hands knead at your thighs as you moan above him. Your hips roll against him and he flattens his tongue out so you can ride his face. “Oooh,” you cry out, as your hips still. You haven’t orgasmed, but you’re not sure if you can take much more. You hear Geralt tsk beneath you before grabbing your ass and taking over. “Mmm,” you whimper as his tongue glides over you. You look down, meeting his eye right before you shatter.
He quickly maneuvers you so that he’s on top, and slides into you with one fluid movement. He begins a gentle pace and you cum within moments, squeezing him tight. After you’ve orgasmed twice more he’s unable to hold back anymore. He’s got your legs over his shoulders as he thrusts into you recklessly. “G-Geralt… I- Oh…,” you stammer, trying to tell him something. “You make me ache Flower. I cannot stop,” he groans. “D- don’t stop. Don’t stop until you’ve filled me up with your child,” you beg him. You feel his cock twitch with your words. “You’re sure,” he questions. “O- only of you want,” you say nervously. “It’s everything I want… Been thinking of you round with my child for months now. You’re going to be so beautiful, the perfect mother,” he chokes out.
He’s so close to the edge he can hardly stand it, but he wants to feel you one last time. He leans back and thumbs at your clit, making you clench around him. “That’s it, my love. Once more,” he husks. When you orgasm he lets loose, flooding you with his fertile seed. There’s so much you can feel it sloshing onto your clit, and down the seam of your bottom, and that very moment you know it’s taken. You can feel it within your very bones that he’s just given you a child.
He smiles above you before leaning down and placing a tender kiss upon your lips. “I cannot wait to meet our children,” he says against your lips. “Children?,” you question. “I may have gotten a little excited,” he chuckles. “How many?,” you ask him. “Two,” he replies sheepishly. “Double the work for me then?,” you chide playfully. “I assure you, my love, I will take care of you,” he says, and that he does. Over the next several months Geralt tends to you as he always had, but with so much more intent. Any sign of an ache or pain, he’s placing his hands on you and taking it away. He makes sure you’re taking in all the nutrients you need as well, just taking perfect care of you.
One night when the two of you are lying in bed, he gently caresses your swollen belly, feeling your two children move beneath your skin. “They like your touch,” you tell him as you look up at him. “Yes, it seems they do,” he smiles softly. “You’re going to be such a good father,” you say softly as you touch his face. He places his hand atop yours before turning his head and kissing your palm. “It’s nearing time for them to arrive” he then says. “Do we need a midwife?,” you asked him. “I know what to do Flower,” he assured you.
By the end of the week you had a healthy son and daughter, Flynn and Adara. Watching them grow and learn was both your and Geralt’s greatest pleasure in life. Once they started running about you two quickly realized they both possessed power like their father, though thankfully not as strong. Adara had the ability to create, and Flynn the ability to manipulate water, which was a skill their father did not possess.
It was nearly their fourth birthday. You and Geralt sat in the yard in front of your cottage, you nestled between his legs, your back pressed tight to his chest as he leaned against a tree while they played. You couldn’t help the smile that seemed to stay on your face these days. Geralt cupped your jaw, turning your head so you’d face him. “I never could have imagined a life so complete,” he said before kissing your lips. “Nor could I,” you replied before kissing him once more.
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nickfowlerrr · 3 months
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sit me on your throne.
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pairing: geralt of rivia x curvy!reader
warnings: i don't know what i'm writing about but if you're here for smut, there's smut. 18+ only. probably ooc - i've only seen season one. if i'm missing something that needs to be tagged please let me know.
words: 4.3k
notes: i really truly do not know. forgive me not.
thank you in advance for reading! any thoughts, comments, and reblogs are so appreciated. let me know what you think. (unless its mean then pls don't).
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"You kneel before me?"
Your question is born of nothing but pure confusion as you tilt your head in bemusement at the bulking behemoth of a man before you.
He hadn’t done as much when he first arrived, not to your displeasure, so it was odd to see him do it now - especially after the battle he has just fought.
He is at your feet, his long white hair darker and dingier now, dirty as his clothes and skin; marred with caked mud and what you can only assume is the blood and guts of the beast he has defeated.
The stench he carries with him is pungent, nothing but putrid, and yet that somehow doesn't take from his striking good looks; those paired with his brevity and bluntness have held your attention from the moment he stepped foot in your kingdom.
He is a man of little words, this Geralt of Rivia. His jester of a companion having done much of the speaking - perhaps too much - for him since they arrived.
Geralt says nothing still, only meets your gaze as he takes steady breaths. His yellow eyes, feline and harsh, cut through you in a number of ways - none of which you'd care to share aloud. You have a feeling he knows, however, just how affected you are by him no matter how well you think you hide it.
You are alone together, no guards at the ready, no advisors by your side. Most of your kingdom is now quiet and abandoned, including the halls of your once flourishing and lively home. The halls of this castle have been eerily silent since the night your men went on their mission to save their homestead. You had already sent word for The Witcher, you implored them to keep safe indoors until his arrival. They did not listen. Most of them still having seen you as the young princess you once were, the others simply following the orders of their leaders. You may have been their "Queen", but their faith in their commanders was stronger.
Those commanders who led them to their deaths... You still sigh at the loss.
Those who were not taken, slain, by the beast have long since fled for their lives. You cannot blame them. But you certainly could not join them. Your castle once held many souls, but now it is only you and a handful of others. Titles of servants, but you really never were one for titles.
"Your friend?" you wonder.
"Somewhere," he answers shortly, his voice low and deep as he speaks.
You quirk a brow, "Safe?"
"For as long as he keeps himself from trouble."
You hum, a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of your lips. Their relationship amuses you, you must admit.
"You needn't kneel, Witcher," you implore as you sit back on the throne. It is yours in name alone. It has never felt right to sit in. He seems to sense your unease, but he doesn't speak it. You continue, "You have done what you said you would, I will do the same."
Still, he doesn't stand. Not until you flick your eyes and move to stand yourself. He rises easily as he stands before you still. There is not much distance between you, and the stench of him stings your eyes and threatens to gag you. Your face scrunches in disgust as you turn it away from him, grimacing.
"I've had a bath readied for you, and new clothes set aside," you inform him, moving to pass around. He follows you, and you can feel the weight of his gaze as his eyes cling to you. "Your meals will be served as soon as you're done. I don't imagine anyone would be able to stomach a bite with that smell coming off of you."
He says nothing but lets out an amused "hm" at your words, still following as you lead him to the bathing room.
You thank Amaleah as you enter and she leaves with a nod to you, her breath catching when she smells Geralt enter behind you. It's as fast an exit as you've ever seen.
You move toward the bath and wade a hand in the water. It's a bit hot for your preferences but it should get him clean. You ensure the soap Amaleah brought in is fragrant enough and still look for some nicer oils to add to the water; when you turn around to ask your guest his want, you find yourself stunned silent as you're met with the sight of his broad, bare chest. His muscles flex under his pale and scarred skin as he moves, his solid chest is covered in dark hair, trailing down his torso. His arms are strong and big and a thought at the back of your mind wonders how comfortable he must be to lie with.
You blink, mouth parted slightly as you take a breath. You watch his clothing fall as he discards them and your gaze follows his hand as he begins to strip himself of the rest of his garments.
He is completely shameless as he watches you watch him. You feel as if you are in a trance, you cannot bring yourself to look away despite the heavy weight of his gaze assuring you he sees you staring.
It’s not an act of brazenness, truly you would look away and leave him at once…if you could.
“I’ve slain your monster,” he speaks and your eyes rise back to his chest, trying to ignore the heaviness of his thick cock as it hangs so temptingly before you. No, not temptingly…Shamelessly. He has put himself entirely on display before you, without an ounce of shame or concern, and you are still frozen to your spot. “Was there something else you required of me, Your Highness?”
The title gets your attention, the breath caught in your chest finally flows and your eyes flick up to meet his. You can't tell entirely if he meant it as an insult or if he thought you'd prefer it to Queen.
You remain quiet for a moment as you try to gather a response. Either way...
“I told you that wasn’t necessary, Witcher.”
“Geralt.”
You swallow hard as he takes a small step forward, and you will yourself to not break his intense gaze.
"Geralt. I thank you, for saving what was left of this ruined kingdom, but I consider myself not princess, nor Queen, any longer."
"Did you ever?" he asks, staring into your eyes a moment longer before he steps closer still, looking you up and down then nudging you aside, eliciting goosebumps along your skin, rising under his touch.
You glance over your shoulder as he continues past you, lowering himself into the tub.
You think.
You know your answer, but you won't say it aloud. Clearly he knows it, too.
You can hear the water sloshing with his movements as he begins to clean himself.
You take a deep breath.
"The clothes will be brought in shortly. You might tell Jaskier when you're done that the food is ready."
"Ah," he says amid his washing, "so you do know his name."
"Of course I do. I've grown quite fond of the bard in the week since you've arrived."
"I couldn't tell," he says plainly, yet still biting - his words sharp with sarcasm.
You furrow your brow at his meaning and then there's a laugh at the door and you look to see Jaskier as he leans on it. "You sound jealous, there, Geralt," he taunts, holding folded clothing in his hands as he pushes off the door to saunter in. "I wouldn't worry. I don't believe I'm the one who's caught her eye." He looks to you with a smirk, bowing before you, "Your Majesty."
"I am no longer queen," you repeat for what feels like the hundredth time.
"My Queen, none the less," he simpers before standing to his full height.
You smile tightly, eyes narrowed playfully at him before you finally move to exit, leaving them to their inevitable quarreling. And trying not to focus on the tingling still affecting you between your legs.
--
You eat with the women in the kitchen; the dining hall one of your least favorite places to be.
There is a calm yet solemn energy around you all. A peace in the slaying of the monster who took your kingdom, and still the grief from the loss of it all, your people, their families, friends...
Calliope readies the plates for your guests as you bid them all a goodnight, kissing Amaleah's son on his head on your way out with a 'sweet dreams'. Since his father was killed, the poor thing has nightmares recurringly. You only hope with the monster's demise, they might ease for him some. He is far too young to be in such pain...
You think to pass by the dining hall on your way to bed to thank Geralt once more and wish them both a goodnight as well but think better of it.
You will see them in the morning before they set off. You still owe him his coin and you know he won't be leaving without it.
--
You open the heavy door of your chamber and once you are inside, begin to undress.
Slipping into your shift, you swiftly make your way into bed. You thought you'd fall asleep quickly, but as you lay there, your mind wanders to thoughts of only one.
You have one hand on your lower belly, the other resting on the soft skin right above it.
You sigh and close your eyes, but all you see when you do is his built form. His dark, firelight stare set on you. His clothes left on the ground as he stands strong in his glory.
You breathe deeply, your hand starting to slowly drift down your stomach as you tickle yourself. You're so tempted to touch where you want it most, but you can't bring yourself to do it. Not just yet.
You slip your hand between your spread thighs, softly running your fingers across the sensitive skin you find there.
It'd been a week of torment, having Geralt so close and not being able to act on your most base feelings. You know he knows what you think when you look at him, if Jaskier can see it, surely, he can too.
You might feel embarrassed but with the way he's managed to get closer and closer to you with each passing day as he awaited the beasts' return, you would wager he feels similarly.
It feels like an age that you lie awake. All the noises about the castle, not that there were many, have settled and it assures you everyone has retired for the night.
Sleep begins to nip at you but the stronger pull is to the dissatisfaction that weighs on you. The emptiness that echos through your body and soul.
Your fingers twitch, and you begin to glide closer to your uncovered core, the need to be touch too much to be ignored for much longer. Your eyes are closed and you imagine it isn't your hand running over your skin, but rather his large, rough palm feeling you, teasing you just so...
Just as you inch closer, your eyes snap open in the dark as a heartbreaking scream cuts through the night air. You sit up, pulling your hands off of yourself. You know immediately where the sound comes from and who it belongs to.
You get out of bed, intent to make sure Hartley and Amaleah both are okay.
You open your door just as the one across the wide hall does the same. You frighten at the unexpected movement but are then unsurprised to be across Geralt.
He is shirtless again, and his eyes are wide as his chest rises and falls with his heavy breaths.
"Are you alright?" he asks, voice hard.
"Yes, I'm fine. It was the boy, Hartley. He has nightmares," you explain, keeping your voice quiet as to not disturb the renewed peace of the night.
The flick of the flame that lights the hallway allows you both to see one another. You say nothing for a moment as your eyes fall to his bare torso.
"Did the clothes not fit?"
He looks down at himself briefly, then back to you. He shakes his head, "I prefer to sleep naked."
You burn at his words, swallowing hard. "Oh. Well, I- I'm going to check on them, make sure they're fine."
"I'll go with you."
It's not a question, it's a statement. You stop in your start, turning to look at him. You say nothing, just blink and quickly carry on as you were.
You make your way down the stairs and down the hall until you see the flames licking at the end of the hallway.
You follow the glow to Amaleah's room and knock gently as you look in the open door.
She turns and looks to you, her eyes tired and cheeks damp as she rocks her toddler in her arms. He is sleeping again as she rubs his back gently, more to soothe herself than anything.
She sniffles, "Your High-" she stops herself, "sorry, forgive me," she whispers.
"Don't apologize. Please," you implore her. "I know it's habit."
"Are you two alright?" Geralt asks from right at your back.
"We are, thank you. Just another nightmare," her voice gets thick at the explanation. You know it hurts her that there isn't anything she can do but be there to comfort him when they come.
You smile sadly and nod. "We'll let you be, then. Do try to get some rest. He'll be okay," you reassure her.
You pull the door nearly closed and wind up with Geralt firmly at your back.
You turn into him but he doesn't seem to mind as he just looks down at you nearly pressed against his chest. You try to budge him to turn and move back down the hall but he doesn't waver. After a second, he relents and steps to the side, allowing you to go back down the hallway first.
It isn't until you come up on the throne room that Geralt speaks again.
"Might I have a word with you?" he asks.
You stop and turn to eye him as he stands at the entryway of the door.
"Now?" you question.
He nods once, "Now."
You approach him trepidatiously, and as you near, he gestures you in the room before him, extending his arm, "Princess."
Your eyes narrow again. And you turn on him, watching as he enters the room behind you. "Why do you keep doing that?"
"What am I doing?"
"Princess? Your Highness?" you quote him.
"I assumed you preferred it to your true title," he tilts his head at you.
"True title," you scoff, rolling your eyes. "I prefer no title at all."
"And what shall I call you then?"
You remind him your name, not that he really needs to be reminded. You know he knows it full well.
He considers you, then closes in on where you stand in front of the throne.
You don't move back, no, you quite like the closeness when he doesn't reek of death and innards.
Geralt seems to appreciate your resolve, his lips twitching with the beginnings of a smile as he studies your face.
"It's a beautiful name," he speaks lowly, taking another step into your space and raising his hand to gently caress your cheek before he leans in to speak against your ear. Your hands touch his solid stomach in an attempt to keep yourself upright, you can feel the muscles as they flex under your delicate graze. "I think I might prefer princess," he husks.
He slips away from you, turning to take a seat on the throne instead. You follow his movements and turn yourself to face him. You're stunned and completely set ablaze all at once.
"Well I don't."
"No," he smirks, agreeing with you, one large hand settling on his thick thigh as he spreads his legs, "you don't."
"It's too bad," he tsks, his voice a smooth rumbling. "No title, no throne."
"I don't want any throne."
Your eyes are glued to his thighs as he brings attention to his lap by rubbing the muscle there.
"None?" he asks before his gaze shifts directly on you, his mesmerizing stare burning into you. His voice lowers deeper than you've ever heard as a desperate longing shoots through you once again, resounding deep in your core. "Not even mine?"
Your mouth goes dry and your brain fuzzy as you take in his meaning.
Unthinking, you step toward him closer.
"You mean to defile the very one you sit on?"
"You don't seem to care for it much anyway."
Another step.
You are nearly stood between his spread legs, carefully you reach out a hand, your fingers light on his thigh. You feel his muscle then, flicking your eyes up. His gaze is dark and heated.
"That's true enough," you say, your voice breathy in a near whisper.
You gasp as your suddenly pulled closer by Geralt's rough hands around your waist. You can feel him through the thin fabric of your shift and its only then you realize how much of your figure he has seen thanks to your nightwear.
"Truer still," he speaks, "I don't mean to defile this throne." He squeezes your plush waist, groping you through your shift as your hands latch onto his solid shoulders. "I mean to defile you."
He manages to pull you onto his lap with little effort, leaning in to crash his lips into yours.
You kiss him back hungrily, chasing his lips as you settle on his lap. Your fingers wind in his hair and you can feel his cock growing beneath you through the material of his pants.
His hands slide down your waist and over your wide hips, reaching for the hem of your shift and pulling it up. His tongue slips past your lips and you moan, shifting your hips atop him.
You pull away, reaching for your dress and pulling it over your head, discarding it behind your back.
Geralt holds you closer, letting his lips explore your heavy breasts as you allow your head to fall back in pleasure, your hands returning to his hair.
"Geralt," you breathe, pulling him off you after a moment.
"Mm," he hums, kissing the swell of your breast once more before he moves to free himself from the restraint of his pants. He knows what you’ve both been wanting for days. What you need.
One heavy hand returns to your back, holding you by your waist while his other grips his red, throbbing cock.
He moves his tip up and down your slick center, making you whimper as he teases you - his cockhead rubbing delightfully against your sensitive clit.
He watches your face scrunch in rapture and holds you tighter to stop your wiggling about as you whimper.
He smiles smugly to himself and when you're just about to open your mouth to protest his teasing, he finally pulls you down on top of him. The sound that escapes you is music to his ears as you grasp onto him, your nails digging into the muscle of his back as your walls squeeze and stretch to accommodate his thick length, the size of him almost too much for you to take.
