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boxofbonesfic · 1 year

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Title: Tonality [3]

Pairing: Prince!Geralt x Princess!Reader

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Summary: “The white wolf wants you. He’ll have no other.” As you grieve the loss of your father, your mother marries the king. Whilst you struggle to acclimate to your new life, you begin to suspect the interest your new brother has in you is less than familial.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Dark Fantasy, Darkfic, Step-cest, Medieval/GoT inspired AU, (Future)Smut, Dubcon/Noncon, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, MINORS DNI!!

A/N: more creepy dream fuel, Geralt being slimy and having ulterior motives, and a little more tension with reader and her mother. all in all, i think you guys will enjoy this latest addition. as always, please mind the warnings, and enjoy!😊🥰 divider by @firefly-graphics

The doe’s coat is as yellow as spun gold, and she blinks at you nervously as you approach. You cannot hide your childish squeal of delight, though it vexes her further. She nickers, shifting from hoof to hoof as she blinks at you with wide eyes.

“Papa, is she really mine?” You ask, your quiet voice heavy with awe. “She’s beautiful.” You hold out a hand, and her nostrils flare at your scent. Her long ears flick back, laying flat against her head behind her horns. They’re small—she’s young, barely a year old, perhaps less—and still covered with soft, velvety baby fur that you know will shed as she ages.

“Careful,” your father’s voice is ripe with caution. “She is new. Young, still, and a bit unwieldy.” You cluck your tongue at her, producing the sugar cubes you’d stolen from your mother’s tea tray from the sleeves of your dress. “I said careful—!” The doe leans forward, pressing her muzzle into your outstretched hand. You raise an eyebrow at your father, who shakes his head, a disbelieving laugh puffing out from between his lips. You stroke her head, running your fingers gently between her antlers and softly flicking ears.

“She about took Gaspard’s hand off this morning, she was so wild,” he says, shaking his head. “And yet she eats from your own as if you had weaned her yourself.”

“Did Gaspard try sugar?” You ask, giggling as her lips tickle your palm. “Perhaps she mightn’t have tried to amputate his fingers had he kept some of his salt to himself.” The wind shifts, and beneath the doe’s thick animal scent, there is something else.

Something like sulphur and rotting meat.

Your hand passes down the doe’s head, and her skin sloughs off beneath your fingers, leaving shiny, white bone behind. You gag, clapping a bloody hand over your mouth as fat flies buzz lazily out of her empty eye sockets. Wrong. This is wrong, it doesn’t happen like this—

How does it go, again?

Your father gifts you the doe, the golden doe, you are eighteen, you are a woman now, you will ride with him on the hunt, you will—

“Su—gar swe—et,” Your father’s voice is the buzzing of a thousand glistening black flies, his tongue is made from them, wriggling in his wide open mouth. His eyes are children’s scribbles, black and writhing, and tears like ink drip from their corners. “It tasted like sugar—”

It is then that you remember your father is dead.

He is dead. He is dead here, because he is dead everywhere, dead and rotting and gone but not gone and you mustn’t listen, you mustn’t—

You wake with a sharp gasp.

“—Princess?” The words dissolve into a static, meaningless drone as you are thrust suddenly back into consciousness. For a moment, the dream is still overlaid over the waking world like runny watercolor as you blink groggily in the dark. Beneath your trembling fingers, you can still feel the doe’s soft, golden coat—and the sharp, polished bone of her skull. With a sweaty palm against the wall, you retch, doubling over as you heave.

Nothing comes up.

The air around you is stale, stagnant, and the taste of dust and decay blankets your tongue as you swallow down lungful after panicked lungful. One thing is abysmally clear to you as you dizzily rest a hand on the cold stone to keep yourself upright—

You are not in your rooms.

Where am I?

“Princess.” The voice sounds again, and your head snaps about wildly, your eyes wide as you stare into the dark. The dream is still there, sticking the fringes of your waking thoughts like tar, and for a moment there are two voices, one made of dark black honey, sickly sweet, and the other the insectile buzz of a thousand glassy wings all beating in unison—

“Wh-who goes there?” You ask, dragging the back of your hand across your quivering mouth. There is a sound like the sharp rushing of air, and all at once the room is lit with warm yellow light. You suppress a scream as your father’s withered, sunken face appears before you, his eyes like children’s scribble—you shut your eyes, closing them tightly as you whimper.

“A dream, this is a dream, a dream—” A cool, bare hand wraps about your wrist and you scream, pulling and fighting as fiercely as you can manage. “No! No! You’re dead—!” You cry, hysterical tears creeping out of the corners of your closed eyes.

“I regret to inform you, little sister, that I am very much alive.” It is not your father’s voice—not the dead—but your step-brother’s. “Despite your best attempts to dispatch me.” Slowly, you open your eyes, sniffling as you meet his gaze. He nods up at your balled fists, still trembling in his grip. You can feel the heat of him through his own loose night-shirt and your thin cotton shift, and your skin prickles as he licks his lips.

“Release me.” You say it with more confidence than you feel. For a moment, you feel your step-brother drag his thumb across your pulse point and cock his head, as though he is considering it.

“Will you strike me again, little princess?” He asks, a mocking smile curling at the corners of his mouth. You scowl. “I did not plan for a midnight brawl.” You shake your head, your cheeks flaming. Geralt stares at you for a moment, like his golden eyes see something yours do not. As you prepare to make the demand again, he frees your wrists. You clutch your hands to your chest, eyeing him warily. The torch he has lit casts the long room in dim orange light, the flames dancing in his irises, turning them molten. It is the firelight, you think, that makes him look so menacing, so…

Hungry.

You shiver, turning your gaze instead to your surroundings, squinting at the long stone hall in the flickering light. The cool, stagnant air is disturbed only by the sound of your quiet breath, which catches in your throat as your eyes widen.

“Where…are we?” You ask, though you fear you know the answer already.

The walls are lines with alcoves bearing countless candles, stuck into the melted pools of wax left by their predecessors rather than into proper candelabras. And in neat rows in front of them…

Graves. Made of the same gray stone as the castle. Highly polished and clean, they are each adorned with ornate carvings of their occupants. You stare grimly at the rows and rows of polished stone, and wonder at how you might have possibly found your way here through the dark labyrinth of the castle. You think again of the dream, and gooseflesh rises again on your skin.

”Did you bring me here?” You round on the prince, your brow furrowed. He chuckles in response, and the sound of it grates against you.

“Me? I merely followed you. In truth I had wondered why you would visit the catacombs at this hour. I thought perhaps,” his eyes narrow as a crude grin plays at the corners of his mouth. “A secret paramour, or—”

“Do not confuse me with yourself!” You snap, wrapping your arms around your body as you shiver. The prince clucks his tongue at your ire.

“Come now, don’t be cross, little sister,” Geralt purrs. “It wouldn’t have been proper to leave you wandering the hallways in your state of undress, muttering to yourself like a madwoman.” Your cheeks warm at his crude words, and you feel angry, embarrassed tears flush hotly into the space behind your eyes. You blink them back.

“I… have not walked in my sleep since I was a child,” you admit, looking down at the space between your bare feet. Geralt hums in response. Old Madge, in her half-blind wisdom had always muttered fearfully to your father about your nightly escapades.

A soul shouldn’t walk about at night, she would say, her thin, knobby fingers twisting strands of honeysuckle and dried lavender together into a long chain, one she would wind around your bed’s posts every night for a year until finally you stayed in it. A soul shouldn’t walk about at night. What’s it lookin’ for?

“I fear I…” You shake your head, swallowing your concerns—they are not for him to hear. “No matter.” For an instant, a look of disappointment crosses his face before it is gone again, leaving you to wonder if you had even seen it at all. “Thank you.” Your reluctance is palpable. “For waking me.”

“You’ve no need to thank me. Not yet.” His eyes glitter darkly. You swallow thickly, and they follow the movement, sweeping almost lazily down the line of your throat. “Let us go.” They flick back up to yours. “Unless you wish to spend the night here?” He gestures behind you, and you shiver again, shaking your head quickly.

“Please.”

You are grateful to leave the eerie silence of the royal catacombs behind you, following as closely as you dare behind the prince. His torch throws up strange shapes on the walls of the narrow, spiraling stairwell. You can feel the dream sitting at the edges of your thoughts, waiting eagerly to settle back over you like fog. You were not predisposed to bad dreams, and yet they seemed to be the only ones you have had since you arrived. You have been beset with dark thoughts, nipping at your heels like hungry dogs, no—

Wolves.

The two of you emerge from the narrow stairwell into the empty chapel, and the vast hall echoes with your entry. The sconces are dark, and the robed, painted priests nowhere to be seen. The chapel is far less intimidating at night, the sharp features of the northern gods softened by shadow. Cold moonlight filters down softly through the domed ceiling, the colors pale and muted. For a moment, the perfectly round moon is framed perfectly by the pane of red glass containing Father Wolf, shining bright crimson above his head as you pass beneath it.

The choking scent of the incense is gone now, and only a trace of it remains in the still air. It is overpowered by a thick, musky animal scent that reminds you of wet fur. As the two of you cross the center of the room, Geralt hooks left, towards the wide, dark archway on the other side of the room. It gapes open like a toothless mouth, the stone floor sloping downward steeply into the dark.

You stop at the top of it, the warm air stirring the loose hair about your shoulders. Geralt turns to look back at you, raising a brow and cocking his head p as he lifts the torch higher. There is a question in the tilt of his head, unspoken on the curve of his lips.

Are you afraid?

You are. The dank, pungent animal scent washes over you again, and you shudder. It reminds you of your father’s hunting dogs.

“Come, little Doe.” His voice feels like cold fingers drawn across the back of your neck. “You need not fear the kennels this night.”

“I am not afraid.” You jut your chin out stubbornly, even as gooseflesh erupts along your arms.

“Good,” he purrs, licking his lips. “They can smell it.” Geralt descends down into the dark maw, and you reluctantly follow. Like most, you are no stranger to the rumors that leak steadily from King Vesemir’s halls; fantastical tales of furred beasts whose jaws were wide enough to swallow a horse whole. You clutch yourself, inching closer to the prince as the sloped path straightens out, opening into a massive cavern.

Geralt’s torch is little more than a pinprick of light in in the vast, unyielding dark. The warm glow only manages to dimly outline the shapes of natural stone pillars, throwing up misshapen shadows. There are still more passageways, little more than tunnels, littering the walls like pockmarks. For a moment, the light of Geralt’s torch throws a long arm across the chamber.

Reflected in it’s light are two, glowing orbs. Eyes, the size of dinner plates, their color impossible to describe. It was as if the eyes themselves were ablaze, glowing brightly, breaking the darkness. Over the rush of your own labored breath, you can make out the quiet scratch of claws on stone. It’s coming closer. The thought tightens your throat.

You are powerless, paralyzed before it like prey. Are you prey? You suppress a whimper. There is warmth at your back, and you realize belatedly that it is Geralt, so close his breath brushes the back of your neck.

“No fear, little princess. No fear.”

In less than an instant, the creature stands just beyond the ring of light cast by the prince’s torch. Faintly, you can make out the hulking shape of it; larger by far than any horse. Shaggy white fur, stained a rusty red around its muzzle, it’s ears pricked up and forward as it listens to the sound of your breath.

“Hold out your hand.” You do, lifting a trembling palm in front of you as if to stop the wolf from coming any closer. The wolf’s lip curls, exposing the wickedly sharp tip of a fang. It sniffs at your hand, and for a moment, you fear you will draw back nothing but a bloody stump. Your shock is palpable when it presses the tip of its snout against your hand, whiskers tickling your palm.

“Incredible.” The word escapes with the release of your held breath. You stroke the warm, bristly hair on its muzzle slowly, your eyes still wide with disbelief. The dire-wolf snorts, claws tapping against the stone as it turns from you. As quickly as the wolf appeared, it is gone again, disappearing back into the dark. You remain as you were for a moment more, your arm still outstretched as you watch its retreating back with terrified wonder.

“Yrsil.” Geralt’s voice drags you back to the present, and suddenly you are aware of how close he is to you, the way his warm breath ghosts against the shell of your ear. “The she-wolf. Her name is Yrsil.” You jump away from him, smoothing your hands down your shift as you eye him warily.

“Why did you bring me here?” The accusatory note in your voice appears to amuse him, further stoking your ire. “To frighten me?”

“If I wanted you fearful, I would not have needed the kennels to do it.” You clench your fists, glaring hatefully at him as he resumes his casual pace across the cavern floor. “Come, now. This is the quickest way back to the eastern wing of the castle. I would not lie to you.” You glare at him, your eyes narrowed.

“Would you not?” You reply dryly.

“I am many things, Princess.” Geralt’s voice drips into your ears like snake oil. “But liar is not one I am eager to add to the list.”

True to his word, the two of you emerge from the kennel entrance in the throne room, the hot musk of below sticking uncomfortably to your skin and hair. You half expect the prince to take his leave, now that you are back in familiar territory, but he doesn’t. He keeps pace with you all the way back to your chambers. The heavy door is still slightly ajar, no doubt from your midnight venture. The prince places the lit torch in one of the empty wall sconces before leaning expectantly against the wall, his body partially blocking the doorway.

“Excuse me.”

He slowly tilts his head, fixing you with a questioning look. “I do believe there is something you are forgetting, my Lady.” He parrots Kassandra’s tone with irritating accuracy. “I know Redania keeps to the old customs as well as they can, however here in Rivia we do require a certain level of decorum.”

You clench your fists in your nightgown. “What do you want, Geralt?” You ask, exasperated.

“A kiss should suffice, little Doe.” He purrs. His golden eyes burn the same way they did in the gardens the night of your mother’s coronation. You shake your head in disbelief as you stare at him, your lips parted.

“Y-you cannot ask this of me!” Your repudiation is a shrill squeak. “T-tis indecent, w-we cannot—!” You shake your head again. “The king will not allow—”

“I think you will find, little sister,” he reaches forward to trace the pad of his forefinger along your jaw-line, “that it matters not what the king will allow if he is not present. Do you see him?”He pushes your head to the side, forcing you to look down the hallway. “I don’t.” This is the closest Geralt has ever been to you, practically pressing you against the wall, caging you in with his massive arms. You understand now, the message relayed beneath his words—you are in no position to negotiate.

“You are my brother!” You plead, but he is unmoved.

“In name only.” He leans down, twining a lock of hair between his fingers, tugging it gently. “My father’s sham of a marriage has remarkably little to do with me.” You press yourself against the stone as he leans closer. “Come now, little Doe. Let us speak truth.” He tugs gently at the satin ribbon at the neck of your shift and it falls open.

“What you saw in the gardens intrigued you,” Geralt traces a path from your chin to your collarbone, his fingers feather-light, “did it not?”

“No!” His open amusement at your conviction is like cold water down your back.

