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viking-raider · 10 months

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A Witcher's Soul

Summary: When tragedy strikes, Geralt of Rivia seeks comfort in the arms of one woman.

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia/Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warning: PG - Abandonment Issues, Child Abandonment, Fluff Parental Loss, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Memories, Bathing, Love Confession, Soft!Geralt, Character's Death

Inspiration: This scene from Season Three of the Witcher! 😭

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy this! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!

Geralt rode Roach hard, only deviating from his path to guide the powerful black horse around a tree or rock. He gripped the worn brown reins tightly, feeling them cut into the top of his bare hands as he urged Roach to move faster, foam already starting to gather around his bit. The Witcher's mind raced, desperately trying to push down the power of the news he received from a good friend, while trying to help someone he'd found on the job. He struggled for a few days, trying to push it down, telling himself it didn't hurt.

She had left him almost a century ago, at this point.

Witchers had no emotions, he told himself, as a means to drive them back. It didn't work however, the emotions continued to smash into him.

So, he left in the dead of night, not a word to Anika, Otto, or even Jaskier, of where he was going or why. Though, he was sure Anika would know why. Geralt covered almost a whole league by the end of morning, cutting through the forest outside of Murivel, until he reached a modest clearing and an even more modest, three-room hut constructed in the middle of it, a stone and clay well on the left side, the bucket swaying softly in the breeze.

Roach came to a hard stop, hooves cutting deep grooves in the grassy earth, with Geralt wasting no time in dismounting the stallion and stomping across the yard to the front door. His sore and broken heart rose up with hope that it would swing open and the face of the one he was seeking would appear, to greet him. But, the door didn't open to him, instead he was greeted another way.

“Geralt!” A soft and confused voice called out.

He swung around on his boot heels, his golden eyes zeroing in on you as you stood just passed the tree-line, a basket of herbs and mushrooms balanced on your hip, as you regarded the Witcher. You hadn't seen Geralt in over a year, since he decided he needed to go to Cintra to make sure Ciri was safe from the sea of black and gold he'd seen on the Amell Pass. After the Dragon Hunt. You had heard the thunder of the new Roach's hooves coming up the path to your home, while you were gathering in the forest, and came to see who it was. You were surprised to see Geralt in general, but you were worried by how rushed he seemed.

“Geralt, what's amiss?” You asked, coming to close the gap between you. “Are you well?” You inquired, seeing the unusually deep crease between his brow and across his forehead, and how his complexion was paler, almost matching his hair.

Geralt took a deep breath through his nose, lips pressed together for a moment, working up the strength to speak. “I need you.” He finally rasped, his expression breaking into something soft and vulnerable.

“You rode all the way from wherever, just for time with me?” You smirked, tisking.

“Please.” Geralt replied, reaching out to grasp your free hand and squeezing it, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles, his expression breaking even more.

You frowned at him, all jest dying inside of you, seeing his wall fall before you and the pain he was being crushed underneath. “Let's go inside.” You whispered softly, tilting your head towards your door.

Nodding, Geralt reached out for your basket, but shaking your head and swatting it away gently, you pushed the front door open and put your hand on his arm, guiding him inside. You set your basket on a large table and turned towards the just as large fireplace, grabbing wood from the dog grate and tossed it in. Building it back up, sparks flying up the chimney. You moved to Geralt, who stood motionless beside the table, taking his hand and guided him over to the chair at the head of the table, gently coaxing him to sit down, then knelt before him. Grabbing the heel of his boot and his calf, you tugged the muddy, black leather off and set it underneath the table, followed by its twin. There was dust and mud covering his black clothing. You brushed your palm over his knee and thigh, casting some of it off, before standing up again and starting for the next room, only to have Geralt grasp your wrist and pull you into his lap. His arms wrapped around your shoulders as he buried his face into your chest, and breathed deep.

You frowned at him, sympathetically brushing your fingers through his hair and pulling it free of its usual tie, his white strands cascading over his shoulders. You nosed the top of his head, caressing the back of his hair and squeezing his bicep, still confused as to why he was there and what was ailing him so much.

“Geralt.” You whispered into his strands. “Tell me, what's happened?” You asked, your fingertips brushing the back of his neck. “Did you not make it to Ciri in time? Has something happened to her or Jaskier?” You inquired, licking your lips as your heart thundered against his forehead. “I noticed that isn't the Roach you had the last time you were here.” You pointed out, remembering the sweet Chestnut you used to feed and brush, when Geralt stayed with you, but now there was a sturdy black stallion standing in your dooryard.

He shook his head and cleared his throat. “No, they're both fine.” He rasped, turning his head to rest his temple against your collarbone. “As for the last Roach, she was killed by a Chernobog, a few months ago.” He added, softly.

“Oh, I'm so sorry.” You cooed, tucking his hair behind his ear. “Then, what's the matter with my Wolf?”

He was still and quiet again, for a long time, his fingers restlessly toying with the strings at the back of your bodice, before suddenly standing with you still in his arms, and turning to sit you on the chair in his place. He went out the door, rounding the house to the well and dropped the bucket to the bottom. You watched Geralt come back inside with each bucket, holding it in one hand, like it was the weight of one of his swords. Pausing in the open doorway and giving you a hard stare every time, as if he expected to find you moved off the chair or vanished completely. Only then, did he go to your large cauldron, dumping the full bucket in and returning back outside for another.

“Are you going to tell me, what's the matter, Geralt?” You asked, your concern only mounting with his bizarre behavior and irregular moodiness.