"Fuck," he groans as your walls tighten around him. He gives you a moment before he begins to urge you to move. He guides your hips, slow and sensually. The feeling of his hands on you motivates you to try and ride him yourself. And you do try, but you cry out again at how big he is, how fully he is stuffing you. You can barely move.
Geralt kisses you as he holds you closer, taking pity on your tight cunt and instead he moves his hands to your soft hips again. He holds you on top of him securely before he begins to fuck up into you.
You mewl as he jostles you, bouncing you up and down his cock, your breasts moving in time.
You pull on his hair, forcing him to look up from where his gaze was fixed, watching his own cock as he stretched you out for him, watching as your cunt took as much of him in as she could, up to your hooded lust filled gaze. You lean into him, chest to chest as you kiss him fervently. His lips follow yours as you taste one another. You nip at his lip and he growls, his hands gripping the ample flesh of your ass, "Keep that up," he snarls.
"And you'll what?" you breathe heavily, eyes screwed shut, jaw tight as you deadbrain on the pleasure coursing through you.
Your answer is a harsh thrust of his cock inside of you, stealing your breath while he slaps your ass, your flesh stinging from the force.
"Oh, fuck," you whimper debauchedly, your velvety walls squeezing him ever tighter as you feel yourself growing closer with every bounce. The tip of him hitting exactly where you need it to. Your body is on fire and you are loving every second of it. The feeling of him inside of you, of his hands squeezing and caressing you everywhere he can, of his lips demanding yours for more.
His grunts are growing louder and his thrusts more powerful, you kiss him hard in an effort to quiet him some, but you can feel what is coming.
Geralt is near slamming you down on top of him, the sound of your ass slapping against his thick thighs mix with the salacious sounds coming from you both and of your slick wetness as you're worked up and down his shaft, your cunt taking him better and better with each thrust.
Your hands move to hold his face, your noses brush as you breathe each other's air, lips touching just slightly.
"Geralt, I'm,"
"I know," he pants harshly, concentrated before taking your lips in his. You whimper pathetically as the coil in your belly winds tighter and tighter. He keeps you moving a top him, your clit being stimulated with every brush of your hips over his, and then with another deep thrust it snaps before you can speak. Your voice is an empty high then silent squeak as your legs tremble and your eyes roll back. Are you even breathing? Your walls clench down on Geralt's cock and he finally allows himself to reach his own high as your tight walls flutter around him, squeezing him perfectly. You ride the waves of ecstasy as his come spills inside of you. You feel him shudder beneath you and it only adds to your feeling of weightlessness, stars in your eyes as you feel, think, breathe nothing but him.
You part from his lips and your bodies are slick with sweat as you both pant heavily. Geralt holds you to him as he softens inside of you, his forehead pressed to yours as your hand comes behind his neck, holding him to you in kind.
Your lips mimic a kiss but neither of you lean in close enough to actually do it. You work to catch your breath and settle for a minute before you finally break the quiet.
"Do I still owe you your coin?" you breathe, smiling when Geralt laughs in your face. You reach to move a stray strand of hair from his face, holding his cheek gently once you do.
Your stare into one another's eyes for a long moment, just breathing and being close.
"Where will you be off to in the morning?" you ask, hoping your solemn tone isn't as audible as it sounded to you.
"Don't know," he shakes his head, eyes straying to your lips.
You take a breath and pull his face closer to kiss him softly.
"I envy you, you know."
"Don't."
You huff a humorless laugh, readjusting yourself on his lap. "Not because you're a witcher. You may not have the most enviable life, but at least you have one. I've never made it past the most exterior gates," you smile sadly, playing with the hairs on his chest as you avoid his eye now.
"I suppose I'll have the chance, now, though. Thanks to you."
"And where will you go?" he asks.
Your gaze floats up to his and you repeat his previous answer. "I don't know. But I won't stay here. This kingdom is..." you shake your head. "I don't belong here. Never felt like I did. But I made a promise to my mother when I was young, and another to my father before he passed. I know I've let them down," you swallow the rise of emotion threatening to overcome you, "but alas, the fall of a kingdom is ever inevitable. Especially under such rule as my own."
"I've heard word of your rule from many. You're known to be kind. Caring. Protective, even. I don't believe you've failed. I think you were exactly the kind of ruler you should have been, who you needed to be. But perhaps it's a good thing you won't be forced any longer into holding power you don't desire. You're now free to do as you wish."
"I am," you nod lightly in agreement. "If only I knew where to start,” you muse with an uneasy laugh.
His hand runs up your back comfortingly; he's pensive, deep in thought for a long moment before he speaks.
"If you ready your things, I don't think Roach would mind a travel companion of her own. She seems to have taken to Belfast… I'm not sure she'd be ready to part with him so soon, anyway."
"Is that so?" you ask him, faux curiosity playing in your voice.
"And Jaskier is easier to take when I'm not the only one he has around to bother."
"Right," you nod, fighting your soft smile.
"And of course your coin would be useful as well."
"Of course," you exaggerate your agreement. "…Geralt, are you getting at something here?"
"Just that, if you want to join us…you might."
You lean into him again, thumb rubbing along his stubble lining his cheek, and this time he kisses you first. More gently than you expect. You can’t help your smile now.
You part lightly and breathe,
"I hope you mean that, Witcher. Because I just might."
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2K notes · View notes
valeskafics · 9 months
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Headcanons for Geralt of Rivia x Reader with a Size Kink
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a/n: first time writing for geralt ayyyyyyyy lmk if you wish to be added to the geralt, jaskier, the witcher, or general taglists! ❤️
TW: violence, profanity, innuendo, fingering, oral m and f receiving, p in v sex, size kink duh, sexy times
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Witcher characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
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-it goes without saying that geralt is a rather formidable man, size wise, quite a bit taller than average and broad, exceedingly muscular
-it's one of the first things you noticed about him when he comes to your village to hunt a striga that has been stalking your people
-you notice him almost immediately when he walks into the tavern where you sit in a corner with a few friends
-while they are completely terrified of him, you find yourself utterly fascinated
-when geralt's honeyed gaze turns to meet your curious eyes, you feel your throat constrict slightly, unable to breathe as he drinks you in, every feature on your face, every curve of your body hidden by your dress, and judging by the slight upturn of his lips, you think he is quite pleased with what he sees
-you watch geralt in action, fighting the striga, but more exciting than anything is the moment when the creature makes to attack you and the man lifts you into his arms to pull you out of harm's way, holding you with one arm and effortlessly defeating the monster with the other
-you gasp, your hands twisting in the fabric of his shirt as he slowly sets you down, leaving you to gaze up at him, and he loves how small and vulnerable you look standing in front of him, your lips slightly parted in wonder
-his hand moves to grip your chin, making you shy away ever so slightly at his touch, something else he quite enjoys
-geralt speaks in that low baritone of his that you find utterly impossible to resist, asking if you live nearby, to which you nod, pointing to a small cottage a little bit away from the two of you
-the surprised yelp that leaves your mouth when geralt lifts you up and tosses you over his shoulder, a hand placed squarely on your ass, delights him, as he tells you that you're sufficient enough payment for killing this striga
-the way he manhandles you onto your bed after kicking open the door to your home drives you absolutely mad, his imposing form hovering over you as he holds your wrists above your head with one hand with little effort
-his other hand quickly undoes the bodice of your dress and does away with your underclothes, his smirk deepening at the gorgeous sight before him
-"such a pretty little thing" he drawls, his hands tracing the contours of your body, finding the apex between your thighs and seeing that you're already wet for him, he lets out a dark chuckle, "you want me, don't you, little one?"
-"yes, geralt," you nod eagerly, throwing your head back against your pillow and mewling his name pathetically as he pushes three long thick fingers inside you, the wet noises they make being borderline obscene as he pumps the digits in and out of your cunt
-you can't help but wonder that if his fingers feel so long and thick inside of you, how his cock must feel, a question that he makes sure to answer for you sooner than later
-however first? he decides to fuck your mouth, admiring the way your lips wrap around him, barely able to take him, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat each time he bucks his hips against you, a few tears falling from your eyes that he thinks make you look even more beautiful as you gag on his cock
-and when he finally fucks you, it's everything you ever imagined and more
-his cock is long and girthy as he sheathes himself inside you and you feel almost as though he's splitting you in half, the sting being almost painful at first, but your body soon accommodating him
-geralt admires the sight of the outline of his cock against your belly with every thrust into your wet cunt, pressing down on the bulge, making you cry out his name pitifully, like a bitch in heat as he continues fucking you into the mattress
-he loves being on top of you, pushing your knees up to your chest and folding you in half so that he can see how small you are compared to him as he pistons his hips against yours, feeling you squeezing around him impossibly tight with every thrust
-with his inhuman stamina and strength, he makes sure that you reach your peak many many times that night, to the point that you think you may faint from how much pleasure he's given you
-needless to say, anytime he finds himself passing your village after that night, he makes certain to look you up
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princessaxoxo · 5 months
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Mine
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Dark!Geralt x reader
Summary: Geralt shows you that you're only his.
Warnings: 18+ Only, NSFW, angst, rough unprotected sex (p in v), slight choking, Dub!con, virginity loss, vulgar language
Word Count: 791
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With horror, you witnessed Geralt’s golden irises bore into the man’s eyes that he had just killed in a swift motion. The man’s head rolled, stopping right at your feet. Any other individual would be fleeing or screaming. However, you? Not at all. You were utterly still and unmoving in your place.
You began to notice that your hands were shaking.
Soon after, a powerful hand caught your jaw and raised your head. With great intensity, Geralt's eyes met yours, and through clenched teeth, he spoke one word. "Mine."
His breaths were coming out harshly, his chest rising and falling with steam from his enraged state. Geralt’s hand moved from your jaw to your arm and harshly dragged you to the small cabin you both were taking shelter in. You winced under his rough touch. “Geralt! You’re hurting me. Stop!” you shouted, and he ignored your pleas to let go.
The small droplets of blood fell from his sword and led a trail to the small cabin, and inside, he dropped it and shoved you in, slamming the door shut. You were oblivious to Geralt's possessiveness toward you until now.
Geralt stalked toward you, and you began to walk backward, stopping when you hit the wall. He trapped you as he put both of his hands near your head. "I am the only man who will ever be allowed to touch you. Any other man who attempts will be killed by me; the man you just saw was an example."
“Do you understand?” Geralt was waiting for a response from you—any response. However, you gave none. You just stood there, staring right back at him. His jaw ticked, and he asked again. “Do you understand?” You began to stammer out your words. “I.. understand.” 
You’d never been scared of Geralt until now. “I don’t believe you fully do." His eyes looked over your face, and a wicked smile formed. "But you're about to..."
Your heart began to beat out of your chest. Geralt pulled on your hair, causing your head to bend backward, and his other hand gripped your jaw as he grazed his teeth along your neck and up to your mouth, where he smashed his lips against yours.
With his hands still on your hair, Geralt steered you backward until you struck the table on the other side of the room. Every object on the table was shoved off its surface by his hands.
He began to rid himself of his attire. You tried to move, but he stopped you with his large hand, encircling your throat. “Don’t.” He said it with a threatening tone.
His eyes ranked over your body for a moment before he tore off your clothing.
Geralt aggressively started to assault your lips once more, his tongue dominating yours. His hands began to harshly massage your breasts, and he pushed you down on the table.
As soon as you felt the cold surface underneath you, he intruded your cunt with his cock. "Geralt, wait!” you yelled. With no concern for your being, Geralt stretched your walls, causing you to experience an unparalleled level of pain.
Tears welled in your eyes and your nails scraped against the wooden surface. You could feel his sac hitting your ass each time he pushed back into you.
“I'm the only person who is allowed to see your body, to touch you, and to fuck you until you can't remember who or where you are."
His tone turned harsh. "Fucking"—thrust—"take"—thrust—"it". Geralt said this through clenched teeth.
The pain that had consumed you was subsiding, and an overwhelming amount of pleasure replaced it. You couldn’t help the whimpers that fell from your lips.
Geralt moved his hands from your hips to your throat, squeezing lightly. His growls became louder: “The feel of your cunt is astonishing; all mine, all the time, whenever I want."
Mindlessly, you spoke to him. “Yes, all yours whenever you please.” Another moan fell from your lips.
Geralt closed his eyes, trying to control himself before losing control, but you drove him insane with everything about you. His body shook as he felt your walls tighten around his cock. “Fuck..” 
You reached out and wrapped your slender fingers around his wrist as you reached for release. “Yes, come all over my cock. Show me how good I make you feel."
His thumb rubbed across your jaw as he loosed his grip around your neck and bent down to kiss you, this time more softly. Your vibrant red crimson covered his cock from losing the girl you were to becoming a woman.
He carried you to his bed. “For now, rest. I'm going to show you more how you belong to me.”
Taglist: @shellyshellshell @identity2212 @chloe92 @juliaorpll78 @nighttimestan
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sherlocksoft · 9 months
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Send You To Sleep Satisfied
Geralt x reader drabble
Summary: Geralt can’t sleep. Rather than settling for a restless a night, you offer an easy (and rather more pleasurable) solution.
Author’s notes: This is set at no specific time and has no particular context. I just wanted to give Geralt some comfort. Y’know, in a sexy way.
Warnings/content: nsfw - smut, handjob, gn!reader, exhausted and needy Geralt, extra lil gif at the end 🖤
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A large hand slid roughly over your stomach followed by a heavy, muscular arm snaking around your waist and dragging you swiftly backwards.
‘Geralt!’ you exclaimed, your heart racing before you realised it was him, ‘I was almost asleep! You startled me-’
‘M’sorry,’ came his muffled reply, his handsome nose already buried deep in your hair, nuzzling against the nape of your neck. He breathed you in, holding you close and sighing deeply. ‘Can’t sleep.’
Steadying your breath, you shifted within his firm embrace, smiling at the grunt of disapproval you elicited by taking away the comfort of your hair and your back pressed flush to his broad chest.
Another comfort soon replaced this, though.
‘I can help you with that,’ you cooed, watching with delight as his heavily lidded eyes slid shut at the warmth of your fingers slipping past the waistband his tight trousers.
A whispered little ‘Oh-’ slipped from between his pretty parted lips. ‘You… mmh… you don’t need to-’ It was hardly a protest, his voice heavy with lack of sleep yet laced with obvious desire.
You stilled then, his erection steadily growing harder against your now unmoving palm.
His eyes opened, sharp beneath a sudden frown. ‘You don’t need to, but… since you’ve started…’ A bead of precum oozed from his tip causing a whine to escape his throat before he could stop it. His eyes clenched tight shut in shame. ‘Don’t stop?’
A knowing smirk pulled at your lips. Geralt never could resist the promise of a good orgasm when the opportunity presented itself at such a perfect moment as this.
He was too tired to fuck. This, you knew. But you could pleasure him to sleep as he had done for you countless times, his elegant fingers or clever tongue or thick cock working their magic to soothe your exhausted body and allow your tired mind to rest.
Your fingers curled loosely around his length, pumping lazily to begin with, massaging his cock with a hint of tenderness that had him melting.
‘Shh, Geralt, focus on my touch. Float away on the sensation of your pleasure… let me send you to sleep satisfied, relaxed….’ you breathed, easing his tension away with your voice as much as your hand.
His strong fingers grasped at your arm, fingertips driving harder into your flesh as you wanked him faster. You hoped he’d leave bruises, marks you could show him tomorrow that might make him blush. He rarely blushed, but when a flush of crimson powdered his cheeks, it was certainly a pretty sight.
His hips began to rock in time to meet your movements and his breath grew heavy, interspersed with blissful moans. His cock throbbed inside your grip when your thumb swiped over the tip, collecting the thick offering of precum that had steadily built up there.
‘That’s it, I can feel it-’ you breathed, ‘let go.’
His forehead pressed to yours, breath hot and heavy and tingling against your cool lips as his muscles rapidly tensed, his toes curled and his back arched.
‘Fuck!’ he growled through gritted teeth as overwhelming surges of pleasure rushed through his core to bring about his release, and he repeated, in a much smaller voice as the rapture subsided, ‘… fuck…’
As his cock softened, sensitive with aftershocks, gently, you withdrew your hand and sealed your mouth to his.
‘We’ll bathe in the morning, love,’ you whispered with a smile against his lips, not caring a jot about the thick creamy rope that had made a mess of his trousers and stained your arm, sticky against your skin. ‘For now, sleep.’
Geralt grunted. The tell tale signs of sleep began to pull at his features as the rush of his climax fell away to lull him into a peaceful slumber.
He huffed, amused. ‘I’ve slept in worse conditions. Besides-’ a small yawn interrupted him, exhaustion and the bliss of post-orgasm haze slurring his speech slightly as he continued, slowly, ‘in the morning, before anything else… I will be busy… making you scream my name.’
And with that, the calming sound of his low snore took over; the heat that had pooled at your core content to remain there until morning. For now you watched him rest until you were dreaming yourself. You dreamed of him.
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bimrwolf · 1 year
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Healing Hands by the Fire
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geralt of rivia x afab!reader words: 3,684 warnings: smut !! 18+ (minors dni) ; squint and you may see a casual plot summary: Geralt visits Reader, a healer, with severe injuries. a/n: very out of my comfort zone. however, i promised my friend to write this as her christmas present because writing fanfics are my love language. good thing i know basic things about the witcher heheehe.
How did she always end up here? Months without a word or seeing him. She had accepted the peace. Only occasionally did she perk up when there was a knock on her door, secretly hoping it was him. But only one could be so lucky. Instead, it was travelers from all over the Continent who heard word of her abilities.