“I saw, Sweetling,” he says lowly. “The look on your face—”

“Fine!” You shrill, tearing yourself away from him. It is not true, it cannot be—and yet, your blood rushes through your veins, a thin tendril of that same shameful longing uncurling in your belly. The dark curiosity that had driven you to peer around the hedge all those nights ago surges with sinful familiarity, even as you try to stamp it out.

You lean forward with a grimace, rolling onto the tips of your toes. The prince cups your chin, smoothing a finger along your lower lip. He is unprepared for you to turn your head sharply, your lips brushing against his stubbled cheek. It is only the quickness of your movement and Prince Geralt’s own surprise that allows your malicious compliance, and you dart away, ducking under his arm and through the slim gap in the door.

He snarls, reaching for you, but you slam the it shut, sliding the bolt into place with speed that surprises you. Your heart hammers against your chest as for a brief moment, there is silence on the other side of the door.

“Aren’t you clever,” he sneers, his voice muffled through the wood. He tries the handle before letting out a muted curse. “Open the door.” Your silence earns you a dark growl. “Open it!”

You jump back from the door, muffling the sound of your scream with the palms of your hands as Geralt throws himself against it. It shudders in its frame, and for a terrifying moment you fear it will burst open, revealing the enraged prince on the other side—but it does not.

“Open it!” You shrink against the wall as he seethes, his threats echoing in your ears. The sturdy wood holds against his assault, and when he finally stops, you can hear the sound of his labored breathing on the other side. That too, gradually fades into silence, and cautiously, you approach the door. Somehow, though you cannot see him, you know he remains there, waiting.

“You will regret this night.” There is grim promise in his words. “Little sister.” The sound of Geralt’s retreating footsteps makes your shoulders sag with relief, and you collapse against the wall, your breath labored. Though you doubt he is still there, waiting to ambush you in the hall, you do not dare open the door again until morning—

Just in case.

—

“It is a beautiful day, is it not?” Your mother flutters her fan daintily as she basks in the warm end-of-summer sun. To her right, Lady Amelia, red-faced and sweating beneath her pale face paint, forces a smile through her obvious discomfort.

“Oh yes, Highness.” She blinks as a cloudy bead of sweat slides down into her eye. “Lovely.”

You know the noblewomen fawning over your mother would much rather be inside, sheltered from the hot sun by the cold stone of the castle. It was where you would have been, if not for the summons from your mother. You had spent the majority of the past week or so in your chambers, reluctantly leaving them only when strictly necessary in your attempts to avoid the prince.

The Prince.

At the thought of him, you cast a wary glance at your surroundings, looking for the telltale gleam of his golden eyes, or the shock of his snow white hair. Thankfully, you find neither. Crossing the patch of soft, green grass toward your mother, you perch impatiently on the end of the carved stone bench as you wait for her to notice you. You make idle conversation with her ladies as you wait, twisting your fingers nervously in the fabric of your skirts while you try to parse out your request.

I want to go home.

“Ah, daughter,” she greets you, and you drop your head respectfully as she addresses you. “Come to enjoy the weather?” She gestures around her at the blooming garden. “I daresay we shall miss it soon enough.” She stretches, the jewels adorning her fingers and throat shining brilliantly in the sun.

“It is lovely,” you say, nodding agreeably. “It does remind me of home.” You curse yourself as the word slips from your lips. Instantly, your eyes fly to your mother’s face, watching for the displeasure you know you will see written in the stiffness of her smile or the narrowed slant of her eyes.

“Of Redania, you mean.” The soft curve of her lips belie the dagger sharp edges of her words. The smile you force in return is weak, trembling at the edges of your mouth.

“Y-yes. That is… what I meant to say.” You do not miss the way her ladies lean in amongst themselves, whispering. “D-did you wish to speak with me?” Though the day is unseasonably warm, and you yourself are surrounded by people, you feel small and cold and alone. Adrift.

“Must a mother need a reason to see her child?” She asks, rising gracefully from her seat. One of the servants rushes over with a parasol, but she waves him away, shaking her head. “If a reason must be given, I suppose mine might be that I have missed you.” She loops her arm through one of yours securely, steering you off the patch of cool grass and back onto the garden path proper. The whispers of her ladies follow behind you, biting at your heels they fade.

“I am your mother, and yet I cannot recall when last we broke bread together.”

“I have found myself quite exhausted, of late,” You mumble the half truth. “I fear the journey weighs heavily upon me still.” You suppress a shudder as you remember the dream, your father’s rotting face bloated with fat maggots—“I have not slept well.”

“Late night escapades do tend to be quite exhausting.” Her lips curve into a cold, knowing smile, and your belly fills with hot lead. Shame turns the blood in your veins to ice as your mother inspects her sleeve. A terrible fury rages beneath the placid surface of her pleasantries, and you cower in the face of it.

“M-mother, I—” The words will not come, leaving you floundering as your mouth opens and closes in silence. “H-he—”

“Did you think I would not see it?” She spits. Disgust drips from the words. “Would not notice his...” She pauses, her eyes narrowing as her mouth twists with displeasure. “Interest.” You swallow against the lump in your throat, knowing it matters not but still wondering who might have seen, who might have witnessed Prince Geralt raging at your door.

“Mother, I-I swear to you, I have done nothing—! H-he, I—I walked in my sleep, a-and he found me, I—nothing happened!” You hate the look on her face, like your pleas of innocence have only confirmed your guilt. “Nothing—”

“Nothing?” Her lip curls. “You must know these games you play, all they have done is pique his interest.” She speaks as though somehow, you should have known better. “Men are stupid, willful creatures, desirous of what they cannot have.” She clucks her tongue at you. “Your father coddled you far too long—you are a woman grown! It is long past time you act like it!”

“Father would believe me!” You sob. Hot, angry tears spill down your cheeks. “I am innocent!” Your mother stares at you coldly, before reaching forward to cup your chin.

“It is not your innocence I question.” Your mother’s voice is deceptively soft. “It is your sense.” You blink at her through your tears, trembling. “My sweet, naive girl.” She wipes roughly at your tears with the pad of her thumb. The cold distance in her eyes splits you cleanly down the middle like a sharp blade. There is part of you that wants to fawn, to deliver honeyed words on a platter until her love shines down on you again like the sun—

And part that wants nothing more than to flee. You want to ask—no, beg—for her to send you home, to return you to the walls you knew better than the lines on your own palms. Your mother embraces you, her lips brushing your cheek even as your own work silently. The words won’t come, like they are stuck in your throat.

“There should be only honesty between us.” Your mother says. “Understand?”

I want to go home.

Send me home.

Please.

“Yes.” You hang your head in defeat, the words retreating from your tongue.

“Good.” She chirps as she leans away. She is herself again, smiling affectionately as she brushes imaginary dirt from your dress, tucking loose strands of hair back into your fraying braid. “And you’ll tidy up for supper, won’t you? We have missed you at the table these past nights.” You clasp your hands together so tightly that your palms sting as you force a smile.

“Of course.”

For a moment, just a moment, the warm breeze carries with it the smell of rot and earth, and you remember the doe, your father’s gift dead and bloated in the patch of hexweed in the woods.

It smells like sugarcane, but it isn’t, your father had taught you young. It smells sweet, but it’s not, understand?

Perhaps, you think, as you reluctantly follow your mother’s retreating back, people can be hexweed too.

to be continued…

Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

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smolalienbee · 11 months

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she's everything. they're just jaskier and geralt.

#smolalienbeeart #geraskefer #twn #the witcher #yennefer of vengerberg #geralt of rivia #jaskier witcher #i whipped that real quick based on just how funny the idea of geralt barely fitting into the frame was to me #ofc geralt is last on the list because. well.#priorities #geraskier #yennskier #yenralt #bee's barbie blorbos collection

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samantha-rae-velcher · 1 year

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Silver and white

Geralt of rivia x Fem reader

Requested by: none

Warnings: swearing, fluff, protective Geralt, sad reader, yennefer vs Y/n dynamic!

A/n: I'm just laying in bed and I just decided to write this 🤣

___

"He doesn't love you, you know that." Yennefer said, Y/n had her back turned to her. She was clenching her fists, ready to attack this bitch. How dare she!? Y/n and Geralt have been traveling together for how long now? Then Yennefer shows up and she thinks everything is gonna be all good? Like Geralt is gonna run up her ass the minute she shows her face?

"His friendship means more to me than life, he doesn't have to love me. I love him, and that's what matters." Y/n whispered, but I still echoed through the empty room.

She turned to Yennefer, Yen could see the pain and hatred in her eyes, and she loved it. She was hoping Y/n would slip up, just enough to make Geralt turn his back on her.

Yen took a couple of steps forward, they were a couple feet away from each other. Y/n looked her up and down, waiting for some more insults.

"He could never love someone like you!" She yelled, making tears fill Y/n's eyes. She clenched her fist again.

Yen suddenly felt as if she's lost all control of her own body, she tried to move but she couldn't.

"No no no, Yennefer. you see, Geralt and I have this relationship, I'm sure you wouldn't understand with your whole "Fucking every man in your path" thing you got going on here. But Geralt and I are close, it's none of that foo foo shit. We protect what's ours, in that case, each other."

With that she waved her hand and Yennefer was sent flying across the room and hit the wall with extreme force.

Y/n went outside and stopped by a small river, she bent down and picked up a rock, skipping it across the water.

"Is she right?" She asked herself.

"Is who right, Y/n?"

The thundering voice behind her made her jump, she spun around and was nearly knocked to her ass by how close he was.

"Geralt!" She said.

His eyes were still black from his hunt, he furrowed his brows and tilted his head.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

Y/n didn't want to say anything. She knew her White wolf cared for Yennefer, and she respected that.

"I.... nothing is wrong. Im perfectly fine."

He smiled and brushed her hair back, shaking his head. The elixir was finally weary off and his eyes were returning to the beautiful yellow.

"You're not a very good liar, Y/n"

He rested his hand on her shoulder gently caressing her neck with his thumb, Geralt knew just a small hint of affection would get her to spill her darkest secrets.

"It's Yennefer." She said, just barely above a whisper.

He knew it had something to do with her, he understood they both hated each other. This hunt was just supposed to be Geralt and y/n, but Yennefer had to show up out of the blue.

"What did she say?" He asked in a gruff voice.

Her eyes became glossy as she shook her head, he slowly pulled her in to his embrace. Geralt's warmth was as always so comforting, his black shirt is soft over his broad chest. Y/n melted when his arms wrapped around her, the sound of his heart beat makes her feel safe.

"What is-"

"I love you, Geralt." Her words came out as a whisper.

She half expected to give her a grunt in return, or to pull away, or to give her a speech on how loving him is dangerous. But he didn't. Instead his grip on her tightened and his head came to rest next to hers. His lips nearly touching her ear, Geralt's words nearly making her explode.

"I know, Y/n. And the witch told you I didn't feel the same? That I could never love someone like you?"

She nodded, her tears soaking into the front of his shirt. Geralt pulled away, looking down at her as he caressed her cheek.

"She wouldn't know love if it smacked her upside the fuckin head. When I look at you I see someone I need to protect, someone I would give my life for."

He pressed his lips to hers, pulling her up against him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss.

The suddenly heard someone or something crashing through the woods. Geralt stepped in front of Y/n, protecting her from what was coming and pulled out his sword. Yennefer stumbled out of the bushes looking like she was attacked by a bear.

"Geralt, I've been looking everywhere for you! Y/nearly killed me!"

He raised his eyebrows, faking surprise. She ran up to him nearly wiping out in the rocks, she grabbed his arms and gripped him tight. Y/n was still behind his large frame, to were Yen couldn't see her.

"She's gone mad, if we don't leave she'll try and kill me again. Geralt you need to protect me."

Y/n then stepped out from behind the large man, Yennefer stumbled back acting as if she was afraid for her life.

"Geralt." She said. "Geralt! She used her magic to throw me against the wall!"

He looked at her over his shoulder in surprise, sending her a smirk.

"You have magic?"

"Y-yes, but I don't use it often."

"GERALT!" Yennefer yelled. "She nearly killed me!"

"Someone should." He grumbled.

"W-what!?"

He got close to her holding his sword to her neck, Yennefer's eyes filled with fear.

"How could I ever love someone like you?''

Yennefer's heart was beating so fast, she didn't have her magic to protect her. She didn't know how to get out of this.

"Please, don't kill me."

He got closer till she could feel his breath on he face. Her body stiffened and she started shaking.

"Run. And don't you ever come back."

Yennefer spun around and took off up the bank and though the trees, she didn't know where she was going but she was getting the hell out of there.

Geralt turned back to Y/n who was watching the water, he took in the silence and headed over to her.

Geralt wrapped his arms around y/n, pulling her close.

"Mine."

THE END ❤️

I hope you enjoyed!

#geralt of rivia x reader #fyp #fanfic #foryou #foryoupage #x reader #geralt of rivia x you #geralt x y/n #geralt of rivera #witcher geralt #geralt of rivia x y/n #geralt of rivia x ofc #geralt of rivia x fem reader

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brokkolili · 2 years

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~ toss a coin to your witcher ~

#she's beauty she's grace #she'll sneak up on u and rip off your face :3 #witcher #witcher 3 #henry cavill #witcher netflix #geralt of rivia #digital illustration #was a birthday gift to my little brother #ofc he wanted the goddamn viper armor with its shit ton of chainmail

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notsofriendlyfriendlyreminder · 2 months

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Geralt: Okay plan G.

Triss: Don't you mean plan B?

Geralt: No, plan B was a long time ago, and I skipped plan C because of technical difficulties.

Yennefer: What about plan D?

Geralt: Plan D was Jaskier's desperate disguise attempt half an hour ago.

Jaskier: I'll have you known it would have worked, what about plan E then?

Geralt: I'm hoping not to use plan E. Triss dies in it.

Yennefer: I like plan E.

#YENNEFER ARE SOU SLASH SRS OR SLASH J #no one knows #this is ofc post witcher 3 #also #ME POSTING ABOUT WITCHER??#crazy #insane #witcher #the witcher #the witcher 3 #yenneger #geralt #triss #jaskier #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #triss merigold

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raccoon-eyed-rebel · 1 year

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After hours

Masterlist

Pairing: Geralt x Librarian!reader

Summary: Geralt has finally handed in the paper you helped him research for weeks... Now what to do about all that tension between you two?

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DNI, p-in-v sex, rough sex, semi-public sex, standing missionary, oral (m receiving), fingering (f receiving), I think that's it?

Word count: 3.9k

A/N: Alright! Roughly 4 months ago, I promised my dearest @deandoesthingstome a round with her Crescent Street fave (at the time, sorta). It has finally arrived! I hope you enjoy it 🥰

For those interested in the timeline: This takes place before he ever goes on his semester abroad, meaning that at this current time, he hasn't met Sol yet.