“Nothing.” He grunted harshly, setting the cauldron over the fire to boil.

“That's a lie.” You answered, just as sharply, being one of the few people on the Continent brave enough to talk back to the White Wolf in such a manner; other than Jaskier and Ciri. “You wouldn't have come from the bum fuck of Nilfgaard to see me, if something wasn't bothering you.” You insisted, glaring at his back.

Geralt ignored you, heading towards the back rooms of your home and leaving you more worried and annoyed at his behavior. He came back a few minutes later with no shirt on, and your suspicions on his task were answered. Despite what the people of the great Continent thought of Geralt of Rivia, he did not in fact like smelling of death, blood and horse. When he stopped for the winter at Kaer Morhen or with you, he bathed regularly. He just found it more a nuisance to do so while on the Trail, since the next Contract or sleeping rough would only dirty him up again.

Pulling the roiling cauldron off the fire, Geralt carried it to the large, soaking tub you boosted in your bathroom. He filled it almost to the brim, before adding in Lavender and Sage bath salts to the steaming water. A fragrant haze filled the room as he tugged his pants off and tossed them over a chair in the corner. He strode out of the bathroom, returning to you, still sitting where he'd left you. He took your hand and helped you stand, untying the strings of your bodice and tugging down your dress, so it pooled around your feet, before slipping his arm under your knees and an arm around your shoulders, scooping you up against his chest.

You sighed softly, wrapping your arms around his neck, while he carried you to the bathroom. “I missed you.” You whispered into his ear, as he stepped into the tub, lowering you both into it.

“And I, you.” Geralt replied, holding you in his lap and resting back. “Ciri and Jaskier are well, by the way.” He said, his fingertips stroking the skin of your side, beneath the water. “Ciri is being watched over by Yennefer, who's helping her try and control her magic and Jaskier was with Anika, last I left him.”

“Anika?” You frowned, tilting your head back against his shoulder. “Why is Julian with Anika? If he's well.”

Geralt's thick, scarred arms squeezed around you, almost painfully, making you squirm in his lap. “You remember my mother.” He mumbled, barely audible. “Visenna.” He said so quietly, you had to strain to hear it.

“Yes, I recall you telling me of her, a few years after we met.” You murmured, seeing the strained expression on his face. “And that you'd seen her at Sodden Hill. She healed you, after the ghoul bite.”

“I remember bits of my life with my Ma.” He rasped, his grasp on you loosening, but he still held you close to him. “She smelled like embers, from keeping our measly fires alive during the long nights.” He told you, the crease between his golden eyes slowly vanishing as he went back to that time, tapping into that abandoned little boy, he had never grown out of, but skillfully concealed from those he didn't cherish. “We were quite poor, even though she was skilled as a healer. So, she-” He paused, his voice thickening and his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

You looked up at him, seeing the redness in the whites of his eyes and the unshed tears threatening on his lashes. It frightened you to see the Witcher like this. In the fifteen years you'd known him, you'd seen him in many states, but you had never seen Geralt cry. Reaching up, you cupped his scruffy cheek in your hand and thumbed a droplet away, pressing your lips to his jawline.

“She would use her magic to create the most elaborate meals that we couldn't afford.” He continued, tilting his head into your hand. “There was—I would have done anything to make her smile. And yet,” He voice broke again, this time with more than just hurt and abandonment, but with resentment. “The day she left me, she was sick. She needed some water, so I went to get her some, and when I came back to the road...she was gone.” He croaked, pushing his jaw forward and shaking his head, trying to deny the burn of more tears.

His fingertips pressed into the skin of your side and back. “I called for her.” He said weakly, his golden eyes off in the distance. “But she was gone.” He whimpered, the tears finally winning out, dripping off his jaw and into your hair and the bath water.

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your forehead to his neck and hugging your arms around his torso. You had known Visenna had abandoned Geralt. He had told you that bluntly not long after you had met. The torture of her leaving him there, to be taken away to Kaer Morhen, where he'd suffered such agony in his transformation into a Witcher, at just five years old, coupled with the pain he never got over with his mother.

You wondered how Geralt had survived at all.

But no, Geralt was strong, even from a young age.

“She's dead.”

You pulled out of your thoughts, shocked. “She's dead?”

“She was giving aid to some villager and was mistaken as an Elf.” Geralt told you, bringing a hand out of the water to wipe it over his face. “They beat her severely and she later died, at the Temple of Mourning, where Anika was. Which is how I found out.”

“I'm so sorry, Geralt.” You cooed, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, connecting the dots to his arrival. “I hope the two of you were able to make some sort of easement between you, when you last met.”

Geralt pressed his lips together and buried his face into your hair, his throat too tight to speak in the moment. He considered how he and Visenna last met, in the forest outside of Sodden Hill, as he laid feverish and hallucinating from a Ghoul bite to the leg. After saving a poor Merchant, who was trying to bury the dead from a camp Nilfgaard had attacked. At first, she had tried to conceal her identity from him, pretending to be Renfri, Yennefer and finally, you, before he managed to discover who it really was. Triggered by her belief that, People linked by Destiny, will always find each other.

He asked her what she thought of his eyes. Demanding to know, if she knew what they did to improve a Witcher's eyes. Telling her that it didn't always work. She had begged him to stop. Calling him by his name, only for Geralt to reject her right to do so, like she had rejected him. He had begged to know if she knew how many boys actually made it through the Trials. Tears filled both of their eyes as they stared at each other in the darkness.