She couldn’t complain. Healing others in exchange for seeds, food, and sometimes money. Not that it was required for her service but she couldn’t complain about the gratuity.
In fact, she enjoyed helping others. However, it was nearing winter and there were less travelers. They were most likely home to prepare for the violent winter storms that damned the Continent. 
It was one of the first snow falls of the season. She had finished feeding the chickens and her horse Atticus. That was always her nighttime routine. Feed the animals, make some tea, study until all the tea is drunk, and finally get ready for bed. 
Some might think the routine would get tiring, but there was never any guarantee. It was the one consistent thing in her life at the moment. She was content. 
However, some nights, she heard the enchanted chimes outside that let her know someone was approaching. But before she made it to the door, it swung open, snow flurries drifted inside. The cold was sharp and pricked her nose, making her sniffle. 
In most cases she would be alarmed. There was no telling what creatures or people were harmless and which ones weren’t. She clutched the nearest thing to her— a broom that always gave her splinters when she used it. 
His snow white hair peeked from under his hood and she recognized the distinct low grumble that could be mistaken as a quake. He slowly closed the door, ensuring it was locked this time. “You startled me.” She said, releasing her grip from the broom, checking her hand for any loose wood. 
“You should keep the door locked. What if I was a dangerous man breaking in?” She played it off as a joke, not seeing the concerned look on his face. 
“Some might say you are dangerous.” She smirked. She never expected him to react to her jokes, but she could feel the warmth blanket around her when his shoulders relaxed. “Are you going to stand there all night?” 
He limped further into the cabin. She could see the snow melting on his cloak, dripping on her floor. “You made a mess,” she huffed. 
His head lifted and cat-like eyes met hers. It was known his abilities and job forced him to lack showing how he felt. But, she noticed right away how his eyes drooped that he was in pain. 
She ran towards him, immediately untying his cloak so that it dropped to the floor. She gasped at the large claw marks scratched into his chest. He could withstand most injuries but the cuts had broken past the many layers of skin. 
“Fuck, Geralt. What happened?” Her finger ghosted over the wound on his shoulder. Almost immediately he grabbed her wrist. But she didn’t pull away. 
“I’m starving.” He took a moment to look her up and down before letting go of her wrist and walking past her. 
Unbelievable. She scoffed and followed him into her den. “Are you serious? Geralt, you’re hurt and need to be healed before you get an infection.” 
“I smell meat pie. Do you have any to spare?” He left no time for her to answer. He grabbed the plate on a table and began to shove them in his mouth. He groaned in satisfaction. 
She wanted to be annoyed, but she had never seen him act this way. So instead she watched as he stuffed his face. He sat down slowly in a wooden chair. His large body mass made it creak, rocking it with the sound of the crackling fire. His spastic breathing mellowed out into a deep sigh.
He was definitely hurting from his wound but there was something else. She could sense that something was bothering him. Yet, she didn’t pry for an explanation. Instead, she let him watch the fire as she gathered her supplies of elixirs and jars. Then she picked up the pot full of water hanging above the fire and poured it into a bowl. The steam warmed her face that was still cold from earlier. 
“Are you still hungry? I think I only have bread.” She sat her things on the table next to him, but not looking in his direction. However, she could feel his piercing eyes watching her every single move. “If you’re not feeling like bread I can stay up and make you soup.” 
His hand flew to her wrist. She jumped, nearly knocking over a bottle with green shiny liquid. She turned her head slightly, sighing deeply. “It hurts,” Geralt mumbled. 
His wound was red, inflamed, and looked worse in the light. And if Geralt says it hurts then it was worse than she had imagined. “Take your tunic off while I prepare.” Although it was her giving the instruction, she couldn’t help the heat on her cheeks arise. Especially when he did what he was told. She had only seen his bare chest a handful of times, but each time made her stomach knot up. 
He took a heavy breath as he settled back into the chair, wincing when she placed a hot cloth on his open wound. His nails dug into the chair. His teeth clenched as he threw his head back. She couldn’t help but giggle. In return, he snapped his head to look at her, visibly annoyed. “What?” 
She swatted him for the rash reaction. “No need to be hot headed, Geralt. I was only laughing because I’ve never seen you act so dramatic.” 
“I’m not being dramatic,” he argued. He winced again when the cloth touched his skin once more. He rolled his eyes when he noticed the smirk she tried to hide from him, her hair covered her face. Not thinking, he took his finger and pushed it out of the way so he could see her more clearly. 
She tried to ignore the knot in her stomach or how her chest was breathing differently. She even tried to look away subtly but the only thing she could look at without being suspicious was his bare chest. “How’s Yennefer?” 
The change of subject was almost as if she had poured salt into his fresh wounds. He yanked his hand away and turned his head to face the fire, jaw ticked. She should’ve felt guilty for bringing up his on and off lover. Instead, she felt relieved his attention was no longer on her and probably wouldn’t be the rest of the night. 
That’s how it always went. He would get too close and right before she fell under his spell she would mention the other woman. She had only met the sorceress once. They neither liked or disliked one another. Yet, she could tell there would not be any attempts to go frollicking in a field like they were the best of friends. 
In some ways, she had been jealous of Yennefer– she was interesting and traveled the Continent and had fought in many wars. She was beautiful and cunning. Of course Geralt would pick her as a lover. 
“Ow.” Geralt grimaced, shifting in the chair. Her fingers were touching the wounds, and spreading them apart. “Are you about done? I’m tired.” 
She continued to inspect his wounds closely, having to push between his legs to get a closer look. “I have to ensure there are no severe damages so I know what to make.” His huff made her roll her eyes. She wanted to swat him for still acting like a child. “Whatever got you, got you good, eh?” 
He looked away then back at her, swallowing. “Yes, I suppose.” 
There was a beat of silence. Only the fire was popping. 
“I thought I was goin’ to die.” He said out loud in a low whisper. Almost like he didn’t want her to hear him.
She stopped briefly to look up at him. He was serious. “Well, fortunately whatever it was missed your heart by a hair.” She pointed to where his heart was and traced a line to the start of one of the scratches only millimeters away. She got up, leaving him with a witty smile as she started to pour the many different potions into a different bowl. 
“Me and Yennefer haven’t spoken in months,” he admitted. 
It was hard not to react, but she had never seen him willingly talk about the woman before. “Oh.” 
“We wanted different things I suppose,” he continued. “If it weren’t for Ciri’s letters, then I wouldn’t even know if she was still alive.” 
“You miss her?” It was meant to sound like a question, but it came across as a statement. 
He looked down at his hands, ashamed. “I’m not sure if I’m allowed to miss someone.” 
“Are you not allowed or are you unsure you know what it’s supposed to feel like?” 
He didn’t answer. 
She walked back and found her place again between his legs. “Missing someone feels like always looking at the door when there’s a knock, and your heart skips a beat, hoping it’s them.” She dipped her finger in the cream she had made and started to apply it to the open wound. 
“I don’t live in a cottage with a door.” His hands creeped to his thighs so they brushed her as she moved. 
She finished with the first cut and moved onto the second, which was much deeper and longer. “Well, missing someone can also feel like wanting to cry even when you’re happy.” 
“You do know I have emotions?” He quizzed her. 
She smirked. “Of course I do. I was only trying to help you figure out if you miss Yennefer.” 
He hummed, running a finger over the first wound she had treated which was starting to already heal. His skin attaching itself together again. “I miss her, but not in the way you think I do.” 
“Then in what way?” She raised her brow, clearly confused as to what he meant. 
He didn’t answer her right away. “Not in the way I miss you.” 
The bowl in her hand nearly clattered to the floor. She froze, replaying the words over and over as if she hadn’t heard him. Did Geralt really admit to missing her? No, he doesn’t actually mean it. He was messing with her. “That’s not funny.” Her breath was shaky. In fact, her hands were shaky too as she tried to continue healing him. 
“Did I make a joke?” His tone was unwavering. He placed his hand on her warm cheek, brushing his thumb over her soft flesh. He had never touched her so intimately like he was now. 
She shook her head, using her free hand to brush him away, focusing on the rest of his injuries. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. You’re delusional.” 
“I thought your potions helped with that?” 
Her eyes flickered up to meet his, briefly, before averting them back to the bowl. She swooped the last of the cream on her finger and spread it slowly over the last scratch. The others had closed up but one could make out the red scar. “Those will go away in due time,” she mumbled. 
As she tried to get up he caught her arm, standing up with her, and in doing so their chests were against one another. He could feel her heavy breathing. And she could feel the warmth from his body electrifying hers. 
“I should go make your bed. You need to rest.” She tried to walk away but his grip never left her arm. “Geralt.” 
He took the bowl from her hands and placed it back on the table. “How much longer will you deny it?” 
She swallowed the gasp that had almost escaped her, shaking her head. “What do you mean?” Finally, she had pulled away but made no efforts to leave the room, only stepping back to make space between them. And of course he could probably read her like an open book while she only had his stoic expressions to decipher. He opened his mouth, but closed it, sighing loudly. “Thank you, Y/n.” 
Her face softened. 
“I don’t… I don’t know what I would’ve done if it weren’t for you. In fact, I don’t know what I would do without you.” His jaw slacked, watching her intensely. 
She could feel the pull, like a magnet, all too familiar when it came to Geralt. Normally, she had to ignore it. But at that moment, it felt like a boiling pot of water, steaming and bubbling, unable to contain itself. And as she looked into his piercing eyes, the knot in her stomach told her it was time to say something. “Geralt.” Her voice was above a whisper. “I have something to tell you.”
“Yes?” His expression never faltered. 
She shifted her feet, uncomfortable. “I… I um… I’m making oat porridge in the morning.” She had decided it was best to hold back what she really wanted to say. “I’ll go prepare your room.” 
His yellow eyes narrowed, searching for hers. She knew he was watching the emotions swirl through her mind. She knew that he knew that wasn’t what she really wanted to say to him. “No.” He was assertive and the growled vibrations dragged along her back like a dagger, giving her chills. 
Ignoring the goosebumps along her arms, she ran her hand over her face. “What do you want me to say?” She felt like a twig that had snapped. “Why are you being mean? You stand there forcing a confession out of me. A confession you will never get because there’s nothing to say.” Her tears burned in the corner of her eyes. She hated how foolish she looked in front of him. Crying and blubbering because he decided to dig deeper. 
They had a routine. He would knock on the door and she would heal his wounds. Their deep conversations were rare, and sometimes he wouldn’t speak at all. Sometimes he would leave in the morning without a word. So why must this time be any different than the others? 
“You’re angry.” 
She scoffed. “Yes, I’m angry.” Unable to face him, she turned to look at the fireplace, shaking her head. “That’s the most frustrating part of all of this. I’m angry that you’re here. I’m angry that I don’t see you for months with no word if you’re even alive. I’m angry that you show up when I’m missing you the most.” Her eyes caught his, her nostrils flared. She had had enough of it, storming up to him and putting a finger against his bare chest. “I’m angry that you sit there and touch me and talk to me like we’re lovers. I’m angry that you won’t go to someone else for help. Because I can’t do it anymore, Geralt. I can’t do it.” 
And there it was. Years worth of bubbling water, spilling over the pot and all over the floor. She had made a mess that she wasn’t sure if she would be able to clean up. 
Geralt’s jaw ticked, his eyes scanning her face. “You wish to not see me anymore? Would that be easier?” 
Her finger fell slowly from his chest. Her voice trembled. “It’s easier than caring about you.” 
Geralt brought his hand up slowly to her cheek, brushing his knuckle against a tear. “I am angry at you too,” he whispered. Her brows furrowed, unsure what he meant. “I told you I have feelings too. Yet, you assume I don’t. You assume I don’t care about you either.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Do you?” 
“Why do you think I keep coming back?” His jaw slacked. 
The tension between them was thick and palpable. She wasn’t sure what else there was to say. Her heart was torn. Even with the confession, there was no guarantee. He was a Witcher with responsibilities that were not suitable for the life she wanted. She pushed it away, cracking a smile. “Are you saying that you got injured on purpose? So you could see me?” 
“Perhaps.” The corner of his mouth flickered, leaning his head down towards her. 
“You could’ve died.” She stepped closer to him, tracing her finger of his scars, looking at his lips.
“But I didn’t.” He said against her mouth, finally closing the gap between them. 
He wrapped his arms around her, strong and sure, deepening the kiss. It was gentle but fierce, full of longing and tension that had been built up along the years. It tasted like all the warm tea she had made for him over time. 
When she moaned, Geralt took the opportunity to slip his tongue in her mouth, gliding it tenderly and carefully against hers, groaning in satisfaction. He somehow managed to pull her closer as if their bodies weren’t already meshed together.
It was her who broke away first, both of them gasping for air, chests heaving from the heavy kiss. Geralt’s eyes had turned black, his senses heightened, craving more. 
Without a word, she unbuttoned her blouse, freeing her chest as she dropped it to the floor. She kissed Geralt again on the mouth, his neck, and then his chest. She whispered in his ear, “I think I should go prepare your room now.” 
He nodded, allowing her to take his hand to lead him to her room, rather than the room up in the attic that her guests normally stayed in. It was full of knick knacks and books scattered. Her bed was unmade, but neither one of them cared. 
She pushed him on the bed, straddling his lap, peppering kisses all over his chest. If she was smart, she would savor all of it– every kiss and touch. But fuck all of it. She had waited too long to savor it.  She grinded herself against his hardness, smiling against his ear when she felt him jump through his trousers. Something had told her it was too long for him too. 
The rest of their clothes had found a new place on the floor of her bedroom. She was now laying down, Geralt hovered over her, his chain dangled over her face, and his hands roamed over her bare body as she whimpered under his touch. His lips attacked her neck, trailing down her body, relishing every inch. 
“Geralt,” she mewled. 
She felt the vibrations of his chuckle, revitalizing her, the warmth between her legs now ached. “Yes?” He came back towards her mouth, placing a life-wrecking kiss on it. 
She nibbled his bottom lip. “You know.” 
“Mm, I don’t think I do,” he teased. His hand was between her legs, fingers gliding, taunting her. 
She thrusted her hips upwards, forcing friction against her swollen clit, gasping when he slid a finger in her. “I need you.”
The pitiful look in her eyes convinced him enough to give her what she wanted. And because any longer, he felt like he would combust. Geralt pushed her legs apart and then guided his girthy length to her entrance, sliding it in slowly. 
She gasped as he sunk deeper inside her, finally able to marvel all of her. It was sweet like the honey she snuck in his tea. Rich like the pastries she packed in his knapsack whenever he left in the mornings, without saying goodbye because he was afraid he would never leave if he saw her golden smile in the mornings. Yet, he wasn’t strong enough to never come back. 
At first, his thrusts were slow and tender, slipping so deep that his tip reached as far as it could. She gripped his shoulders, nails forming crescents, back arching as he picked up the pace. She wanted to hug him with her thighs, but his hands were sure to keep them open and spread for him. 
The sounds of their sticky skin crashing together blended with their moans and grunts, forming a delectable melody. She pulled him into an open-mouth sloppy kiss, humming. The bed rattled beneath them, his pace was dangerously close to cracking the frame. 
In a swift move, he pulled her up, so that she was straddling him. Their bare chests flushed together, her face in the crook of his neck, whimpering as she bounced on his cock. “I’m… fuck,” she breathed, unable to make the words as it hit her sweet spot. 
“Me too.” He slightly pushed her shoulders back, wanting to see her. His palm cradled her face, swallowing the thickness stuck in his throat. He knew he looked destroyed. He didn’t show how he felt often, but the pent up tension over the year had finally arisen. 
“G…Geralt!” She shouted as her walls closed around him, releasing her orgasm around him, resting her forehead on his chest as he continued to move her up and down. She clutched onto him as if she was about to float away. 
He threw his head back as his cock twitched, finishing, He thrusted through his climax, panting as he slowed to a halt. His senses were still high and could hear the fire still crackling in the den. He could feel her breathing still rugged and hot, sticking to his chest. 
She couldn’t see it but Geralt let a small smile briefly appear as he stroked her bare back. He placed a kiss on the top of her head. She looked up at him, running her fingers through his snow-white hair. “Will you stay one more night?” 
He tilted his head, brows knitted together. “Are you still angry with me?” 
A mischievous glimmer crossed her eyes. “If I am, does that mean you’ll stay?” 
He snickered, placing a peck on her lips, lingering, scared if he were to break away she’d disappear. 
Angry or not, he was going to stay one more night.
4K notes · View notes
ultralightpoe · 9 months
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Spellbound - Geralt
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Spellbound - Geralt
Authors Note: I’m back because I quit my job and have a better schedule at the new job 
Warnings: semi smut 
Word Count: 4012
Description: geralt fights his feelings until you get trapped in a spell 
brothel worker! reader x geralt 
Enjoy!
Geralt was going to tear whoever did this to you to pieces. He would gouge their eyes out and make them eat them. 
That was just one of the thoughts that rang through his mind as he cradled you in his arms, your nose bleeding onto his now naked torso, the shirt you had torn off of him a mere moment ago nearly in the fire. 
This was not supposed to be how this happened, this wasn’t supposed to happen at all. He had made himself stay away for this exact reason, everything he loved was destroyed. 
The witcher had always been against you joining the group. 
You had been a brothel worker when you came upon Jaskier six months ago, walking the streets with achy legs from a long shift, smelling of the salt water you had bathed in when you saw a group of men holding him up and beating on him. 
A yell had crossed your lips and without thinking you picked up a log near your feet, launching at the men and swinging anywhere you could to scare them off, hitting a couple of them harshly before they finally scampered away leaving you standing in the mud with a log and the poor fool laying bloody and beaten on the ground. 
