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renren-006 · 1 month

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Hi there! I’m an angst addict so I was thinking like a story about the sorcerer ball that Geralt and Yennefer attend in season 3 but with the Reader who is like dating Geralt has to stay behind with Jaskier and Ciri has some jealousy because of Geralt and Yen’s history and starts thinking that our white wolf would prefer her instead….if that makes sense 😭

Preference? | Geralt x Fem Reader

word count: 909

a/n: omg yesss!! i had fun writing this so enjoyyyyy!!

The ball was that evening, and after the long boat ride and fight you, Geralt, and Ciri had to go through, you were looking forward to it. What you didn't expect was Geralt sidelining you with Jaskir and Ciri. You stood there dumbfounded and Yennifer and Geralt explained that it would make more sense to have more people watch Ciri. You watched him leave that night in an elegant outfit and a single kiss before he went towards the castle.

“He loves you, you know that right Y/N” Jaskir said to you.

“How Jask. Look at Yennefer. I'll never look like her, and I'll never be as powerful…” you told him. You and Jaskir were best friends before Geralt even entered the picture. He glanced over at you, seeing you go through heartbreak after heartbreak. This time, both of you wanted this to be the last. He hugged you as Geralt disappeared beyond sight.

Ciri, however, didn't notice anything. Absorbed in her own little world for a bit, or at least for most of the night, she didn't let on that she had been listening to you. She saw the way Yennifer was eying Geralt. It wasn't until a few card games that she talked about it.

“I prefer you over Yennefer.” She told you. Jaskir looked at you, seeing the smile and shock on your face. “I don't like that he didn't ask you to go.”

“I…I don't either, Ciri” you told the young girl.

“He loves you. I think he's just being stupid,” Ciri told you, comforting you. The young girl had taken a strong liking to you in the years you had been with and known her. She thought of you like a mother, a guardian, someone she knew would lay down her life to protect her. You managed to find her before Geralt and keep her safe while helping her find your lover and her guardian. Once you did, it felt like a family reunion. You remember meeting Yen with them and discovering her betrayal. Seeing her now and knowing she was trying to be genuine, you had no reason to worry, yet you did. The rest of the night was a mix of worry and jealousy.

You worried he would realize how much better the woman before him that night was than you. How powerful she was and how it barely compared to you. How could she teach Ciri far better than you could about magic, even though Ciri had mastered most, if not all, of what you had taught her so far. You just wanted Geralt to love you for you, and you felt as thought you might always be compared to her.

When morning came, and Geralt walked through the door with Yennifer, you noticed he wore a different outfit. You glanced at Yennifer, who was doing her best not to look over at you. Her face was flush, and her eyes were cast down away from you. Your worries were confirmed.

“I knew it,” you said. Geralt's eyes flashed with worry, worry that you had figured it out. You stormed out the back door, and Geralt followed after.

“Y/N! Y/N/N!” he yelled. Your flowy flower dress flowed in the wind as you continued storming off towards the woods, wishing to be with the trees. Soon after, you fell to the ground in the middle of a clearing, hearing and feeling the forest energy.

“Are you alright?” Geralt asked, kneeling next to you.

“You slept with Yennifer didn't you?” you asked, tears in your eyes. “You know I'm nothing compared to her. How could I ever expect to be better than her? You'll always want her…”

“Y/N that's not true” Geralt said, his husky voice causing you to shiver away.

“Yes it is” you said, power serging from you, rumbling the woods. “I am nothing compared to Geralt, I have less power, less beauty...”

“Y/N! I told her I wanted to marry you "Geralt said, holding your face in his hands.

“What?” you said. Suddenly everything in you went quiet, including the world around you.

“I told her I wanted to spend my life with you from now on. That she meant nothing to me anymore.” Geralt's words cut through you. Yennifer's downward look wasn't because she was sorry she slept with him, but because she was sorry she tried to and got rejected. You realize that Geralt's clothes were probably because he was tired from the long night of fighting that Yen lent him clothes, not because he wanted to stay.

“You want to marry me?” you asked him, tears in your eyes

“Yes,” he said firmly.

“I'm sorry…I was…” you stumbled over words.

“It's okay. Darling i understand” He said kissing your tears away, “I understand why you got there. Why you think I loved her? I don't”

“I know that now” you said slightly laughing, “I love you”

“I know, darling,” he said. He helped you stand and walk back towards that little cottage with your family inside. Yennifer came over and apologized profusely. She wanted nothing more than to be friends and to set up the wedding. She was happy he found someone like you and that she wouldn't ever get in the way. You were happy your worries were not true and that Geralt was the man for you forever.

#witcher geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt x you #geralt and ciri #geralt z rivii #the witcher x reader #the witcher #henry cavill

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sillyrabbit81 · 1 year

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Love Sick

Prompt: Slow & Romantic, Medical Play from @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden (x) Thank you!

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Female Reader

Word Count: Approx. 2.9k

Warnings: Smut, hand job, oral sex (m receiving), mentions of body fluids, made up medical treatments.

Authors Note: As always I need to thank my amazing mates and readers @nashibirne , @amberangel112 and @henryobsessed your thoughtful and honest comments (and special knowledge 🤣) are always appreciated.

I found this prompt particularly tricky as medical play isn't a kink I'm overly familiar with, but in the end I'm pretty happy with how it turned out and I hope you enjoy it.

I'm sorry, but I barely had time to read over it, it was edited by me, on the fly there will be errors

Dividers by me.

Masterlist

Celebration Masterlist

There is a knock on the door to your small hut. Your hands are busy pouring a heavy pot of freshly prepared Eucalyptus oil through a cheesecloth strainer, so you call out to the visitor.

“Come in.”

You hope it's a customer, you could do with the money, but immediately curse yourself. You love being a healer, but you hate that you often have to rely on the misfortune of others. Maybe it will be a young woman, happy to be pregnant and they’ll ask you for assistance to deliver the baby when the time comes.

You hear the door open and close. Still pouring the freshy made oil, you glance at the door and very nearly lose the preparation that took you over six hours to make.

“Geralt,” you whisper.

His brows raise slightly in surprise as he greets you by name in a low rumble that you hadn’t heard in nearly two years.

You’re frozen by the shock of seeing the Witcher again and by the uncertainty of how to react to his unexpected appearance at your door. You stare at each other, he seems as unable to decide what to do as you are.

Geralt's brows raise higher and he says your name again, this time with urgency and while taking long strides to your side.

You turn back to your work and curse. In your bewilderment, you haven’t stopped pouring and oil is leaking over the sides of the cheese cloth and onto your table and apron.

Geralt takes the pot out of your hands and you start to mop up the spill. It doesn’t look like you lost too much and you sigh with relief. When you’ve wiped up as much as you can, you try to take your apron off, but your fingers are oily and make gripping the tie difficult.

“Let me,” Geralt says. You jump, you didn’t realise he was standing so close behind you.

His fingers brush across the bare skin of your neck as he pulls at the strings of your apron and his touch makes your spine tighten and lock. His body presses against your back as he reaches around your waist and unties the long doubled over strings tied your front. He doesn’t move when the apron loosens and you pull it off, instead he rests his hands on your hips while you wipe your oily fingers on the roughened cotton.

“I have to wash my hands,” you say, proud of the fact that your voice is calm and strong. “Take a seat.”

You slip out of Geralt’s reach and over to your fireplace. You take the kettle from its spot on your stove and pour some heated water into your wash bowl and quickly lather your hands in soap. You take the time to compose yourself. There are so many questions running through your mind you aren’t sure where to start.

“How did you find me?” you ask while you dry your hands.

“I didn’t,” Geralt says. “I’m as surprised to find you here as you are.”

You nod and keep rubbing your dry hands against the towel.

“It wasn’t for a lack of trying,” he mutters under his breath.

Your brows furrow. Geralt had tried to find you? You found that odd considering the events that led to your parting of ways.

“So I shouldn’t have to move again? Did I cover my tracks?” you ask, dreading the answer.

“If I couldn’t find you, it’s unlikely those fools could.”

You let out a breath you weren’t even aware you had been holding, then fold the towel and place it next to the basin. Although Geralt’s answers are a relief, they do raise more questions.

“So what brings you here then?”

Geralt shifts in the chair. “I was passing through.”

“No, I mean why are you seeking a healer? Are you hurt?”

“No,” he says.

“Then what do you need a healer for?”

“Nevermind. It can wait until I get back to Kaer Morhen.”

“But that's several weeks' journey from here.”

“Vesemir will know what to do.”

“Geralt, please? Just tell me.”

He hums, his lips thinning as he thinks. Then he takes a deep breath and says quickly, “I think I’m unwell, or maybe poisoned by something I am unfamiliar with.”

You frown. He sounds uneasy, that isn’t like him. Immediately your clinical detachment overrides any other emotions you have about Geralt’s unexpected appearance and you begin your examination.

“What are the symptoms?”

“I can’t sleep. There’s an ache in my chest; it’s as if I can’t breathe sometimes. I get headaches, and my heart races sometimes. I can’t concentrate and I’m slow to react.” He relays the information in a tone that tries to make him appear unbothered, as if any one of those symptoms aren’t serious enough on their own, let alone altogether.

“And how long has this been going on?”

“Months,” he says.

Mentally you start checking off symptoms and ask clarifying questions, but each answer he gives only adds to your confusion.

Eventually you shake your head and begin to gather supplies and motion towards the bed. “I’ll need to do a physical examination. Please remove your clothes and lay on the bed. You can cover yourself with the sheet.”

Geralt doesn’t move and for a moment you think he is going to refuse. Then he stands slowly, and begins to pull his loose black shirt from his leather pants.