In the end, his Ma had left him, again, fading into the night, trying to convince him she was just a dream and he would never get the answer he wanted.

So, had he made peace with his mother abandoning him, forcing him on the Path of the Witcher?

No. Geralt decided in the end, he had not.

The only thing Geralt did know was he wanted you. You were the first person he had thought of, upon finding out about his mother's death. Wanting to feel you against him and needing the comfort only you were able to provide. You shifted out of Geralt's lap, moving around him, while reaching over the side of the tub, grabbing the small cup that sat on the foot board there. Dipping it into the water and gently pouring it over Geralt's silvery-white strands, you set aside and took up a round, solid bar of honey and chamomile scented soap, using it to work his hair into a rich lather. Geralt moaned, feeling your fingers massage his scalp, resting forward to prop his elbows on his bent knees, eyes falling shut.

“I love you.” He murmured, quietly.

You stopped, resting your hands on his broad shoulders. “You've never said that before.” You said, looking around at him, mouth softly agape.

“No?” Geralt rasped, cocking a brow over his shoulder at you.

“Not once, in all these years.” You assured him, your hand gently massaging the scarred muscle of his neck.

He turned to you, causing the cooling water to slosh over the edge. “Then, I have a great deal of making up to do.” He cooed, reaching out to cup your face in his rough palm. “Because I do. I love you. Out of everyone, besides perhaps Jaskier and Vesemir, you know me better than anyone, and no one has ever taken better care of me than you have.” He told you, his face betraying the emotions a Witcher truly had, but guarded for their most treasured person, and not those of an abandoned child, rather those of a man in love.

“I love you too, Geralt.” You assured him, turning your head to kiss his hand. “And I will always care for you, me bleidd.” You whispered, picking up the cup to continue washing his hair.

#henry cavill #henrycavill #viking-raider fics #geralt of rivia #the witcher #geralt #witcher #A Witcher's Soul #A Witcher's Soul *fic*#hurt/comfort #Geralt of Rivia x You #Geralt of Rivia x Reader #Geralt of Rivia Fluff #Angst #Fluff #Visenna #Geralt's Ma #Character Death #major character death

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months

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Common Knowledge 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, power imbalance, bullying, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Geralt of Rivia, Harald Halfdansson, tall & plus-size reader

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You unfurl the strip of legal pad, marked with Professor Halfdansson's messy and pointed writing. The usual scribble that has you squinting at your returned papers. He must be the only instructor in the college that still handmarks his assignment.

Like much of his style, his slanted cursive is chaotic. Often, his lectures or spiraling tangents about his trips to Norway or some mythos unrelated to the topic at hand. He is a well of knowledge, but one which is often overflowing and bottomless.

The subject is far from your first choice. You prefer history with a human subject. Your intrigue is those events which truly occurred, people who once walked the same earth as yourself. Mythos and belief is a human creation but it hardly captures your imagination.

Along your search for title jotted onto the scrap, you find several other books to sate your personal preferences. A book on the Beothuk and their demise and another illustrated index of Renaissance art. Finally, you find the rear corner of the store, the mythology shelves nestled behind Spirituality and New Age.

You hover your finger before the rows and lean in, squinting through your lenses as you search out the rather Nordic-sounding name. You sense a shadow at the end of the aisle but do not look over. You'll just be on your way once you-- there it is.

You pinch the spine of the deep blue tome and slide it out. The cover is stamped with gold runes and lettering, a viking helm the central image. You double-check that it matches the professor's scrawl, however you can never be sure as his Fs look like Ss.

You set it flat on your armful of book, balancing the weight with the rest as you crumple the scrap and tuck it into your pocket. It's a bit more than you want to spend but it will be useful in maintaining your average through Halfdansson's course.

The shadow comes closer and you shift out of the way for the approaching customer. You sidle away as they huff, a breath that fans around them. He leans into the shelf and you sense his head shift and his gaze follow your slow retreat.

"Ah, you are a fan of vikings?" He asks, stopping you in your tracks. "You must've watched the show, hm? Cute series but not very accurate, you know?"

You blink, taken aback but his tone and his assumption. It isn't the first time you've met the attitude in your chosen discipline. When it comes to military history or the lives of vaunted men, there is often an intonation towards female scholars. You have been dismissed more than once.

"Never seen it," you lie, "you seem the type though."

You note his snow white hair, a peculiar shade, drawn back into a half pony, and his blindingly pale eyes. He wears a tunic better housed in the closet of a LARPing club and looms with an air of indignation. He puts a thick hand on the shelf and leans, no doubt used to towering over others.

"Funny, that is the very book I came for," he intones.

"Oh, what a coincidence."

HIs jaw ticks and he snorts, "seems you've found quite the lot--"

"I have. A whole trove."

You go to turn away and hear his sole clomp down behind you, "surely you can grab another encyclopedia. I really need that one."

"Uh, no, this is what I need."

He follows you down the aisle as you keep a quick step, uneasy at how he trails you so fervently.

"Maybe you should grab another one."

"I have all the others. I've been waiting months for that to come into stock," he insists.

"Well, you can find a kiosk and order one in--"

"On a three month backorder," he interjects and grabs your arm. "I'll pay you--"

You spin back to face him and hit his chest with your books, "don't touch me."

"Well, just..." he retracts his hand, "hold up. I'm trying to talk to you. To barter--"

"I'm sorry, but I need this book for class," you hug the books and back up, overly aware of the tingliness from where he grabbed you. You don't like being touched. At all. You can feel your heart pumping.

"Does the school not have a library, little girl?"