You had brought him to your tiny rooms at the brothel, helped him clean up and soon enough he was asking you to join them. You hesitated for a moment, watching him use one of your rags to dot at the cuts along his face before shrugging. 
Anything is better than the life of a brothel worker, right?
Wrong. 
Brothels didn’t have the annoying attitude of Geralt the fucking Witcher. Okay well some did since Jaskier admitted to Geralt being a frequent guest of them, but you had never seen him and you wished you never met him either. 
He spent every waking moment snapping at you, or blatantly ignoring you when you were trying to ask questions. It was either you didn’t exist or everything you did was wrong, and you could never figure out why the way he treated you bothered you so fucking much. 
Men had done far worse to you in that brothel, but Geralt giving you the cold shoulder nearly brought you to tears? What?
Then again none of the men that came to the brothel were like Geralt at all. None of them had those melting golden eyes or the firm touch of a protector, none of them could turn a sword in their hands the way he does or make anyone feel at ease in his presence. 
Well……anyone but you. 
Maybe he knew you had feelings for him, maybe he hated your guts. Many reasons why he never wanted to talk to you filled your head and none of them were good. 
You spent your days obsessing over a man that barely glanced back at you, your horse in the back of the group with Jaskier always a force between you both. 
Geralt takes a moment to tie the corset of your dress so you weren’t exposed before pulling you into his arms and laying you on his bed, moving to grab a cloth from the basin in the corner of the inn room. 
When he returns to your side he takes a chance to slide the hair from your face, swiping the damp cloth along the blood trail your nose left in soft strokes as he watches you sleep. He would make sure you were breathing and comfortable before he went out and broke some limbs. 
It had been six months of that behavior, and it was truly beginning to wear you down. 
The days were spent either passive aggressively ignoring him back for scoffing at any mistake of yours he pointed out. Today was a passive aggressive silent game. 
He had woken you up by snapping in your face and the months of travel and anger were beginning to catch up so you had slapped his hand out of your face, watching a small amount of shock fill his face before his eyes narrowed in anger. 
“You overslept….again.” In the beginning you would have a snarky retort, something mocking his breath or face, but now you merely rolled your eyes and turned your back to him as you packed up your bedroll. He doesn’t seem to understand your silent game since he tries to piss you off once more. “We are going to be behind if you keep sleeping like this.”
It would be so easy to turn around and tell him to shove off, but then he would know he had that effect so you simply picked you belongings up, fixed your boots and walked to the horses where Jaskier sat atop his own. 
The bard gives you a knowing look as you mount your own horse after fixing everything onto it, legs swinging with a natural ease and a slight warmth on your thigh. When you look down you see Geralt's hand placed on it, and you realize he had helped you up. “Are you angry with me? Or have you lost your voice?”
“Just matching the treatment given to me.” You snark, a feeling of pride in your chest when you see him all but snarl. You kick the horse into gear after that, this time taking the lead as his hand slips from your thigh and he rushes to Roach. 
By the time he catches up he makes Roach walk alongside your horse, his face furious. “The treatment I gave you?”
You hum out, moving to speed up your horse but Geralt is too quick, within moments he has the reins of your horse in his hand, pulling on them until you are close enough for your thighs to touch. 
“Answer me.”
You hum again, your heartbeat rising and you wonder if he can hear it when his eyes cast down to your chest before looking back at you. 
“Humming is not an answer.”
You hum once more, moving to snatch the reins but his hand reaches out to grab your jaw. “I need to hear your voice.”
You slap his hand away once more and snatch the reins, giving him a glare before moving forward. 
“I don’t understand.” He grunted to Jaskier later that day, fixing his travel pack on roach as the bard leans against the same post the horses were tied to. You had gone to the market to grab some necessities and when Geralt demanded to go with you he had been met with another empty hum and Jaskier had told him to back down. 
“She’ll avoid attention if she isn’t traveling with a witcher, not to mention she knows how to bargain for cheaper prices when she isn’t flanked by your glare.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He growls, watching the bard smirk.
“The market workers like the attention she can give them-”
“We agreed she didn’t have to do any of that stuff if she traveled with us.”
“She does this willingly, and even so it’s not the same as in the brothel. She doesn’t have to offer up her-” A heavy growl slips from Geralt and Jaskier chooses not to finish his sentence, instead rolling his eyes and moving to his own horse. “I think you would be better off if you just told her you love her.”
“I do not-”
“Oh hush. I see you watch her sleep every morn, then I see you yell at her for waking up late because you forgot to wake her up.” He laughs. “And I see you hover whenever she mounts and dismounts Lugo. Not to mention the way you give her the bigger rations of whatever we eat and-”
“Fuck off.” 
Jaskier takes the win and turns away from the witcher, fiddling with the lute while Geralt tries to make himself look busy. 
After a moment of silence the witcher stands quickly. “Why won’t she speak to me?”
A laugh escapes the bard once more. “Because you ignore her any chance you get?”
“I do not.” 
“Well I know that. But she doesn’t, because you never even bother talking to her. You’d rather silently pine like a lost-” He trails off when he sees you emerge from the hills, sacks of produce in your arms with a small smile on your face. “Fresh hells.”
“The men were ready to lose their money today boys!”
“Did they bother you?” Geralt growls and you give him a glare back before shoving the sack of apples into his chest. 
Once he is sure you are breathing properly he covers you with the blanket, before moving to grab his sword, careful not to wake you up. 
You spend the rest of the day simply ignoring them both, too busy being proud of the way you scammed the merchants and all you had to do was lift your skirt to your knee. 
Geralt kept Roach near your own horse, and Jaskier took the back for once, all of you traveling in silence until Jaskier begins to whine. 
“It has been forever since we slept indoors.”
Silence follows for a moment before Geralt turns to glare at him. “And Y/n just saved us so much coin we can each get a room in the next town.”
“This is true! I did!” You laugh, turning to look at Jaskiers mopey face. 
“Fuck.” Geralt grunts, turning back to the road so he doesn’t have to look at either of you again. 
Jaskier is still sitting in the hall with his lute, strumming softly in the drunken daze as the crowd they had gathered earlier has finally died down. 
“Bard.” Geralt grunts, trying to get his attention. But Jaskier doesn’t move, simply keeps his eyes closed as he plays a chord. So Geralt kicks his chin. 
The bard before him jumps up with a shout before his eyes land on the white haired witcher before him. 
“I got us all rooms and I found you in a hallway.” 
“I was merely resting for a moment.” He sighs, reaching down to grab the ale mug filled with coins he earned from his performance. “It’s hard to be a -”
The silver amulet is shoved in his face before he can finish the sentence, eyes widening as Geralt grunts. “Who gave this to Y/n?”
“The charming blonde who had been dancing with her all night while you sat in the back and glared.”
“Where did he disappear to?”
“You mean after you snatched her?”
By the time the three of you made it to the next town your ass was worn from the saddle and you were a bit wobbly when you got down, Geralt standing behind you and you scoffed as you looked at him. “Waiting for me to fall so you can lecture me?”
He opens his mouth to respond and you find yourself excited that he is actually about to answer back before he huffs and glares before disappearing. And once more you are left feeling like nothing. 
You watch as he disappears into the tavern before turning to Jaskier. “I asked around at the market…”
“About?”
“About work.”
“Ah!” He smiles, moving to lean on you. “And what did you find for our dear witcher to do?”
“Not for him actually.” Your throat tightens as you struggle to find the words. Jaskier doesn’t seem to catch on to your solemn mood. 
“Oh? A performance for me? I’m sure I can prepare a lullaby or two-”
“For me.” You interrupt, pulling yourself away from him and crossing your arms uncomfortably as he stares at you. 
“For…..you?” You nod at his question, trying to gain some power here. “What do you-”
“Madame Horchels brothel is in this town, she is famous within word and if I met with her then I am sure I would be set up with a room and a hot meal a day-”
“Why in fucks sake would you ever want to go back to that?”
Tears were welling in your eyes as he stared at you and you struggled to find words. “I am just……tired of feeling useless and pathetic……”
“So you would go back to whoring?”
“You don’t have to act so disgusted!” You snap, shame filling you at his reaction. “I never saw you complaining about my past when I was flirting with guards or-”
“I am sorry, I never meant to judge. I just think…..” He sighs out and rubs his face aggressively before moving to pull you into a hug. “It’s been a cold couple days. How about we go in and get a drink, a good night's rest in actual beds before we make decisions? Yeah?”
A hooded figure passes you both to get into the tavern and you simply shrug. “I think my mind is made up Jask.”
“I think it would be a mistake and we would miss you terribly……..okay I would miss you terribly.”
“Why would you miss her?” Geralt snaps out from a couple steps away, eyes squinted in an angry manner. He had originally come to snap at you both to watch your surroundings but had caught the tail end of the conversation instead. 
“Y/n here was just rushing a decision. But we aren’t gonna talk about that, right now a round of ale on me.”
“You spent all your coin two towns ago on new strings for your lute.” Geralt reminds, eyes never leaving your figure. 
“Then I shall make more coin!” He cheers, pulling you into the tavern and snatching the room keys from Geralt. 
Things escalated from there, and any time Geralt asked about their conversation they changed the subject and he was beginning to lose his mind. Were you okay? Why would Jaskier miss you? Why was he so worried about this? He watched you drink all night, ignoring him, and he watched as many of the men in the tavern asked you for a dance. He knew none of the men were a threat, and you knew how to handle them, even if it got out of control he could have his sword to their throat with a mere minute. So he didn’t really pay attention to your dance partners. 
 But one in particular caught his attention, the hooded figure that had walked too close to you both earlier had emerged from his corner and asked for a dance, and something in Geralt screamed for him to go and get you away. But he didn’t, instead he sat back and drank, allowing you room to have fun. 
The blonde stranger whirled you around and spun you and bought you drink after drink. Your eyes glazed over and your smile was wide enough to split your face, a jealous feeling crept into Geralts chest and the urge to punch the stranger grew and grew as Jaskier played song after song. 
“Can I get you another drink?” 
“Hmm?” Geralts attention snaps from your figure to the tavern wench beside him, giving him a small smile. 
“Another ale?”
“I think I am fine. Thank you-” She doesn’t wait, walking away since she didn’t get more coin and when Geralt sneaks his attention back to you he can’t help but slam his empty mug down. 
The stranger had you turn around with you lifting your hair as he placed an amulet on your neck, kissing your shoulder and before Geralt could stop himself he lunged to grab you. 
One moment you are giggling about the gorgeous, the next you are thrown over Geralts shoulder as he shoves the gorgeous fae away from you, hauling you up the stairs of the inn with no care. 
“Put me down!” You shout, slamming your hand into his back as he walks through the first hall then up the next flight of stairs. 
“You’ve had too much to drink.” 
“And you care why?”
“Because that man would take advantage.’ He growls. 
“Well he gave me a necklace, that’s how the business works.” You giggle, reaching up to touch the necklace but the world whirls once more as Geralt places your feet on the ground and pushes you into the wall. His hand stopped your head from hitting the wood but the rest of you was pressed between him and the wall. 
“Don’t do that.” 
“Do what?” You ask breathlessly, watching his face with adoration. Had he always been so…..
“Joke about that. You need something then I will get it for you.” 
“What if I want the prettiest jewels in the kingdom?”
“Then I kill more beasts.” He was dead serious and the hazy feeling was taking over so before you know it you find yourself leaning in to whisper “What is I want an orgasm?”
A red tint crosses his neck but his face remains serious as he leans his head against yours to whisper. “Then you ask me.”
And for a moment you can’t breathe, you find yourself aching, every part of you wanting to touch him suddenly. But before you can he whispers once more. “But not tonight. My first time with you will be sober.” 
Then the wood behind you disappears and you realize he had pressed you against the door to your room. Landing in a ball on the floor he sends a small smile before slamming the door and the heat that had filled you dims for a moment. 
But just for a moment. 
You pull yourself up from the floor, moving to the bed before the aching returns and your body heats up twice as bad. Everything begins going hazy as a sweat covers you and then you lose it. 
“I need to go.” Geralt snaps, shoving Jaksier to the direction of the stairs. “You go watch her. Don’t let her make any more mistakes.”
“Where are you- Geralt? What happened?! Hello?!” Jaskier calls after the witcher, watching him storm through the tavern before slamming the doors on his way out. With a deep sigh the bard grabs his jacket and mug of coins before making his way to find the rooms. 
It had been an hour since he left you in your room and Geralt could not relax himself. Jaskier had just stopped singing and Geralt was still pacing the inn room, back and forth back and forth. 
The aching hard on he had refused to go away, the image of your dazed eyes all he could think about, and the way you whispered to him had him so close to snapping all together. But he didn’t, and you were safe in your room with him just two doors down. But the floorboards creaking by his door caught his attention, and he reached for the sword as the doorknob jiggled. 
Stepping towards it slowly as it creaks open only to reveal you, standing in the hall in nothing but your dress slip and a flushed face. “Geralt-” You moan out and his knees nearly buckle when you rush in and slam the door. 
The sword falls from his hands so he can catch you when you come hurdling to him, pulling him in for a harsh kiss. Your lips melt into his and you moan in victory when he kisses back, pressing yourself against him as your hands fly into his hair. 
His own hands find purchase on you hips, and before he can tell himself not to he moves them to start a grinding motion the both of your would like. It stays like this for a moment until you bite his lip on a particularly aggressive moan, pulling back to catch a breath as you press your hips into his harder than before. 
For a second he admires you, the way your face scrunches up in pleasure and the moans that he is pulling from your lips, letting out a heavy ‘FUCK’ when you circle your hips. 
“Pleasepleasepleaseplease.” You gasp out, hands dragging from his hair to his chest before you start tearing the clasps on his shirt, scratching it a bit in your struggle to get it off. “Ineedyou, it hurtssobad-” 
This makes him hesitate, pulling back a little just as you fling his shirt, your hands flying to undo the slip and he finally catches your eyes. Only they weren’t the eyes he had fallen in love with, instead they were a deep red. 
“Y/n?” He asks, heartbeat racing as he snatches your wrists in one hand, the other coming to grab you chin. “Look at me.”
“Geralt, please. It hurts.” You whine and the gem in the amulet glows the same red as your eyes. 
Dread fills him as he reaches down to tear it off you, the silver cutting you a bit before he chucks it across the room. 
He couldn’t breathe properly as he watched you come down from the spell, anger filling him. You hadn’t meant any of this, this had been a spell. 
He was a fucking fool. 
“Geralt?” You breathe out, taking in the room before looking at his shirtless torso and the small scratches you had made to get the shirt off. “What-”
And just like that you were gone. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your nose started bleeding as you passed out, he barely caught you before you hit the floor. “Fuck.”
You awake mid day- the sun blaring in through the blinds and you do your best to cover your eyes.  “Oh make it stop-”
“There are no covers for the window.” Jaskier sighs from where he is laying on the floor. “I tried stealing the blanket from you and you hissed at me.”
“Serves you right….” You mumble, taking in the room as you realize that last night hadn’t been a dream after all and a deep embarrassment fills you. 
“H-have…..have you seen Geralt?” You ask, leaning over the bed to look at him.
“He left around sunrise in a pissy mood.”
“Did he… did he say anything?” You felt like an utter fool, and you were doing your best not to be sick. 
“Said to watch you so you didn’t make any more mistakes.”  Jaskier shrugs before yawning. 
“He said that? He said mistake?” Your voice cracks as you wrap the blanket tighter around yourself. 
“He did. I assumed he caught you with the blonde gu- Y/n? What’s the matter?”
“I…… I have to go.” You rush out, jumping over him to leave the room. 
- - - - -
Geralt finds Jaskier waiting at the horses when he rides up, tired and cranky, and he gets even crankier when he sees that your horse is empty of all your travel bags. 
“Is she not awake? Do we need to get a healer?” He rushes out, launching from roach to get to the tavern only for Jaskier to hold the lute in front of him. 
“She woke up several hours ago, it’s nearly dusk.” 
“Then where is she?”
“Gone.”
“Gone?” His heart is racing too fast and he’s hoping that Jaskier starts laughing soon and this is all a joke. 
“I told her you said to make sure she didn’t make any more mistakes and she got really sad and started crying as she packed up.” He explains. “She went to this brothel and they wouldn’t let me in but they let her in and she came out to say bye soon after that.”
“She went to a brothel?!” He snaps, grabbing the collar of Jaskiers dress coat. 
“Don’t blame me! This is your doing!”
“How. So.”
“You were the one that made her feel worthless! Never looking at her and always in her business about her mistakes-”
“Her mistakes get her hurt, or worse, killed!”
“Then tell her that! Rather than yell at her all the time with no explanation-”
“Where is the brothel?”
“It’s no use.”
“Where. Is. The. Brot-”
“She made a deal! The madame owns her!”
“Not on my fucking watch.” Geralt snaps, mounting the roach in one fluent move before nodding to Jaskier. “Hurry.”
He had to get you. 
Part Two
2K notes · View notes
companionjones · 9 months
Text
Enemies to Lovers?
Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Fem!Reader
Fandom: The Witcher (Netflix)
Summary: A Witcher is regularly summoned to your kingdom to take care of a continuous monster problem. What will be your reaction to repeatedly having the Witcher in your castle?
Warnings: SMUT, Cursing
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*******
    “I do not trust a hulking beast to ‘protect’ this kingdom, no matter how many times he comes crawling back to us,” you recoiled.
    Your mother spoke. “The Witcher did not come to us. We summoned him because of the unfortunate beacon for monsters our kingdom was built on.” She went on, “We may not...approve of his species; however, we do need help. That...unfortunately...comes in the shape of...What do they call you? The White Wolf?”