Although you are a healer and are used to seeing men in all sorts of compromising positions, your face burns while you watch him undress out of the corner of your eye. The last time you saw him partially naked… You shake your head as if that will stop the memories of the night he helped you escape from your old village’s Alderman and his cronies.

When Geralt is settled on the bed, you begin by finding his pulse in his neck. His skin is so warm, almost hot, but not quite feverish. You don’t know a lot about Witchers and how their mutations affect their anatomy and function, but you know enough that Geralt’s heart is beating far faster than it should be.

Your hands move over his chest and down to his belly. He jumps slightly as you dig your fingers into his skin. For a moment your detachment slips and you bite your lip as you look down at your hands resting on Geralt’s stomach. Your fingers brush over his smooth skin in a motion that's much too much like a caress to be professional.

“I’m sorry,” you say, “I should have warned you. I get in my head sometimes and forget that the patient doesn’t know what I’m doing. I’m trying to feel your organs to make sure none are painful or swollen.”

He nods and you inhale deeply, trying to regain your clinical attitude.

You prod at his stomach, searching for his liver. You have to press hard, pushing against muscle much firmer than even that of the strong farmers you’ve treated over the years.

Quickly you become lost in the work and your hands move gently over his muscles, checking his stomach and guts, and his bladder. You’re so caught up in your examination that you don’t notice the growing hardness that lays over his abdomen until your palm accidentally brushes against it.

You pull your hands away as if they had been burnt. You look at Geralt and your lock onto his deep amber eyes. He’s blushing.

Geralt is blushing.

But he does not look away and neither do you.

“When was the last time you were with a woman?” you ask.

There is a subtle change in his face, a slight tightening of the jaw before he finally averts his eyes.

“Months.”

So you can’t rule out some kind of sex disease. Your ears and cheeks feel aflame, but you have to ask.

“When was the last time you touched your…”

Geralt's jaw still twitches beneath the rough growth on his cheek. “I can’t remember.”

“Days, weeks, months?”

“Months.”

“Why haven’t you?”

Geralt drags his gaze back to you and those amber eyes of his are bright, almost glowing in the firelight. It's the kind of look that would once have had your knees shaking, but you put your hands on your hips and look back just as steely eyed.

“I need to know if it still works, Geralt. Can you still maintain—”

“Yes.”

“Can you reach—”

“I don’t know,” he says harshly. Then his voice softens and he says quietly, “I haven’t tried.”

“Why not? Lack of motivation or interest?”

“No.”

“Then why? Lack of available women? I find that hard to believe.”

“It's not hard to believe when the one you want isn’t available,” Geralt mutters so quietly you almost don’t catch it.

“Oh,” you say softly.

You’re beginning to realise what might be wrong with him, but first you have to rule a couple of things out. Your mouth is dry as you clear your throat and lift the sheet and trail your fingers up his inner thigh.

“I have to check… here.”

Geralt closes his eyes, his jaw clenches, and his whole body goes tight as you enclose his sack with your hand. Gently, you roll them with your fingers, searching for lumps or signs of abnormalities. But you find nothing except a perfect example of male vitality, even if he was unable to father children.

Your fingers itch to move higher, to feel his throbbing cock in your hand. He looks so big and thick beneath the thin sheet. You bite your lip as you withdraw your hand, but your eyes never leave the growing wet patch that turns the cloth translucent enough to see the dark and angry reddish, purple skin of the tip of his cock.

Geralt's hand wraps around your wrist stopping you from making your retreat. He says your name in a voice thick with lust.

“Don’t stop,” he says, guiding your hand back beneath the sheet. “Please, I need…” his voice trails off as the tip of your fingers grazes the silky smooth skin of his cock.

“I can help,” you say. “I can give you relief, but it won’t be enough.”

Geralt looks stricken. “Why not?”

“I think you ache. Your body, your mind, your heart… But most of all here…”

You wrap your hand around him. God, he feels so hot and hard, you’re barely able to suppress a moan. Geralt doesn’t hold back, he groans as his hips give a huge jerk and raises himself up and leans on elbows. He throws off the sheet and groans again at the sight of how small your hand looks wrapped around him.

“She must be beautiful,” you say.

“Who?” he says, his eyes fixed on your hand.

“The one who you’re in love with. The one who is making you unwell.”

Geralt tilts his head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

You stroke him, moving your hand softly, while you try and fail to keep yourself detached from what you are doing.

“You’re nothing more than lovesick,” you tell him, “I can give you some relief but if you want to be free of this pain, then you must have her.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his lips part and his chest works hard as he keeps staring at your hand. No, not your hand, now he’s staring at you.

“She is,” he says sincerely, “She’s very beautiful.”

“She’s very lucky,” you say.

Geralt shakes his head. “I would be the one that's lucky to have her.”

A spike of jealousy pierces your heart and completely shatters your carefully compartmentalised rational objectivity and releases a surge of erotic desire. You pause, staring into Geralt’s scorching eyes and wonder what on earth you are doing.

You take a deep breath and turn away from him, desperately grasping for a way to remain aloof.

“Lay back and close your eyes,” you tell him.

“It’s better for me if I watch,” he says in a voice that reverberates from deep within his chest.

“Oh,” you breathe.

“Keep going,” he says, “I need this.”

So you keep going. You start lazily, stroking, working him, trying not to notice the pulses of the thick veins, the silkiness of his skin as it slides over him, or the fluid that gathers at the tip that your thumb collects with each sweep over the head.

Harder to ignore are the sounds he makes; the moans that start as gentle rumbles, almost purr like in his throat and quickly become guttural groans.

His hand moves down his belly, slipping beneath your pumping arm and his fingers graze his balls before pulling gently on the skin.

You can’t stop yourself and you glance at him, his eyes are waiting there for yours. He growls, sweat breaks over his brow and makes the hair on his chest glisten in the firelight. He’s beautiful; the quintessential picture of maleness, and full of animal sexual lust.

And he can’t take his eyes off you.

The hand between his legs is suddenly wrapped around your waist as he sits up. His mouth is so close, all of him is so close, and somehow just being held by him is far more intimate than having your hand wrapped around his cock.

His hand is on your cheek, his nose rubs against yours and he whispers, “Why did you leave?”

Your brows furrow with confusion. “I… Because I got away. You said you’d help me get away and that was it, we’d go our separate ways.”

“I said I’d take you somewhere safe. That I’d keep you safe.”

“Same thing,” you say.

“No,” he says so softly, it's barely more than a rough breath. “No it’s not.”

His thumb runs over your lips, his fingers caress your neck.

“I searched for you,” he says. “For so long. Then, I mourned you. I still mourn you.”

“I’m right here, Geralt,” you tell him. “I’m alright.”

“But I’m not. You made me love sick.”

You gasp. Your body starts to tremble, as you try to make sense of what he said.

“Geralt—”

His fingers cover your lips to hush you and he whispers, “Don’t stop, let me have this just once and I’ll be gone if you want me to.”

You nod and he sighs with relief. You look down at your hand still firmly wrapped around his cock. Keeping your eyes on Geralt’s, you bend at the waist, licking your lips. His eyes grow dark as he watches your tongue peek sweep across the soft verges of your mouth.

“Fuck, what are you doing?” Geralt asks, in a voice that hints at panic but also deep longing.

You keep lowering your head until your lips brush over the silky skin of his cock and your lips part, taking him into your mouth. Geralt shudders and with a long moan, falls back onto the bed.

“Fuck.”

His hands cradle your head, stroking your hair, caressing your neck, touching you as much as he can while he arches up into your mouth. You fall into a rhythm, your hand moves over him while your mouth follows, sucking softly and massaging with your tongue.

It’s not long until his breath starts to catch in his throat and starting at his thighs and belly, tremors seem to work through his muscles until his whole body is trembling.

He’s close, and part of you wants to draw back because you don’t want this to end so soon. But he lifts his head and you see the look on his face, see the need burning in his eyes and the unspoken desperate plea in his parted lips.

You move faster, sucking harder and taking him deeper into your mouth. He needs this and you want to ease him of the suffering he’s had all these months. He bends his leg, his heel digs deep into the hard mattress as he calls your name while his body surges. He holds your head in place while he begins to release thick and heavy jets into your mouth.

A little shaken, you release him from your mouth and raise your head. You let him go, allowing your fingers to trail over his thigh while his muscles twitch as he catches his breath. His eyes are closed and a smile breaks across his face.

While your heart soars to see him enjoying his post orgasm euphoria, there is a heaviness in your chest.

Geralt loves you.

And you don’t know what to do about it.

While he’s distracted and to hopefully give you time to think, you fall back onto what you know. You pour fresh water into your wash bowl and bring it over to the bed, carefully wring out the cloth and begin to wash him. Falling into an almost meditative state, you start to wash his hand, watching with satisfaction as the road dust and dirt wipes away.

You work your way up his arm, then his shoulders, then you lean over the broad expanse of his chest to clean his face. His eyes are open now, watching you expectantly.

He lets you wipe his brow, then down his nose and sweep across his cheeks. Before you get to his lips, you lower your head and press your lips against his.

As his arms encircle your waist and he kisses you back, you decide you will never let him become love sick again.