@deandoesthingstome @geralts-yenn @summersong69 @peaches1958 @fvckinghenrycavill @keanureevesisbae @ellethespaceunicorn @ylva-syverson @sillyrabbit81 @summersong69 @livisss @brattymum96 @kingliam2019

“Thanks for all your help the past few weeks.” You’d been hoping he’d show up all day, and now that the library was about five minutes away from closing, here he was. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’d be able to hear your heart furiously beating in your chest. It’s a good thing that wasn’t possible. Right?

“You’re more than welcome, Geralt,” you answered. For some reason you were avoiding his eyes. “Got that term paper done?”

“Handed it in a few minutes ago,” he said as he put a stack of books on the counter with a deep sigh. His voice drove you nuts, it had been doing so for weeks, haunting you until long after you had gone home - oftentimes deeper into the night than you cared to admit.

“You don’t sound too confident?” No, but you did? Where was that coming from? You had expected yourself to crumble in the presence of this… long-haired hunk? Fine specimen? God? All of the above?

“I’m sure it will be fine.” His smile surprised you the most. “If I’m being honest I’m mostly sad I… don’t get to work on it any more.” Your eyes moved to his as if by magic, because your brain still screamed at you to avoid them at all costs. And it was right to warn you, because as soon as you saw their beautiful color, you were lost. Every shred of the tension you’d spent weeks convincing yourself was a figment of your imagination, rushed back, and now there was so much of it you could almost see it in the air.

“Can I help you put these back?” Geralt said after you had signed his books back in, and you nodded in reply to his question, knowing full well the shelf they came from was all the way in the back of the library. You knew you’d been the only one in here for well over an hour now, but it wouldn’t hurt to check.

“Let me get the door,” you said, before almost rushing to it and locking it quickly. You could swear you heard him chuckle under his breath at the way you moved, but you didn’t care.

You both scanned the aisles for people you’d missed, but per your expectations, the whole library was empty. It was just the two of you now. The walk to the mythology section of the building felt way too long, and you were definitely walking faster than you were used to, but you weren’t complaining - and neither was Geralt. You somehow found the time to start second guessing your interpretation of the situation, and had to very consciously remind yourself that putting four books back on a shelf was hardly a two-man job. And you were right about that; returning those books took maybe a minute, and when you were done putting the last one back, Geralt pulled you off the step you were standing on and looked at you.

Once again, all the tension that had built up over the past few weeks came flooding back to you as you stared into his eyes. Your gaze only strayed from his long enough to notice the way the muscles of his jaw moved beneath his stubbled skin as he clenched his teeth. His hands felt warm and heavy as they rested on your hips, and your arms seemed to auto-pilot their way up until your lower arms were against his. Touching his biceps was a mistake - alright, not a mistake, but you were definitely shocked by the amount of muscle beneath the thin fabric of the dark sweater he was wearing. Geralt licked his lips as you let your hands travel up his arms to his shoulders, and when you reached them, he pulled you in. There was no going back now.

He kissed you hard and in a way you’d almost describe as merciless, but he didn’t seem to be in a hurry. Every move he made revealed a tiny bit more of the immense strength you had already suspected he possessed. Something told you that you’d be getting more proof of that - maybe even more than you bargained for, but you couldn’t care less. When you felt the warmth of his tongue against your lips, you didn’t hesitate to open your mouth and let him in. He tasted of God knows what, but it was good, and the way he kissed you made your head spin and your knees weaken to the point where you weren’t exactly sure how you were still on your feet. Probably, you realized when you analyzed the situation a bit more carefully, because he was holding you up. Now that you were pulled against his body, his hands had moved away from your hips, and one of his arms now wrapped around your waist while the other pushed between your shoulder blades, crushing you into his chest. One thing you were very sure about was that you were not going to complain about any of this.

You were glad to see that this had an effect on him, too. His heavy breathing matched your own and you felt his pulse drum against your fingers erratically when you laid a hand against his neck. Most of all, you were surprised that he was hard already, which made you feel a little bit less embarrassed about the slick mess you were absolutely sure you’d find between your legs.

For weeks, you’d thought about asking him to join you for coffee after spending hours on the research for his paper together, or straight up asking him to take you home, even, but what was happening now bested even your dirtiest fantasies. Geralt still wasn’t rushing, but he wasn’t exactly patient, either, and it wasn’t long before the hand he kept between your shoulders moved to your side, where it carefully began to creep up over your clothes. Its destination was clear. You weren’t born yesterday, and he was a man; he obviously wasn’t interested in the feel of the fabric of your sweater. It was almost odd how he didn’t just immediately slip his hand underneath it…

To your disappointment, he broke the kiss, but luckily it was only to regain his ability to speak.

“This is a lovely sweater, but it’s in my way.” You had been wrong: he did actually go on to comment on the softness of your sweater. That didn’t take away the fact that the way he cocked his eyebrow at you was a silent way of asking for your permission to take the thing off - which you gladly gave him. After a few short seconds, it was on the floor. Much to your own surprise, you told Geralt to just send your bra the same way immediately, while you frantically pulled at the hem of his sweater. After all, you needed to level the playing field a bit. The clasp of your bra was no match for his nimble fingers, which made you feel a little sad. Of course that wasn’t a new move to a guy like this - even though his being twenty-one made him a fair bit younger than the guys in your past. You were about to decide to not linger on the feeling, when Geralt made you forget about it altogether by kissing along your jaw to your ear. He moaned in it softly - a deep, gravelly sound that made you lose whatever little sanity you still possessed - and murmured a soft ‘fuck’ before moving away from you to take off some of his own clothes.

It took everything you had to keep your mouth from falling open - and you were only about forty percent convinced you were actually successful. You’d always thought you had been more than generous in your wildly inappropriate dreams, but absolutely nothing on the planet gave this guy the right to be this fucking ripped. Despite probably managing to keep your mouth closed, you couldn’t stop yourself from staring, and you battled the strange urge to lick every inch of his body; your hands would have to do. Your fingers trailed softly over his shoulders and chest, and you bit your lip as you let them slowly travel down over his abs to the waistband of his trousers. On a whim, you hooked your fingers behind it and pulled him closer to you again. There was a devious smile on his lips when you did, which gave you more courage than you ever thought you had. He let out the most delicious grunt when you softly palmed his erection through his jeans, which was partially lost against your lips when you pulled his face down to yours for another kiss. You resisted the urge to pull your hand back when you realized what this guy was packing.

Geralt squeezed your ass through your skirt and grunted again - a sound you gladly answered with a moan. He bowed his head and put his lips to your neck, seeking out the spots that made you squirm and whine. After a short while, he pushed you back a few steps until you felt the cold concrete of the wall against your back. You shrieked at the sudden coolness against your skin, involuntarily arching your back and pressing your chest into his. Geralt laughed softly before resolutely pushing you back against the wall, lowering his head again to continue his quest further down your chest. You gasped when the warmth of his breath brushed past your sensitive nipples. The touch of his tongue made you lean into him again as he drew circles around the pebbled skin. His hands made their way to the hem of your skirt, pulling it up until he could comfortably reach between your legs. His fingers ran over the fabric of your underwear, and you shivered when Geralt deliberately circled your clit with slow, lazy movements.

He raised his head again, leaving your nipples exposed to the merciless cold air of the room, and looked straight in your eyes when he pulled your panties to the side and dragged a finger through your slick folds. He wet his lips, and you heard a soft growl rumble in his chest every time he exhaled. It was torture, the way he kept teasing you until you were begging him to give you what you wanted, but somehow, the glacial pace with which he pushed a finger into you was so much worse.

"Fuck, you're killing me," you growled.

"Tell me what you want, then." God, his smile was amazing. You almost forgave him for teasing you beyond any reasonable boundaries.

"I want you to stop teasing me," you replied.

"You've been teasing me for weeks," he said to your surprise, "don't I get even a little in return?" You quirked an eyebrow at him. He had been the one teasing you for weeks, for crying out loud! He laughed when you suggested that.

"I don't think I care who started it," he growled into your ear as he finally pushed two fingers inside you and curled them in search of the perfect spot. Of course he found it in no time, and you were a squirming, shaking, whimpering mess in his arms within seconds.

He kissed you again. It was rough, like before - and an excellent way to keep you quiet as his fingers continued to pump into you unrelentingly. Your nails dug into the muscle of his shoulder so fiercely you were sure it hurt him, but he didn’t look bothered by it at all. Every moan that escaped you seemed to inspire him to keep going until you couldn’t take it anymore.

“That’s it.” You clearly heard the excruciating smugness in his voice as he pulled you over the edge. Leaning against the wall wasn’t enough to keep your knees from buckling, but Geralt seemed to have no problem holding you up while he rested his forehead against yours. After a while, your legs were once again able to carry your weight, and you stood a little straighter as you once again ran your hands over the ridiculously muscular torso in front of you, not stopping until you reached the waistband of his jeans, which you swiftly unbuttoned and unzipped. As soon as you wrapped your fingers around his cock, Geralt moaned loudly, your mouth swallowing the sound up as you pressed your lips to his again. The kiss could hardly distract you from the thoughts that raced through your mind as your hand greedily explored what mother nature had blessed him with, and you couldn’t stifle a moan.

Your fingertips didn’t touch. That sentence ran tireless circles through your mind as you gently, experimentally, moved your hand, attempting to draw a reaction from the man in front of you. Your fingertips didn’t touch, but instead of contemplating the probability that this was never in a million years going to fit, you let out a continuous stream of moans as you touched him. If the past few weeks had taught you anything, it was that you didn’t care whether this would be easy or not. You needed him.

The sounds that spilled from Geralt’s throat were like music to your ears, ranging from dark, guttural growling to equally dark and guttural moans. He took the liberty of pushing his pants down to give you easier access, which finally inspired you to set aside your doubts and get on your knees.

Geralt inhaled sharply when your tongue darted out to meet the tip of his cock, and you found yourself almost giddy with excitement. There was just something about making a man this size crumble beneath your touch, and from your current perspective, everything about him seemed even more massive than when you’d been standing up. You smiled as you listened to the noises Geralt made as you circled your tongue around his head. That smile widened when those sounds grew more impatient with every passing second, until he placed a hesitant hand on the back of your head, gently urging you to stop teasing him.

There was no way you could take all of him into your mouth, but he didn’t seem to mind. Men this generously endowed were probably used to that particular misfortune. Curiosity ultimately got the better of you, and you steadily moved further down his shaft until you reached your limit. At first, the hand Geralt kept on your head didn’t move at all, until there came a point at which he seemed to have confidently learned the extent of your capabilities. He was still gentle, applying only the slightest amount of pressure, never forcing you further down than you could handle. The occasional moan escaped you, the vibrations of which caused Geralt to groan, and his cock to twitch slightly in your mouth.

It had been a while since you had been able to lose yourself so completely in a blowjob, and although you had no way of knowing how much time you spent on your knees, it must have been a rather long time. When Geralt pulled on your hair slightly - and more firmly after gaining some confirmation that you weren’t opposed to that kind of thing - and your almost trance-like state was broken and you were faced with reality again, the first thing you noticed was the excruciating sensation in your knees. You chuckled when the memory of one of your friends fought itself to the forefront of your mind. In your own days at the university, she had publicly - loudly, too - declared the library ‘carpet burn central’, and your knees were now living proof of her assessment.

A large hand wrapped around your arm as Geralt pulled you off the ground rather unceremoniously, and pushed you back against the wall, kissing you fiercely.

“Fuck,” he swore under his breath as he fumbled with something. The options regarding the source of the crinkling sound you heard - especially considering the context of the situation - were limited. Truth be told: anything other than a condom at this stage would have sorely disappointed you. Luckily, your educated guess was dead-on.

“Need some help with that?” you taunted, not considering whether potentially antagonizing Geralt was a smart thing to do - it probably wasn’t. He huffed impatiently, breaking your kiss and looking at you with a lifted brow. There was something resembling amusement in those gorgeous amber eyes, and nothing of the annoyance that you had heard in his voice.

“Got it,” he said, the smallest grin appearing on his lips.

Without warning, he captured your body between his and the wall, pulling one of your legs up to his hip. It was not yet enough for him to comfortably move. While shaking his head slightly, a smirk on his lips, he lifted your other leg as well. The suddenness of your feet leaving solid ground made you shriek, and you wrapped your arms around Geralt’s neck. One thing was certain: there was absolutely no reason to doubt his strength. In fact, you wished furiously that you had chosen a less limiting and maybe more conventional position and location than the ones you currently found yourself in. Positions and locations with more possibilities for Geralt to show you what he was really capable of. At the very least, that location would contain something to tone down the sound of the screams you were sure he would pull from you.

As your thoughts raced through your mind about what could, would, should or might be, Geralt entered you slowly, giving you plenty of time to adjust to the size of his cock. Much to your surprise, things went smoother than you had expected. The first thrusts came slowly, and were too gentle to really match the raunchiness of the position - or place - you were in.

That didn’t last long.

Whether it was his idea, inspired by your sloppily muttered ‘I can take it’, or a combination of both, you didn’t know - and quite frankly: you didn’t give a damn. Right now, it was just you and Geralt, and the way your arms were wrapped around his neck, and your legs around his waist, as you held on for dear life while each thrust came harder, faster and deeper than the one before. It was fantastic. Something about the way he moved had you hiding your face in his neck in a hopeless attempt to hide your screams. You squirmed in his arms as your hands closed into tight fists around locks of his white hair - which he didn’t even seem to notice.

Geralt was an unholy combination of strength and stamina: rough, untamed, and seemingly always on the brink of losing control. For a moment, you were consumed by a single drop of sweat that traveled down his forehead, headed for the furrowed brow that sat over a pained expression. That tortured look gave you an idea of the sheer amount of restraint he needed right now to not topple over into the abyss of his own feelings, and chase nothing but his own pleasure. He’d hurt you. You were as sure of that, as you were of your suspicion that you wouldn’t mind so much as one microscopic little bit if he did hurt you. Never before had you surrendered so completely to a man, and if you had to be honest: never before had any of them earned your submission like Geralt did.

He lasted way past the point where you should probably have asked him to slow down, then past the point where you wondered if you genuinely wanted him to slow down, and finally another while past the very moment any discomfort warped itself into pleasure again. That familiar, throbbing ache begged for attention - yours or otherwise - as Geralt slowed his brutal rhythm. A sigh of relief escaped you, not because it wasn’t good before, but because this was a pace at which your mind could keep up with the continuous, overwhelming flood of sensations. Geralt urged you to loosen your arms, which were still wrapped tightly around his neck. He held your hips tightly as he stepped back a tiny bit, giving you space to reach between your bodies and focus some attention where you needed it most.