    Geralt used his voice for the first time since entering the room. “That is correct, your majesty.”
    Your mother sighed, “Alright. Tomorrow, your hunt for the Striga begins. As for tonight, let us drink and be merry to celebrate the quick return of our peace. Let the party begin!”
    With that, the hall erupted in cheers.
    Your mother turned her gaze back on Geralt and, with detest, extended, “You are welcome to join us, Witcher...just don’t touch anything.”
    You sat back in your throne with your arms folded. You rolled your eyes.
    Once the celebration started, you could only stay for so long before you were so repulsed you had to leave. You went back to your bedchambers.
    About fifteen minutes later, there was a knock at your door, You prayed it wasn’t your mother as you went to answer it.
    Standing on the other side of your door was the White Wolf.
    The two of you stood there for a moment, just looking at each other. Then, you took a step forward and hastily captured his lips with yours.
    Geralt reacted just as passionately: he backed you up so the two of you collided with your door frame. From there, he picked you up bridal-style and carried you into your bedroom. He kicked the door shut behind him.
    “Fuck, I missed you,” Geralt promised as he eyes bore into yours. He laid you on your bed.
    “I guarantee you that I missed you mor--hhnn,” you cut yourself off with a moan when his hand snaked up your dress to palm your drenched cunt.
    Geralt repeated, “I missed you,” he kissed you and went on, “This pretty pussy.” He kissed you again. “The sounds you make.” Geralt leaned down to start sucking on your neck.
    “I hate being mean to you like that,” you told him breathily. Your eyes were closed.
    Geralt started kissing down your neck and chest as he started working off your dress. He took breaks from your skin to remind you, “We have to keep us a secret. You know how your mother will react if she finds out.”
    “Do not bring my mother up now,” you warned, much to Geralt’s amusement. “...But Gods, the things she said to you tonight--” Suddenly, you gasped.
    Geralt had slipped two fingers inside of you.
    You whimpered out his name and gasped again.
    “It’s alright, my love,” Geralt coaxed in his deep voice as he pumped his fingers in and out of you. “Relax. Feel my fingers.”
    “Geralt. Geralt, oh fuck. That feels so good.” One of your hands went to Geralt’s as you held his wrist close to your pussy. You were coming in no time. “Geralt-Geralt!”
    “Sh, shh,” hushed Geralt. He kissed your forehead. “I’ve got you. Cum on my fingers.”
    After you came down, Geralt helped you out of your dress. He then stripped off his shirt.
    You sat up. “I’ll never get tired of seeing this.” You smoothed your hands up his torso to circle your arms around his neck. You used that leverage to pull Geralt down to you.
    Geralt eased off his pants and promptly started grinding at your entrance with his sizeable cock.
    “Come on, honey,” you smirked, “You know you want to.”
    With a smooth smile of his own, Geralt sank into you.
    Your lips were still curled upwards as your jaw went slack.
    Geralt caught your lips in a bruising kiss as he pulled almost the whole way out of you just to thrust all the way back in. He swallowed your initial moan, just as he did each time he sunk into you.
    After some time, you broke off the kiss to warn Geralt in broken words, “Gonna...Gonna...Geralt!” you whined.
    “I know, sweetheart. Me too.” That last part was strained.
    Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your toes curled as you came. You felt your whole body tense up, then slowly release itself in pulses.
    Geralt released himself inside of you with two powerful thrusts. He grunted as he did so.
    When you opened your eyes, you saw Geralt above you, mixing his breath with yours. He slowly opened his eyes. “I love you.”
    Gently, you reached up to caress his cheek with your thumb. You pulled Geralt down for a slow, languid kiss. After it was over, you returned, “I love you, too.”
*******
Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! Fill up that heart and reblog if you liked it! I would also really appreciate a comment, if you have the time. If you would like to read more, I have more stories over on my page. You should check it out. Have a nice day, night, or whatever time it is for you! <3 <3 <3
1K notes · View notes
nesillia · 10 months
Text
What You Don’t Know
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-> Summary: You don’t know that Geralt had been searching for you ever since Jaskier returned to him without you. You don’t know that he’d been praying to Melitele to make things right. You don’t know that he said he loves you, every night you weren’t there.
-> Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x F!Reader
-> Rating: 18+
-> WC: 3k
-> Warnings: very light angst, fluff, most of this is smut ill be honest lol, smut in the forms of: missionary, fingering (f receiving), oral (f), pet names: (my love, love, baby), kissing, biting, marking, panty sniffing (geralt is feral okay), mdni, geralt has feelings and deep regrets (as he should), happy ending!!
-> Notes: this is part two of Tragically, Meant to Be. Please read that first to understand what’s happening here. I didn't want to focus on the angst too much here, so I hope you enjoy this fluffiness/smuttiness and happy ending!
Also, I know the location of Rivia was lost to time in the 13th century (according to the wiki) let’s just ignore that. For plot reasons.
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It’s been months since you and Jaskier walked out of Geralt’s life. Months since he laid eyes on you, held you in his arms, tasted you. And try as he might to convince himself that he hasn’t missed you, or the bard, he knows he’s a liar. 
Geralt missed your scent, your taste, the secret smile you’d give him when you thought he wasn’t aware, the way your dewy skin seemed to glow in the sunlight. 
Most of all, he missed the way you genuinely cared for him. The way you’d make tea from herbs in a bid to soothe his restlessness at night, the way you’d cook the meat of his hunt in a way he liked, or the way you’d massage his tense shoulders after a long excursion. 
And as he lays awake now, body mere inches from the bard who had sought Geralt out, without you by his side, he realizes that due to a stupid mistake, he may never get to have these moments with you again. 
And it’s this realization that makes Geralt promise himself that he’ll search to the ends of the Continent if he has to, to find you. 
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At first, after Geralt leaves Jaskier in the nearby town of Velen, he goes back to Redania and searches the wilderness surrounding Oxenfurt. 
In the months that Geralt had been away from you, Jaskier said you and he never left the big city. Until, one day, you just vanished. 
Geralt spends weeks in the woods near Oxenfurt, to no avail. Next, he searches Temeria and Cintra. Although these yield an abundance of contracts for the Witcher, he turns them down one by one in his hunt for you. Each night he doesn’t find you, his hope slowly diminishes.
But then, when Geralt is about to come to terms with the fact that perhaps he will never find you, you pop up in the unlikeliest town. 
Geralt has just made his way to his oldest home, his first home: Rivia. As he walks through the wooden gates, he finds that although it’s been more than ninety years since he’s been here, it hasn’t changed much. The people he used to know are long dead, but their children and grandchildren now live on here. His old house is still there, a new family living in it. 
The people of Rivia stare, taking in Geralt’s hulking figure and odd appearance. It doesn’t bother him like it used to, when he was a new Witcher. Still, it doesn’t feel great to have the people you save glare and call you the monster. 
Geralt keeps his head down as he hitches Roach to a pole, before he struts into the local tavern. He’s greeted with something that happens every time he walks into an inn — the music suddenly dies, the lively chatter stops, and all eyes turn to him. He lowers his hood as he takes a seat in the far back, and then something peculiar happens. Geralt can suddenly smell your scent, getting closer and closer until — by Melitele, there you are. Standing in front of him, head down as you fuss with the apron tied to your waist. You haven’t noticed it’s him, and Geralt takes this moment to rake his yellow eyes over your form. 
You look the same, if a bit run down. Your hair is longer, pulled away from your face in a style that he knows you love. He can hear the steady thump thump thump of your heart, and it relaxes him to no end. You’re here, in his hometown — looking beautiful and alive and safe. And suddenly Geralt is overcome with the need to pull you into his arms, and so he does just that. 
You’re in his arms, struggling a bit because you still haven’t realized who he is. But he doesn’t care because you’re in his hold, healthy and alive and heart beating so rapidly against his own. 
“Let g-go!” You huff, wriggling out of his strong hold. Geralt pulls you away, big hands plastered to your shoulders. And then your eyes finally rove over him, stopping at the medallion before flicking up to his face. 
“Geralt?” 
His name on your lips sounds like heaven to him, and his eyes flutter close before he opens them to look at you. 
“Can we talk privately?” Geralt asks. After a moment, you nod, and lead him towards the back of the inn towards the kitchen. The owner gruffly nods at the both of you. The kitchen is warm, the fireplace gushing out heat. 
“Mary, the cook, shouldn’t be back for another ten minutes. What do you want, Geralt?” 
Geralt is, for once, at a loss of words. 
“I…” 
“How did you find me?”
Geralt doesn’t reply. He’s not sure what to say, once again. You huff in annoyance, crossing your arms. 
“I’m sorry,” he finally gets out.
“Pardon?” 
He sighs, pursing his lips while running his fingers over the stubble on his chin in thought. Geralt has never been good with words, but for you, he needs to — wants to — try. 
“What happened with Yennefer. I’m sorry, Y/N.” 
Geralt knows the moment he speaks her name it’s a mistake. He can hear it in the way your heart falters, breath hitches. See it in the way little tears start filling your beautiful eyes. In a flash, he is standing inches in front of you, grasping your hands and pressing them into the shirt that covers his chest, right where his heart is. 
“Feel that?” He asks, bringing a hand to wipe away the tears that fall down your cheeks. You bite your lip, worrying the flesh before nodding hesitantly. 
Geralt isn’t sure what he can say to make you understand, so he’ll just show you. 
“My heart is racing, isn’t it?” 
Another nod. Your fingers flex over the plane of his pectoral muscle. 
“That’s for you, only for you.”
Your eyes race to meet his, and a little gasp leaves your teeth bitten lips. You tear away from him, barreling to the opposite side of the small kitchen with a snarl on your face. 
“Don’t fucking play with me, Geralt!” 
Geralt has never heard you curse like that in the years he’s known you. Sure, in the throes of passion you have cursed, but never like this. Not even on the night everything came crashing down. 
“I’m not, I swear. I haven’t even seen Y — her since that night. And even if I did, she’s not the one I want,” Geralt begs. “I want you.” 
“And would you tell her that, should she show up?” You demand, squaring your shoulders and seemingly ready for him to say n —. 
“Yes.”
He can see that you’re thinking deeply on his words, and after you don’t say anything for minutes, Geralt knows it’s time to leave. 
“I’ll go,” he whispers, shoulders dropped in defeat. He takes a step to leave the cramped kitchen, when you speak timidly. 
“Geralt… I’m willing to try again, but I want to properly be lovers. Call me selfish, but… I want you to be mine. Only mine,” you say, and Geralt, as he turns, can see the tears already dripping from your eyes. 
“If what happened back at that inn happens again, I will leave. And this time, you will never find me.” 
Geralt nods his head resolutely, walking towards you and pulling you into his arms. He wants to tell you that he would rather be slain by a Striga than make that mistake again. He wants you to know everything that happened in the past months.
Geralt knows that you don’t know that he had been searching for you ever since Jaskier returned to him without you. You don’t know that he’d been praying to Melitele to make things right. You don’t know that he says he loves you, every night. 
Geralt desperately wants to tell you all of this, to make you aware of the pain he’s been in, but as he holds your face in his hands, he realizes that he’s just content to be with you again. To hold you like this. To smell the lavender scent in your hair. And as his lips fuse with yours, to taste you again. 
“Let me go tell Edmund I’ll be taking the rest of the day off,” you mumble against his lips, a shy smile on your face. Geralt isn’t exactly sure why you seem embarrassed, but then he breathes deeply and — oh. The air is heavily permeated by a thick cloud of your arousal, smelling of lavender fields and bergamot. Geralt smirks, and soon — after getting the go ahead from a grumpy Edmund — you’re leading him out of the tavern and down the mottled streets, towards the edge of town. 
The walk is silent, but your arousal isn’t. It’s a loud song drumming against Geralt’s senses, enticing him and making him ache. You quickly open the door to your small house, dragging Geralt in and slamming it shut. You don’t waste any time, locking your lips to his. You taste of the sweetest of wines, and Geralt is sure he will never get tired of kissing you. 
“Wait,” he grumbles, pushing you away as gently as he can. He can see the bubbling rejection layering in your eyes, and he’s quick to shut that down with a swift peck to your saliva coated lips. 
“I need you to know that you owe me nothing. I didn’t come here just to fuck you, my love.” 
“I know, but… it’s been months, and I’ve missed you so much, Geralt. I want to, please?”
Your timid reply is more than enough for the man, and he easily picks you up and stumbles his way into what he can only assume is your bedroom. He has no time to look around, take in the room you sleep in every night, but he makes a mental note to do that later. 
Geralt releases you on the bed, before he’s kneeling between your spread thighs. He can hear your breath hitch, and he smiles reassuringly at you. 
“May I?” He asks, to which you hesitantly nod. Geralt has never done this with you, and he’s determined to make it a lasting memory for you. 
Geralt’s fingers are featherlight as he shucks off your slippers, as he ghosts over the skin of your ankle and calves. He keeps in tune with your breathing, listening to every stutter the higher he trails his hands. When he gets to the newly healed and jagged scar the Leshy gave you, he can’t help but lean down and press his lips to each line of tissue. 
“Geralt…,” you sigh quietly, and he can only imagine how much anticipation is coursing through you. 
“Patience. Need to show you how much I missed you,” he gruffly says into the skin of your scars. He laves his tongue over the flesh, savoring the taste of your body. He’s so close to where he desperately wants to be. 
Geralt works his hands up the meat of your hips under your dress, shimmying your smallclothes down your plush thighs. He can see that they’re coated in your slick, and in a moment of weakness, he brings them to his nose and inhales while he keeps his amber eyes glued to yours. It’s depraved, but the Witcher can see and hear the effect it has on you. Your breathing short circuits, thighs press as close together as they can with him in between, and a quiet moan slips out from your precious lips.
“Fuck, love…” Geralt mumbles, before throwing your smalls behind his shoulders and hitching both of your legs on top of his shoulders, spread wide for him. 
“I have to taste you properly.” 
That’s all the warning be gives you before he dives in, pressing his lips to your opening. He collects the slick there, sucking softly on the flesh before he brings his mouth up to suckle your clit. You moan loud, and then he feels your hands slither their way into his hair. 
“That’s it, baby,” he mumbles into your clit, vibrations rumbling up through your body at the action. Geralt brings his hand to thumb at your entrance, rubbing the slick around and coating your outer labia. His cock is pressing painfully against his trousers, and he ruts into the creaky bed frame for some relief. Geralt feels drunk off your scent, and your moans, and your taste. It’s almost too much for him, and yet he can’t get enough. 
Your hips are bucking against his mouth, thighs pressed tightly against his head and by Melitele if Geralt doesn’t love it. You taste of the beautifullest lavender fields, bergamot, and like him. Geralt pushes his forefinger and middle finger inside you, rubbing at your gummy walls and pressing deep deep deep. 
“Pleaseplease!” You whine, and Geralt opens his eyes to look into yours, love and admiration and lust all melting and shaping to make his amber ones. 
“Please, what?” Geralt says, thrusting his fingers in and out, smearing the slick, before repeating the motions. 
“M-More!” 
The moans falling from your lips cause Geralt’s cock to swell and pulse and leak. And Geralt can’t take it, ripping his mouth off of you and pushing his tight pants down his thighs. You watch his every movement like a hawk, before you’re bringing your hands low and pulling up your simple dress and tossing it somewhere, exposing your entire body to him. 
“Fuck, I missed you,” Geralt says reverently, watching as your nipples peak into hard buds. He immediately goes back to your pussy, sucking and slurping and pulling until you’re once again a moaning, writhing mess underneath him. You cum hard when Geralt pushes his tongue into your cunt, curling and thick inside you. 
He groans when your arousal rushes over his tongue, some dribbling down his chin when he presses himself deeper, nose bumping into your clit. Your body stills after what feels like forever, and Geralt audibly swallows the liquid in his mouth, before he’s pressing his lips to your clit just to taste you again. He inhales deeply, and if that isn’t almost enough for him to combust. Before Geralt can get too overzealous, you tug hard on his hair, getting him to – begrudgingly – look up at you. 
“‘S too much,” you slur, eyes glazed and cloudy with lust. 
“Think you can take me, love?” He asks, rising on his legs and shucking off all of his clothes, to the appreciative eyes of you. 
“Yes, Geralt. Please, I need you.”
He’s not sure who moves first, but then his lips are on yours and it’s messy. Your arousal is still on his tongue, pushing into yours and mixing saliva and cum into a taste almost as delicious as your pussy. Geralt brings a hand to his cock, pumping the shaft once before he’s lining up with your entrance and – at the whimper of you – thrusting all the way inside. It’s like your body is made for him, giving way and simultaneously pressing tight against his cock. Geralt’s balls slap against your ass, and he stills to give you a breather. 
“Geralt!” You cry, and suddenly your arms are wrapped around his neck, legs up on his hips, and you’re begging for him not to stop and to give you what you want. 
And Geralt obliges, pulling his hips until his cock is almost entirely out of your cunt, and then he’s thrusting back in rhythmically. Your body twists and tightens around his, breasts bouncing with every stab of his hips. He presses his lips to your ears, pressing a gentle kiss before he’s grunting low. 
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he grunts, the squelching of your pussy music to his ears. 
Geralt can feel your pussy tightening against his cock, and he feels that familiar coil of pleasure build so greatly in his abdomen – he isn’t going to last long. 
“Geralt, Geralt, Geralt,” you whine, like it’s all you know, like it’s a mantra that’s the only thing keeping you sane. 