Your mouth falls open. Little girl? This guy just can't help himself. You haven't been rude, maybe matter-of-fact, but he's been downright mean.

"Not for sale," you push your shoulders up and back away.

You twist on your heel and speed away. You weave between the shelves and discount tables and join the winding queue at the counter. You don't look back and sway in your boots, waiting your turn.

"I could give you several recommendations for an alternate text," the man appears at your side, crowding you inside the black cords that rein in the queuing customers.

You ignore him and turn your head away. You wish he'd just take a hint. If you heard a single please or any sort of respect, you might consider it. He's only been a jackass and judging at first glance, he's too old for that.

"You don't need it–"

You move with the line and he growls, shifting with you.

"Look, girl–"

You snap your head back and give him a glare. He sucks in one cheek and exhales heavily, "miss, I am asking you nicely–"

The associate at the counter calls for next and you take your cue. You quickly cross the space and put your haul onto the wooden ledge. You hear the pushy stranger snarl something under his breath. You refuse to look back as you hand over your membership card.

Men like that are the very reason you despise the general public. Hard to fathom how you can be so intrigued by the human condition when you can hardly bear to be around other people.

#geralt of rivia #geralt #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt x reader #harald halfdansson #harald x reader #dark harald #dark!harald #harald finehair #vikings #the witcher #bookstore au #au #series #drabble

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lunarlightforge · 1 month

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Finished these two custom “the Witcher knife” up! These are inspired by the knife Geralt of rivia uses in the Witcher 3! I have two available. If you’d like more info on one send me a dm! I’ll post pics of each soon. Thanks everyone!!

#lunarlightforge #handforged #handmade #hand forged #handcrafted #viking #vikings #knife #leatherwork #bushcraft #bushcraftknife #thewitcher #geralt of rivia

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flare-queen · 10 months

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An attempt at a crossover gif with Lagertha Löthbrök and Geralt of Rivia because why not.

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oh-for-fic-sake-library · 2 years

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The Saxon Heathen

Masterlist

Summary: jarl geralt is excitedly awaiting the return of his raiders, aboard one of the longships was his gift from the allfather. His vision was of a saxon heathen, a woman. His intended. Butlittle did he know that this woman would eagerly butt heads with him , for she belongs to no one, least of all an albeit handsome brute.

Warnings: swearing, mentions of brutality, viking AU,

A/N: so a little au jarl viking geralt and a crazy pagan saxon for you.i always wondered what a a viking would have done with a saxon heathen. Anyway i hope you enjoy my little slice of madness.

Caution not beta'd ignor the typos because i am.

Four days. For four days the jarl had been on the dock watching the horizon. Waiting for the sails of his clan to break through the thick autumnal fog, the grey that muted the blue of the open sea. He was like a statue, unmoving, patiently gazeing out in to the distance with purpose awaiting the arrival of his gift.

The jarl was not built for this longing. He conquered, argued and roared in the midst of battle. He was true to his clan, fought and bled for them, re-emerged from deaths grip countless of times. Others called him a gods champion. A chosen of odin, which spurred his own clans feirce loyalty to him. Especially when his hair had turned into the brilliant white before his ageing. His eyes had always fascinated the others in the village , the light amber akin to that of wolf. Earning him the title of White wolf. Yet now with his hair he truely looked otherwordly. Some called him asgaurdian others uttered he was and odinson. But truth be told he was unsure what caused such looks. He never questioned the gods, never asked for reasons, only ever wprshipped them.

And now his unyielding love and loyalty to them had brought forth a boon. Geralt jarl of Rivia had been granted a vision, a premonition from the very gods he adored. The seer of the clan had shared in his minds sight, it would seem the gods did not see fit to give the wolf privacy on such matters.

The vision told of an arrival, a great boon from the gods. A warrior. A woman. She will step on this shoreline with a fierce fury that only the valkyrie should know. She was a roaring fire that would know no taming, a force to be reckoned with. A strangly familiar saxon, who was not a weeping wisp of a thing. He dare say she was a a distant cousin of his own kin. For in his vision he felt a pressence similar to a sheildmaidens.

All he knew was this female entity was intended for him. She was a gift from his gods. His treasure from a distant land, she was here for him. He would captivate her and lure her to his side. Like a flame beckoning a moth he will become irresistible to her, she will come to him even at the risk of peril. And once he insnares her she will birth him his heirs, gift him his own batallion of fierce warriors to conquer new lands.

Geralt knew it was close, his warriors were returning home and would land anyday. So he sat and watched, sometimes fished to pass time, showing the younger ones how to cast a net properly to keep them from under their parents feet. But mostly he was still, gazing out into the fog that thickened each day, the autum veil signalled the return of his clansmen. He needed to remain and see this woman as she set foot on his dock.

It was the deep bellow of a horn that alerted him. He drew a deep breath, steeling himself as he heard their call. The resounding long drawn low sound of his clansmen and their yells as they took to the oars and began sailing through the small estuary towards thier home. Others came to the beach and the once quiet dock became a hub of excitement. And with swift stroke along the water the long boat peeled through the fog, the mast sliceing through the smoke like tendrils of ashen coloured sky. He grinnedmfeeling his chest tighten with an odd relieved anxiety. He couldnt wait for them to moore.

You screeched as a rage youd never felt before engulfed you like the very flames that curled around your home those weeks ago. Your battle cry drew the attention of everyone on the docks and long boat's. Saxons and norsemen. Before anyone could stop you, youd jumped the side of the boat and thundered down the dock towards the priest whod dared to comment on your mothers passing. Curseing you and her with scathing words as he exited the boat in shackles with the other Christians.