#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #rabbitsmilestone23 #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fan fiction #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia fanfiction #geralt #the witcher #geralt x reader #geralt x y/n #geralt z rivii #geralt fanfic #geralt x you #geralt of rivia x you

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runa-falls · 11 months

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recent reads - spring + early summer '23

I started this list of fics half way through my hiatus so these are just some of the reads i've done and really enjoyed!

this includes fics from a wide variety of fandoms :))

——————

miguel o'hara (so far)

hanging by a thread - @writefightandflightclub

the death of peace of mind - @tusks-and-claws

miguel drabble - @foxilayde

carbon copy - @devilishcupid

poe dameron

nine - @foxilayde

general dameron - @altangelix04

javier peña

crush - @the-ginger-hedge-witch

joel (last of us)

friends with benefits series - @hier--soir

bucky barnes

branded - wolveria (ao3)

it’s in his bite - kittykittymewmeww (ao3)

captain syverson

lines in the sand - @littlefreya

geralt z rivii

until we meet again - pikapeppa (ao3)

adrian chase

she says that i’m her all time favorite - hollandoats (ao3)

chainsaws and parking lots - @charnelhouse

carmy berzatto

force of habit - @youvebeenlivingfictional

the bear and the baker - fancyladysnackcakes (ao3)

nothing’s gonna hurt you baby - tinybluewitch (ao3)

clyde logan

take me home - madandimpossible (ao3)

#miguel o’hara x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #javier pena x reader #javier peña x reader #poe dameron x reader #joel x reader #captain syverson x reader #syverson x reader #geralt x reader #geralt z rivii x reader #the witcher x reader #adrian chase x reader #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #clyde logan x reader #fic recs #recent reads

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anniefromravenclaw · 1 year

Text

Men with moustaches don’t look good

Henry Cavill with moustache

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bookished · 6 months

Text

DAWN DELIGHTS: THE CABIN CHRONICLES PT. II

ㅤㅤㅤPREVIOUS | NEXT

MASTERLIST | INBOX | TIP ME

-> Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x f!reader witch

-> Summary: Geralt is fully determined to leave the cottage to keep on track of his duties, and because he is getting a little intoxicated of you, but you have to stop him on his tracks to take care of his open wounds, even if it takes a little more effort.

-> Rating: +18

-> Word count: 1.933

-> Warnings: mentions of blood, begging, slight mention of size kink, fingering, oral (m receiving), cum swallowing, a little bit of deep throat, praise kink

-> Author notes: second part of the cabin chronicles, i hope you enjoy it!

GERALT OF RIVIA awoke in the dim light of the early morning, his senses immediately sharpening as he registered the empty space beside him. The sheets were cool, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of longing. His fingers reached out instinctively, searching for warmth that was no longer there.

The night before had been an intoxicating blend of passion and tenderness. Geralt had been captivated by your laughter, the way your eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint that matched his own whenever he did a brief move to please your body.

The Witcher winced as he gently touched the wounds on his battered body. The pads of some of his fingers were slightly covered in light blood, not too thick to worry him, but enough to make him curse under his breath because they didn't cure properly, which didn't surprise him after the night you both spent on the bed and almost every surface of the small cabin.

As he lay there, thoughts of the night danced through his mind. The way you had teased and challenged each other, the shared pleasure that happened in the darkness, and the warmth of your embrace.

The scent of your hair still lingered on the pillows, and Geralt inhaled deeply, savoring it. It was a fragrance that would stay with him, a memory to hold onto during the lonely nights on the road.

With a sigh, he slowly rose from the bed and began to dress, careful to not hurt himself anymore, the echoes of your moans and pleads still fresh in his mind. He knew that he couldn't stay, that his path would lead him away from this place and from you. But for a brief moment, in the stillness of the morning, he allowed himself to revel in the memory of the night you both had shared.

As he prepared to leave, Geralt couldn't help but wonder if your paths would ever cross again.

You were just about to go inside the cabin, after setting out early in the morning on your quest to find healing plants. Your senses were telling you something was not right, and you were ready to dive in your thoughts, when you bumped into a hard wall.

Only, it was not a wall, but The Witcher's chest. Startled and realizing your sudden intrusion into his personal space, you quickly backed up, your heart racing.

Geralt of Rivia's piercing gaze and imposing presence had you momentarily taken aback. You stammered an apology, "I-I'm sorry, didn't mean to run into you," as you tried to regain your composure. His expression remained stoic, and you couldn't help but feel a mixture of awe and trepidation in his presence.

When you realized he was fully dressed, his clothes still dirty with his dried blood, and he had his sword tucked in, you knew he was about to leave.

"Geralt, please, you can't go in this state," you implored, blocking, or at least trying, his path with a mix of worry and determination in your eyes.

He scowled, but his pain was evident, and he reluctantly stopped. "I don't need your help."

You could sense the smell of fresh blood and your gaze went straight to where his latest wounds were made. You spotted bright red freckles of blood and you frowned. That shouldn't be happening.

You took a step closer, your voice softening now. "Stubborn as always they've said, but even Witchers need assistance sometimes."

He shook his head no and was determined to leave when he bypassed you. You felt bad, as you were also responsible for what happened last night that made his wounds open again.

"Geralt." Your voice was so soft, it made him stop in his tracks and gaze at you over his shoulder. You felt he was giving in, until he looked away from you and started walking again, but you could notice he was hurting. You were desperate, guiltiness taking over you. So you tried again, "Geralt, please."

He stopped and stayed there for a few seconds, and when you thought he would ignore you, he took a deep breath and turned around and with a reluctant look, he allowed you to guide him inside while his grunts and murmurs were inaudible.

You guided Geralt inside the cottage, the warm and earthy scent of dried herbs and potions filling the air. The enchanting aura was enough to make you feel dizzy from the memories of the night of passion spent here. The smell of him surrounding your senses.

"Sit tight and take off your clothes," you said softly, your fingers deftly selecting various herbs and ointments from the well-organized shelves. "These will help you heal."

"Usually, when I take my clothes off, I expect my companion to do the same." Geralt remarked, a grin slightly creasing his upper lip, his stare fixated on your face.

Your cheeks flush with an unexpected warmth after you processed Geralt's words and as he stood before you. His rugged, weathered appearance and piercing yellow eyes had a way of making your heart race, and the way he pronounced those words, it was too much for you.

He noticed the subtle change in your demeanor and raised an eyebrow, his expression unchanging. "Why the sudden blush?" he inquired in his deep, gravelly voice. "Do you need me to touch you first?"

Flustered, you stammered, "No, it's fine."

You slid the dress down your shoulders and arms, letting it drop to your hips, and Geralt made a sound of appreciation. You lifted your face to stare back at those yellow eyes that were now devouring you. You swallowed the lump in your throat.

While staring back at him, you let your dress fall to your feet with a slight movement of your hips, which Geralt didn't let go unnoticed, and you could see the exact moment he resisted the grin to form wildly on his face.

"Don't stop on my account, I'm really enjoying the view." He murmured, still gazing at you and your curves.

You defied him with your eyes and your words. "You know that's not what we're here for."

"And I also know you don't like being told what to do unless you're naked," he outfaced you back.

Your breath hitched in your throat, furious at him for making you feel that way. You turned your back on him to appease the anger burning inside you from his words.

How could he? But you didn't know if what was making your insides burn with anger was that he said that out loud, or that you knew it was true.

Either way, you were now focused on mixing the healing plants, your cheeks now blushed and heated up while you worked in silence, knowing damn well he had a full sight of your bare ass. As if he didn't see it the previous night, or touch it.

Once you had everything done and ready, you took a deep breath before facing him again. You couldn't let him get to your feelings. Not yet, at least.

Once you had that pretty face in front of you again, you couldn't help but notice how much fun he was having with all of this, a shit eating grin on his face. So you decided to get even.

The wounds on his body were severe, and with gentle hands, you began tending to his injuries, cleansing and bandaging them. But Geralt winced as you did. The sting of antiseptic herbs brought discomfort, but he endured it. His amber eyes reflecting the pain he seldom allowed others to see.

You worked methodically, cleansing and dressing his wounds with a precision born of years of experience. Geralt clenched his teeth and let out a low, guttural sound as the pain from his injuries surged through his body. The sound was a primal, involuntary response.

Each labored breath was accompanied by a soft, pained hiss, a testament to the relentless torment he endured. Geralt's attempts to mask the pain were futile as his body involuntarily vocalized the anguish he was going through, and you felt the need to ease the pain for him.

"How can I make you feel better?" You asked him, your tone was filled with the fire of conviction. You wanted to help, but you didn't know how.

"Damn it," he muttered, his voice hoarse and strained. "I've faced worse than this." He paused to catch his breath, the pain evident in his every word. "How about you put those hands to work and pleasure me, instead of just defying and hurting me?" Geralt stated, his brow furrowed in agony, spoke through gritted teeth as sweat beaded on his forehead, the pain making his voice tremble and his words a struggle. "Are you gonna be a good girl for me? Get on your knees now."

You just nodded your head yes, wetting your now dried lips with your tongue, and obeyed. You took no time to get on your knees, looking up at him, where his frowned brow and gaze filled with pain controlled every move you made.

"I get so hard when I'm around you." The White Wolf spoke soft but firmly. "I know you'll make me feel so good."

You wasted no time in getting a grip on his girth and putting it in your mouth. The sound coming from the back of his throat is animalistic and raw. You can't get your eyes off him while you work your tongue on his tip, making him throw his head back and let out a loud moan.

"Feel what you're doing to me?" Oh. You did. Some of his pre-cum was already on your tongue. Your hands wandered all over his thighs. his abs, his chest. He was so hot, almost sweating naked there. "That's all because of you."

You unconsciously moaned around him, which almost drove him crazy. He lifted his hips from his seat, not much but enough to make you feel him pushing down your throat. Your mouth was full of him, all you could smell, taste and feel was the White Wolf in front of you.

"Fuck... just... right there!" He groaned grabbing a fist of your hair, his piercing amber eyes on your face and the way you were taking him so well. "That feels so good!"

You kept going, noticing how his cock tensed and got thicker, so you sucked him even harder, not being able to look away from his beautiful face, even though you could feel your throat having a hard time keeping the pace. You wanted to watch his face while you made him cum.

"I want you to swallow like the good girl you are." He muttered between gritted teeth and heavy breathing. Your hands wandered a bit longer, you felt his lower abs twitching and tensing, and you knew he was almost there. So you forced your head down a little more.