“I know, baby, I know,” he huffs, bringing his mouth to the junction where your shoulder meets your throat, and then he’s biting the skin and crying out your name at the same time your pussy tightens, and gushes over his softening cock. Geralt is heaving like he’s run a marathon, and he gingerly pulls his flaccid cock out of your sopping pussy before collapsing on his back, beside you. 
“I love you,” he whispers, and he feels you turn on your side to nestle right next to him. His eyes are closed, but he feels you when you gently bring up a hand and card through his drenched hair, slicking them back from his face. 
“I love you, too.”
Geralt opens his marigold eyes, bringing a hand to cradle your cheek. 
“I’m never gonna let you go, my love.”
You smile at him, a blinding thing that causes his slow-beating heart to pulse in love. If you give him that smile for the rest of his life, he’ll never get tired of it. He leans forward and presses a chaste – almost too chaste for the unholy things that had been happening, moments earlier – kiss to your cheek. 
“I’m holding you to that, Geralt,” you murmur, eyes droopy.
After a moment, you speak again, “How did you find me?” 
Geralt thinks of what he’ll say. He’s not ready to tell you everything he went through and how he didn’t intend to even find you here, he doesn’t want to ruin this moment. So for now, he’ll tell you what he genuinely thinks, not what he knows. 
“Must have been destiny, my love.”
It seems to placate you, for you give him another megawatt smile before tenderly getting up. He grunts, about to get up with you, but you glance back at him and give him a chiding look.
“Rest, my love, let me take care of you.”
And so, for the first time in almost a year, Geralt relaxes and watches you get up. As you walk through the bedroom door, Geralt knows two things. 
One, that he will always love you. 
And two, that he will always follow you.
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mystra-midnight · 4 months
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Dark Paradise
summary: geralt was all-consuming, invading every one of your senses; somehow, he'd snaked his way beneath your skin and between your ribs before burrowing into your heart. he lived there now, and you couldn't breathe without him.
warnings: 18+ only. breeding kink. overstimulation. mentions of multiple orgasm. name calling; slut. dom!geralt.
words: 1k.
notes: no one will ever convince me that geralt is a soft man. he is all strength, and arrogance, and hard muscles. and he will dominate his woman. admittedly this is shorter then i wanted it to be, and maybe not my best work, but i do hope you enjoy.
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If ever there was something to be grateful for, it was this: being able to fuck his woman raw without the fear of an unwanted pregnancy. Having you naked beneath him was everything Geralt wanted—to watch your velvet walls stretch around his cock's girth, to feel your body tremble as he rocked his hips against your ass, to watch your cum mixed with his be forced from your tight hole with each brutal thrust.
You knew, completely and irrevocably, that there was no chance of falling pregnant with Geralt of Rivia. The trials had made him sterile, though you boiled fennel and drank it regularly to be certain. Your mother taught you from the eve of your first bleed to protect yourself against others, to trust no one but yourself, and that having a child with the wrong man could lead your life to ruin.
But tonight he had come to your cottage on the outskirts of the village in a foul and angry mood, with snarling tongue and gnashing fangs. He refused to tell you what had happened as he forced you down to your knees. All he'd wanted was your naked body beneath him.
"Geralt." Your voice quivered and rose to a crescendo when he speared through the satin clutch of your cunt and hit the sweet spot that sent your eyes spinning. Geralt of Rivia was not a small man—not in any sense of the word. He was tall and impossibly strong. His eyes were intense, and his hair was the colour of starlight. With broad shoulders and a myriad of scars along his body, he was every woman's fantasy.
And he refused to treat you with fragility. To him, you were not a damsel in distress. So he fucked like he fought, with teeth and tongue, and in every position. "I-I can't. S'too much."
Your thighs trembled under the lingering force of the three orgasms Geralt had pulled from the depths of your soul—on his fingers, tongue, and cock. Another one would surely kill you; you would float away from your body and away from him, never to return. But the idea of him filling you again was heavenly and impossible to deny—not when he dominated you so beautifully.
"You can," he grunted, his voice a rough growl. Geralt followed a bead of sweat that dripped down your spine with the tip of his tongue, leaving your sweat-slick skin goosepimpled. His hand followed the same path until he gripped the nape of your neck and pressed you into the mattress, keeping you cemented in place as he filled into you again. “You can, because I’m not stopping.”
Geralt knew that you wouldn't reply—at least not verbally. The impact of his hips against your ass was brutal, forcing the air from your mouth in pretty moans. The clutch of your cunt was more than enough of an answer. He smeared his lips along your shoulder as he shadowed over you like a terrible, haunting visage. The angle made it seem as though he was in your guts, rearranging your organs.
"That's a good girl," he cooed against your skin, his tone positively mocking. "Now, you stay right there while I fuck a baby into you. That's what my slut wants, isn't it? To be swollen with my child?"
He turned feral and ferocious in a flash, ruthlessly rutting into you. He drove you to the brink of yet another orgasm as you clawed at the sheets. Between whoreish moans, your walls tightened around him, leaving you gasping for air. A familiar warmth moved through your aching limbs and raced through your blood while a thunderstorm roared behind your ears.
"Geralt. Geralt, please, I can't. I can't—oh, fuck. There, r-right there." You babbled mindlessly. You felt lost in the sensation of his hands grabbing here, there, and everywhere. You felt lost in the sting of his teeth and tongue and how he tasted your skin. You felt lost in the pressure of his fingers and how he left bruise-shaped prints everywhere he touched.
"Right here?" He demanded. His fingers dug into the curve of your hips as he pulled you back to meet his pelvis, the sound of wet skin connecting echoing loudly in the small cottage. You squirmed and keened when he hit that sweet spot. "Is this what my slut needed—to feel me this deep?"
You didn’t hear him over the thunderstorm, which had grown into a deafening roar that blocked out the world. And as your vision went white, the pressure snapped, and a bolt of lightning sparked a wildfire in your blood. You felt like you were burning alive; the air in your lungs was superheated, and nothing could cool it. You came hard, screaming his name as he held you in place.
Geralt held you tightly, fingerprint bruises decorating your skin while galaxies burst to life inside your veins. The warmth of your cunt was divine, a heavenly caress as he rutted into you, chasing his own release as he threw his head back. "There you go," he grunted. He slapped your ass just hard enough to get your attention. "You're such a good slut. Does it feel good cumming for me while I breed you?"
You still couldn't answer him; each thrust knocked the air from your lungs, leaving your mouth open as you gasped, squealed, and wriggled in his grasp. Geralt didn't seem to mind. With a final thrust, he buried himself. His hand in your hair held you in place and tinged your scalp with a pleasurable sort of pain as the last of your orgasm ebbed away, leaving your clit throbbing in time with your heartbeats.
It was a welcomed feeling when his release painted your walls—a feeling that made your brain foggy. And despite the haze clouding your thoughts, you knew in that moment you would give yourself to this man. Not only your heart, but your body as well. You knew that if there was a way, you would give him what he wanted, and you would let him breed you.
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angelltheninth · 1 year
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Little Pleasures on the Road
Pairing: Geralt x Fem!Reader
Tags: nsfw, smut, outdoor sex, clothed sex, making out, groping, dry humping, coming in pants, nipple sucking
Word count: 0.6k
Kinktober Day 5: Dry Humping
A/N: Got to my man Geralt for kinktober! I can't stop thinking about him.
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Geralt was already painfully hard by the time you came back from the waterfall, still in a towel and a little cold. You glanced over him with one eyebrow raised and chuckled, "I knew you'd peak. Pervert."
He hummed and smirked at the corner of his mouth, "I don't have to, I already know what you look like naked and wet." Geralt took a few long steps towards you, his hands just under your ass and lifting you up.
"Geralt! Your clothes! I'm still wet!" Both of you laughed, Gerlat's own slightly muffled by your breasts. Feeling his warm breath on your cool skin made your head spin just a little, causing you to fist your hands into his sleeves, the towel slowly falling from your body.
"I don't mind you being wet. But I really should help you warm up. Let's sit by the fire!" Geralt couldn't help the teasing smirk from gracing his face as he sat down cross-legged, siting you in his lap with the tent on the front of his pants. "Of course that's not the only thing I'm after."
You rolled your eyes, draping your hands over his shoulders and bending your knees slightly to draw yourself even closer, "I figured. You're really easy to read Geralt."
Instead of responding with words Geralt responded with his lips, pressing them against yours. You replied right away, parting them for his tongue and sighing into his warm mouth, your hips rolling on their own. Geralt's hands traveled your naked back, his rough fingers pressing and massaging, then traveling to your ass and grabbing a nice handful of your cheeks, driving your pelvis forward.
The rough material of his pants brushed against your clit, his cock throbbing and hot even though his pants.
"That's not just water is it sweetheart?" You didn't have to answer him, he already knew how wet you got for him, how easily you fell apart beneath his hands, his lips. How easily you spread your legs for him and his big cock.
You could imagine it clearly. Fully erect and pulsing for you, a thick pearl of cum sliding from the angry red tip and down the shaft, more and more gathering, forming a stain on the front of his pants the more his hips jolted upwards and you pushed them back down, only adding to the wetness.
Geralt's mouth travels down your neck, his teeth barely brushing against your nipples before closing his mouth around one, pinching and rolling the other between his fingers.
"You're so sensitive." He whispers against your hard nipple, licking over the swollen bud as he starts to buck his hips faster an faster into yours. You fist and pull onto Geralt's hair, guiding his mouth from your breast to your hungry mouth. As you lightly nip on his bottom lip you can feel him growl his release, his hips grinding wildly into yours, his clothed cock twitching against your wet cunt, sending you into your own orgasm.
He pulls away and leans his forehead against your shoulder, your combined heavy breathing, the sounds of the crackling fire and the low sounds of the wildlife in the forest. "I think..." You relax into his embrace, "I think that you're the one who needs to wash up now."
"Indeed." He tilts his head upwards, a blissful grin on his face as he offers, "Perhaps you want to join me?"
"To clean you up with my mouth?" You licked your lips deliberately, watching as his golden eyes follow. His cock gives another needy twitch, already hardening again despite him just coming mere moments ago. "I feel like you like that idea a lot."
Geralt doesn't even remove you from his lap, he just stood up, making you giggle. His hands braced under your thighs as he gave you a small, teasing peck on the lips before taking of in the direction of the waterfall.
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uncharted4bliss · 5 months
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the world needs more premature ejaculation smuts please please i’m begging
753 notes · View notes
boxofbonesfic · 8 months
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Title: Tonality [4]
Pairing: Prince!Geralt x Princess!Reader
previous chapter
Summary: “The white wolf wants you. He’ll have no other.” As you grieve the loss of your father, your mother marries the king. Whilst you struggle to acclimate to your new life, you begin to suspect the interest your new brother has in you is less than familial.
Warnings: 18+ Only, Dark Fantasy, Darkfic, Step-cest, Medieval/GoT inspired AU, (Future)Smut, Dubcon/Noncon, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, MINORS DNI!!
A/N: a little more story, a little more tension, a little mor everything! what do you guys always, please mind the warnings, and enjoy!😊🥰 divider by @firefly-graphics​
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 The Nilfgaardian banner snaps in the sharp, salt-laden breeze, the dark fabric bearing the crest of its namesake. The bright yellow sun mirrors the one in the cloudless sky above the keep. From your room, you can see their approach long before they reach the gates, a thin vein of black weaving through the countryside like a snake. The garrison pauses only briefly in the city, winding through the crowded streets in their pitch colored armor like a long satin ribbon. You grimace at the sight of them, swallowing against the sourness you feel growing at the back of your throat. 
 You do not know why the sight of them fills you with a dark foreboding, a shadow that looms in the space behind your thoughts. Perhaps it is the knowledge that you are expected to greet the Nilfgaardian envoy alongside your mother, the king, and the prince that makes your stomach curdle.  
“My Lady, should we not join their Majesties?” Kassandra’s voice draws you from your churning thoughts. “Her Highness would not be pleased if we were late.” You swallow the dry retort that your mother would not be pleased no matter what you did, and automatically feel guilt over the bitter thought. You grimace before nodding at Kassandra over your shoulder. 
 Nothing good will come of this. The feeling—no, the knowledge—is as familiar to you as your own name, appearing among your thoughts as if it had always been there. Only sorrow will come of this day. 
 “Are you alright, Your Grace?” 
 Your throat tight, you smile. “Y-yes.” I am grim without cause. You shake yourself, smoothing your hands down the stiff, unfamiliar dress. It’s new, gifted to you only this morning as your mother had informed you of her expectations. 
 “You’ll look lovely in this,” she had bade the servants to lay out the massive thing, a veritable ocean of fabric, with so many skirts and stays you find yourself amazed you can even move at all. You detest the restriction and corsetry of it all, fidgeting with a frustrated grimace as Kassandra opens the door. Your thoughts must be plain on your face, for she is quick to reassure you as you pass.
 “You are a vision, Your Grace,” she says, hurrying to your side as she closes the heavy door behind you. Despite your displeasure, her words do comfort you, and you offer Kassandra a watery smile in thanks. “I daresay you shall be the envy of every Lady in attendance.” 
 You laugh dryly. “Even you?” Kassandra’s response is unexpected—she shakes her head, pressing her lips together into a thin, apologetic smile.
 “No, my Lady.” She says softly. There is true pity in her eyes, which stings all the more. “Though there are many in His Majesty’s keep who would treat with the Gods themselves to take your place—and, exalted though it may be, I am not among them.” The words pass unspoken between you, true honesty masked only slightly by propriety. “I would not wish that for all the world.”
 The throne room is as packed with bodies as it was at your mother’s coronation only a few scant weeks prior, servants weaving deftly in and out of the crowd. It parts easily for you, people scrambling out of your path as you make your way toward the throne. Geralt stands to the king’s left, and you feel the weight of his gaze upon you so heavily it is as though he has touched you with his hand. 
 “My King. I trust you are well this morning?” He heaves a heavy sigh at your question, massaging the graying hair at his temple. 
 “As well as can be expected, given the circumstances.” King Vesemir graces you with a tired smile. “But I am glad these worries are mine. Would that they fall on mine own shoulders and save yours.” Of these troubles, you know only what little you have managed to glean from casual conversation and your own observations—the Lord of Nilfgaard has sent his envoy, along with a garrison of troops, to treat with the king. 
 Your mother scoffs. “You are a King, my love,” she says, tilting her regal head at him. “You can do nothing without rousing at least a little of the rabble.” 
 You take your place next to her, skirting around the prince with a wide berth. Your mother reaches for your hand, patting it as she nods approvingly at you.
 “You look as lovely as I thought you would.” Somehow, her complement makes you like your clothing even less. The dress is heavy and cumbersome, the corset laced so tight a deep breath makes the seams groan. 
 “It is the color.” Geralt’s interjection makes your mother’s smile thin and tighten, until the edges seem brittle like paper. “It suits you, sister.” Is there no line he will not cross? From behind his wide shield of plausible deniability he mocks you, his mouth quirking innocently as if he is unaware of the boundary he dances upon. Gracious acceptance is the only play you have, and he knows it as well. 
 “You are too kind, my Prince.” You clasp your hands together and face forward. It is surreal, almost, to see the calm with which he regards you now, when only a week ago he had raged at your door like a madman. Had you not seen it yourself, you would not think it possible. Though you would blame him for it, the nervous twisting of your stomach is not Geralt’s fault alone. The ill feeling that had taken root in your belly at the sight of the Nilfgaardian envoy still left you with a sour taste on your tongue, one that did not seem to wash away. 
 And the dreams…
 You shudder to think of them, the dark, creeping things that keep you awake long after the halls of the king’s keep have fallen silent. You have not wandered from your rooms again to your knowledge, but you’ve slept so little in the past week that you suspect it is less a matter of your self control and more the lack of opportunity. The nails on your fingers, hidden by the cumbersomely long sleeves of your dress, are bitten down to the quick. It is a new habit you’ve developed sitting in the crushing dark as you wait for the dreams to come. 
 Your father’s rotting face swims before you again. 
 Sugar sweet—  
 You twist the heavy fabric of your sleeves in your nervous hands as you stare hard at the stone floor between your feet. 
 “What troubles you, Little Doe?” Geralt’s voice is as much of a surprise as his proximity, his side lightly pressing against your own as he leans down. You drop your hands to your sides like deadweight, suddenly aware of his eye. 
 “And why would you think me troubled?” You ask curtly. The prince’s wolfish grin sends a strange, hot pulse straight to your core, one you vehemently try to ignore. You are under no pretense, you know what the prince is, who he is. He has gone out of his way to show you, and yet—
 “I am apt to know trouble when I see it.” 
 The throne room doors slam open, leaving you no time to respond as every eye is drawn to the entrance. The instant hush that falls over the room is so deep that the herald’s voice is like a crack of thunder. At the same time, your stomach tightens. The dark warning in your heart rings again like a bell, clear and true. Though you still do not quite grasp its meaning, the message is clear—whatever you’d been meant to avoid had now come to pass, leaving no room for escape or denial. 
 “Presenting His Lordship, Duke Emhyr of Nilfgaard!” The duke sweeps into the throne room, his ink-black cloak billowing behind him. There are two of his own guards flanking him in their telltale black armor, like pools of animated shadow. Their faces are hidden by their helms, the sides carved like griffin wings. 
 The duke stops before the throne, dropping down to one knee. 
 “My King.” His accented common turns the words up at the edges, almost like a question. “Hail.” His face is handsome but severe, high cheekbones, fierce, beady eyes, and a thin mouth that curls up at the corners, just like his words. There is a scar on his face, long and thin and jagged, stretching from his left temple to the right side of his chin. His already wan smile thins further as he turns to your mother. 
 “My Queen.” 