You had enough of his shit.

You tucked your head and shoulder slightly as you colided with one of the large norsemen that had tried to stop your assault. The huge male had shuffled quickly, widening his arms and bent his knees ready to capture you before you could damage any of the others. But his strength and size did not best your utter rage and you somehow managed to barrel into him sending him off balance and into the cold frigid water below.

Years of rage and hate for the male before you seemed to gift you with the power of something greater. And without a second of hesitation you ducked and body slammed the now yelling, quivering preist sending him to the ground. Your hands may still be tied but you were going to kill him. You were going to kill him!

Your scuffle drew a crowd as you began screaming at the priest who was crying out for help. But the norsemen watched in amusent as you headbutted him cracking his nose drawing a high cry from him. He fell flat on his back and you clambered over him pinning and kneeing him, stomping and kicking where you could. All the qhile screaming like a banshee at him, taunts and curses a-plenty.

The norsemen had noticed on the voyage that you were different. The other saxons spat at you naming you a heathen. A pagan. Two words they didnt fully understand but were used to describe themselves. From what theh could understand you did not worship the saxons god. And the saxons hadnt known you were in the woods, you were belived to be a myth.

Your cabin was hidden away from the settlement they had plundered, decorated in bones and feathers with oddities placed around the door. Carvings and cut stones littering your tiny homestead. You were almost like them in a way.

"Ill be sure to send you to your god! You vile fuck! She was my mother! My mother!!" You yelled tears burning your eyes as your rage flowed freely. You rolled around twisting your hips and captured the preists head between your thighs and hooked one ankle behinde the other.

The norsemen laughed clapping and whistling ,uttering praises as you coiled around your victim like a snake, and much like a snakes prey, the preist could do little more then squirm and squeak. But you paid no mind instead concentrated on popping this snivelling man head clean off his shoulders.

"How does it feel to be sent to your god from between a heathens thighs!?" You shouted hooking your ankles together and clenched your thighs tighter. He flicked his feet out in desperation but nothing would distract you from your task. Not even when the crowd parted letting a huge silver haired male step to the front and watch the show. You felt his arrival but did not pay any mind. You were too preoccupied with attempted murder.

Geralt watched with a sense of pride.his woman was spirited, wild and beautiful. Her thick mane of glossy hair whipped about her as she wrestled on the ground with the poor male. Hecouldnt help his cock twitcing at the sight. Her skirts hiked up around her knees as she captured her prey. The thick mud painting her skin as she tried to murder the man.

Fuck. his eyes locked on the supple yet strong thighs clamped around the males neck. He was almost jealous of her victim, he wanted to feel the sliken skin of her inner thigh caressing his own face. Though when it was his turn to test the strenght of her leg it would be for an entirely different reason. She would tense them around him in ecstasy, not anger.

"Gods above, they did not lie." The seer hummed almost as entranceed by the seen as his jarl was. He didnt bpdare look away from the valkyrie before him, instead only speaking when he felt his jarl stand beside him.

"Indeed she is truly magnificent, to grow with such ferocity in a land full of cowards and piss ants" geralt replied a grin crossing his face as his female began taunting the godly man. She was ost definitely a heathen.

"Huh? Oh what your speechless?! Nothing to preach whilst being strangled by skirts!?"your qords drew laughterfrom all of the northmen some even calling out silver coins betting on how long the preist would survive such an assault.

"She has a wit about her as well as fire. You are truly blessed" the seer chuckled along with the others. He knew she was ging to fit right in. And possibly give their jarl a challenge, the next few ,onths were going to be amusing. Though the allfather granted geralt this delightful boon, the jarl was still going to have to work for it. Afterall the gods need to create their own entertainment occasionally. And this was certainly entertaining.

"Jarl- should we intervene?" One of the men asked growing weary of the priest now beginning to change colour. A deep red fading to purple.

"No, for now let her have her fun." Geralt uttered still enjoying the sight of his half bare queen rolling around in the mud attempting murder.

"She will kill the slave, you know this" the seer utters knowingly. There was a slight displeasure. Geralt had swore the next priest caught would be gifted to him. The seer wanted to toy with one of the saxons. To try and break them ad convert them to their own gods.

"It would be a good death, to die between such supple thighs" another clansmen spo,e up with a deep laughothers joined his laughter agreeing with him. Gerlat stiffened and shuffled on his feet. He did not like that one bit.

"I doubt the preist feels the same."

"It is not death i shall obtain between them, but perhaps a taste of valhalla-" the first man began but didnt get to finish his statement as geralt snarled feeling a wave of possessive jealousy risewithin. He turned on the man so swiflty the later almost staggered back defensively.

"She is not to be touched. Any who try will loose more then their hands" geralt sneered at the crowd of men thatwere clearly planning on trying to have his woman for themselves, perhaps all at once.

Gerlat panted in rage, eyes darkening a growl boiling in his chest frightening those around him. It was rare to see the jarl so enraged outside of the battlefield. They all looked away averting their eyes from their jarl and the woman on the ground. None wanted to cross him, or risk his anger by eyeng the beauty.

It was when geralt was sure he made his point that he looked away from the men. His amber eyes found his woman oonce kore. He grunted, as much as he enjoyed the veiw of her bare legs he did not li,e that the others could also appreciate the sight her supple skin. Her body was for his eyes. Not theirs.