Geralt thrust into you with a steady rhythm while your fingers drew tight circles around your clit. Your breath caught in your throat as you came closer and closer to your orgasm with each thrust, each touch. When you finally exploded around him, a hint of a smile cut through the grim expression on Geralt’s face. His harsh features softened as his previously unrelenting rhythm finally faltered and made way for the uncontrolled and passionate thrusts that announced his nearing release. His fingers dug into your hips, and the growls that fell from his lips bordered on the feral. When he came, those growls largely died against your lips as he swept you into yet another breathtaking kiss. A hiss escaped you when his sharp teeth grazed your bottom lip and bit down painfully.

When he finally - maybe after slightly more time than he should have allowed - slipped out of you and put you down again, you had to brace yourself against the wall in order to stay on your feet. This guy was genuinely every bit as amazing as you’d imagined he’d be - and then some. Or rather: he had been. As you gathered your discarded clothes off the floor and put them back on, scrambling to make yourself at least somewhat presentable again, you realized that this was it. It was over. The one thing you had spent weeks looking forward to, was now something of the past. Suddenly, a wave of something you couldn’t quite place washed over you. Not regret, no, you’d recognize regret. Even the where and how of this encounter couldn’t hold a candle to your worst drunken mistakes - the ones you actually did regret. There was absolutely nothing to regret about something this amazing, except maybe the fact that it was over.

As you questioned why part of you was questioning your unquestionable life choices, you vaguely took note of Geralt sneaking off to the bathroom. Of course, your initial fear was that he would sneak off altogether, but you remembered the only entrance to the library was locked, and you were the only person present with a key. Your suspicion was confirmed when Geralt returned to you a bit later.

The two of you found yourselves in a very interesting situation. If the morning after a one night stand was awkward, the moment after a wicked semi-public quickie in the library was at least twice as uncomfortable, and then some. You didn’t speak as you locked up and left the floor you were on, and while you walked, at least a hundred scenarios crossed your mind that did nothing to settle your nerves about saying your goodbyes. Whatever you conjured up in your brain was also useless in preparing you for the one thing that actually did happen.

“Come back to my place,” Geralt said as you stepped outside. No matter how hard you tried, you were ultimately unsuccessful in keeping your eyes from going wide as you heard his words. Something about it wasn’t a question, which turned out to be enough to bring back the thrumming between your legs and weaken your knees. “I’m not done with you yet.”

#henrycavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill characters #geralt of rivia x ofc #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia smut #geralt #179 crescent street #179cs #179cs10 #geralt of rivia x reader

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gothiethefairy · 7 months

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there should be more blind!jaskier aus, mostly bc the idea of everyone giving geralt shit for abandoning a blind man on top of a dangerous mountain is kinda funny

#the witcher #geraskier #like he tells his witcher brothers about it and lambert is just like 'yeah he's probably dead.' LOL #jaskier does make it down the mountain but changes the story each time someone asks him how he did it lol #ofc geralt feels guilty about it later tho and ofc it takes jaskier some time to forgive him #but once everything is forgiven jaskier does hold it over geralt's head sometimes lol #can't win any agruments without jaskier mentioning the mountain lol

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spielzeugkaiser · 8 months

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#this takes place soon after vesemir meet them I’m assuming?#oh man and post -that- geralt coming back home and seeing this picture#that is if vesimir puts it in his room tags by @kitsunebattleboxer

You know what? yessssss

#geralt of rivia #the witcher #vesemir #roach #geraskier lovechild #ofc Milek drew a Roach he is also a horsegirl at heart #also filed under: moments when Vesemir was v e r y close to telling Geralt what's up but the timing was not right #guys your tags and asks make me go AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

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pickleforstony · 7 months

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Of Banquets, Bastards and Burials

#geraskier #OFC THEY DANCED #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher #the witcher netflix #twn #the witcher fanart #jaskier x geralt

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boxofbonesfic · 1 year

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𝓗𝓮𝓷𝓻𝔂 𝓒𝓪𝓿𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽

ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ: 🖤 ᴅᴀʀᴋ 🤍 ꜱᴏꜰᴛ!ᴅᴀʀᴋ ❤️ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ 💖 ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ ❤️‍🩹 ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ 😂 ᴄᴏᴍᴇᴅʏ (ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴄᴀɴ ɪ ꜱᴀʏ, ɪ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴊᴏᴋᴇ) 👻 ʜᴏʀʀᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ

✨ɢᴇʀᴀʟᴛ ᴏꜰ ʀɪᴠɪᴀ✨

☼ 🖤🤍❤️👻 ᴛ ᴏ ɴ ᴀ ʟ ɪ ᴛ ʏ (ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇ!ɢᴇʀᴀʟᴛ x ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇꜱꜱ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ) ᴏɴɢᴏɪɴɢ

ᴄʟᴀʀᴋ ᴋᴇɴᴛ (ᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ ꜱᴏᴏɴ)

#henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fandom #henry cavill #geralt of rivia fanfiction #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia smut #geralt of rivia x y/n #geralt of rivia x ofc #clark kent x reader #clark kent x ofc #clark kent #clark kent fanfiction #clark kent smut #clark kent x y/n #clark kent x you #geralt of rivia x you

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deandoesthingstome · 10 months

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travel the breadth of extremities

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia X Forest Nypmh!OFC (Fithra)

Summary: Your job is to ferry travelers through the dangers of your forest. Your charge isn’t used to needing someone else so badly.

Warnings: There is sex in this story. It’s pretty tame. Some oral (m and f receiving), some standard p in v positions (cowgirl, missionary, I think that’s really it but if you find something else let me know.) NSFW, +18, NO MINORS

Word Count: 6k

A/N: I listened to Hejira on repeat almost the entire time I wrote this story. The title comes from the lyrics. I hope what I felt about this tale translated to the page for you. I made up a bunch of stuff. Also, I don’t own Geralt of Rivia or The Witcher, but I own this OFC and the words here. Please don’t repost. Likes, comments, reblogs are amazing.

"You should stay on your horse. And we have to keep to this path." I sighed heavily, frustrated at having to explain the situation yet again to this tall, silver haired man who had approached asking passage through the Faerlaith Forest.

We hadn’t spoken about much, other than his need to travel to the other side faster than a journey around the outer edges would take. I didn’t ask for a name because we have no need for that. And money wouldn’t be exchanged because it’s superfluous here. But from the moment we'd struck our deal, he'd already begun attempts to change the terms of our agreement. There weren't many, honestly. Stay on the horse. That was basically it. But this man, this witcher if my ken was to be trusted and it usually was, was not interested in being led along like dead weight.

“You’re sure we can't cut across the underbrush here? It'd be faster,” he groused, shifting to reposition himself securely in the saddle as I glanced over my shoulder with what I hoped was my best stink-eye as I led him along one of many paths with varying widths through the lush and dark greenery.

“You'd think so.” I’d already explained this to him at least twice since we set out from the forest’s edge, close to Gilgaard in what this man had called The Far Lands. To me, we were simply home. But this home was hostile territory to outsiders. Only the desperate and hurried ever bothered an attempt to cross Faerlaith on their way anywhere. Worn paths well clear of the forest would take any creature where they wanted to go, albeit hours or days longer than a trip through the forest. Usually.

“And I can't get down?”

This question again, spoken with a gruff I was slowly getting used to.

“As I said from the outset, the ground in this forest is attuned to a certain presence and pressure. My footsteps and your horse will do you no harm. Your heavy gait would doom you.”

“I can walk lightly.”

“Not likely,” I snorted, barely able to contain the laughter bubbling inside. I’d watched this man approach, reins of his steed in hand. He moved like he walked through honey, seemingly in no hurry, oddly enough. He was nimble, agile, stealthy to be sure. I could even imagine him cat-like. Maybe, wolf. But he couldn’t mask his weight when he walked no matter how quickly he might bound from foot to foot. Our land would not abide.

“Hmmm…”

His low growl stirred an ember in the pit of my belly. One best left unattended, or so I’d always been advised. Passers-through were usually not of the ilk my kind cared to entangle with. But this man…

We walked on and I was grateful for the silence that settled over our tiny party of three. Of course the horse counted. How could she not? But the lack of grumbling allowed me to shift all my focus to the air around us, searching for telltale signs of danger, feeling for the practically imperceptible changes in pressure.

“So it's a certain gait that’s needed?” His voice caught me off guard for a moment as I realized he really would not let up.

“Mmhm.,” I answered, about to leave it at that. But maybe the conversation would be nice. It really wasn’t often anyone new came through. I decided to use his curiosity to my benefit, practicing the art of voice that wasn’t needed with my kind. “And pressure of step.”

“And you've mastered this gait?” he inquired.

“I was born to master it, so yes. Oh, and you'll want to be sure your horse...what was her name again?”

“Roach.”

“Yes, you'll want to be sure Roach doesn't try to feed or water along the way. I had you attach the leg guards in case the path gets too close or overrun with shrubbery. Her hooves are fine, but the skin should be covered.”

“The plants are dangerous?” he asked with incredulity.

“The water in the streams that lace through this land to feed them is, yes.”

“Hmmm..” he growled again, the low throat reverberation permeating the air.

I hoped he wouldn’t ask how that came to be, that water flowing into the forest turned immediately toxic to anything not of the forest. That part of our heritage was kept hidden from all but the tribal elders. As if it would harm us to know why or how our land became so maleficent. In all my many years, though perhaps less than my somewhile companion, I was only taught how to hold the forest in high regard as I was nourished and sheltered, as well as to endure. I always considered it a wonder few ever left.

He seemed to consider it for a while as another silence fell and we walked further on into the depths of Faerlaith.

“Are you sure I can't walk myself? I’ve been studying the gait.”

“You've a hard time not being in control, don't you?” I laughed gently over my shoulder. It was amusing, this man who simply would not be told no.

“You like being in control?” he asked, a hint of something dangerous deep behind the words.

“Not especially. It's just what I do in this forest.”

“And out of the forest?” he asked.

“I could take it or leave it.” I honestly hadn’t spent much time out of the forest, so I’m not sure what those words were meant to convey. But I’d heard them once before, from a group I’d led through the bitter land and I liked the way it sounded.

“So I'm to sit here, on my horse, while you lead me, how far is it? Through the forest?”

“We're about a third of the way through now. And yes. You just sit.” I turned my head to glance at him with a small smile over my shoulder again. “On your horse.”

“And watch.” I nodded in answer and he returned another low hum.

He was only silent for a few more moments this time.

“You can't teach me this walk?” It was definitely becoming amusing. I had a sense this man wasn’t verbose under normal circumstances, so I found it oddly endearing he couldn’t help himself here, where words were rarely necessary.

“It's the weight, too,” I replied.

“But I'm on the horse,” he countered.

“The ground doesn't know that.”

He gave me another contemplative hum before continuing.

“It's a nice walk.”

“You've taken notice?” I was grateful he couldn’t see my eyebrow arched in curiosity. Why, I couldn’t say at the moment.

“I've had nothing to do but notice. It's...pleasant to see.”

I was about to ask if was sure he was talking about the walk when I spotted a Wrythe up ahead. The spirits were as dangerous as any other thing about the forest, save my tribe. The fact that this one had made itself known in enough time for me to turn back on our path to locate another route to the other side was puzzling. But it also meant I was distracted, and that my attention had faltered from my duty.

“Why are we backtracking?” he asked as I carefully maneuvered Roach around in a wide part of the path.

When I was sure her hide was clear from the surrounding shrubs, I turned to answer.

“Don’t look back, but it’s gone now anyway. Still, there was a danger up ahead and now that this path for this journey is known, we have to find another way.”

“But we have to be already half way through. How far back must we go and how much longer will it take?”

“Honestly, I couldn’t say. I had hoped we could take the most direct route. I usually don’t have this kind of trouble. But I was sensed. And for now this trail is closed to us.”

Like a fool, he looked back.

“I don’t see anything.”

“I’m ignoring you for now. If you want to take your chances, be my guest, but I struck a bargain to ferry you safely through this forest. I’m going to keep moving and it’d be great if you stayed with me so I could finish my task.”

“But you’re going backwards.”

I didn’t respond. I had to recenter. Something was off. Could have been my balance, with all that twisting and turning as I attempted to view the witcher both surreptitiously and obviously, when our conversation warranted. Could have been the conversation itself. Something about the way he admired the gait. My gait. Had that caused me to falter?

We traveled back in silence again as I scanned the forest floor for the next fork that would allow us to turn back toward the exit location he had requested. Once I found it and had traveled a ways along the narrower line, I felt grounded enough to make another attempt at conversation.

“Can I ask, since I didn’t before? How is it you made it to Gilgaard without knowing about this forest or its dangers?” I called out, hoping the sound would travel over my shoulder and back to him without a turn of my head or body.

“What makes you think I come from the direction we’re headed?” Either my voice carried well or he had better hearing than most outsiders. “And you don’t have to shout.”

“You mentioned The Far Lands. Only someone not from here would call it that. And you don’t seem particularly aware of the specifics of Faerlaith.” I kept my gaze scanning the terrain in front of me, seeking out patterns or disruptions thereof. “You also don’t appear to be from around here and I had assumed you’d simply gone around us on your travels East. But usually those who choose to travel around us know why they are doing so.”

“Fair enough. I’ll admit these lands are completely new to me. I’m decidedly unaccustomed to being this unaware of my surroundings.”

“How did you even know to come this way?” I asked, always curious about why a new traveler chooses this direction.

“An old man, who come to think of it, may not have actually been an old man, heard me ask around the tavern about the fastest way back West. I’m already several weeks past due as my business in The Far Lands took longer than expected. This was his suggestion.”

“And what was your business?” He was silent and I took that to mean his business was off limits. “Alright then, how much did he tell you about where you were going?”

“Only that I’d need to seek an obvious inhabitant and strike a bargain. He mentioned the paths through were difficult, but I thought he meant twisty or hard to follow. He didn’t mention anything about poisonous water or vegetation, or spirits that turn you back when you’re halfway through.”

“Odd. Most folk who know about the need for a guide, also know exactly why. What a wonder he didn’t apprise you. Are you sorry you followed his advice?”

“It’s been a pleasant enough journey so far. If we can make it out by the end of the day, I’ll take the win.”

We walked on in what had become a comfortable silence. I could feel my belly begin to rumble but I felt rude eating when I couldn’t offer any of my food to my charge.

“Have you brought provisions with you? Any food, or water?” I asked, realizing I should have done so before we stepped into the tree-line. It would have at least given him the opportunity to go back for supplies. But when he told me where he wanted to exit and I calculated the crossing, I didn’t think we’d be stuck this long.

Another lesson learned in my lifetime apprenticeship as a forest attendant. I’d been given so little instruction and I couldn’t help but wonder when I’d actually lose a visitor because no one had told me a key piece of information.

“I have enough for the evening. And something for Roach. I suppose I’ll need to give her my water, since she can’t drink from here.”