 “Lord Emhyr.” The duke’s smile is wan as he dips his head again. “I bid thee welcome. I trust you found the journey pleasant enough.” The words are empty pleasantries, merely frivolous formalities exchanged before the truth is allowed to be addressed. 
 “Aye, Majesty, as enjoyable as one can find a carriage journey.” He straightens back up. “I would extend my many congratulations on your union. The Gods themselves could not have delivered a more beautiful Queen.” 
 To your surprise, it is Geralt who speaks next. 
 “We did miss you at the celebration, my Lord.” The remark is meant to sound like a casual observation—you know it is not. “Quite a pity.”
 Emhyr’s jaw tics. “Indeed.” He looks over his left shoulder, and motions the guards forward. “My deepest regrets. As I previously expressed to His Majesty, my presence was required elsewhere. As I am sure you recall, we do share a border with the Elves.” He spits the word like a curse. “Occasionally those savages do need a good reminding of where their lands end, and ours begin, Your Grace.” 
 You shudder. There are few elves left south of the heavily policed Nilfgaardian border, but you have met some. Savages. The word makes your lip curl. They are rather fond of that word, aren’t they?
 “I did bring a—belated—wedding present.” Between the two of them, the guards haul forward a small black chest, the polished wood glinting in the light. He pulls back the lid, and a murmur travels through the gathered courtiers at the sight of the jewels. A small fortune in dark blue sapphires sits within. King Vesemir stands, bidding two of the ivory cloaked kings-guard forward to take the chest.
 “A most precious gift.”
 “The mines remain prosperous. Perhaps Her Highness might have them made into something befitting her loveliness.” A smile creases your mother’s ruby lips, but it is sharp enough to cut. Neither does it reach her narrowed eyes. 
 “We cannot thank you enough for your gracious gift, my Lord.” Her voice is delicate, like breaking glass. “But I do not believe you rode for six days to bear witness to my beauty.” You are left to wonder in the brief moments before Duke Emhyr answers. If he will allow the truth to be broached, or if he will flee from it like a rat from a burning ship. 
 “Indeed my Queen, I have not.” He casts a look around, as if the words he is about to speak are for everyone there, not just the king. “Your Grace, I come before you today with only the deepest respect for your will, authority, and wisdom.” Duke Emhyr chooses his words carefully. He chooses them as carefully as a mason did his stones, stacking each one meticulously on top of the other. “But I do admit my heart longs for clarity on this matter. 
 Not a season past, when His Majesty announced an end to his long mourning period, and indeed his intent to marry once more, I did put forth my own daughter as prospect.” His accusation takes shape, and you watch your mother’s face tighten, her fingers curling around the polished bone arm of her throne. “And before this very court, His Majesty agreed. I had imagined a shared future of prosperity and happiness between both our great houses. I mean no offense, and so I beg pardon—”
 “And yet you have given it.” Your mother’s expression remains placid—her voice less so. You can almost hear the icy words forming on her tongue as her lips part to speak again, but the king silences her, holding up one steady hand. 
 “I appreciate your candor, my Lord,” he leans forward. “But it is Vesemir who rules here, not Emhyr.” All chatter ceases, and the chamber is as quiet as the crypt beneath it. “The decision as to who it is I marry is mine—and mine alone.” King Vesemir stands, descending the short set of steps until he is level with the duke. “It is I who bears the burden of ensuring the prosperity and stability of this realm. And while I am ever thankful for the service you have provided it… you would do well to remember that fact, my Lord.” 
 “Of course, my King. I—I mean only for the betterment of the empire.” It is then that his eye falls to you. “I see no reason a match might not still be made—”
 “Then we shall speak no more about it.” You watch the duke’s jaw tighten, his lips thinning as he fights not to show his displeasure. 
 “As you will, Your Grace.” You have not heard the last of this matter, of that you are certain. A sinking feeling rises in your stomach, like you’ve tumbled freely over the edge of a cliff. There is no going back, the feeling seems to whisper, goosebumps erupting across your flesh. A path has been chosen now and you will walk it—
 “I thank you again for your generous gift, Lord Emhyr,” the dismissal is obvious in the king’s tone. 
 “The pleasure is mine, my liege.” The words sound broken in his mouth, like he’s chewed them up. A cold finger traces down your spine as his eyes meet yours again. “I thank you for your counsel.” 
 —
 The sky is dark, angry black clouds roiling above the keep. You’ve not seen much rainfall in Rivia since your arrival, but today the clouds above you seem full to bursting, the smell of the imminent downpour filling your nostrils. Still, you take your time as you stroll through the gardens, stopping every so often to enjoy the sight of flowers in bloom. 
 “You are enjoying the gardens today, my Lady,” Kassandra’s observance is gently made, though she looks worriedly up at the sky. 
 “I feel I must,” you reply, leaning down to inspect a half-closed bud. “Summer here is drawing to a close, and I must admit I fear the cold.” You offer her a small smile over your shoulder. 
 “Have you no winter in Redania?” She asks, wonder coloring her words. “The land of eternal summer indeed.” 
 “No snow,” you agree, shaking your head. “Tis more like… autumn.” There is a wistfulness to your words you cannot suppress, a longing that brings moisture to your eyes. In truth, you doubt it will matter how many years you spend here at court—Rivia will never feel like home. Kassandra smiles thoughtfully. 
 “I should like to see it, my Lady,” she says. “Twould not be a chore to accompany you—if you wished it so. The winter here is harsh, even within the city walls.” 
 “Aye, winter on the continent is no easy task to weather.” The two of you turn at the sound of a new voice to face the speaker. Duke Emhyr bows respectfully, removing his cap as he does so. “I did not mean to intrude—I find the gardens less familiar than I imagined,” he adds, a small smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “Might I trouble you for an escort?” 
 You had not seen the duke since his spectacle at court the day prior, the matter of which had the courtiers aflutter with gossip. You suppose you, like Duke Emhyr, had been equally blindsided in the matter of your mother’s courtship and her subsequent marriage. Nervously, you wonder if his feelings of dissatisfaction—and possible animosity—extend to you by proxy. Kassandra curtsies, and you nod, forcing a small, charitable smile onto your lips. 
 “O-of course, my Lord.” You reply. “I myself find the task of navigating the keep daunting, despite calling this place home.” Kassandra falls into step just behind you, and you must physically stop yourself from commanding her to walk beside you. Though you’ve little personal regard for the importance of blood and titles, you know here in Rivia those things matter above all else. The duke is more than happy to ignore her, his hawkish eyes weighing heavily on you. 
 “How long has it been since your arrival at the White Keep, if you will indulge my curiosity?” 
 “Nearly three months.” Though you have kept count of every passing day since your arrival, to say it aloud makes homesickness rear up in your chest. The duke clucks his tongue pityingly. 
 “Tis a shame. Redania is quite beautiful this time of year. I have had the pleasure of many a visit.” He clasps his hands behind his back and casts a look at the dreary sky. “Nilfgaard is my home, but I would be a liar if I said I did not envy the beauty of the southern jewel.” The wistfulness in his voice inspires thoughts of warm autumn nights scented with pine and faded sunlight. But a warning echoes in your heart at the false note in it, the one that reminds you of the coy, prying questions of your mother’s ladies in waiting, only cloaked in a cleverer disguise.
 “Indeed.” You round the corner of a hedge. “I have never seen snow, now that I think of it. I should much like to, now that I am older.” 
 “Never seen snow?” The duke echoes your words, replacing your simple desire with shock. “Though I would not speak ill of your late father—Redania has never seen a finer Regent—I do believe he kept you far too sheltered.” It takes effort to keep your smile from going thin at the mention of your father. As  if in response, a dull ache throbs in your chest. 
 “How lucky for us, then, that his death should bring me here.” You flick the words from your tongue like the lashing of a whip. There is a brief moment of dark satisfaction as the duke’s eyes widen, and his confident words falter. 
 “My sincerest apologies, Princess, I did not mean—”
 “No, of course not.” You reply, swallowing against the sudden lump in your throat. “Forgive me, Duke Emhyr. My father I are—were, quite close.” You offer him an apologetic smile. “Might we speak of something else?” 
 “Of course, of course. My deepest sympathies.” He casts a furtive glance in your direction. “I hope you have been enjoying your time here, despite the… unfortunate circumstances.” You nod primly—for what words do you have to  describe the aching emptiness that fills you at the thought that home is a distant             thing now, the memory of a place you no longer belong. 
 “I have found ways to occupy myself.” You feel as thin as your smile. “The White Keep is large, there are many ways to spend ones time.”
 “And Her Majesty has certainly taken to her role,” he continues. “She has taken to court as though she were born here.” There is a note of bitterness in his voice. “Has she spent much time in Rivia? Surely during His Majesty’s rather short courtship—”
 “I know little of my mother’s courtship,” you say flatly, your eyes narrowed. “If you wish to know about it, perhaps you should ask her.” This time, it is difficult to leash your ire. You grow tired of the duke’s probing, his thinly veiled attempts to pick information from conversation behind the shield of feigned ignorance.
 “Highness—”
 “I trust you will can your way from here.” There is an unfamiliar coldness that underscores your words, one that uncomfortably reminds you of your mother. It is like hearing her own voice from your mouth, leaving a sour taste on your tongue. “Lady Kassandra, l believe we should take our leave.” 
 “At once, My Lady.”
 You leave him at the entrance to the gardens in the courtyard, sweeping past as his eyes bore into your back. 
 —
 “How does it end?” You are sat before the fire, a book held tenuously in your hands. Your loose, traditional dress is folded beneath you primly as the flames dance in the hearth. “How does it end?” Your father repeats warmly, chuckling as he leans forward to rest a hand on your shoulder. “You stopped reading.” 
 You can’t quite recall where you were now, the words seeming to shift on the page as you squint at them. 
 “I… I don’t remember now,” you say, glancing over your shoulder at your father. Though the flames are bright, his face is shadowed, but you get the feeling that he is smiling. 
 “The princess has just met the wolf,” he replies. “She doesn’t know it yet, but he plans to devour her whole—body, and spirit.” You look down at the page. “She is careful, the princess, and clever, but the wolf is sly, and he is not the only thing she has to fear.” You do not know why, but his words fill you with an incomparable sorrow. 
 “What else does she have to fear? Is the wolf not enemy enough?” You are crying. You don’t know why, but you are, tears pouring down your face and dripping messily off of your chin to stain the pages with salt. 
 “Weep not, daughter. She may yet avoid his jaws—and if not that, then perhaps she might at least turn him to her will. But the peacock—she is her true enemy.” 
 “A bird?”
 “Yes, dear girl,” your father’s voice goes strangely quiet as the fire burns low in the hearth, and the sitting room is shrouded in gloom. “For while her pretty feathers distract you, her beak plucks out your eyes.” 
 You wake blearily, blinking in the darkness as you struggle back to wakefulness. Instead of your bed, you are knelt on the cold, stone floor in front of the half-dead hearth. The embers that still smolder within are not enough to give off true heat, and pins shoot through your legs when you struggle to your feet. It is frigid in here, and you shiver, clutching your thin nightgown tightly around yourself. 
 You’ve no memory of leaving your bed, nor of kneeling in front of the hearth, and you sniffle as you make your way back beneath the canopy above your bed. There is a familiar ache in your tight throat that feels like you’ve been crying, and when you lift a shaking hand to your cheek. 
 Your face is wet with tears.
 —
 Your mother strokes your head as you sob, your tears soaking into her gown. 
 “I—I fear sleep, I fear waking,” you rasp, wiping at your sore eyes with the back of one trembling hand. “T-there is no respite from them. I close my eyes in one place and open them in another—” A hiccoughing sob cuts the words in half. “Mother I fear I… I fear I shall go mad if I see father again. His face—!” You bury your head in her lap as another round of shuddering sobs wracks your limp body. 
 It has been years since you have sought your mother’s comfort like this, and in truth you cannot remember the last time it was even offered. She had been surprised to see you at her chamber door at this hour, disheveled and still clad in your nightgown, but she had let you in after you’d tearfully recounted the contents of your dreams. 
 She strokes your head. “Nightmares, my love. Nothing but terrors spun up by your mind—brought on from stress, no doubt.” Her hand is cool and comforting against your forehead. “I shall have the healer assemble something for you.” 
 “T-thank you, mother.” You offer her a watery smile.
 “Anything for you, my love.” She strokes your cheek affectionately, the bandage wrapped around her index finger rough against your skin. “I do so hate to hear of your suffering, I will do what I can to appease it.” You smile wider, even as you swallow back the inappropriately bitter feeling that says you have been suffering all this time regardless. This was the response you had desired from her all those weeks ago when you’d begged her to send you home—and now, for some reason, it feels… hollow. 
 “What happened to your finger?” You ask, and she sighs, waving her hand dismissively. 
 “A hairpin, nothing to worry yourself over.” You dry your eyes, dabbing at them with a handkerchief. Your mother barely acknowledges the timid knock at the door before the chambermaid pokes her head inside. 
 “Highness? H-His Majesty is here.” 
 Your mother does not look surprised to hear this. If anything, the corners of her mouth curl up into a sly smile for half an instant before she nods. 
 “I see. I shall see to him in a moment—” The maid squeals as the King himself pushes past her, his eyes wild. 
 “Thayet!” He calls your mother’s name with a hoarse, desperate voice. “I have waited over an hour for you—oh.” He seems to note your presence with all of the recognition one would give a fly. His bright, golden eyes are cloudy with confusion—as though he hasn’t the faintest idea who you are, or why you are there. Recognition finally lights in his eyes, and he nods at you. 
“Princess. It is… quite late,” he says slowly, as if he is only now realizing that fact himself. “Should you not be abed?” Your face heats with embarrassment. 
 “Ah, y-yes, my King. I was… troubled.” Your eyes dart between him and your mother. “But mother has allayed my fears.” You gather your shawl about your shoulders, bowing your head respectfully. Of course he would visit her as a husband—that is a fact you suppose you have known since you came to this place, but to catch the King in your mother’s bedchamber was another thing entirely. 
 The eagerness in his eyes as he looks at her, the way he licks his lips—it reminds you uncomfortably of Geralt, and of the need you see mirrored in his amber eyes. You retreat from the sitting room, though the sound of your mother’s voice makes you glance over your shoulder one last time as the door begins to close. 
 “I shall send Callista with a sleeping draught,” your mother calls at your retreating back. “For the dreams.” 
 Your stomach turns uncomfortably as you watch the king latches onto your mother, pulling her close as he trails desperate kisses down her arm. You are too far away to hear the words he growls through his gritted teeth before ripping at the bandage on her thumb and sucking the injured digit into his mouth. 
 The door closes with a loud bang, leaving you alone in the dark, empty hall. 
 The peacock, your father whispers in your memory as you shuffle back toward your room in the early hours.
 She’ll pluck out your eyes. 
to be continued…
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shellyshellshell · 24 days
Text
The Offering: Part Four
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Attn: Maybe now I’ve gotten this outta my system I can write Collide 🙃 this is the chapter I’m sure everyone has been looking forward too tho so there’s that at least! Hope you all enjoy!
Word Count: 3,067
Pairing: Ancient Diety Geralt (The White Wolf) x Reader
Summary: Some trouble arises.
Warnings: 18+, smidge of angst, violence, killing, longing, oral sex (female receiving), sex (p in v)
Previous Part:
Part Three
After the two of your first kiss, Geralt became more bold with his affections. He was always holding you, not being able to stand having you far from him. Just now you were awaking with him pressed up behind you. “Mmm,” you hummed as you stretched, before freezing quickly when you felt Geralt’s erection against you. “I’m sorry Flower,” he murmured into your hair. You turn to face him and cup his cheek. “Are you really?,” you ask him. “What?,” he questioned. “Aroused by me?,” you whisper. “More than you could ever know, but I am not trying to pressure you Flower. I know how much you’ve been through,” he says.
“What if you tire of me?,” you ask, old fears creeping back in. “I will never tire of you. You were made for me Little Flower. You are mine and I am yours, and that’s how it will always be,” he said with certainty. Instead of saying anything, you feel yourself soften at his words and lean in to kiss him. “Mmm,” he hums as he holds you tighter. When you pull away his eyes are alight with want. “I don’t know if I’m ready Geralt,” you tell him. “I’ll wait as long as I have to Flower,” he assured you with another soft kiss.
The next few weeks go on the same. You can tell Geralt is eager for more but he is so, so very patient it’s making you trust and admire him all the more. “Geralt,” you say one day after lunch. “Yes my love?,” he asks. “Could we go for a walk? It’s nice out today,” you say. “Of course,” he replies with a soft smile. He takes your hand and leads you out into the forest trail. “You mentioned before when you healed me you could do other things,” you began. “You’re curious about the powers I wield,” he responds. “Yes,” you reply. “I can heal, and you’ve seen my strength. I can control creation and destruction as well,” he tells you. “How so?,” you ask as the two of you come upon a clearing.
He stands behind you before wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close. “Watch,” he says softly while holding out a hand. While standing against him you feel a slight tremor in the ground. You start to ask him what’s happening when you see serval blue flowers sprout from the ground before you. “Oh,” you gasp. He kisses your cheek before plucking them from the earth and handing all of them apart from one to you. You bury your nose in them, inhaling their sweet scent while he watches you. When he has your full attention, he holds the one he kept in his palm and you watch it wither to dust. Your eyes widen. “C- can you do that to whatever you wish?,” you ask. “Any living thing,” he replies. That should terrify you but it doesn’t. You know Geralt would never hurt you.