"Jarl? You are considering a slave? You never; its unlike you to take intrest in the saxons past their gold" one male dared speak up when he noticed his jarls attention was back on the woman.

"Slave? No. She is much more then a mere saxon slave. She is a gift All father sent me visions. A ferocious saxon beauty would arrive. My own woman to tame, and when i do the clan will prosper. We will all enjoy the favour of the gods!" He declared, trying to ignore the tense few moments he'd had with his own clansmen.

The crowd cheered as the jarl promised the blessing of the gods. He smiled, but his eyes peered at the two warriors who had tried to taint his new found bride with there mocking words. They each shrunk under the predatory gaze thwt earned him his name. And then nodded back off letting theier jarl know they would not interfere with the gods plans.

Geralt smiled befor stalking up to the woman and blue priest. He chuckled it was both arousing and adorable the way she trapt him so thoroughly. He couldnt wait to get her wrapped around him. Though he may hav to wait some time before letting her mount his own shoulders, she had a good grip and even he may have some trouble pulling her off if she decided to suffocate him with her thighs.

You ignored the way everyone around you seemed to quiet down, or the footsteps that halted beside you. Two muddy leather boots stopped by your head, your eyes flicked up the pength of male and found a truley magnificent man. The odd silver hair and amber eyes addedto the godly ethereal look. Not that he was slight in any way. Taller then all saxons youd seen, and wider too. Not that he was fat, no his size wasnt a result of greed and there was no typical beer belly. He was solid, strong as an ox.

"Release him woman" he grunted down at you tapping you with the toe of his boot lightly whilst crossjngnhis arms and smirking down at you amused. You snarled at him wordlessly before drawing a muffled yelp from your victim tensing your legs once more.

"I said release him" the man repeated his voice stern and deep, full of warning. You shuddered unable to stop the strange wave of heat washing over you. You thighs stiffened pai fully, trying to clench from his growled words. You frowned you didnt li,e thatat all. No man had ever effected you in such a way. It only fueled your rage.

"Not untill hes dead! He thanked his god for my mothers painful death! Celebrated her burning alive! Cursed her soul! Tried to condemn her to an eternal suffering!" You yelled up at the tall pompus ass. You were trying to be angry at him, but something was stopping you. Attraction maybe? No. Somthing else, something deeper. Your soul recognised him, seeing him was like kin who had been astranged finally reuniting. His mere presence felt like thick blankets on a cold day, safe and warm.

"He is a valuable slave and will serve us well in the coming winter. Now release your thighs lest i pry them open myself woman" You faltered for a moment, you tummy tightening.our pussy fluttered at the insinuation. Your eyes flicked to his large hands. God's yes. You wouldnt mind being handled by him, thats for sure. You shook your head ridding yourself of the momentary weakness and bared your teeth at him.

"Try it old man and youll be next!" No geralt was definitely not letting you enjoy his mouth for some time. A punishment youd not know he'd given you untill you had given in to him. Though if he had done his job right by that point youd rather ride his cock each night.

"I warned you woman" he shrugged before ducking down, bending over you scalding you with his hands as they descended on your bare legs. You yelped out loud and cursed him as he slotted a palm between your tights, the other hand encircled one ankle. And with a sharp shucking motion as if flicking out a damp towel the preist was free.

"Agh? Hey wait no! Let me go: get off im almost finished!" You screamed wriggling, kicking as the huge man held you up by your thigh and ankle. He laughed at your curses and vengeful cries. As you saw the deathly blue priest scrabble away from your reach gasping for air.

You squeaked as the amber eyed asshat swooped you upright, throwing you around like you were a tiny weightless child. And without any care to you or the onlookers you were pressed against his crotch tightly. Legs instinctively locking around his waist, and arching towards him afraid of falling back. He hummed and held you, supporting your entire weight with one hand under your bottom. You shuddered as the other still held your ankle behind him. The hot palm slowly rubbing across your leg in teasing feather light caresses.

"There now. Doesn't this feel much better?" He boasted, teasing you by arching his hips into yours lettig you feel his manhoods delight at havingmyour heat smothering him. Your face flamed as the others around you laughed at their jarls supposed victory. You werent having that.

"Id rather have my thighs wrapped around the preist if im honest" you sneered at him drawing even louder laughs from the crowd. You grinned as he frowned quickly, a wave of embarrassment rushing over him,he was unprepared for that.

"We'll see about that when you are astride me." He replied, archign up into your heat once more only thing time he made a show of rubbing you against him, grinding you over his bulge with the hand on your rump.

"Doubtfull" you stuttered trying to keep the pleasure from your voice as your body ignited in a blaze of wanton need. Your warmth clenching tightly urging you to wlecome this barbarian into your hidden depths and discover true rapture.

"Shall we put it to the test?" He tried again to subdue you in a battle of wills. But you were determined to be more then a sodden hole for these savages! Youll be a force to be reckoned with!

"Oh so not even you know the outcome of me atop of you? Not a promising start" you countered, your stubborn pride far to precious to forgo for a decent fuck.

"As good a start as you trying to murder a preist in the dirt with your thighs seconds of entering my village"

"Atleast mine was effective"he scoffed at you before capturing your neck firmly. Tucking his hand tightly below your jaw making you whine and melt against him. He smirked inching his face closer to yours slowly, seductively. Tilting your face up to his and brushed noses wih you as if you were intimate lovers.