“It would be best. I’m so sorry about that. Usually travelers know what they’re getting into. I really should remember to ask next time.”

At exactly that moment, another Wrythe appeared in the distance. Still far enough away that I had time to consider where to turn around or turn off next, but certainly in my intended path direction.

“What is it?” he asked, as if he could sense the shift in tension I held.

“We have to change route again.”

“What happens if we just move forward? I have a hefty sword, I could just…”

“You couldn’t.” I knew that for a fact.

The bargains we struck for these passages were usually fleeting in nature. A favor to be curried later. Nothing truly tangible in the moment. Rarely, a brash young satyr would demand a weapon as payment. I always avoided such items, as it felt in direct opposition to the balance our kind struck with this forest to survive. But sometimes the outside trappings enchanted our kind. Those foolish young ones would find themselves face to face with a Wrythe, brandish a sword they only thought they knew how to wield, and end up missing limbs at best. The Wrythes were not to be trifled with.

“But I am an expert swordsman,” he responded, after listening to my tale.

“Good sir, I’ve never had anyone tell me anything with so much certainty. The Wrythes cannot be defeated. Only avoided. No one who has ever attempted to destroy one has escaped unscathed. And the Wrythe continues on.”

“There must be something…” I heard him mumble to himself. I had acute hearing as well.

We had just turned off to a new path, one I was sure would actually swing back around to meet up with our original route, a short distance past where we’d encountered the first Wrythe, when a third one made an appearance, though luckily off to the side and only audibly. But any more attempts West at this point would be deadly and I couldn’t risk it.

“We are not getting out of here tonight.” I tried to remain calm, but this had never happened to me before. I wasn’t sure what the next choice was, other than that I couldn’t go forward. And I needed to think. Something had disturbed my highly developed orienteering skills. “Please, no more talking.”

I eased Roach back around and up a short hill to a tri-fork. Glancing down each path, I caught a welcome sight and chose to follow the left-most branch. A short while later, a small clearing appeared along with an ancient dwelling surrounded by a raised walkway. Enough room for a man to dismount a horse without disturbing the earth.

“I’ll have to check the provisions, but there should be a pail inside you can pour your water into for Roach. And you’ll need to tether her up here. Now that you’re dismounted, her weight will betray her. And she can’t graze besides.”

I handed the promised pail to the man and hopped off the porch with the other larger tub I had also found. Though it wasn’t the way I’d hoped to finish the day originally, luck had shifted to my side when I noticed the shelter and my mood was turning away from annoyed again. I set the vessel on the ground in the middle of the clearing and turned to see my companion wondering after me with a curious glance.

“If you have any magic powers,” I called playfully as I made my way back, “you should pray for rain tonight. Anything caught in that tub will be fresh and unburdened by the canopy of the forest. So it’ll be of value to you in the morning. Come inside,” I offered, squeezing by the horse and entering the small shack.

“Do you?” he asked.

“Have powers? Some. Though I don’t have the divining powers. I can cast a short blinding spell, to hide if I’m in the open. And I can speak through the roots. Not all of us can.It’s taken a long time to master, but I still have plenty to learn.”

I set about building a fire to keep the hut warm for the evening, then sat across the table from my guest. I studied his visage. His strong, square jaw roughly covered in a day’s growth. His cleft chin and full bottom lip. His brows furrowing towards his golden eyes.

“Since we’re stuck here for the night, could I ask your name?”

“You didn’t need it before, when we struck our bargain,” he quirked an eyebrow at me.

“True. And I don’t actually need it now. But I thought it would be nice to know, since we’ll be together at least the night and well into tomorrow. I’m Fithra.” I wanted to extend my arm, to bind against his in greeting, but I hesitated too long and now he was answering me.

“Geralt.”

“Geralt. That’s a strong name.” I pulled my food from my pack and watched as he prepared a small feast from his. He was guarded about it before, but I wondered if sharing a meal would loosen his reserve. So I let curiosity get the better of me and asked. “What do you do, Geralt? For a living?”

“You don’t know?” he asked, seemingly surprised.

“I have an idea. But to be honest, the stories were all told as somewhere-else tales. I never knew they were true.”

“Many might wish they weren’t.”

“Are you a witcher then?”

“I am.”

“Must be maddening for you,” I conjectured, taking a small bite, conscious of the way his eyes seemed drawn to my mouth.

“What’s that?”

“Well,” I swallowed and dared a small lick of my lips, “if the tales are true, it must be torture that you aren’t able to use your powers to defeat the Wrythes. Since they can’t be defeated.”

“Everything can be defeated.” He took a bite now, and gave me an opportunity to gaze as he had.

“No one here knows how. And we’ve lived with the Wrythes for, well…since forever.”

“It’s usually true that when a people don’t know how to kill a thing, they name it unkillable. I’ve met plenty of beasts like that in my time. They don’t exist anymore.”

I fell silent with his words, unsure how to respond. I considered everything I had ever been told about the Wrythes, which amounted mostly to how to avoid them. What to do when I encounter one. Everything was some variation of “stay away” and not one piece of advice about how to harm them. Because we couldn’t.

“Do you know how they came to be?”

“Pardon?” I was shaken from my ruminations by his deep intonation.

“The Wrythes. Do you know how they came to be? Everything comes from somewhere, or something. And its destruction is often found in that detail.”

“No one ever said.” I sat dumbfounded. Suddenly, with a chill I hadn’t felt before, I remembered kin who had left the forest for good, searching for something more. What more, I could never say. “There are some who may know, but they keep the secrets.”

“What need do your people have of secrets?”

I thought about his question, even if he didn’t realize what he was asking. He couldn’t possibly know at this point that my people don’t communicate through words at all. We simply know what others are thinking and they in turn know what we are thinking. It was generally helpful in all areas of forest life, including coupling.

And as I considered what it would be like the next time I coupled with someone who knew exactly what I was thinking, I also began to imagine what it would be like to actually teach someone what I wanted. And to learn what they wanted also. I wondered if it would feel as exhilarating as learning my forest powers. If each time a discovery was made, I’d feel a fresh tingling, not better than the known, just new.

But before I allowed myself to drift too far down that desire, I also realized this must also mean that not everyone can know everything everyone else is thinking. The elders had kept this from us. This origin. This danger. They kept the lore hidden and didn’t share and somehow I’ve allowed myself to believe what they said because why, but more importantly, how could they lie?

And yet they had. They had lied. They knew and we didn’t and they were able to keep it from us. It felt as distant and unknown as each power I might learn to strengthen my place with my people, in this world. Something to uncover.

Geralt watched me with steady eyes as I went through all the emotions that arrived with each passing thought. I wondered if he knew the moment I almost allowed myself to think about him learning my secrets. And I realized this is how they keep secrets. And I didn’t want that.

“I don’t have a need for secrets. My people may, though they pretend not to as well. It’s making me feel curious.”

“What are you curious about?”

“Why they keep the secrets. But also about you.” He wasn’t shocked or surprised. As if he was expecting it. Or perhaps hoping.

He licked his lips as he closed his eyes, shutting his light away from me but giving me a small look at what it might be like to make him shut his eyes with pleasure. The kind of pleasure that shone right through every fiber of a being so that even with eyes shut, the power and the energy might still break through.

I was eager to feel that with him and so I asked him if he would join me in the bed. He came without hesitation, grasping my shoulders to turn me toward him and leaning to press his lips against mine with an urgency I hadn’t expected. This was his desire as much as mine. I hadn’t enchanted him and for that I was grateful, because now I would be able to show him exactly what I needed and I could ask him to show me what he needed as well.

It would be brand new and exciting because there would be no expectations. Everything would be unfamiliar and all we could do was let each new touch, new caress, new kiss, take us deeper into the evening with one another. He undressed me, not as slowly as I would have preferred, and soon I lay naked before him.

“Would you like me to help you as you helped me?” I asked, eager to see him as naked as I was.

“I would like you to touch yourself for me.”

It wasn’t the answer I imagined but it was exactly the answer I was waiting for. He wanted me and he wanted me to prepare myself for him. There was no great need to add to the moisture I already knew was building up between my legs, but I felt an overwhelming desire to let him watch my tongue trace around the tips of my fingers..

The groan he let escape his lips at the sight told me how right I was. I teased my forefinger and middle finger and let him imagine exactly what I was thinking, which was how much I wanted to do this to his cock if he would finally release it from his clothing. As he moved to unbuckle and unbutton, I shoved my wet fingers right into my cunt, glistening before his wolfish gaze.

He didn’t linger on his clothes. If I thought he undressed me a little too fast, it was nothing compared to the speed with which he removed each artfully tailored article of clothing. His armor was admirable and clearly crafted by a skilled artisan, and yet it paled in comparison to the sculpted body beneath it.

I watched his muscles ripple with every movement and the sight of him made me press into my core faster and deeper with each new feature I was graced with. His shoulders, wide and commanding. His arms, bulging. His chest, taut and sprinkled with curls that begged to be combed through. If I wasn’t otherwise occupied, I would have reached out to stroke him,

I could only imagine his hips thrusting into me; his cock, enlarged and springing from between his tree trunks of thighs. I wanted him to sit so I could rub myself along them, leaving trails of slick in my path.

When he was finally naked, he dropped beside me in the bed and kissed me hard again.

“Mmmfff. I cannot believe that a mere twelve hours ago you were but a stranger to me and I was promising future assistance and now we are here together in this bed. It seems apparent, but I feel I must ensure you are as welcoming of this as I am.”

“Welcoming?” I scoffed. “This is more than mere welcoming, Geralt. This is a promise fulfilled.”

He paused for a moment and I froze, worried he didn’t believe me. If he thought I was tricking him and would demand another promise in the morning, he would be wrong, but I couldn’t identify what he was thinking. That mysterious mind was now turning slowly to enemy and I understood why we had to keep everything in the open. Secrets make enemies.

“This is no trick. You made the promise of a promise. You didn’t know what it might be, as neither did I, but you agreed to the term and accepted my guidance. Now I am asking you to pay your favor early. To trust that I would never consider this the end of my agreement with you simply because you’d fulfilled your promise before I did. Tomorrow does not bring another bargain. This bargain endures, until I see you safely on the other side of Faerlaith. On my honor. Now, please. Speak to me as you would your lover.”

“It will require no great imagination, as I already wish this myself.”

He proceeded, then, to tell me exactly how to keep pleasuring myself for his amusement. And once he had shifted his body in between my legs, he admitted that placing his tongue dead center to nip at and lick at my not-so-more-hidden flower was making him unbearably hard. He endured for as long as it took to make me cry out his name, and I held a firm grip on his white hair as a rush of wet heat poured over his face.

When I attempted to move away and turn to place my head close to his engorged member, he stopped me. “I do not wish for that.”

“Ever?” I asked, sure I’d misunderstood.

“Just right now. Just for right now, I desire your weight lifted above me. I want to lay back and watch you slide down my cock. I want to see the pleasure on your face. It couldn’t possibly make you any more beautiful than you are now, but I want to know if I’m wrong”

He helped me find my balance and then watched rapt, exactly the way he had as I had touched myself for him. At first, he allowed me to move myself up and down his shaft, and side to side, grinding my hips into him when I could manage a full descent. Once he was sure I had experienced another wave of never known before pleasure, he began to thrust and rut up into me. I managed to remain upright for as long as I could, eventually succumbing to an errant buck and falling forward against his chest. He held my mouth on his and kissed me deeply, keeping our lips sealed against one another even as he began to turn me to my back.

Every move was almost exactly as I would have wished it. Every touch, every kiss, every press, every pull. They all felt so familiar and yet so foreign at the same time. He took every cue I gave and translated it into the way I wanted him to put his hands on my body, and even though he didn’t find the spot I thought I wanted him to find, he found another. And the trembling I felt begin in my bones was nothing compared to the cry of ecstasy he drew from me before he roared with a final thrust.

It was as late in the evening as the early morning hours when I woke to find him seated at the edge of the bed. The fire embers were still burning low and I wondered if he thought we needed another log of slow burning knup wood. I was startled when he spoke.

“I can hear them.”

I was about to ask him who when I, too, heard the Wrythe’s cry. How had he not heard this before? In the woods, when my hearing had allowed it. I thought our senses were well matched.

“Is it always like this?” he asked.

“Like what? What exactly do you hear?” I countered, realizing I couldn’t be sure if he was hearing what I was. His answer confirmed it though. And as we listened to the low, mournful wail, circling the clearing knowing it couldn’t cross the open field to find us, I draped myself around him, legs across his lap and arms encircling his shoulders. I melted into the cradle of his arms as he reached up to hold me close.

“But you don’t hear what they are saying?” he asked.

“What? They don’t speak words.”

“Oh they absolutely do. They’re speaking right now.”

“Geralt. You’re saying you hear words in that low moan that you couldn’t hear not more than three hours ago?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

I waited longer than I felt I should have had to.

“Well, for ‘leith’s sake, what are they saying?”

Geralt proceeded to translate a tale that both saddened and angered me. These Wrythes, the spirits that would not let us defend a wayward traveler without injury, these forest menaces, they were protecting us. They were the ghosts of wayward forest kin, end met too soon in a hateful or violent manner, returned to their home. Cursed, as in life, with no voice as well as no unspoken connection. That skill had disappeared with the life. The ghost instead returned with moans. Or so we thought, apparently. Or had been told.

Geralt, and who knows how many others, had the ability to hear the words. If the elders knew and this is what they were keeping from us, I had even more questions than before. I slowly eased myself off Geralt’s lap to settle back against the wall and drew my knees to my chest.

“They are saying that there are still others, as far as they know, who remain outside the forest.” He turned to face me, drawing one knee onto the bed. “That they are only exceptions, souls who were killed in crime at the same rate as any other people in the world. They want you to know, there is no reason to think this would happen to everyone who entered the wider world for good, not just to make a trade.”

“But then why do they harm us when we ferry men, or sorceresses, or elves across?”

“Pure coincidence. The ones they appear around are most likely to do harm or evil to your kind.”

“But they appeared for you?”

“Ah yes. They appeared because they knew my hearing would pick up the vibration, but only after you and I laid together.”

I blinked and took in the words, as well as the small smile on his face. The Wrythes had played matchmaker. That was why I couldn’t get across the forest this time. But then would Geralt have ever agreed to this if not for the interference?

“Yes. Yes I would have.” He seemed to know exactly what was going through my mind, but it was my clear voice hanging in the air that assured me the question had been asked out loud. “As soon as we were clear of the trees, I would have asked you to accompany me to the nearest inn for an evening before I continued on my way. I still may yet.”

I was surprised to hear such an unabashed confession and felt a swell in my heart. Even though our coupling had created a connection, it appeared to only allow Geralt to hear the Wrythes. It did not afford him the ability to speak without words to me. And he had chosen to speak his mind to me with no uncertainty.