You take the walk a bit further, see a baby deer with their mother, enjoy the day, but it’s quickly becoming dark. “Come Flower,” Geralt says as he extends his hand. You take it and let him guide you back to the cottage. You two sit at the table eating dinner. When you finish, you go and sit astraddle Geralt’s lap. “What’s this?,” he questions. “I just… wanted to be close to you,” you tell him. He pulls you closer and buries his face into your neck, breathing you in. When his lips run across your skin you shudder. “Hmm,” he chuckles. “It tickles,” you say shakily.
“What about this?,” he asks before kissing your neck. He doesn’t stop until he finds the best spot, the spot that makes you squirm in his lap. “Geralt,” you gasp. “Yes, Flower?,” he questions between kisses. “Do.. do you love me?,” you ask him. “More than life itself,” he says without hesitation. You want to ask how he knows for sure but his mouth is on yours now and your mind is fuzzy. Geralt has told you everything you could possibly want to hear, has shown you nothing but love and care, but for some reason you’re still hesitant. You want to relent to this undeniable pull between the two of you, but you’re terrified. If an average man like Phillip could so easily forsake you, then what could this absolutely ethereal being want with you?
“I can feel you thinking Little Flower. Anything doubt you could possibly have about the way I feel about you is untrue,” he says while caressing your face. Tears start to form in your eyes. “Flower,” he says with a pained look. “I- I’m sorry. You’ve just been so good to me. I can feel your affection and care for me. The connection between us, I can feel that too. You’re so reassuring so why do I still feel afraid?,” you sob. “Because of your soft heart, my love. I told you, they have hurt you and this is what I meant,” he tells you. You contemplate that. “Let’s lie down, Little Flower. I know you are tired,” he says before kissing you softly. Before you can protest he lifts you and carries you over to the pile of furs on the floor, and pulls you tight to his chest. “Do not fret, Flower,” he said before kissing the top of your head.
It didn’t take long for you to drift off to sleep, not having realized how tired you were. Your sleep seemed to be cut short though when you were woken with a start. “Someone’s at the door Flower,” Geralt tells you. He gets up and you follow closely behind him. When he opens the door you’re surprised to see Phillip and Rosemary. “You?,” they ask in unison. “Me,” you reply as Geralt still keeps you behind him protectively. “But you were left for the White Wolf. The village assumed he ate you,” Rosemary said in shock. “I haven’t yet,” Geralt then says, making your face feel hot. “You’re the White Wolf?,” Phillip then asks. Geralt simply nods, trying to keep himself in check knowing automatically who the two of them were.
“The village kicked us out after the alter was destroyed. Said we doomed them to ruin. We’re without food, shelter,” Rosemary then says. “Well you will not find either here,” Geralt tells her. “You won’t help us?,” Phillip said angrily. “After what the two of you did to my Flower, you’re lucky you aren’t dead,” he glowers. “Maybe we’ll just take it then,” Phillip says, quickly brandishing a dagger and shoving it into Geralt’s chest. “No!,” you scream. Before Phillip can make another move, Geralt grabs him by the throat and lifts him from the ground. Then you hear Rosemary screech and brandish a dagger of her own. “No!,” you shout again before you run out the door, and grab her wrist.
You push her away before she comes back and knocks you down. She’s overtop of you and you realize this is it, this is your dream, and how you will meet your end. You’re holding her arm with all your might when you hear footsteps come towards you. You fear Phillip is coming to help her but then you see Geralt behind her. He grabs her head, and with one swift movement he snaps her neck then tosses her to the side. “Flower,” he pants before lifting you off the ground. He carries you inside, and locks the door before slumping against it with you in his lap. “No,” you sob as you cup your hands near the dagger, unsure of what to do. “S’okay Flower,” he says before pulling it out and discarding it.
You shake your head as tears fly everywhere. “It’s all my fault. I— I wouldn’t let you kill them. Now you’re going to die,” you say hysterically. “My love, I cannot die,” he says taking your face in his hands. “You what?,” you stammer, trying to focus on what he’s saying. “I will likely go away for a while, but once I’ve healed I will come right back to you, whole once again,” he says. “I’m sorry,” you say softly. “You have nothing to be sorry for Little Flower. I will be okay,” he says, his breathing becoming more and more shallow. “Geralt,” you say as his eyes flutter shut. “Geralt,” you sob into his chest. You cried so hard for so long you didn’t realize you exhausted yourself and fell asleep there against him.
The first thing you feel is Geralt’s strong arms wrapping around you, holding you so tight. “Flower,” he murmurs. “Geralt!,” you shout, head snapping up quickly. Before he can say anything else your lips are on his in a desperate kiss. “My Flower,” he says against your lips. “Yours,” you agree before kissing him again. “Are you alright my love?,” he asks, as if he isn’t the one who just died and came back. “No, I’m not,” you tell him honestly. “What’s—,” he began before you stop him short. “I know you can’t truly die, but the feeling of losing you was very real. All I had was grief and regret when you laid here lifeless, Geralt. I don’t want to hold myself back any longer. You gave your life for me, and now, i- if you feel like it, I want to give myself to you,” you tell him while pushing the top of your dress down off your shoulders, setting your breasts free.
“Flower, are you sure?,” he asks, his intense gaze roaming over your features and then down to your breasts. You can’t help but feel that he’s hard beneath you. “I thought I’d faced loss… aside from my parents, I’ve never truly known loss until I had to imagine a world without you. Please, take my offering. Please,” you murmur against his lips. That’s all it takes for his lips to crash against yours and him to pull you flush to him. He’s kissing you just as desperately as you’d kissed him when he first woke up. With shaky hands, you pull off his shirt his shirt and let your hands roam over his skin. He groans beneath you from a simple touch.
His lips leave yours before they’re sliding over your skin and back to the spot on your neck. He sucks and nips at it as you squirm in his lap, pressing your core against his length. He then wraps both arms around you and lifts you up until your breasts are by his face. Then his mouth is there. Kissing, sucking, laving the tender flesh. “Geralt,” you moan. You’re all sensation. It feels as if your body is on fire, a feeling you’ve never felt before. His hand finds your bottom then he helps your hips rock against his. “Just like that my love. Take your pleasure,” he tells you. He sucks a nipple back into his mouth and it doesn’t take long before you’re coming. You mewl against him as it washes over you. “Please more,” you pant.
He stands and carries you over to your makeshift bed before standing you on your feet and stripping you. He takes you in, eyes devouring every inch of your body, before pulling you close again. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he rasps before kissing you. “Lay down for me Flower,” he then tells you. You do as he says before he strips himself and lays over top of you. He kisses your lips before making his way down your body. When he reaches your hips, you tense up. “What’s wrong Little Flower?,” he ask as he stills. “Are you going to—,” you begin. “Am I going to eat this pretty little pussy of yours? That was my intention my love. Do you not want me to?,” he asks. “It’s just I’ve never… no one’s ever,” you stammered.
“Of course he didn’t…. I want to, if you’ll let me. If you don’t enjoy it, all you have to do is say so sweet Flower,” he assures you. “O- okay. You can,” you say nervously. With the first flick of his tongue against your clit, you gasp. He begins working you over until you’re a writhing mess beneath him. “Does it feel good Flower. Tell me,” he asks as he pulls away and places a finger inside you. “Yessss,” you moan. “Mmm,” he hums as puts his mouth back on you. At some point he adds a second finger and the sensations he’s pulling from you are almost too much. “Geralt,” you cry out with your release. He moves his fingers and kisses your pussy gently, working you through your orgasm.
Once you’ve come down, Geralt begins kissing his way up your body. “Are you ready my love?,” he asks before reaching down and rubbing the head of his cock through your folds. “Yes,” you say as the feeling of his sex against yours makes your eyes roll back. He pressed in slowly and you could tell he was big, so much bigger than Phillip was, and you feel yourself tense a bit. “I- I dunno if it’ll fit,” you tell him. “Just relax Flower. You were made for me. It will fit,” he said with certainty. He caressed your face and kissed you gently, helping you relax. Once he feels you loosen up, he pushes forward and your walls give way to his girth.
Your thighs shook around his waist as you clung to his biceps. “Uhhh Flower. You feel… so good,” he huffs out. “So do you,” you whimper. He’s sat still inside of you, and just when you think you’ll die if he doesn’t move, his hips pull back slightly before he pushes back in. He’s so gentle, taking the same loving care he always does with you. He sits back on his knees to free his hands. He lets them roam over your body. You arch into his every touch and he smiles softly in approval. “You are everything I never knew I wanted Little Flower,” he tells you. “You’re everything I never knew I needed, and didn’t know I could have,” you reply. “You have me. All of me. Forever,” he tells you before leaning down to kiss you.
“Mmm,” you whine as he picks up the pace a little. You rise up, wanting to be closer, and hold onto his shoulders. He sits back on his knees and brings a you with him. “Geralt,” you gasp. He has you right there at the edge. “Come for me Flower,” he husks. With a few more strokes you’re falling apart in his arms. He has one arm around your ass while the other cradles the back of your head, and his eyes are locked on your face as your orgasm wracks through your body. “Just when I thought you couldn’t get any more beautiful,” he tells you.
You throw your arms around him and kiss him fervently. You kiss across his jaw and down his neck before latching onto the skin at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. “Ooh,” he gasps. You keep sucking at the sensitive skin as his grip tightens on you. “Flower,” he groans and you can tell he’s holding himself back. “More,” you tell him. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he strains. “You won’t,” you say as you take his face between your hands. “Please. I need more,” you pout. Geralt looks at you and runs a finger across your pouty lip. “Whatever you want Flower. Please do not fret. You want more? I’ll give you more,” he says before laying you back.
He then puts your legs over his shoulders and bends you in half beneath him. When he starts to move it takes your breath. Your mouth falls open but no sound escapes. All you can hear is how wet you are and the sound of skin slapping against skin. “That’s what you needed my love?,” he asks. You nod your head, unable to speak. Geralt smiles down at you before devouring your lips. It seems now you’ve found your voice and begin whining loudly against his lips. You feel another orgasm approaching. “That’s it Little Flower. One more for me before I meet my end,” he begs. You call out his name when you clamp down on him, and as your pussy convulses you pull his seed right from him.
You look up and see him above you, eyes hooded, lips parted slightly as he seems to come unendingly. “Flower,” he breathes. “I love you,” tell him. He looks down at you in awe. “It is I who loves you, Flower. So much that it makes me ache, and has from the moment I first laid eyes on you,” he replies before leaning down to kiss you softly. When he’s done he lifts you up and carries you to the river so you two can clean off. Once there you let him gently clean you off. “Are you sore my Flower?,” he asks. “No,” you reply as you drape your arms around his neck. “Good,” he replied.
You two stay there for a while before he carries you back in, and you realize you don’t see Phillip or Rosemary’s body in the yard. “Disintegrated,” he says as if reading your mind. Once you’re both clothed Geralt is tending to you once again. Getting you water and food before pulling you into his lap and feeding it to you. “What are you thinking?,” he asks. “If you can produce children,” you say shyly. “Do you want children Flower?,” he asks. “Maybe someday, but I think for now I’d like you to myself awhile longer,” you admit. “I can give you children when you’re ready. I control creation, after all. I can stop it as well. I’d never impregnate you without your consent,” he tells you.
“You really are too good to be true,” you say, making him smile. “A dream come true, if you dare,” he teases. “So much better than the dream,” you murmur before he kisses you softly. That night when he takes you to bed, you lay there in his arms feeling more safe and loved than you ever remember being in your entire life, and when you drift off to sleep you dream of little white haired children.
Part Five
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princessaxoxo · 3 months
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What about smut with Geralt but he lets you wear the medallion while you ride him :o
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hope this is what you wanted. 🫶🏻🫶🏻
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Geralt's strong fingers stroked your thigh as you fiddled with his infamous silver medallion. When he saw that you were fascinated by it, he took it off and placed it over your neck. A cheeky grin emerged on his face as he said, "I want to see you wear it while you ride my cock." An excitement sparkled in your eyes.
His coarse hand crept between your legs and touched lightly on your clit before starting to massage. He moved to your entrance, entering and exiting with a finger, finding a rhythm before adding another. You were getting wetter by the moment, and your slickness was becoming more audible. He removed his fingers and sucked off your juices as you whined from the lack of an orgasm.
Geralt grabbed your leg and swung it over his waist; you hovered and grasped his base, giving his cock a couple strokes before lowering yourself.
A deep growl slipped from his lips as you struggled to adjust yourself to his ungodly size. “You can take it, love.” He began to praise you, giving you more confidence and fully letting yourself relax, which allowed him to slide in easier. His cock lingered inside of you for a brief minute, allowing you to settle comfortably before you began to slowly shift your hips. 
"Faster," Geralt demanded as he slapped your ass, his fingernails digging into your flesh and creating impressions. As you accelerated, your back arched and Geralt's eyes darkened, turning from their usual golden hue to a dilated black tone.
His nostrils were flaring, and his jaw stiffened as Geralt wrapped his hand around the back of your neck and hammered into you more quickly, making your mewls louder. The sighs that fell from your lips, the glistening glow of your skin, and his medallion that rested between your bouncing breasts drove Geralt wild.
His hand moved smoothly up your torso and gripped one of your breasts, bringing his mouth closer and sucking on your nipple. With delight, you threw back your head, getting closer to your release. "Geralt," you moaned.
Stars appeared in your vision, and your thighs trembled. While filling you with a load of his seed, Geralt muttered curses to himself and grunted.
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tag list: @shellyshellshell @ellethespaceunicorn @chloe92 @juliaorpll78 @identity2212 @kingliam2019 @beck07990
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fallenangelkitten · 8 months
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Drink Me
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Synopsis: You ask Geralt to drink one of his potions before he fucks you.
Warnings: rough sex, primal, smut, ass play, choking, breading kink, breath play.
Note: I used to be fallenangelbb here on the Henry Cavill side of tumblr but deleted my account and have regretted it ever since. So here I am reposting my work :)
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His hand dragged across my thigh, his growl still echoing in my ears. His fingers left an unseen trail of fire in their wake, causing a shiver to dance up my spine.
“G-Geralt?” I asked, trying desperately to push my nerves to the side. I wanted this, needed this.
He only let out a gruff in response, not once taking hips lips off of my midsection, fangs dragging across my ribs. How was I supposed to be able to ask this of him, let alone think at all with his distractions? I sucked in a breath as he lightly bit down at the junction.
“Speak, girl,” he commanded, lifting his eyes to mine. I was captivated by him. I had been from the moment we’d met all that time ago. His honeyed eyes flashed as he spoke once more. “Patience is a virtue I do not have- not with you. If you think I can’t sense how whatever thoughts that roam your pretty head make you feel, you’re mistaken.”
Heat spread across my cheeks at the bluntness of his words- and know I did. I knew how he could scent me. Pick up on what just thinking of him did to me.
“Drink one of your potions,” there was no point in holding back my thoughts from him.
A roll of shock flashed across his face, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. Only his blank expression with amusement flaring into his fiery orbs. “A potion? What makes you think you could handle me in that state?” As a new wave of heat flowed through my core, a noise grew in the back of his throat. “I see. You want me to take you,” his already earthy voice was somehow even more coarse.
He rose from where I’d laid against the thin mattress, leaving my body cold and utterly empty. I couldn’t help the whine that escaped my lips. An amused grin splayed across his face, the slightest dimple forming. It so rarely happened that it always left me awestruck. He began striding towards the door of the bedchamber. “Do not move, girl.”
My hands clutched at the sheets as I waited but he returned as quickly as he had left. The only difference being the vial he held in his hand, the ominous black liquid sloshing against the glass. My thighs involuntarily squeezed together in anticipation as I watched his head tilt back, the muscles in his neck contracting as he swallowed.
It never took long. I watched the veins under his pale skin work, dispersing it through his body. He had his back turned to me as he pulled the tunic he always wore under his armor over his head. The shinier skin of scars that adorned his back captured my eye; a constant reminder of just how strong he was.
By the time his britches hit the floor and he turned to me, onyx clouded his eyes. Deep veins branched from around them and-
Gods.
The size of him.
He snarled as I watched him move towards the bed, determination laced in his step. I hadn’t realized I had propped myself up onto my elbows until he shoved me back down, calloused fingers ripping into my nightgown. I was bare beneath him, my reflection bouncing off of his twin back orbs.
He didn’t give me the moment to prepare myself as he pried my already quivering legs apart, shoving himself deep into me. A rough hum of satisfaction formed in the back of his throat, a gasp releasing from mine. His movements were steady, but powerful; each one jarring my body.
One of his hands clutched my hip, lifting the lower half of my body off of the mattress with ease. I whimpered as I felt him plunge even deeper than before. My eyes began to drift shut each time he hit that overly sensitive area that only he could access.
They quickly reopened when I felt a hand grip my jaw.
“Look at me while I fuck you.”
Gods. Hearing the gravel in his tone sent a new wave of pleasure through me. I didn’t dare speak, but I held my gaze. I felt his pace quicken and hand sink to my neck, his index still lingering on my jaw. The pressure causing me to quiver and clench against his throbbing cock.
I was dripping, leaking from my entrance. The hand supporting him latched onto my hip, his large fingers gripping onto my bottom. The pressure on my throat increased, causing me to breathe in short pants.
One of his fingers grazed the tight entrance below where his cock continued its assault. He gathered my arousal before it could drip onto the bedding, using it to push into me.
I was pulsing, my mind hazing with the lack of steady oxygen. The feeling of being so very full. But it was the sounds he made- the deep grunts and growls of pleasure- that sent me over the edge. My cunt desperately clung to him, his nails on my neck dug into me as I felt him exhale.
The feeling of his hot cum was relieving inside of me. And I knew he would continue his lax thrusts, ensuring that not a drop left me. I only then realized he allowed my eyes to drift shut, reopening them to his dark gaze watching my every move.
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