"Not that effective. Afterall you didnt finish. But i assure you once your seated on me you will most definitely finish" his tease took a turn, making you flush brightly and gape at him. It wasnt his words that affected you, but the intensity. The way he held you so firmly, held your gaze with his own half lidded hungry eyes. And the way his cock throbbed against you, teasing you with sharp pulsing tremors that made your own needy center weep. You squirmed trying to dislodge his thick member that had crept between your parted legs. His own breeches were the only thing that seperated his need from your own quivering sex. You swallowed dryly trying to think of anything other then the strong male's club poised at your womanly seam, or the way you dampened his breeches with your deceptive arousal.

"I appear to have subdued you quickly enough with little more then words and collar. Do not look so vexed, it is a good thing to know when you are outmatched bu your betters; FUCK!" His victorious words were cut off with a pained yelp as you did the only thingmyou could to shut him up. Used your head. Litterally.

"Im sorry did the big bad barbarian, who clearly outmatches me not see that headbutt coming?" You teased ignoring the pain blossoming in your fore head after hittingnhim so hard with it. You smiled at the sight of blood pooling behind his now fattened lip. If you go down you'll go down swinging.

"I dont see how you didnt see it? I am six inches from your face;HMMFFT!?" Gerlat lunged forward with a growl pressing his lips against yours before sucking your bottom lip into his mouth. For a moment you lost yourself, closing your eyes and relaxing as the taste of honeyed mead met your tongue. You lapped at him in a iitten lick seeking more only to pull back yelping as his teeth locked onto your lip and he bit down. Hard.

"YOU FUCKING BIT ME!?" He smiled at you hungry licking his lip, drawjng the bead of red from it. Tasting you with a pleased growl. You could only stare at the erotic sight.

"Blood for blood woman. And now ours is mingled. We are bound by it." His words made you weak. You werent sure why, or what he meant exactly. But you were not something to be taken claimed and owned.

"Bound by blood? Are you fucking crazy?! You drew blood!" Your anger boiled in your bones as you began to understand he thought he had just earned himself a prize. Instead of denying you claims he grinned showing off red glazed teeth.

"I did, id not let a woman so Fiesty escape me, your fire will bode well for our sons" he preened, flaunting his new claim proudly. He couldnt care less if you disagreed. And oath in blood was unbreakable. And it had been you to initiate it,He had simply retunred inkind seali g the deal. He had won.

"Sons? Hell no! Put me down-unbind me! Now you fucking savage!!" Your aggravation ignited once more into a loud display of rage. You swore at him , squirming and lunging at him, yet did not bite in fear of binding yourself to him a second time in some odd barbaric custom!

"I will unbind you once yoou when you yeild to our bond and not a second before" he anounced casually

"Then i will die in these shackles!" You declared with a snarl.

"I very much doubt that. But fear not drakeling. I shall tend to your every need in your bound state. You will succumb the gods have foretold your submission" he promised both soothing and baiting you. He enhjoyed your rage, especially the way you squirmed in the throes of anger, rubbing and grinding across his fornt unintentionally milking his cock in his own clothes. All the while his teaseing had achived his desired effect he found himself granting you the title of a dragons young. Drakeling was fitting, small and mighty. Something that will grow into a powerful, fearsome beast, but for now was a mere sliver of its own greatness.

"Absolutly not! Put me down you asshole! UNBIND ME NOW!" his reply was a swift open palm to your backside, loud and booming making you rise and squeak as your ass burned.

"My my such a demanding thing you are~ so aggressive. Perhaps you need feeding? Tell me drakeling, should i see to your cold empty tummy? Would you like me to fill it for you?" He teased turnng towards the long house paying no mind to the way you yelled and kicked at him. He laughed and held you tighter. Deciding in that moment he really would keep you bound. Youd be fed by his hand alone, he wouuld tend to you, wash and dress you, cater to your every desire until, you bend to his will and sought him out for your own pleasure and comfort.

Thats not to say he wouldn't pleasure you in the mean time, he would. His nights would be spent worshipping your body, toying with you for hours on end untill you are a quivering woman panting in a puddle of your own makeing, though youd never finish, or have the honour of warming his cock. No, he would withold that final pleasure untill you were his mind body and soul. And he couldnt wait.

"Come let us feast!" He called out to his clan. The crowd cheered excitedly. The night would be one they would all remember. Even if it was just because of the blood bound saxon heathen putting on a show for all to see, their jarl was certainly in for a long courtship.

#henry cavill #cavillry #oh for fic sake fics #viking au #geralt imagine #witcher geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia

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viking-raider-library · 1 year

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Geralt of Rivia x Reader List

Keys: ✽ - Complete, ✽✽ - Hiatus, ♥ - Mature, ✢ - Sensitive Content

Silver and Magic: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 ✽/♥

A Witcher’s Legacy: 1 2 3 4 ♥

Geralt’s Sweet Daisy ♥

A Witcher's Soul ♥

Soothing a Wolf

#Viking-Raider #Viking-Raider Fics #Viking-Raider-Library #Geralt of Rivia x Reader List

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w0lfzb4ne · 2 years

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#henry cavill #geralt of rivia #geralt #the witcher #the witcher netflix #the witcher fanart #lagertha #katheryn winnick #vikings #crackship #gif manip #crackship gif #my edits #warrior #sword #fighter #amulet #viking #runes

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underpreparedbard · 1 year

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Okay hear me out

A Witcher/Vikings crossover

Where Geralt is Ragnar and Jaskier is Athelstan

#the witcher #witcher #jaskier #dandelion #julian alfred pankratz #viscount de lettenhove #geralt of rivia #geralt #witcher netflix #vikings #Ragnar #ragnar lodbrok #athelstan #do y’all not think that S2 Jaskier and S2 Athelstan could be related #or is that just me #jaskier totally needs a beard tho

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geraltofriviagwynbleidd · 1 year

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Witchers are lonely hunters, however Wolf's school has always been special. This time, the brothers in arms met together in a local tavern, receiving an order for a strzyga. 4 years have passed since the death of the baron, and there is still a mess in Velen. It's so recklessly to prevent a witcher from drinking, and to prevent a two witchers is already a madness bordering on weak-mindedness.