That move was enough to break him. You felt the thick ropes of salty cum on your tongue, his cock twitching and splurting semen. You kept your head in place, his hands never leaving your hair, pulling it more instead. You moaned around him, he almost couldn't keep his eyes open and you were mesmerized by the beautiful creature in front of you.

He was sweating, his chest rising and falling swiftly, and trying to catch his breath. He didn't let go of you until you swallowed it all.

"You've been so good for me," Geralt said, still a bit out of air. "What should your reward be, hmm?"

Did you enjoy it? Please, consider leaving a comment, reblogging, sending feedback in any way or buying me a coffee. If you would like to request something, go and message me. Also, if you'd like, you can check my masterlist or send me any prompts. Happy reading!

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cowboygenesis · 2 months

Text

one: redanian ale | geralt x reader

part 1 of the "threads of fate" series: masterlist.

pairing: geralt x reader

chapter warnings: blood, animal death, mild gore

word count: 3.9k

series summary: geralt begrudgingly accepts a monster contract issued to him by a strange girl, thinking it to be an opportunity for some quick coin. nothing goes as planned.

notes: i haven't posted a reader insert since middle school, but since ive been getting into the witcher again recently i thought this would be a fun project :) ill try my best to keep everything canon, especially pre-existing characters, but some things will be made up! additionally, the reader is written to be afab. keep that in mind since there will be smut in the future chapters...

Geralt stepped down the element-worn cobblestone road with a quiet huff, Roach trailing alongside the man’s figure with a seemingly matched sense of fervor.

The homes of the outskirts lined up in tight rows, alternating between maintained and otherwise decrepit wooden skeletons of a once lively hearth. Every stained-glass window emanated a warm light from within, casting onto the solemn sidewalk that led into the main square. Similar structures surrounded the tiled area, adorned with wooden plaques representing various businesses: a butcher, blacksmith, herbalist; something typical of towns on the continent.

It was a chilly afternoon, and the amber treeline of the backdrop was a colorful testament to the arrival of autumn’s harvest. The edge of the cracked pavement carried a lively array of wildflowers, growing sparsely out of the famously fertile earth of the region. It was strange, seeing such an abundant land give birth to such impoverished people. They swarmed the town in a hurry, cloaked in rags and somber faces, occasionally turning to gaze up at the flaxen-haired man with abhorrence, hatred, and curiosity.

Their sunken features flooded the street in the silent mayhem of impotence, weathered muscles bravely carrying the weight of their harvest into the beating heart of the city.

Coarse linen bags lined the trunks of carts for the lucky few being able to afford such transportation, others tried their strength at stacking the burden on their dominant shoulder. A permanent slouch was often a good way to identify the economically wounded. He furrowed his brow at the thought.

The cool air nipped gently at Geralt’s nose, fingers numb as they tightened around the leather horse reigns. His pace quickened, strides bold and purposeful as he spotted the centerpiece of town above the bobbing crowd ahead.

The cobblestone smoothed below his feet, transitioning into a sleek brick that led into the hexagonal center of town. People swarmed out of the tight street and quickly dispersed along various stalls lining the courtyard, allowing Geralt’s lungs to expand with fresh breath once more.

His eyes scanned along the walls, noting the uniform architecture of homes surrounding the plaza. Up ahead, sticking out like a not-so-sore thumb, stood the main attraction of the town. Its broad structure spanned significantly further than any surrounding shop, walls towering high into the third floor.

The off-white plaster was embellished with masterfully painted embroidery: a composition of roosters, red flowers, and various greenery; a traditional kind of adornment in these parts.

Unlike the other businesses, this particular building adorned a shiny, metallic plaque by the heavy-set doorway. It was written in a foreign language, carved into the slate in mechanically-even letters. Geralt approached this unfamiliar sign, fastening Roach to the wooden fencing to the side and leaving her with a soft pat on the muzzle. She neighed in response, a sound debatably considered sentient and acknowledging.

“Won’t be long, girl,” He reassured with a half-smile, adjusting his harness before stepping through the doorway.

The tavern air was drastically different from the outside world, hitting his complexion with a soothing warmth as the soft scent of baked goods and freshly poured ale filled his nostrils. The sensation scored a subtle smile from the witcher, hand swiftly unclasping the twinned holster of his weaponry.

He hummed lowly, scanning the crowd of people in sight: drinking, singing, dancing; warm bodies moving in rhythm to the upbeat ballad of a female bard taking center stage with her polished flute. A song about a lost love, druids, bloodshed. Geralt had recognized it from one of Jaskier’s performances, noting how polarizing the tune sounded with a change of instrument.

He continued walking alongside the wall, finally deciding to take a booth seat near the tinted windows of the northern wall. He propped his equipment against the table, positioning himself closest to the wall. The stained glass poured a soft light onto the scratched surface of his table, outlining every crevice and mug stain with a brilliant azure.

“Welcome to ‘the Manticore’, may I take your order?” Came a quiet voice, somehow bleeding into the chaos of the bustling tavern despite coming from his immediate right. Geralt turned his gaze towards it, eyes met with a pair of rheumy eyes.

A doe.

So was the witcher’s immediate thought at the sight of the skittish-looking servicewoman taking his order.

Her skin looked pallid, almost greyish in the soft light of the candlelight, cheeks pudgy yet somehow betraying her otherwise ghastly appearance. The subtle spread of freckles on her cheeks was the only memory of livelihood in the sunlight, spreading to her temples and ending in a single mole above the girl’s untamed brows. They were thick, straight, and resembling a man’s with how unkempt they appeared.

She held her fists firmly against the dip of her hips and her spine declined forward, giving the woman a folded, relaxed posture; a strange mix of confidence merging with a subtle sense of doubt reflected her apparent social abstinence.

“Redanian ale,” He spoke back, arm extending to rest on the plush couch, gaze wandering.

He first took note of the woman’s boots, how worn the leather seemed with the dried mud still clinging to the nooks and crannies of the laces. Her worn, moss-green blouse shamelessly revealed a perched bosom, held up artificially by the corset hugging her waist snuggly, perhaps uncomfortably.

Finally, he caught the attention of the silver amulet that lay comfortably against the flushed skin of her chest, embellished with a large, iridescent crystal sat in the middle. An opal, maybe a moonstone. It felt out of the ordinary, gleaming with a bright light that seemed to come from within the stone itself.

“You should be wary with that kind of necklace in your ownership,” Geralt warned under his breath, chin dipping to subtly signal towards the girl’s jewelry.

Her eyebrows furrowed at the comment, though her gaze instinctively followed his own. She brought a hand up to toy with the pendant, letting the metal move between her fingertips as if it were her first time seeing it.

“Oh, this old thing?” She questioned, a hint of apprehension lacing her voice as she held up the amulet, “It’s a fake, just a trinket I keep around,”

Despite her reassurance, the witcher’s comment seemed to have fuelled the baseline suspicion a barmaid would hold towards most customers. Simultaneously, she seemed genuinely inquisitive about the man’s opinion, her brow perched high on her forehead.

Her pinky traced along the side of the silver base, running down an array of intricate engravings carved into the metal by hand.

“Looks expensive. Different kinds of folk hang around these parts, you’d know best,” Geralt continued, tone flat yet assertive.

He never once meant to threaten the girl but rather tried offering a kind piece of advice based on his own experiences with such riches. Her prideful display of such an eye-catching jewel could land her in more trouble than she could have expected. His curiosity threw her demeanor off, eyes trailing to her feet. A moment passed without contact, then another.

“That’ll be it, girl,” he hummed, attempting to brush her presence off with a final word to the conversation. She shook her head left to right, almost like exiting a trance, and nodded at him hurriedly. Her nose tinged rouge. She turned heel, boots squeaking as she made her way through the boisterous crowd and back towards the bar.

The man allowed his gaze to linger on the girl until she disappeared into the sea of other bodies, huffing at the comfortable feeling of solitude once again. He let himself sink into the seat below. His eyes turned to study the crevices of the oak table he resided at, keen eyes suddenly focusing on something in the distance.

A raven-haired man sat hunched down at an adjacent booth, head clad in a pristine cloak that clasped off at his chest. The witcher stared back in an unspoken manner of competition, his watchful gaze scanning each visual intricacy the man had to offer. The pigment in his robes was intense and rich, an exotic indigo staining the thick linen, lined with silver thread that connected at the neck with a metallic amulet. It might have been adorned with small studs and jewels, from his position Geralt could not tell for certain.

His pale hands perched atop a leather-bound book surrounded by scattered cards, at least two decks. The fingers were scrawny, bony, wrapped in intricate rings that reflected the same blue light of the stained glass. His eyes bored into Geralt with a certain might, pools of sapphires flickering with candlelight.

They both lingered that way endlessly, both trying to intimidate the other into looking down, a gentle admit of defeat. The man smiled.

“And… there we go,” Came that one quiet voice again, accompanied by the dull tap of a glass mug placed firmly on the table. “Can I get you anything else?” it continued as Geralt made a last-ditch effort to squint at the cloaked man in the back of the room. He seemed satiated by this exchange, quickly returning to shuffling a fresh deck of cards sitting just beside his ale.

“…Hello?” The doe-eyed girl waved her hand to Geralt with a confused look on her sunken face, thick eyebrows furrowing with a twitch of her upper lip.

He turned his gaze towards her, quickly noticing the sudden emptiness around her chest— the amulet was gone. She must have taken his words to heart, or perhaps, more unfortunately, found them to be a kind of veiled threat towards her well-being. The skin of her chest was reddened, maybe hot to the touch.

“You’re a witcher, aren’t you?” She said matter-of-factly. Geralt raised an eyebrow at the sudden inquiry, otherwise maintaining his demeanor. It wasn’t so unusual.