“It pleases me to know this. In fact, it makes me want to return under these covers with you right now.” He gave a wolfish grin and joined me.

In the morning, I convinced Geralt to give me one last coupling. It was slow and lazy as he made his way up and down my body with kisses, tasting and nipping here and there, paying attention to what made me squirm and then repeating the motion a few more tortuous times. He found a way to make me almost release with just his tongue on my nipple. And he didn’t mind at all as I pressed against his chest and gently eased him onto his back so I could seat myself between his legs and press my lips and tongue to his cock before I slid my mouth around and down the shaft.

I moaned around his girth and recalled how it felt to have him buried inside me last night. When I could no longer bear the memory alone, I eased off his cock and leaned back, beckoning for him to shift his body forward and over me so he could slip his dick back inside and make me come for him again and again.

It was worth the late start, especially because it had already been determined I would not be accompanying Geralt to the next inn. This one night, and now morning, would have to suffice. I was leaving the forest, for sure. The paths were still treacherous to outsiders, though as long as they stayed on horses and did not stop to water or eat, they could make it across without delay now. And without a guide.

I was no longer needed and so, yes I’d be leaving the forest to see if making my way in the wider world was of worth. But Geralt would not be joining me on my journey and nor could I join him on his. He was on his way to Kaer Morhen and late as it was. The route would be treacherous, the roads beginning to cover in snow. It was not a suitable place for outsiders.

He turned to me with gratitude as we reached the forest edge and began to say our parting words.

“I will never forget you, Geralt of Rivia. I am glad to have met you along my way and happy it was through knowing you that the curse of my people was lifted. I am fearful about what this change will bring to my home, though. Maybe more of my kin will die at the hands of travelers.”

“The land will surely still protect you,” he spoke as a sage “And I have no doubt our paths will cross again someday. It has been my experience that once a kindred soul is met, nothing but death will break the bond and they will re-meet over and over. Surely, you and I are kindred. And I look forward to the day we draw near again.”

After a final kiss, wrapped in his embrace, we finally broke free and parted ways. I headed south and he pointed north. I turned on my toes from time to time, pleased to see him peering back over his shoulder every now and then until the distance between us was so wide and he began to drop down over the hill so that I could no longer see even the top of his head.

I turned south again to make my way to meet my next fate.

Taglist:

@sillyrabbit81 , @kittenofdoomage , @mayloma , @kebabgirl67 , @fvckinghenrycavill , @geralts-yenn , @beck07990 , @itsrubberbisquit , @feelmyroarrrr , @sweetdreamsofgelato , @liveoncoffeeandflowersss , @alexakeyloveloki , @marantha , @aireraume , @angelmather1 , @lizzystuffsthings , @enchantedbytomandhenry , @omgkatinka , @littlefreya , @avengersfan25 , @thesaucynomad , @just-chirpin

Also, if you want this? @dadralt @hope-to-hell maybe?

#geralt of rivia #geralt x ofc #geralt of rivia fanfiction #geralt of rivia fanfic #geralt of rivia smut #geralt of rivia x forest nymph!ofc #travel the breadth of extremities #mine #deandoesthingstome

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wellwhatdoiput · 2 years

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vesemir has the same energy as those people on tiktok who make those rustic cooking videos like where they’re in the wilderness with an entire leg of lamb and they make the most elegant and beautiful meal of it using a spit roast, fire, and a single butcher knife

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lainiespicewrites · 7 months

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LainieSpice Masterlist

I wanted to compile everything because I think I'm going to start writing more!!

Captain Syverson

Oneshots:

The Christmas Cabin

The Christmas Cabin Part 2

Series:

Coach Sy Basically captain Syverson but a high school football Coach 😍

Coach Sy Ch 2

Coach Sy Ch 3

Coach Sy Ch 4

Coach Sy Ch 5

Coach Sy Ch 6

Electric summer: Sy and his old summer camp love reunite when they come back to camp as counselors!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Walter Marshall

Series:

I just want to feel safe

Part 1

Part 2

Henry

Oneshots:

Someone to take her home

A lesson in flirting

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raccoon-eyed-rebel · 9 months

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One of two kinds - Part 1

Masterlist

A/N: "Part 1", Nina? Part 1? And it's 8.7k words long? Yes, yes, yes, part 1. Guess centaur!Sy will have to wait for a bit, right? I don't even know how I came up with the idea for werewolf!Geralt (affectionately known by me and a few others as "Weralt") but OH BOY am I glad I did... And then Geralt kept getting bigger and the Druid kept getting smaller, and now we're left with this.

I don't think this qualifies as monsterfucking just yet, but rest assured I promised someone knotting and that will happen...

Characters: werewolf!Geralt x halfling!druid!OFC (unnamed)

Summary: When you find a wounded, new werewolf in the forest, you can't just leave him lying there. Perhaps the enormous man will turn out to be exactly what you needed...

Word count: 8.7k

Warnings: 18+, SMUT, NSFW, MINORS DNI, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), p-in-v sex (unprotected. Be smarter!), dirty talk, SIZE KINK, annoying banter (❤️), lots of teasing, mentions of sexual assault, murder, blood, violence (that took a turn), and just so that no one is confused and comes after me for this later... SIZE KINK!!! And one suggestion of a very inappropriate use of wildshaping... I think that's all but if I missed any, let me know.

@deandoesthingstome @geralts-yenn @ellethespaceunicorn @mayloma @keanureevesisbae @summersong69 @ylva-syverson @peaches1958 @sillyrabbit81 @livisss @peyton-warren @ramadiiiisme @mysweetlittledesire

The groans and whines cut through the forest, clearly half-animal half-man to your ears. It awakened your curiosity; it was likely a shifter, or so the wolf-like howls would indicate. Wolf-hybrids were so rare that you almost discarded the possibility immediately, but shape shifters were common enough in all forms.

Swiftly you flew through the thick of the forest, towards the source of the cries. He wasn’t difficult to spot; a bright white fleck on the forest ground – and one of considerable size.

Behind a tree, you shifted back, carefully rearranging your skirts – for some reason – before stepping into the small clearing where the creature cried. He was possibly the largest wolf you had ever seen! An adult male, from the looks of it, but a new one. One who had only found his wolf recently. Older wolves rarely went through the trouble of shifting to their full form unless it was a full moon or mating season...

Careful not to startle him, you crept towards him until his big, golden eyes locked on yours, in them an expression of pain so overpowering that you nearly felt his agony yourself. The cries got louder until one echoed in your head: “Help!” He spoke the Common language, to your surprise. He didn’t feel human, even after you disregarded the obvious animal energies.

“Shh,” you said when he yelped, clearly in tremendous pain. He allowed you to touch his head, leaning into your touch and nuzzling your hand. From here, you could see a rather gruesome cut on his stomach and a bite mark on his thigh from something not much bigger than him – but maybe a lot angrier. “It’s okay, you’re going to be okay,” you whispered to him while trying to think of a way to move the behemoth out of the cold. Even your wolf form wouldn’t be large enough to move him.

With the absence of other sensible options taken into consideration, you arrived at the conclusion that magic was the only viable solution. The creature whined softly as your spell lifted him off the floor, and you dragged his levitating body carefully through the woods, until you found the cave you were looking for. The rough floor was cold, but it would have to do.

“You need to shift back,” you whispered as you sat by his enormous head. Gods, whoever this was had to be an exceptionally large man – especially compared to your small frame... “I know it hurts, and I know it’s terrifying, but I can’t heal something as big as you,” you pleaded. You ran your hands through the soft white fur on his neck in an attempt to calm the wolf down. It was obvious to you that he was fighting his shift, and you knew that meant it would hurt him all the more. He simply couldn’t hold on to his wolf form forever.

Slowly, the rhythm of his breathing steadied under your touch. “Good, good...” you muttered, raking your fingers through his fur. “Stop fighting it, it won’t hurt if you let it happen.” It wasn’t quite a lie, but it was something slightly other than the truth: phasing wasn’t painful, per se, but uncomfortable enough to be experienced that way in the beginning. The feeling was certainly more or less an acquired taste.

“I can’t...” The grunt that sounded in your mind was accompanied by a low growl from the creature.

“Yes, you can, I know you can,” you said as you smoothed a hand over his cheek. Watching a werewolf – or were-anything – phase was a sight somewhere between gruelling and fascinating, but this man somehow made it look powerful and captivating in a way.

His human – or rather, ‘regular’ form, as you were still convinced this man was at least not fully human – was as impressive as his wolf; Approaching – perhaps even exceeding – two metres in height, with broad shoulders and no shortage of muscle. As your curious eyes raked over his form, you couldn’t help but notice other parts of him that were quite sizeable... Immediately, you discarded the thought: All it took was one look at his abdomen and thigh, both of which had sustained quite a bit of damage.

“Don’t move,” you told the man as you placed your hands over the wound on his stomach before you started on your first healing incantation. “I won’t be able to heal you completely, but I should be able to get both of us through the night,” you muttered as you watched the wound carefully, not taking your hands off the man until the bleeding had stopped. At least that put him out of immediate danger...

The wound on his leg, you had already noticed, would require a more finessed approach; it ran rather high on the inside of his thigh – a place that was impossible for you to reach without putting your hands in places that you had better not touch, even as a healer, without it being strictly necessary. Luckily, now that he was no longer continuously fighting his transformation, and with the other wound in a less alarming state, the man seemed to be in considerably less pain.

“Could you, eh... I need to... Please,” you stammered, your cheeks glowing hot as you made vague gestures at his crotch. “Can you move your, eh... Parts... out of the way, please?”

He looked at you and cocked an eyebrow, while a devious smirk spread on his face. “Parts?” he asked, a hint of that same smugness unbecomingly evident in his voice.

You cleared your throat and tried – and failed – to keep your voice steady as you spoke again: “Yes. To put it plainly... Ehm... Move your dick.” The man snorted, lowering his hand tragically slowly and cupping his... package, so you had access to his thigh. Without thinking, you straddled his leg as you put your hands over the wound, quietly marvelling at the sight of his vast, tree-trunk thighs, fighting the urge to moan as the muscles twitched beneath your fingers. “What did this to you?” you asked softly while still concentrating on your spell.

“Don’t know, didn’t see it,” the man grunted. So, he wasn’t one of many words... He let out a sigh of relief as you finished your work and took your hands off his leg. There was no doubt that it was still sore, as you weren’t able to continue your treatment right now – not if you wanted to make it through the cold night with the slightest bit of comfort, at least.

“How does that feel?” you asked the stranger, and he replied with another grunt.

“Much better,” he groaned. Then, he moved his leg in such a way that made you lose your balance, and you tumbled forward, until you were on top of him. Actually, ‘were launched on top of him’ was a far better description. He barely grunted as you landed on him, but when your eyes met, he was looking down at you in utter befuddlement. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were...” He awkwardly pinched his fingers together in a gesture that could have meant absolutely nothing other than ‘small’.

“I’ll have you know I’m exceptionally tall for a halfling, you brute!” you snapped, frowning up at him. Despite your feisty attitude, you didn’t dare move, as you were very aware of the rather unfortunate position on his body you were in. Luckily, he seemed far less plagued by reservations regarding the situation, and before you know it, his large hands grabbed your waist, and he pulled you up towards him. His sly grin never left his face as he set you down on his stomach, just above the wound you had just been working on, which now presented itself as a new scar, the fresh skin pink and shiny and – above all – delicate, making you extra careful not to make any unexpected moves.

“What’s your name?” you asked, feeling it was only appropriate at this point to find out that information about him.

“Geralt,” he said with a low chuckle. You repeated it – it was a rather unusual name – and introduced yourself, still seated on top of his chest. “Thank you for your help.”

“You’re welcome,” you replied. “Do you have any idea what happened to you?”

“I... Well, you saw the aftermath. I don’t know what attacked me, and... You seem to know a lot more about what I am than I do,” he said slowly. Something in his voice suggested he was lost, confused and perhaps even a bit scared.

“Get some rest,” you said, conjuring up a soft bed of moss beneath the man, “I’ll try to gather some food.”

It was not an easy task, as it was rather dark out and also quite cold, but you managed to forage a batch of mushrooms and berries that, together with the provisions you carried, should make a nice meal for the both of you. Upon your return to the cave, you saw Geralt, slowly scurrying through the cave – still in the nude, as he of course did not have any clothing at this time. He had almost finished building a small circle of stones. Next to it, there was a pile of branches and twigs, and a supply of larger blocks of wood. Since there was no axe present, those blocks had to be a testament to his incredible strength.

“It’s freezing,” he said plainly when he noticed you standing there. Yes, the temperature. You had already noticed it yourself, but now that you were faced with this man, sanding upright, completely naked, you rapidly felt the temperature of your body rise as you involuntarily let your eyes glide over his imposing form.

“It is...” you replied, never taking your eyes off of his generous endowment. It truly was freezing. A chuckle escaped him – of course he had noticed your completely inappropriate staring – as he sat back down on the layer of moss you had conjured for him. “I can light it,” you said quickly, before Geralt could move towards the stone circle. You sank to your knees next to it, and quickly built a fire. Then, you focused on cooking the two of you a meal.

“It’s not a lot,” Geralt complained as you handed him his portion of the food you had prepared.

“I’m so very sorry! Naturally, I foresaw these circumstances, yet neglected to pack enough food to accommodate a giant like yourself,” you snapped at him. What did he expect you to do? “What are you, anyway?”

“My father is a half-orc, and my human mother clearly isn’t quite right in the head,” he scoffed. You struggled to suppress a chuckle. As far as you were concerned, his mother had had exactly the right idea... “Though I suspect you would disagree with that.”

“I beg your pardon?” you said, not even feigning indignation at the implication in his remark – it was perfectly genuine. How dare he make that assumption? He was right, of course, but how dare he?

For whatever reason, he decided not to press the matter, finishing his meal without making another sound.

“Your mother was also a werewolf,” you said after swallowing the last bite of your own supper. “Your father likely wasn’t, which would explain why it took so long for your first shift to occur. I take it you’ve been away from home for a while, too?” As you had already expected, Geralt nodded in reply to your question. That just about explained the entirety of his current predicament. When you looked into his eyes, the hint of fear was back again, and you couldn’t help but feel bad for the man.

“Alright, I can tell you haven’t the slightest clue as to what’s happening to you, so I will do my best to explain it as clearly as possible,” you said – not that your knowledge on shape shifters was so vast, but it had already become painfully obvious that you knew more than this poor sod. “If you want, I will stay with you until your transformation is complete."

You expected him to argue with you, to tell you to waste your time on something else, or that he would be alright without you. Instead, Geralt accepted your offer without so much as a single complaint – he truly must have been terrified. It wasn’t unimaginable; things were happening to him that were not only new to him, but beyond anything he had ever imagined he could possibly be.