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viking-raider · 14 days

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All the options I could put up xD

You inspired this @littlefreya

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months

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Common Knowledge 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, power imbalance, bullying, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Geralt of Rivia, Harald Halfdansson, tall & plus-size reader

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Your next study session is a special excursion. Paranoid about your talkative professor and his distractions, you opt instead for the off-campus smoothie shop you passed a dozen times but never went into. You order a simple strawberry banana concoction and claim a table in the corner for your mission.

You take your laptop out and the giant tome with a cluster of tabs poking out from the pages. You've narrowed down your possible topics. You don't know why you're so indecisive. You just feel entirely out of your depth. Ask you about a Hapsburg or even a Roman emperor, and you're good, but gods and goddesses, giants and beasts... You just can't nail it down.

The coming and going of customers is steady but not disturbing. Most enter, order, and promptly leave. The average patron has a gym bag and appears to be on their way to workout.

You peek up now and again but quickly lose yourself in your research. There's something to say about the plight of the feminine figures in Norse mythos. It surely seems a tragic existence. Somehow, you can relate.

You flip to a tab and lean in to read. You reach for your smoothie blindly and take a sip as your eyes flit back to your laptop. A cup lands heavy on your table and a figure falls in the chair across from you. As if they know you, as if they belong there.

It's that man! With the blindingly white eyes and similarly shocking hair. Hair pokes out above the vee of his peculiar tunic and his hair is wave with a sheen of sweat. You give him a confused look and flutter through the pages, ignoring him. You won't ask how he found you, might be a coincidence, but you'd rather he get the clue and leave you alone.

He reaches over and stops your search. He pushes the pages flat and growls, "you wrote in it?"

You squint at him, curling your lip. You shrug. You bought the book. Who cares if you added a few annotations in the margins.

"How could you write in it?" He sneers.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"Don't be stupid," he tilts his head, "I know you remember me."

"Mmmm," you drone dully and slide the book from under his hand.

Silence. Still and suffocating. You have nothing to say to him and it seems he approached without a clear plan. You really don't understand what his end goal would be. He can go find the book somewhere else.

"Do you even know what you're doing?" He hisses.

"Excuse me?" You glare at him above your laptop.

"Sure seems like you don't."

"It's a history project. I can figure it out."

"Hmph," he wrinkles his nose, "well, I am a font of knowledge on the subject."

"Really? What are your credentials?"

"I don't need a piece of paper to tell me what I know," he scoffs.

"So you know nothing?"

"Watch it, girl."

"Or what?" You blink, shocked by the interlaced threat.

He laughs darkly and crosses his arms, "you think you're smart."

You shake your head, "I'm studying, so... that's the goal."

He shifts and leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. He watches you as you ignore him for the blinking cursor on the screen.

"When a man talks to you, are you usually so rude?" He asks.

You nearly recoil. You give a scoff of your own. What year is this?

"I don't know you," your eyes dart up to meet his, "and I don't want to know you. Why would you even--"

"I'm not ugly," he says, a jarring statement. You wouldn't argue, he isn't hideous; on the outside. "And I offered to help. So..."

"Yeah, but you're not nice either."

You shut the book and snap closed your laptop. If he won't go, you will. You stand and he does too. He's big. You might be tall but he's a brick wall.

"Where are you going?" He asks, almost stupidly. That stern, empty cadence of him is almost robotic.

"Away from you."

"Why?"

You furrow your brows. Really? Is it not obvious?

"I'm talking to you. Asking you questions about yourself. It's small talk."

You let out a long 'um', not able to come up with anything else.

"Geralt," he offers his hand in an overly formal manner.

You can't respond. You don't understand what the hell is going on? You might be a social hermit but this man is entirely inept.

"I don't meet many people interested in mythology, but--"

"I'm not interested, dude."

He sputters, "why?"

"Because... you're a jerk," you shove your things in your bag and zip it up. "Wow, are you really that oblivious?"

You see his eyes scanning as he thinks. It's almost like he's never reflected on his own behaviour. You can't imagine why he is still looking for a friend.

"So... you're not going to tell me your name?" He asks at last.

"Bro, I'm about to scream," you warn as you shoulder your bag, "just get out of my way."

You swipe your smoothie off the table and take a step forward. He doesn't move at first. He stares you down as you steel yourself, glancing at the employees behind the counter.

"What school do you go to?" He asks.

Your head nearly explodes. You have never been so lost in a conversation. You grip the strap of your bag tight and set your jaw.

"Move," you grit out, heart racing.

He pulls his chin back as if surprised. He steps away and waves you out from behind the table. You slowly walk forward, swallowing as you try not to shake.

"I'll figure it out," he mutters.

"What?" You spin back to him.

"I said," he turns to face you, sitting again and taking his cup to sip on the straw. He pops his mouth off, "have a good day."

#geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #dark geralt #dark!geralt #the witcher #drabble #au #bookstore au #series #common knowledge #harald halfdansson #harald x reader #harald finehair #dark!harald #dark harald #vikings

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