“That’s right,” he replied tactfully, fingers tracing the handle of his mug before gripping it tightly and taking a hefty swig. The alcohol hit his throat with a delicious burn, trailing down the throat and leaving a tinge of plums and spice in its wake.

With a look as infamous as his, Geralt was undeniably used to being spotted out, even in the smallest of hamlets such as Posada. He didn’t mind the musings of others, as most of his encounters happened to be quite harmless and an inconvenience more than anything. He decided to enjoy his drink in peace and allow the girl to ask any questions she might be curious about. If he got lucky, the conversation could score him a new contract; Gods knew that was the kind of excuse he needed to occupy himself for the upcoming days.

“My, my…” The woman whispered, eyes widening a fraction as her fingers began skimming the edge of her apron in contemplation. There was an air of anticipation surrounding her, as if eager to ask about his dangerous lifestyle but abstaining for the fear of rejection. Same old.

“That makes you a frequent traveler, doesn’t it?” She piped up squeakily, clearing her throat after.

“Somewhat,” Geralt replied dryly, aiding his parched tongue with another swig of the drink. Exactly what he ordered, surprisingly. The girl didn’t bother cheating her way out of extra coin.

“And why do you find yourself in Posada, witcher?” the girl questioned, bright-eyed. Her hips twisted towards him, legs shuffling back and gently resting against the frame of the booth opposite to him. Geralt huffed, placing his ale firmly on the oak below. His face remained in its neutrality.

“Not staying long,” he mumbled with a backhand to his upper lip, cleaning the wetness from it with a smooth swipe. He spotted the barmaid’s coy gaze looking down as she swiftly positioned herself on the seat. When she looked up again, their eyes met.

There was a scar on her temple, kissing the hairline of the frizzed locks growing there. It looked well-healed with time, the weathered strip of skin standing out with the raised edges of its pale, pearlescent grove.

“Just for a rest I assume, then?” she smiled softly, the scar curving with the movement of her muscles. Geralt nodded. Her gaze seemed to falter at that but sharpened a mere second later.

“Just a drink, not much else to get done around here,” he spoke lowly, taking a knowing glance around the tavern; townsfolk swarming the bar in rugged clothing, some barefoot, all baring sunken faces. “Seems like it’s not monsters your town needs helping with,” he scoffed.

The barmaid’s eyes followed Geralt’s gaze, but she seemed to refrain from commenting. Her bony fingers clamped into loose fists before dropping to her lap. She moistened her lower lip with a slow flick of the tongue, shoulders rising and falling with each breath. She stayed silent for a moment, contemplative, then suddenly perked up with a furrowed brow.

“We’ve got monsters, witcher,” the girl mumbled. Geralt’s brow twitched at the comment, but he gave her a nod in recognition. She nodded back. “Something’s been killing off the townsfolk in the night when they go foraging,”

“Foraging? Why at night?” he questioned.

“For Mooncaps. They fluoresce in the dark and so are easier to spot that way; we use them for skin salves, tea, that kind of thing,” the girl explained, “They grow in the woods.”

“Mooncaps…” the man acknowledged, “And the foragers, how certain are you that they haven’t just lost their way back?” Geralt pressed on, fingers tensing around the handle of his mug.

“Rescue teams have been sent out before, but they never come back,” the girl said, “Sylvanus was the only one to make it home in one piece. After the fifth expedition, there were no more volunteers left. We didn’t want to risk any more casualties, you know? I grew up there, too. But I don’t dare go back now, not after I’ve heard the rumors,” she continued.

“Sylvanus?” Geralt interrupted, feeling the name out on his tongue. It sounded foreign to the land, but unfamiliar to him personally. The barmaid nodded.

“He’s this witch-hunter from Temeria. Well, that’s what he says, anyway,” she breathed out, eyes squinting, “He’s not from around here, you’d from the things he wears. Nice things, well-fit and expensive. Arrived one night and asked for the largest room we had, room seven. That must’ve been a whole month ago by now,”

Geralt’s eyebrows furrowed, gaze focusing on the table he had been examining beforehand. Nothing. The cloaked figure was gone, leaving behind a vacant table and that deck of cards.

“We’ve got spare rooms, plenty of them. I could arrange one for you if you’d like, maybe a hot bath to go with it,” the barmaid piqued in with the same smile, soft and genuine as her gaze seemed to bore into the witcher’s own eyes. She pursed her lips, anticipating an answer, perhaps one in favor of her declaration.

Geralt used a gloved finger to tap the wooden surface of the table, the rest of his body remaining perfectly still. “I’ll camp out,” he declared, hand raising his mug as the last drops of ale trickled down his throat. He still felt parched.

“As you wish,” the girl nodded, a glint in her eye as she reciprocated with a polite smile. Her arms stretched across the padding of her seat, relaxing her muscles before she swiftly stood up. Her hand grabbed onto the upper rim of the empty mug, removing it from the table with a huff.

“It’s on the house. Thank you for helping out,” she added quietly, smiling.

“Hold your appreciation, girl. I haven’t done anything to earn it just yet,” Geralt replied, earning a soft chuckle from the woman. It was airy and warm. Her half-lidded gaze met his own.

“You’ve offered your kindness, it’s all I could ask for these days,” she replied quaintly, taking a few steps back while her fingers tampered with the iron handle of the mug. She looked down briefly, then back up. Her smile had disappeared.

“Geralt,” he responded half-mindedly, out of habit. He assessed the name she had given him carefully, letting it echo in his mind.

“Farewell, then, Geralt,” she giggled once more, sounding somewhat bubbly at the reveal. Her smile stretched wider this time, revealing a pair of dimples adorning each flushed cheek with a shallow grove. She nibbled at her bottom lip, breathing in deeply before turning away, yet she held her gaze with his, somewhat determined to keep the witcher’s attention. She whipped around, her overskirt twirling gracefully around her hips before she leaped away. Geralt caught one last glance of her locks before she disappeared into the crowd again.

He breathed out, eyes closed tightly. His meeting with Ciri would have to wait another day while he took care of the monster plaguing this off-road town. He imagined it to be a Noonwraith, maybe a Werewolf in the worst case. It would be dirty work, but quick, and perhaps the town could spare a decent amount of coin for putting an end to their unfortunate endeavors.

The man stood up with a grunt, eyes scanning the crowds of clientele once again. His mind tried focusing on a certain head of raven-black hair amongst the sea of bodies, but his efforts were fruitless. The witch-hunter was gone, or at the very least in hiding… perhaps somewhere nearby. Geralt recalled the barmaid’s testimony, how she confessed they had rented the man a room just a few nights back.

The witcher’s eyes shifted to the broad staircase at the edge of the room, oddly empty and lit dimly by candlelight adorning the wall. He walked over in a few smooth strides, eyes narrowed and focused. He set his boot on the first stair, hearing it creak pathetically under his boot. He climbed another, another, continuing til the very top.

The gleeful tune of the lute sounded muffled and dull at this level, reverberating through the walls and getting eerily distorted in the process. Geralt lurked down the hallway, passing wooden doors adorned with handmade numbers and watching for light seeping through the gap where the planks met the floor.

He stopped suddenly, faced with number ‘7’. His gloved hand reached to grip the doorknob slowly, but with a firm squeeze, he twisted. To his surprise, it was open.

He stepped in, nose catching the vivid aroma of rosemary and myrrh. It carried in the air heavily, a thin stripe of smoke weaving through the air and connecting at the tip of an incense stick sat on a desk to his left. It was messy, clattered with books and one-off documents stained with slim rings of plum and violet.

“There you are,” came a gravely, monotonous sound. Geralt turned to face it, his eyes met with sapphire ones. They were bulbous, almost too large for the socket, threatening to pop out at any moment. The intensity made the witcher stay put. “Geralt of Rivia!” the man exclaimed theatrically, arms extending wide as he made his way from the bedside mirror. Geralt realized he hadn’t noticed the man when he entered.

“And you are?” the witcher asked firmly.

“You know my name,” the man replied, a smile adorning his lips. There was a thick scar running across them, connecting to his right brow.

“Sylvanus, is it?” Geralt replied, deciding to back into the doorway with his backside. Hearing the hinges squeal as they shut, Sylvanus seemed to relax. His mulberry cloak fluttered as he moved closer, head low. The whites of his eyes were glazed, shimmering like tiles of water. “There’s a monster roaming the woods, I’ve been told you know of it,”

“Certainly, yes,” He replied diplomatically, moving soundlessly to take a seat by the cluttered desk. The incense was shriveled now, copper tray piled with ash. “You’d like to know of this beastie? It was relentless. Ghastly and pale and crimson, drenched in innocent blood. Female in appearance and winged, like succubi,” Sylvanus explained, hands flailing wildly as he recalled the creature’s looks. His tone was low. “It is quite a miracle I made it out with all my limbs still intact,” Sylvanus sighed amongst dramatics.

“It seems we’re dealing with a harpy,” Geralt replied with a nod, hands now placed firmly on his hips as he watched the man before him go dark in the face. His eyebrows furrowed, eyes still bulging as he approached in a swift stride. He pointed a long finger at the witcher’s chest, gaze holding his fervently.

“That is no ordinary harpy, witcher,” the man hissed, offended at the mere suggestion of it. “I’ve seen nothing like it. This is no ordinary occurrence, I’ve come to realize…” Sylvanus carried on, retracting his arm that slivered under his cloak like a snake returning to its lair.

“This town, you’ll learn to know, is cursed. Plagued,” he finished slyly, almost hostile in his manner.