“What do I have to look forward to?” he groaned as he stretched out on the patch of moss again, not bothering to cover his body with... Well, there was nothing he could possibly cover himself with... Your cloak surely wouldn’t suffice – it would barely be enough to cover one of his enormous legs. Besides, you’d get cold if you handed it to him. To fashion a blanket out of moss would be possible, but it would leave you without a bed, as you were really starting to get tired, and using more magic was out of the question. To leave him bare through the night, however, especially in his current condition, would certainly prove disastrous for him. With the fire still going, his attire – or lack thereof – wasn’t an immediate concern. His question, on the other hand, was.

“You have made it through the worst part; the full shift is unanimously more difficult and more painful than the half shift,” you explained. “It should follow within a few days. In the meantime, prepare to feel... moody – although I suspect it wouldn’t be the first time people say that about you – and restless, generally uncomfortable... There won’t be a lot I can do but keep you company and help you through the shift, but at least you won’t be alone.”

“Thank you,” he muttered, turning onto his side on the makeshift bed. This time, when you looked closely, he shivered. “You don’t happen to have anything larger than that handkerchief you call a cloak, do you?”

“I do not, but if you’re nice and stop insulting my size, I can make you something. It would leave us with just one bed, though,” you said, your tone about as snippy as you felt was to be expected after a remark like that.

“I don’t see a problem, there’s plenty of space for both of us on here,” he replied, his eyes holding something just shy of an apology.

“Alright then,” you said, walking over to him and fashioning a cover out of moss for him. It was large enough to cover both of you, but you opted for your cloak as you lay down on the soft, green, makeshift mattress next to him. He’d been right; there was plenty of space – largely because you, of course, hardly took up any.

“Will it always feel like this?” he said suddenly, just as you informed him that you were going to sleep. “The tearing inside, the... pressure?”

“Not from what I’ve heard,” you said softly, turning around to face him and placing a hand on his cheek, his face almost comically large underneath your tiny hand. “You learn to live with the wolf. Right now, you’d do well to remember that you’re not fighting him; there’s simply no point to it, he’s never going away. He just wants to...”

“Play?” Geralt scoffed.

“You’re being sarcastic, but you’re hitting the nail on the head, actually,” you said in earnest. He looked at you, his golden eyes glowing enticingly in the light of the fire. “He wants to get to know you.” Your gentle touch, combined with your words, calmed him down, and he inhaled slowly and deeply. “Get some rest.” On a deep sigh, he closed his eyes, and before long you heard low and loud snores – echoing through the cave...

“Good morning,” he grumbled. Morning? Was it morning? As far as you were concerned, morning came after a good night’s sleep, and you didn’t get that, so morning? Your tiny little behind!

“To you, maybe,” you snapped, “I didn’t sleep a wink. Caves have quite the echo, you know. And you...” He cut you off, surprising you by putting an arm around you and pulling you against him, his lips close to your ear.

“I’m not asleep anymore,” he growled, “why don’t you get some sleep now.” With one swift move, he wrapped his blanket around you too. Why didn’t you get some sleep? Beg your pardon? As if there was even so much as a remote possibility of getting any sleep. It was morning. And what that meant for this man – who, beneath that blanket that you were now under as well, was still very much naked – was that it was really morning.

“I don’t think I’ll be getting any sleep with that giant...” He cut you off again, this time with a bout of roaring laughter that echoed through the cave loudly enough to give anyone a serious headache. “Alright, that’s quite enough, Geralt.” You got up and paced to the other side of the cave, where you inspected your supplies. There wasn’t a morsel of food left after last night, and your water supply was dwindling swiftly – especially now that you had to share it. “There’s a town, not too far from here. I will stock up on some supplies and find you some clothes. Please tell me you know how to hunt?”

He scoffed – a sound that was positively dripping with disgruntlement at your implication. “Leave me the bow,” he grunted, “not that those... darts will kill anything, but I’ll give it my best.” He reluctantly took the crossbow from you and inspected it. “Do you have a knife?” You could tell he tried not to laugh when you handed him one of your daggers, and he closed his mouth again, swallowing the comment he had been tempted to make. “This will do just fine.” The smile that adorned his brutish features wasn’t quite genuine, but it was close.

As you gathered your things and made your way to the entrance of the cave, he stopped you: “What do you mean ‘a town not too far from here’? You’ll be walking for hours!”

“I was never going to walk, dearest,” you taunted before shifting, leaving Geralt baffled at the sight of a rather unusually large raven before him. By means of a goodbye, you cawed a few times before taking flight.

You returned to the welcome sight of a flickering light coming from the cave, and the smell of roasting meat. It was still light out, leaving you with plenty of time for foraging, and mending the heap of scraps you carried in your pack now would make a fine activity for the evening. The sight you were met with when you entered the cave, however, left a thing or two to be desired.

“Would it be too much to ask that for the few days we call this cave our home, we do not turn it into a pigsty?” you snapped as you stepped around a pile of entrails. “Did it occur to you to take care of these beasts outside?”

“I was going to clean that up,” Geralt growled at you, “you returned sooner than I expected.”

“Does the phrase ‘as the crow flies’ mean anything to you, Geralt?” you retorted.

“You turned into a raven, not a crow,” he replied, his uncalled for stoicism only fuelling your anger.

“I hardly think you are in a position to be a pedantic arse about this!” you exclaimed, balling your hands into fists in an attempt to prevent yourself from saying something you didn’t mean – in the interest of keeping the peace for a few days, of course. After a deep breath, you felt confident you could speak without insulting him: “Thank you very much for providing us with food. Here are some clothes.” You handed him the things you had bought him, which he gratefully accepted.

“I’m almost done cleaning the hides,” he said with a kind smile, “In case you wanted a bed of your own tonight.” By the end of his sentence, his voice dropped, as if the thought of you sleeping anywhere other than next to him brought him sadness. Without another word, he put on the garments you had given him. Luckily, you had gauged his size quite accurately, and they fit him well. “No undergarments?”

You snorted. “I think I happened upon the place where you phased, are these yours?” You tossed the scraps you had gathered at his feet. After a brief inspection, Geralt nodded. “Well, then it seems like you never felt the need to wear undergarments to begin with, Geralt.” He smiled at you – and in this moment you’d have given everything to just be able to say he smiled up at you, but seated on the floor like he was, his face was just about level with yours. There wasn’t a hint of embarrassment to his expression, which irked you – to say the very least.

You ventured out into the forest, looking for something to add to your meal – though you doubted Geralt would have any problem whatsoever with a dinner that consisted solely of meat. During your search, you noticed for the first time how lovely this particular part of the forest truly was. You were lucky enough to find mushrooms, root vegetables and a whole host of berries nearby. From where you stood, you could hear a waterfall, and as you walked towards the sound, you clutched your waterskin and prayed that the water was clean enough to drink. It was! In fact, it was nothing short of absolutely perfect, and the banks of the small creek provided you with even more edible plants and herbs to take with you.

“Darling, I’m home,” you teased as you stepped back into the cave. The pile of guts, you noticed, had been removed – mostly. This night, the two of you prepared your dinner together, while jokes of the domesticity of your current situation became more and more frequent. Outside, a particularly harsh wind had picked up, blowing icy air into the cave.

“Perhaps instead of a second bed, we had better use the hides to shield us from that wind,” you suggested carefully.

“Perhaps instead of making a bed right in front of the entrance of the cave, you could have gone around that corner,” he grumbled, pointing at a part of the cave that would absolutely have been better suited for sleeping, “where we wouldn’t have to worry about freezing.”

“And perhaps,” you snapped, failing to keep your anger out of your voice, “I was utterly exhausted from dragging your gargantuan arse through this forest to keep you from dying!”

“Oh, believe me when I say I appreciate it,” he threw back at you, “but wouldn’t it be such a waste of your precious efforts if we still died...”

“As if that wind would actually kill you!” You rolled your eyes at him while he growled at you, and before you knew it, you found yourself in one of the tensest moments of your life so far.

“It wouldn’t kill you either, but it would be pretty fucking uncomfortable, wouldn’t it?” he sighed impatiently.

The worst part of the argument was that the solution was so mind-numbingly simple that neither of you even dared to pitch the idea of just moving the bed to the other side. Instead, you just kept staring at each other, getting angrier with every passing minute, until – much to your dissatisfaction, you finally couldn’t take it anymore: “Let’s just sleep over there, then!” With a snap of your fingers, the moss disappeared, and with another, it reappeared on the other side. “And lay down and strip, so I can take another look at your injuries.”

“One bed, huh?” Geralt remarked, flashing you that cocky grin you had become far too well acquainted with in the short time you had known the man.

“Shut up,” you replied, “you’re warm. It was quite nice.” Heat rose to your cheeks as you spoke the words, and you were convinced you weren’t wholly able to keep the expression on your face free of the shame you felt.

“I thought so too,” Geralt admitted as he lay down on the bed, nude once more, grinning down at you, seemingly not feeling the same embarrassment that you did regarding the situation.

The wound on his abdomen was as little of a problem as it had been the previous night. This time, the only thing that remained of it was a faint scar that looked far older than it really was. The other injury, however, posed the same problem it had before – only this time you were more than comfortable taking a slightly different approach.

“Do you need me to move my... parts out of the way,” Geralt said mockingly while raising a suggestive eyebrow at you. You sighed deeply. This man was simply impossible!

“Yes, Geralt,” you barked at him, “please move your massive cock, before I do it.” You immediately realized your mistake, as the devious glint in his eyes slowly gained assistance from yet another impossibly smug grin that slowly spread across his face. He did exactly what that look in his eyes foretold: absolutely nothing. “I’m not giving you a happy ending with this healing spell.” You spat your words out at him so harshly that for a moment, his face showed a hint of concern that he had gone too far. “I might castrate you,” you added in a sickly sweet voice that brought the grin back to his face, “but it would be a shame...”

“Finally, something we can agree on,” Geralt chuckled – a sound that was cut short by a grunt when the backs of your fingers brushed past his cock on their way to their destination on his thigh. On the way back, you let your fingertips trail the flesh of his thigh slowly, purposely lengthening the amount of time you spent in contact with his parts. The muscles in his thigh twitched as you ran your fingers over them. This time, you hadn’t made the mistake of straddling his leg, and you cursed yourself for that choice, as in that moment you wanted nothing more than for him to launch you onto his chest again.

“God, you got insanely lucky that whatever bit you even missed the goods, darling,” you muttered before withdrawing your hands, eliciting a deep sigh from Geralt.

“I’m even luckier you found me,” he whispered on a sigh. Without speaking, he held a hand out to you, and you took it. He impatiently tugged at your arm, almost hard enough to make you lose your balance again. Instead, you moved, climbing over him until you were laying to his left, nestled into his side. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, “your touch calms me down.”

“Gods, I almost forgot,” you said, shaking your head in disbelief over your apparent indifference. “How are you feeling?”

“Restless, as you predicted,” he replied. “My senses are annoyingly heightened. You smell good. You feel soft.” He turned to face you, wrapping his other arm around you and pulling you against him and laying his forehead against yours, swallowing hard. “I find myself constantly fighting the urge to touch you, taste you...”

“I might be able to help that restlessness, you know?” you said carefully. As clear as it was what other urges he was fighting – judging from the growing pressure against your leg – you found it best to err on the side of caution.

“I wouldn’t want to hurt you.” His voice was only a low growl in your ear.

“That’s disappointing,” you retorted with a challenging tone to your voice. Suddenly, his eyes opened, the look in them fierce – animalistic, even.

“Fine, is that what you want? For me to tear you apart? Don’t think I can’t smell that sweet little cunt of yours,” he snarled before aggressively pressing his lips against yours. The sudden action made you gasp, and Geralt greedily used the opportunity to invade your mouth with his tongue. When he retreated, you eagerly sucked his bottom lip into your mouth, making him moan as you nibbled on it – quite contently, too. Without hesitation, he reached for the collar of your blouse, tearing the fabric away unceremoniously. You allowed him to explore every bit of skin on your neck, moaning with each sloppy, open-mouthed kiss he pressed to the sensitive skin.

From there, he swiftly moved on to your chest, sucking more than only your nipples into his mouth with remarkable ease. His teeth grazed over your skin, luring a sharp gasp from you as you dug your fingernails into his shoulders.

Now that it was the sound of your own pleasure bouncing off the walls of the cavern, the sound bothered you far less than when it had been Geralt’s horrible snoring.

He moved his hand down over your body, the materials of your clothes shredding under his brutish touch. It didn’t matter; you’d mend them later, right now all you wanted was to feel Geralt’s hands on you.

You cursed softly under your breath when he ran one of his fingers through your folds. A low grunt slipped from his lips as you kissed and licked his neck and jaw, then a louder moan when you sank your teeth into his flesh as he pushed a finger into your slick core. When he added a second, he groaned – as did you.

“There’s no way,” he muttered, making you giggle. The fact that he seemed to struggle to push that second finger into your tight pussy made you giddy with excitement, but you also eagerly took the opportunity to finally flash Geralt a smug smile of your own. The fact of the matter was that you weren’t some porcelain doll.

“Come on,” you taunted, “if you can’t even manage a second finger, how are you ever going to put that big, fat cock inside of me? I can take it, I promise.” He laughed when you threw your head back as his finger finally slipped all the way into you. “That’s it, now give me some more, big guy,” you hissed into his ear, earning you a surprised look that held concern as well as a measure of admiration.

Geralt hesitantly positioned a third finger at your entrance and pushed it into you gently, stopping immediately when he saw your face contort into an expression of what he rightfully believed to be pain. “Are you sure?” he whispered, his face displaying clear disbelief as you nodded.

“Go slow,” you moaned, “I’m more than alright, love.” Slowly but surely, his finger inched its way into your tight canal. You took a moment to get used to the slight burn, allowing your body to relax around the intruding digits and accommodate instead of reject them, and then you looked into Geralt’s eyes as you began to move your hips, your dripping core coating his hand with your juices.

He mimicked the rhythm of your hips, pumping his fingers in and out of you, making you moan with every thrust. “Don’t stop,” you moaned, meeting his movements time after time, your words punctuated by increasingly ecstatic cries, “you’re going to make me cum.” You didn’t have to tell him twice, and moments later, your muscles were clamping down on his fingers, spasming erratically while you came undone.

“Gods, you’re beautiful like that,” he murmured to you, stroking your hair and chuckling lightly when his praise made you squirm in his arms. “I wonder if you’re as beautiful when that pretty little mouth of yours is completely stuffed with my cock.” His lewd words were almost enough to drive you all the way up to another peak...