Geralt sighed at the man’s warnings, eyeing his lowly figure as it trailed back to the padded armchair by the desk. His snake-like arm slid out once more, thin and splotchy. It grabbed a match, striking it quickly against the table’s surface to illicit a pale flame that he used to light a fresh incense stick with. The room became smokey within seconds, a thin veil of grey dancing in the light breeze of the window open ajar. When he was done, Sylvanus tossed the match to a pile of similarly decrepit ones.

“If you want to know how I survived, well,” he trailed, “the beastie is weak to light. It fears daytime, sunlight, fire… anything that burns,”

“How did you find out?” Geralt questioned,

“Trial and error,” Sylvanus shrugged with a grin, eyes squinting. He slumped into the chair, tossing and turning until he seemed comfortable. “It only comes out on moonless nights, that’s when it goes out to feed,” he added. Geralt nodded, stopping for a beat to let the man continue on his tirade, but there was nothing else he wanted to say. His focus had now shifted to an opened book on the desk, his fingers skimming through the pages feverishly.

Geralt cleared his throat, eyeing the man once more before turning around to leave. “Thanks for the info,”

“Don’t make yourself allies in Posada, Geralt,” a voice called out behind him, deep and dark. “It might just turn on you,”

Geralt halted. He nodded, head tilting but not enough to catch the man’s figure again. The witcher shuffled away silently, shutting the door behind him with a ‘click’ of the hinges. A soft shuffling came from within, cloth rubbing against cloth and stacks of papers being ripped frantically, in a strange hurry. The flaxen-haired man let the commotion unfold without interruption.

He spotted an ornate window peeking outside, his eyes squinting at the bright lights of the colors flickering around the main square. It was getting late, and he would have to make camp soon. His feet stomped down the flight of stairs, faded music coming back in full effect.

He took note of the blonde-headed bard singing her heart out, and the slowly declining yet continuously vast crowd of townsfolk swarming the vivid scene. His gaze trailed to the bar instinctively, hovering over about a dozen heads that he knew instantly didn’t include the one he sought out.

A soft breath escaped his chapped lips, hands swiftly reaching for the cover of his cape’s hood. As the warmth of the tavern slowly faded from his body, Geralt felt his fingers ache in the cold of the night.

#geralt x reader #geralt x you #x reader #reader insert #fanfiction #ao3 #geralt of rivia #geralt z rivii #the witcher #my writing #cowboygenesis #smut #eventual smut #slow burn #magic #oneshots #writers on tumblr #ao3 writer

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cosmos-coma · 1 year

Note

Hey!! If it's okay for you, may I request something about elf&innocent!reader and Geralt? Like they know each other and meet often in Novigrad. She helps Geralt when he is injured and so on 🥺

Blossoms of Beggartick

A/N: Of course!! I hope this works for what you were thinking of because I absolutely loved writing this little ficlet!

Pairing: Geralt x Reader

Words: ~700

_______________________________

The day had felt like a sack of bricks on your mind, squishing all of your grey matter into one flat and exhausted pancake. You just couldn’t wait to get home so you could relax and unwind a bit.

As an elf, you had made the hard decision to take some time away from your people and were currently taking courses at the Oxenfurt Academy. You were already well-practiced as a healer in the use of elvish medicines but had yet to fully delve into the ways that humans and other species used theirs. There was a lot of overlap between them all, so you were making your way through your classes without too much trouble, but the three-hour lectures were starting to wear on you.

You crossed the bridge into Novigrad, bag slung over your shoulder, medical kid in hand, and made your way up the stairs to the balcony of your apartment.

“Oh..?” you paused as you noticed the beggartick blossom tucked into the door frame and the droplets of blood leading up the steps from where you came. You knew it could only mean one thing.

“Gwynbleidd?” you asked as you poked your head inside, excited to see him again after so long.

“In here…” he mumbled from the other room, sounding tired and gruff.

You set down your bag of books and brought your kit in towards the living room where you found Geralt sitting on the couch, holding a head wound that was still dripping blood- amongst other injuries.

“Oh, Geralt… you’re bleeding all over my rug,” You said with a smile as you came over to look over his wounds, fingers wrapping around his wrist as you gently but firmly pulled his hand away. You rummaged your free hand around in your kit before finding what you needed and pressing a gauze against his forehead.

He snorted, “Well that’s one way to say hello, I missed you too.” He said and rolled his eyes with a small smile playing on his lips. “It’s been a little longer than usual, how are you holding up?”

You smiled and kneeled down to his level as you got to work fixing him up, your gentle and easy hands working over his already scarred and time-roughened skin. “It's good. I’m almost finished with my certificates actually.” You said with a proud smile as you handed him a mortar and pestle. “Would you crush this, please? Thank you. I actually finish this spring… but I’m thinking of sticking around for a while. How would you ever know where to find me otherwise?” You said with a bit of a playful scrunching of your nose as you spoke.

As Geralt crushed and helped you prepare what you needed, you began stitching up the wounds too deep to heal on their own properly. “You’re right on that. I’d be shit out of luck in Novigrad without you around.”

“Language, my dear Witcher,” you warned and tied off a line of stitches, straight and concise just like you had practiced hundreds of times before.

“Oh, ‘your dear Witcher’ am I..?” he teased, with a cheeky smile about him. You never understood the rumors of witchers having no emotions- dulled? Maybe. But you look at the smile he gives you now and you know the rumors can only be that. Rumors.

“Not if you keep that up.” You said with a gentle swat to his arm before taking the mortar from him, ”Thank you for your help.” You slathered the poultice over his wounds before bandaging them up with care. “There you go, all fixed up,” you said with a warm smile and stood once again, wiping your hands on the front of your dress.

“Really though…. I don't know what I would do here without you.” Geralt paused to say, his hand now wrapping around your wrist to make sure you stay beside him just a little longer.

Your smile softened and grew even wider as your free hand came up to graze his cheek. “Then it's a good thing you’ll never have to worry about that, My dear Witcher. Now rest up for a bit and then maybe you can help me get to work on dinner?”

Geralt smiled an easy smile and nodded, hand loosening away from your wrist and lingering on your hand before fully dropping away. “Of course, my little elf….”

_________________________

Taglist: @open--till--midnight @writingmysanity @dark-academia-slut

#i really loved writing this!#I wasnt 100% how you meant by innocent #but i hope this works!#writing requests #i just love getting requests it doesnt happen super often and it makes me feel like a real writer #geralt of rivia #geralt x you #geralt x reader #geralt x y/n #geralt imagine #the witcher #geralt fluff #Geralt #Elf reader #Innocent reader #geralt z rivii

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procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics · 1 year

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Geralt of Rivia NSFW Alphabet

Summary: Geralt of Rivia NSFW Alphabet!!

Notes: this request has been in my inbox forever... sorry :)

Warnings: afab!reader, smut ig?

Taglist: @majesticwren @obsessiveformiyatwins @lucyinthelibrary @sunndust (hmu to be added for any taglist!)

based on this request | Masterlist | requests are OPEN!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

The BEST backrubs. He’s very quiet, but he takes care of you so so well.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He likes his arms, just because he can pick you up/protect you with them and he knows that you like them so so much.

Loves everything about you, but especially your hips/bodyshape. Just loves to admire, yk?

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He’s got a little breeding kink. He knows he can’t have kids, but he still likes cumming inside.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Likes it when you get a little rough with him/try to push him around a bit. If he didn’t want to, you couldn’t, but the way you push him against a wall is still hot

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s old and looks good, so he’s got A LOT

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He loves something where you’re really close to him, maybe in his lap. Wants to be able to wrap his arms around you

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

It’s more serious to him, but he’ll joke around with you

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

The carpet matches the drapes, and he’ll honestly groom however you want him to. Otherwise doesn’t really care that much.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

If you’re fuckbuddies, then it’s just a hookup – no feelings, no strings attached. If you’re romantically involved oml. He turns into the biggest sap.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Idt he jacks off a lot. He’d rather just do it properly with you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Breeding kink for sure. Loves hair pulling, whether that’s on you or him, also enjoys scratching/biting. Loves to mark up your thighs.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Might sound boring, but in a bed. He’s on the road enough, so if he’s ever off it, he wants you to be comfortable.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You. Just catching a glimpse of you is enough, especially if he makes you laugh or happy, then he’s practically on his knees

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything with too much liquid, especially blood. He doesn’t want to hurt you. Too much.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Will eat you out for days. He loves giving you head, between your legs gotta be one of his favorite places.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Depends on what you want tbh – he likes everything as long as it’s with you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Sure, why not? He’ll sneak them in all the time.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’ll try out new stuff, but he’s tried pretty much everything. He knows what he likes, and usually sticks to that.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He’s got that witcher stamina :)

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Idt Geralt likes toys tbh, so none.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He’ll tease you outside the bedroom to get you excited, but he’s too impatient once you’re kissing him.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s a quiet lover, he prefers listening to you.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He’d go crazy for lingerie of any kind, and then he’d ruin it with his teeth right after.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Just like he’s got witcher stamina, he’s got witcher endowment

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

His sex drive is pretty high, especially around you, but he’ll make sure to satisfy you each time

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Witchers don’t sleep much, and Geralt prefers holding you anyway. He enjoys watching you fall asleep in his arms

#geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia fanfiction #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt imagine #geralt z rivii #geralt z rivii x you #geralt z rivii x reader #geralt z rivii x y/n #geralt of rivia x y/n #geralt #geralt x you #geralt x reader #geralt x y/n

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sabbqj · 4 months

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Geralt of Rivia

work in progress...🪄

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cryptickane · 8 months

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Leave One Wolf Alive and The Sheep Are Never Safe

notes : female oc/reader (can be read as either), no y/n or names, no physical description other than her having hair long enough to go over her face, reader can draw, reader dies, geralt is a sad mad boy, mention of death and blood.

The night was still, but inside Geralt's heart, a storm raged. He sat by a crackling campfire, staring deep into the dance of the flames. On his lap lay a battered leather journal, its pages yellowed with age and filled with memories.

He turned the pages gently, revealing a sketch of her, one she drew for him, though she wasn't too keen on it. Her face came alive on the page, like she was right there with him. Her talent as an artist was clear in every stroke of her pen. The journal held a piece of her, a piece he couldn't bear to lose.

He flipped to another page, revealing a drawing of Kaer Morhen, their old home. Memories flooded back from their teen years—training hard during the day and huddling by the fire at night, trying to thaw out after a day in the freezing mountains.

Geralt's eyes lingered on the sketch, and he remembered the day he discovered her artistic gift.

It was a sunny winter day in the Kaer Morhen courtyard, filled with young witchers sparring and practicing their magic. Amid the chaos, Geralt noticed her, sitting on the stone steps with her sketchbook.

He approached, armor clinking, and she looked up, her cheeks turning pink as she closed the book.

"What are you drawing?" Geralt asked, genuinely curious.

She hesitated, then opened the sketchbook to reveal a detailed griffin, fierce and vivid. It seemed to leap from the page.

"You drew this?" Geralt asked, amazed.

She nodded, a shy smile forming. "Drawing's always been my thing, even before this place."

They sat there together, admiring the sketch. For that brief moment, they forgot they were witchers, caught up in the simple beauty of art.

But the page beneath his fingers brought him back to reality. The dried bloodstain spoke of the cruel fate that had taken her. The contrast between her art and her death cut deep.

Staring at the stain, he clenched his jaw, his grief palpable. Those sweet memories were now tainted by her brutal end. The journal was more than a keepsake; it was a roadmap to vengeance. Every bloodstain, every sketch, fueled his bloodlust.

He closed the journal, his fingers lingering on the page. The firelight flickered around the forest, and his eyes burned with a renewed purpose. He stood up, the weight of his silver sword on his back feeling light with newfound determination.

The storm of grief hadn't lessened, but it now had a target—a burning need to hunt down the monsters who had stolen his love from him.

Geralt had been left alive, and those who had taken the life of his beloved had unknowingly awakened a beast more fearsome than any monster they could have imagined.

#the witcher #the witcher geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt z rivii #geralt of rivera #geralt of river x reader #geralt of rivia x you #the witcher imagine #the witcher x reader #the witcher x you #the witcher netflix #netflix the witcher

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xzaddyzanakinx · 4 months

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Stake to the Heart

Geralt of Rivia/The Witcher x female reader

Oneshot

18+ MDNI

Warnings: Aggression/violence, demeaning behavior, derogatory terms, BLOOD, sexual content, possessive behavior, hate fuck to confused fuck to hey I think I might die without you fuck

Info: This NOT Netflix Geralt, this is my husband video game Geralt. He’s totally an ass most of the time (but when he’s not he’s really sweet)

The one where you let Geralt stay in your guest room while he’s in town searching for a blood thirsty vampire. (Uh oh it’s actually you)

“Are you alright? Find anything?” You asked, trying to sound interested and definitely not nervous.

Geralt closed the door behind him, his eyes narrowed in anger as he glared at you. "You know damn well I found something," he growled, throwing his coat onto the couch.

"Come here," he snapped, storming towards you. Before you could react, he grabbed you by the collar of your top and slammed you against the wall, pinning you there with his weight.

“Sh-shit.” You gasped with a trembling voice as your back hit the wall, the air being forced from your lungs, eyes wide with fear.

You expected for him to kill you, drive a stake through your heart and end it right here. But the pain never came; instead of death, he offered you something you wouldn’t have believed if it weren’t for you actively living through it. His mouth hot and warm and desperate for contact with yours. His tongue grazing over your fangs making him moan.

You were so confused… but much too turned on to question what was happening. The way his rough hands and strong arms held you effortlessly aloft; pressing your body in a crushing embrace against the stone wall behind you. Paired with the surprising tenderness of his unexpectedly soft and plump lips against yours. It was almost too much, yet not nearly enough. So you did the only reasonable thing to do in this situation: surrender.

Geralt's hands roamed the expanse of your body, tearing at your clothes as he deepened the kiss. His tongue tangled with yours in a primal dance, the taste of him was mind numbingly addictive; mead and tobacco mixed something oddly sweet. His hips ground against you, pressing his rock hard erection into the softness of your lower belly.

"Mine," he growled between heavy breaths, his voice thick with a lust that was almost tangible. "All mine."

“Oh fuck.” You whimpered, feeling a rush of slick flooding your panties at his words.

“Yeah, yes I’m yours.” You agreed the minute your brain registered the meaning behind his words. You nodded eagerly, gasping as he sucked on the soft skin of your neck.

His teeth grazed the fleshy juncture of your neck and shoulder, leaving a trail of small marks in his wake. His hand moved from its supporting position under your ass to cup your breast roughly through the fabric of your bra.

"You taste so fucking good," he groaned, biting down harder now that he’d reached less tender flesh.

You helped get rid of the pesky little barrier between his palm and your hardened nipple, arching your back to reach behind you and unclasp your bra. Exposing your soft breasts and pebbled nipples to his hungry gaze.

"Christ... you're perfect." His normally gruff voice was softer, lulling you into a sensual comfort that you’d never felt before.

His golden eyes glowed brightly from the flames of the firelight, making his already intense stare seem hypnotic. With a grunt of finality he hoisted you over his shoulder and smacked your ass for good measure as he swiftly toted you toward the bedroom.

With a surprising gentleness his calloused hands lowered you to the mattress, his eyes never leaving yours as he stripped himself of his armor. Growling in frustration as he cursed the damned thing for having so many buckles. Tossing the thick leather to the floor he wasted no time in tearing his under clothes off as well before joining you in the rumpled sheets.

All you could do was moan in response, he’d stolen away your ability to speak coherently after you caught sight of his sculpted and scarred abdomen. He smirked down at you with a prideful glint in his eyes, he may be outwardly humble in many ways, but he wasn’t unaware of how attractive he was; that much was clear.

“I-I don’t understand.” You whined, watching him crawl up between your legs. “I thought you’d hate me… Kill me… when you found out.”

He laughed, a true bellowing laugh straight from his chest as if you’d said the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. A devilish grin spread across his lips while he hooked a thick finger into the waistband of your panties and pulled them down gently.

“Hate you? Not fucking likely," Geralt chuckled, his voice thick with lust. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, so sweet and soft… kind."

The way the words fell from his mouth was… different from anything else you’d heard leave his lips. Though he kept his natural gravely and gruffness to his voice, somehow whether intentional or not, he added an undeniable layer of adoration in the sincerity of his words.

With your panties removed he took your legs into his hands, his fingers nearly touching as they wrapped around the meaty part of your calves, just under the crook of your knees. With a steadying breath he slowly pried your legs apart to look down at your glistening and swollen folds.

You’d never seen him look so weak, so oddly vulnerable. The black of his eyes overtook the golden halo around them, dilating with lustful need. His breathing visibly changed as his grip on your calves tightened.

“Never… never have I seen something so perfect.” He whispered, his eyes roaming your nakedness as if he hoped to memorize each mole, each freckle, even imperfections you thought you had; he coveted as heaven-sent.

His finger tips tickled along the inside of your thigh, your face flushed with the heat of need and alittle bit of embarrassment from how he seemed to worship every inch of you all the way down to your very soul. He stopped momentarily at the apex of your thighs, his palm flattening over your mound as the pad of his thumb tentatively brushed against your slick coated clit.

The noise that bubbled up from his throat at this tiny bit of contact was inhuman, the primal part of his brain begging him to hurry the hell up and fuck you dumb. Though his heart, large and yearning for love quieted those thoughts.

“Let me touch you… please?” His voice cracking under the weight of the tension between you.

“P-please yes.” You whimpered.

“Thank the gods.” He moaned, salivating as he slipped one thick digit between your folds and sunk it deep into your hot, wet cunt.

“Oh…” He trailed off, eyes closing in ecstasy at the realization of just how wet you truly were.

Slowly pumping his finger, massaging circles with his finger tip against the spongy spot deep within in you, making you squirm. Soon enough he slipped a second digit into your pulsing hole, eliciting a gasp from the sudden shock of his fingers stretching you.

“Too much?” He asked, soothing you with his warm palm coming to rest on your hip.

“No. No it’s okay.” You moaned, “just… I need you, I need more.”

“Patience.” He mumbled, knowing you needed this before he would even consider fu- no, making love to you.

He laid flat on the bed between your thighs, putting a pillow under your ass for easier access. He continued his slow stretch with his fingers scissoring in and out with each thrust of his hand.

Bringing his mouth down to taste you after taking a moment to truly enjoy the sight of your swollen cunt swallowing up his fingers. His tongue darted out with the intention to circle your clit but the second he made contact with the warm and smooth flesh he stopped.

“Goddamnit.” He groaned low, his voice unintentionally rasped beyond its usual growl.

He inserted a third finger and stretched you even further, soothing you with his large hand traveling lazily across your breasts. Returning his mouth to your clit to devour you with the fervor of a depraved beast. It was as if the taste of you had set him on fire.

“Fuck… I- you just taste so damn good.” He spoke softly from between your thighs, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

“I can’t wait.” He admitted sheepishly. “I mean… I can if y-you need more that’s not what I meant it’s just-“

You cut off his sudden nervous rambling by squishing his cheeks together to get his attention. A wide grin spread across your lips.

“W-what?” He asked in surprise.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered.” You teased, watching his neck get red with embarrassment.

“Shut up. I’m not- nevermind.” He grunted, slowly removing his fingers from your drenched hole.