With ample enthusiasm, you made your way down his body, trailing your fingers over his muscles and through the hair on his chest and stomach, until you were seated comfortably between his immense thighs, clenching your own as you let your eyes glide over his parts. He was absolutely massive – so big, in fact, that you hesitantly reached a hand out to touch him. You had confidently talked the talk, but walking the walk would perhaps prove a bit more challenging than you had initially anticipated…

As soon as your fingers came into contact with the soft skin of his cock, your doubts melted away, and were replaced by an almost feral longing to devour him. Slowly, you allowed your fingers to travel the length of his erection, mapping every pulsing vein and every ridge you encountered carefully, committing them to memory, paying attention to the area around the tip that made Geralt moan softly on his exhales. Finally, you wrapped your hand around his member, only managing to cover just over half of his girth with your small hand.

“Gods, you’re tiny,” Geralt whispered, letting out a delighted chuckle and reaching for your head, guiding you gently into a position where your chin rested near the base of his cock. “Oh, fuck me...” he said in disbelief as he stared down at you.

“That’s the idea,” you replied before sticking your tongue out and licking all the way from the base to the top of his cock. It wasn’t hard to guess what he’d been so mesmerized by; you were fairly confident his erection was longer than your head. Slowly, you swirled your tongue around the head of his cock, carefully keeping an eye on his reactions, before taking him into your mouth.

It was easy to see that Geralt tried his very best to hide his amusement at your frustration when you could barely manage to wrap your lips around his tip – only his very best wasn’t quite good enough, and he failed miserably as he tried to choke back his laughter.

“Where’s that big mouth of yours now that you need it,” he asked with a positively maddening grin on his face, but worse than that smirk was the fact that just as you attempted to pull back to answer him, you felt his hand pushing at the back of your head, leaving you sputtering around his cock. He found it all quite entertaining, while you glared up at him, not at all convinced of the hilarity of the situation. After a few moments, his tone changed, along with the expression on his face. “Come on, little one, I know you can manage a bit more than this,” he said softly as he gently stroked your hair, tangling his fingers lightly in it.

You wanted to get angry with him for calling you that, but you just couldn’t – not only because it was so incredibly true, but also because he said it so sweetly, his voice so full of endearment as he gently urged you to take more of him, that you felt pride and a willingness to please him glow deep within you. With his guidance, you slowly took more of him into your mouth, saliva dripping down his shaft as you inched your way down until you simply couldn’t cope with his girth anymore – and you had still barely made it past the tip.

“A bit more,” Geralt grunted above you – and something in you became instantly wildly annoyed with the man and his ridiculous demands.

Abruptly, you pulled your mouth off of him and snapped: “I can’t dislocate my jaw, I’m not a snake!”

“You’re a druid, right?” he asked suggestively, ignoring the irritation in your voice.

“I don’t even know what to say to that,” you stammered. The notion was so utterly ridiculous that it would be foolish at best to dignify it with a response.

Left without options – other than ‘stopping what you were doing altogether and going to sleep, which was just about the last thing you wanted – you continued your efforts, slipping your lips around the head of Geralt’s cock again. This time, you moved your hands over his length while teasing the tip with your tongue, and you soon revelled in the sound of the moans that escaped him.

He didn’t speak, though occasionally he muttered a soft ‘fuck’ under his breath – the low, gravelly sound of which made you clench your thighs together. They were slick with your own arousal and served as an immediate reminder of the ache between your legs. It was impossible now to stop squirming, searching for the friction that would provide you with relief – something Geralt was quick to notice.

He sat up and plucked you off the floor like you weighed nothing – and to him, you most likely truly didn’t – before laying you down on the moss. He kissed you briefly, and then went on his way, kissing down your body until he reached his destination. Strong hands firmly gripped the back of your thighs, behind your knees, pushing your legs open with demanding force.

He took in your scent, the look in his eyes changing from languid bliss to one of pure animalistic need as he inhaled. The hands left your thighs, only to reappear on your hips, gripping you tightly and pulling you closer as he buried his face in your pussy, eagerly tasting your arousal. In this particular area, his size was clearly an advantage, because his tongue covered so much area that he hit all the right places no matter how he went about it. You squirmed in his arms, begging him not to stop, to keep doing what he was doing until you inevitably came hard on his eager tongue.

“Gods, that was fantastic!” you exclaimed, immediately cursing yourself for your enthusiasm as you heard the arrogant chuckle that he let out as you spoke. Your attempt to move away from him was met with resistance, leaving you powerless in his overwhelmingly strong grasp.

“Stay,” he ordered, “I’m not done with you.”

It was the simplest of truths; as soon as the words had left his lips, he trailed around your clit with the tip of his tongue, teasing you for a moment before flattening the muscle against your swollen little pearl. It didn’t take long for one of his hands to leave your hips, and you felt his fingers at your entrance, eager to plunge deep into your waiting core. This time, they slipped into you with ease, much to Geralt’s satisfaction.

Your climax approached swiftly, and you silently thanked Geralt that he didn’t take the opportunity to be a complete arse about that. Instead, he moaned against your skin as he softly kissed your sensitive clit before moving up again until his lips found yours. Somehow, tasting your own arousal on his capable tongue made you even wetter, and you soon squirmed helplessly as he trapped you beneath his enormous body, unable to move away from him so you could beg him to finally take you.

Eventually, he pulled back, breaking your passionate kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and he pulled you along as he sat up on his knees.

“I was going to ask about the logistics,” he chuckled, “but this seems fine?” You nodded in reply to the question he so cleverly – yet poorly – attempted to disguise as a statement. After checking whether you were really sure about this, he held you up with only one hand, using the other to line himself up to your core.

The intense feeling of his thick cock slowly entering your body made you screw your eyes shut and knocked the air out of your lungs as your pussy struggled to accommodate his incredible girth.

“Too much?” he asked, his eyes locked on yours, looking for signs of discomfort.

“No,” you breathed, gritting your teeth as you tried to get used to the fullness, “keep going, I told you I can take it.” You searched his eyes for the feral need you had seen in them before, but you found nothing other than concern – until you caught a glimpse of the immense restraint he was showing. It was then that you realized that it took absolutely everything he had not to slam you down onto his cock – it took everything he had not to give you exactly what you wanted. “Come on, big guy,” you growled into his ear – as close as you could get to it, anyway, “put this big, fat dick in me. I want to feel every inch of you inside my tiny little cunt.”

Your crude words were rewarded with a pained low grunt, his quickening breathing, and the pounding of his heart in his chest so ridiculously loud that you could hear it when you put your head on his shoulder. Somehow, it wasn’t enough yet, and you didn’t let up on your pleading until he grabbed the side of your face with his hand. One quick look into his eyes told you you’d finally reached your goal; your relentless begging had eaten away at the resolve to take this slow, and Geralt bowed his head to roughly crushed his lips against yours, as he suddenly dropped you all the way down onto his cock.

“Oh Gods, yes!” you shrieked – the sound swallowed by his mouth firmly locked over yours. He did you the courtesy of giving you a few – brief – moments before lifting you off his cock again.

Compared to the second one, his first thrust had been gentle, and he only got rougher as he plunged into your core again and again, making you scream with every last move. They were mostly cries of utter bliss spilling from your lips – only very few escaped you out of pain. Fact of the matter was that the slight burn you felt as Geralt’s thick cock stretched your walls to their limits – and slightly beyond, perhaps – only added to your pleasure, heightened your arousal, and steadily drove you towards the edge of yet another freefall into rapture.

He had been scared to hurt you before, but seeing you so completely overcome with pleasure seemed to change something. Before you realized what was happening, your back hit the moss, and he hovered above you. One of his hands captured both of yours and pinned them to the ground above your head, while the other managed to manoeuvre your legs onto his chest. Geralt chuckled as he took notice of the fact that your feet barely reached up to his neck.

“So fucking small,” he growled before pulling out and slamming his hips into yours, “so tight.” The angle was amazing – you weren’t the only one who thought so, judging from the sounds that came from the enormous man that hovered over you, who muttered an almost uninterrupted string of profanities as he pumped his cock in and out of your aching cunt. With every new thrust, your tight, clenching walls pulled him closer and closer to his release. “Fuck, I’m going to flood this tiny little pussy,” he growled into your ear in between ragged and uneven breaths before erratically chasing his pleasure with complete, reckless disregard for your comfort – just the way you liked it. When he came inside of you, you clamped down on him, milking his fat cock for all it was worth, until every drop of his seed had spilled into you.

You knew the worst was yet to come; the moment he would pull out, and your sore muscles would clench around nothing, cum dripping from your battered hole… And indeed; when the pressure slowly disappeared, you winced and cried out in pain as you had oftentimes before – only now, you were pulled into a strong embrace, and kissed gently on your parted lips as you gasped for air.

When you woke up, Geralt was behind you, curled up comfortably around your body, and you sighed deeply. You hadn’t felt this way in a very long time; connected, sheltered, wanted. An outcast to your kin, you knew you would never be able to return ‘home’. Refusing the hand of the man your parents had chosen for you might have been excused after the first time, if you had followed that with long weeks of grovelling and begging his family for forgiveness, but since you had run away, you had naturally fallen from grace completely, while bringing grave shame upon your family. Since that day, you had often wondered if the freedom your choices brought you had been worth the price you had to pay for it. Now you knew. It was.

You yawned and stretched – or at least; you attempted to do so, but you were captured in the iron grip of Geralt’s embrace, and the strong arm draped over your waist weighed heavy on your body. It was impossible to move. Absentmindedly your fingers traced the bulging veins in his thick forearm while you remembered how those same arms had lifted you up so effortlessly the night before.

For a while, you basked in the glorious aftermath of your… you’d have called it ‘lovemaking’, perhaps, if you had any indication that he felt for you what you were starting to feel for him. For now, ‘tryst’ would have to suffice. You clearly felt the evidence of his presence in your body – you were sore all over, particularly there where you had so gracefully taken the brutal beating that had seemed such a good idea at the time. Not that you regretted your decision, far from it, even! It was rather the case that you had forgotten how taxing your particular proclivity for sizeable appendages could be. And you were sure you’d gladly forget again, in a few short days.

After some time, you really couldn’t stay put any longer. For one because your stomach was growling, and also because – and this matter was indubitably the more pressing of the two – nature was calling. Next to you, your behemoth prison keeper was fast asleep, somehow snoring considerably less annoyingly than the night before.

“Geralt,” you whispered, to no avail, leaving you with no other option than to raise your voice. “Geralt!” Unsurprisingly, that did not work either. It would simply have been far too easy if it had. It was obvious to you that kicking this man anywhere would hurt you more than it would hurt him. He carried both werewolf and orc genes, for crying out loud! You squirmed in his arms, and when that yielded no result either, you cried out. “Geralt, for the love of the Gods, you don’t even have to wake up, but please let go of me!”

“No,” he muttered, voice thick with his continued slumber, “don’t want you to leave.”

“I’m not leaving, you grandiose fool,” you chuckled, “but I do need to… step outside for a moment. I will be back in a minute.”

With a sigh that was indicative of great reluctance, he lifted his arm off you, allowing you to get dressed and set out to do what needed done. Now that you were free of his grasp – though you wouldn’t dream of abandoning him – you scurried through the woods for a moment, in search of something to still the growling of your stomach.

Your quest for food was successful, but as you began to make your way back to the cave, something grabbed your arm pinning you against a tree.

“What do we have here?” the figure – cloaked, of course – spoke in the Elven tongue. It was a dialect you weren’t quite familiar with, but you managed to understand his words just fine as he spoke of his intentions – malevolent, naturally. With your hands pinned in place, you were unable to wield magic, and thus utterly defenceless against the man, leaving you with two options. The first was to suffer his abuse quietly, as you had done countless times before as you travelled the woods by yourself, the other – and preferable – option was to cry out as loud as you could and hope that help would come swiftly.

Under different circumstances, you would have uttered a general cry for help, and though you were certain that that was exactly what you had set out to do, what came out of your mouth was Geralt’s name, loudly, the sound filled with terror and agony.

“Shut up!” the man before you called out, pressing a dagger to your throat. A single tear escaped your eye as a familiar incantation was followed by the growth of vines from the tree, shackling you to it. Now that the man had a hand free, he let go of your hands and trailed your arms until he reached your face. He gently caressed your cheek – a gesture that made you feel sick to your stomach. Then, before his hand could trail further down, another figure appeared behind him. You were fairly confident it was Geralt, but before you could make sure, you were forced to close your eyes as blood splashed in your face.

When you opened them again, you saw the lifeless body of the elf at your feet – a head shorter than he’d been when he’d been threatening to harm you. You stared at the dead man on the ground, letting your hands drop to your sides as the vines disappeared now that their conjurer was no longer among the living.

“G-Geralt… You… You killed him,” you stammered, still attempting to process what had just happened.

“I did,” Geralt growled as he stepped closer. You felt his large hand, heavy on your cheek as he turned your face towards his and kneeled. “Don’t touch what’s…” His voice trailed off, his unfinished sentence heightening the tension between you.

“Say it, Geralt,” you whispered, “please.”

“No one can touch what’s mine,” he snarled softly, staring intently into your eyes. Without thinking, you lunged for him, wrapping your arms around his neck, and pressing your lips to his so fiercely that it made him laugh before he made an effort to match your fiery passion. When he broke the kiss, the look in his eyes had changed. “Are you scared of me?” he asked hoarsely, to which you answered by shaking your head decisively.

“At the very most I’m covered in elf blood, and I’d like something done about that,” you said, stepping away from Geralt to inspect the elf. When you bent down to check the body, Geralt asked what you were doing. “Free cloak,” you answered as you took the thing off the man’s shoulder. The violence from before had left it with a pretty large tear in the fabric, but it was nothing you couldn’t fix.

“That’s stealing,” Geralt mused softly.

You shrugged. “Why? He’s got no use for it now.” Beside the cloak, you found some rations and money. Geralt allowed you to grab his hand and pull him along to the stream, near the waterfall, where you quickly discarded your clothes and stepped into the chilly water. “Come here,” you called to Geralt, who hesitantly followed.

“It’s far too cold for this,” he grumbled as he helped you wash the blood off your body first, and your clothes after that. There was a hint of something else to his voice; a kind of confusion, though you could not quite put your finger on what the cause of it was.

“I’m sure we can find a way to warm up,” you said as you stepped out of the water, the cold breeze raising goosebumps all over your body. Geralt graciously offered you his shirt – a floor-length gown on you that would in no way stay on your shoulders, but at least it was warmer than being fully exposed to the cold air.

That day, as well as the next two, was uneventful; hunting and gathering, the pile of animal hides slowly growing in a corner of the space you occupied.

“We could stay, you know,” you spoke softly one night, as your fingers drew patterns through the hair on his chest and your empty pussy ached after yet another round of passionate lovemaking.

“Here?” Geralt asked, looking around the dark space.

“I know it’s not much, but we could make it into something?” you pleaded. “I haven’t had a home in a while, and I think the same applies to you.”

“My home will be wherever you are, my love,” Geralt whispered, as if that was all there was to it.

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