Moving to kneel in front of your spread legs, slipping off his boxers to reach down and wrap his hand around his massive cock, squeezing the base and rocking his hips forward, fucking his hand. He was truly a sight to behold. This brute of a man, acting this way, it was… strangely angelic.

He rubbed his swollen cockhead around your wet entrance groaning at the feeling of warmth from your pussy.

"I want to fucking own you, claim you as mine forever." His eyes bore into yours, filled with an intensity that made you think he truly meant it.

“You c-,” He cut himself off with a loud moan as he slowly inched his way into your tight cunt.

"Tell me you're mine, that you’ll belong to me… th-that you’ll promise me something," he growled, his hand gripping your hair roughly, forcing your head back so he could stare into your wide-eyed gaze.

“Yes, yes I- I’ll be yours, I’m yours.” You nodded vigorously, desperately clawing at his back as your legs wrapped around him.

Geralt groaned in satisfaction as he fully penetrated you, his large member buried to the hilt in your needy pussy.

"Good girl," he murmured, his hips rocking back and forth slowly at first, allowing both of you to adjust to the new sensations.

"Say it again." His voice was low, husky with lust.

“I-I belong to you Geralt. Only you.” You whimpered, hardly able to speak from how overwhelmed by the feeling of being stretched by his thick cock you were.

Geralt picked up the pace, pounding into you harder and faster. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through you both, bodies slapping against each other in a primal rhythm. His hand reached down to grope your breasts roughly, pinching and twisting the nipples until they hardened for him.

"That's it," he growled, his hips pistoning deeper. "Now promise me you’ll never fed from someone else again."

“B-but Geralt.” You started to protest.

“Promise me.” He said sternly one hand shooting up to firmly grip your neck. “swear you’ll never do that again.”

“But I c-can’t!” You said frantically.

“You can and you will.” He tightened his grip on your neck and your ass with his other hand as he fucked you mercilessly. “you’ll feed off me and me alone. Everyday if you have too.”

Geralt's eyes flashed with a primal possession as he continued to thrust into you, claiming you body and soul.

"I don't fucking care if you have to hold me down and drain me till I bleed out," he growled, his voice deep and commanding. "You belong to me now, and you’ll only feed from me."

In response, you moaned in agreement, nails scratched down his back, leaving red lines in their wake. He could feel your pussy rhythmically pulsing, knowing your orgasm was building rapidly.

“Do you understand me?” He growled aggressively shaking you by the neck.

“Y-yes… yes I understand I promise. I promise.” You nodded, gasping for breath as you clamped down on his cock and came hard around him. Screaming out his name as you flooded his cock with squirt.

You couldn’t help yourself, it was all so much, so overwhelming, You were still so confused and still so terribly hungry. So you bit him. Sinking your sharp fangs into his neck as your orgasm peaked and began to slow. Starting to lap up his blood like an animal starved.

“So fucking good.” You whined, licking your lips and moaning as he kept fucking into you.

Geralt roared in ecstasy, his cock throbbing inside her as you bit into him. Blood rushed down your throat, helping to quench the insatiable thirst that had brought him to this fucking village in the first place.

"Fuck... yes." He growled, his hips pumping faster, harder. "Drink from me, you fucking whore." His words were laced with lust and self-aimed disgust; mixed together in a toxic brew.

He reached his own climax shortly after, filling you up completely with his seed, marking your spent body as his own. Breathing heavily, he leaned over you, sweaty bodies sticking together.

"You're mine now," he panted, his eyes glazed over with satisfaction.

You nodded, lips and fangs still attached to his neck, hungrily drinking down his warm blood.

“Best I’ve ever tasted.” You moaned, cunt contracting around his cock that stayed slowly, softly fucking into your cum filled cunt.

“Sweet… rich. Like- like chocolate.” He smiled at your whining, moaning mess as you lapped and sucked at the puncture wounds.

Geralt's heart raced wildly as he watched you drink from him, a perverse pleasure washed over him. He shouldn’t like this, he shouldn’t do this, he should stop you, he had duties to uphold and right now? Right now he was failing miserably. Despite know how badly this could end, how horribly this situation could escalate; he couldn’t… wouldn’t, let you stop now.

"More," he groaned, his voice strained with need. "Give me more."

You nodded, detaching from his neck and making him sit up against the head board.

You slowly sunk back down on his half hard cock. Licking away the stray drops of blood running down his chest.

“Tell me when I need to stop.” You said sternly. “don’t let me hurt you okay?”

You kissed down his throat, sinking your fangs into the opposite side of his neck and rocking your hips on his cock.

Geralt's chest rose and fell rapidly as he tried to catch his breath. "Gods above... you're- oh ohhh," he managed between panting breaths. "Keep going, don't stop."

His hand reached down to cup your ass again, squeezing firmly before roughly slapping it. "I want more of this... all night if you can handle it."

“Fuck.” You groaned, detaching from his neck.

“I’ll ride you all night if that’s what you want.” You said, devouring his lips in a bloody kiss. “but I can’t keep drinking from you much longer.”

He whined and gripped your hips in protest. A real, throaty whine; you didn’t even realize he was capable of making such a sound. If you weren’t so drunk off the power of making him so weak for you… you might’ve died right then and there.

“I can’t, I’ll hurt you.” You tried to reason with him. “you’ll have to tell me when to stop, when you start getting light-headed.”

Geralt's eyes fluttered shut as your tongues tangled, their bodies moving in sync once more. "I can handle it," he growled, his voice deep and husky with desire. "Just... keep going."

He wrapped his arms around your waist, holding on tightly as you rode him, his fingers digging into the meat of your shoulders possessively.

You doubled down snd rode him hard and fast, his grip would definitely cause bruises but you didn’t care. Never in all your years had you been with a man this eager to let you feed. It was intoxicating, watching him love every second, it made it all even sweeter.

You licked the thin trickles of blood from the newer bite mark before tilting his head back harshly and tightly gripping his hair in your fist. Cocking your head to the side you dragged your tongue across his throat before sinking your fangs back into his skin, right over his Adam’s apple.

This bite would make the blood drain faster, make him lightheaded quicker, it was messier but you got the feeling that he might like it that way.

You clenched down around his cock and your legs shook as he moaned loudly. The vibration of the noise could be felt through your fangs, reverberating in that tiny animalistic corner of your brain. Triggering you to cum violently on his cock, fangs digging deeper accidentally.

He groaned, his voice hoarse with desire. "Don't stop."

He arched his back, thrusting harder into your tight hole, his orgasm nearing its peak.You moaned in agreement with him, pulling his hair tighter and keeping his head tilted back. Your other hand with an iron grip on his shoulder as you rode him violently, as hard and fast as you could handle. Even then he was still thrusting up into you, his hands roaming my back and ass.

Geralt's cock twitched deep inside your tight channel, spurting hot cum to paint your inner walls white. He groaned deeply, his entire body shaking with the intensity of his orgasm. His hold on you loosened slightly, allowing you to collapse onto him, breathing heavily. Your sweaty bodies were intertwined, covered in a mess of blood and cum.

After several long minutes of heavy breathing, Geralt finally managed to speak, his voice raspy from exertion. "That... was fucking amazing."

You licked and kissed away the remaining trickles of blood, circling your hips slowly on his softening cock.

“You okay? Do you need anything?” You asked in concern, blood dripping from your lips and chin as you made him look up. Gently using your thumb to pull underneath his eye so you could check to see if his iron level was too low after having drank so much from him.

Geralt's eyes fluttered open, his vision still a little blurry. "I'm fine," he panted, reaching down to stroke your hair affectionately. "Just... give me a minute."

He sat back against the headboard, catching his breath as she continued to move on him slowly. You slowly raised off his lap, stepping down from the bed and giving him a gentle kiss on the forehead.

“Stay right here, I’m gonna go get you something to drink and something sweet to eat.” You cooed in a soft voice.

“Please don’t pass out.” You added; half joking-half serious.

Geralt chuckled softly, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to regain his composure. "I won't," he assured you, watching you walk out of the room with an expression of pure bewilderment etched on his features.

He should feel bad about this. About disrespecting his fellow Witchers and breaking the code, he was quite literally ‘laying with the enemy’ as that old saying goes. Though he didn’t.

‘Cause you were an ethical vampire, right? He’d noticed the pattern of victims, slimy criminals, horrible husbands and fathers. The world would be better off without them anyway, and it’s not like you were going nuts like a cat in a bird cage, you seemed like you had self control, he reasoned.

Not every monster is just… a monster, right?

Maybe he was just light headed. Maybe this was all a fever dream or a trip from an accidental mushroom mixup. Or maybe he was just loosing his fucking mind, but at this point he was more than willing to be certifiably insane if it meant having more of you.

TagList:

@wickedtactics @tsugumiholic @kingdomhate

@burnthecheshirewitch@cherrylooney@star611

@tahliac11 @exquisit?corpse @jeldog @arzua10

@bby-imasociopath @depressed-kay

@aliciaasky@naty-1001 @mrsmikaelsxn

@illiethefairy @slut-4-ani @offthethirlwall

@slutforhayden @ausskywalker @angelsadmired

@slut4starwarssmut @chocolatepalacecloudhoagie

@starkiller419 @hearts4mitski4 @no1klet @lethargic

@allhailbuckybarnes @shadowhuntyi

@bobtheturmpetman29 @mortalheartache

@fallinlovewithevil@sythethecarrot

@joshfutturmansrighthand @chaoticantihero

@vadersslut @luvvfromme

Let me know if you want to be on this tag list or nah! I love you all so many xoxo (my feelings will not be hurt if you don’t wanna get tagged for non-Anakin content)

#the witcher #witcher 3 #witcher #witcher geralt #witcher fanfiction #witcher netflix #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia #geralt z rivii #geralt smut #geralt x you #geralt of rivera #geralt fanfic #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia x reader

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