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thedreamlessnights · 2 years ago

Text

Accismus - pt. 6

{previous chapter} || {next chapter upcoming}

Geralt of Rivia x gn!reader (Eventual NSFW)

Synopsis: On the journey, you and Ciri bond, and she and Geralt give you some training. A series of unexpected things occur. The road goes ever on.

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of major injuries and death, mentions of vomit, mentions of personal injuries. Intense scenes of fighting, multiple mentions of blood, graphic description of a monster death, moderately graphic descriptions of a corpse. Spoilers for The Last Wish (in particular, The Lesser Evil story). While prior knowledge of that book and story is not needed, I highly recommend it - it's a masterclass of writing and exposition.

Word Count: 8.4k

A/N: I am very, very excited for you all to see this chapter. I feel as though we're finally reaching the heart of the story - the scenes I've wanted to write since the very beginning, when I first had the idea for Accismus. I hope you'll all enjoy this segment (though many of you may also hate me afterward). Comments are incredibly encouraged and appreciated! Without further ado...

Leaving Novigrad is nothing but chaos. It’s sheer, overwhelming, and somehow endearing, but nonetheless chaos.

As soon as the three of you are on your feet, there’s a desperate rush of teasing, goodbyes, and demands of letters, as if it’s just now sunk in that you’re actually going. There are calls for a final round of drinks, goblets of honeyed mead being shoved into open hands, wishes of luck murmured over the rims of glasses.

Dandelion starts chattering as fast as he can about the djinn, too fast to give you any room to speak. He squeezes your shoulder and promises the ballad will be his best one yet, then assures you that you’re welcome to return at any time you’d like - which is so kind you don’t even know how to respond. Luckily, he doesn’t give you the chance. He’s off to chat with Zoltan about something.

You, Ciri, and Geralt try your best to lug your things to your horses in the midst of everything, but the two of them keep getting pulled away. Just as you’re thinking you’ll get out unscathed, Priscilla pulls you into her arms for a hug, and you nearly drop your bag in shock.

“I wanted to ask if you’d join us for Yule,” she says, giving your shoulders a tight, comforting squeeze before she pulls away. “Only if you’re interested, of course,” she adds quickly. “You’ve been such lovely company! I know we’ll all miss you just as soon as you’re gone. If you could manage it, we’d love to have you. There’ll be no ballads, I swear it.”

Your throat feels tight. “Thank you,” you tell her, forcing a smile. “I’d love to.”

As soon as you’ve said it, you know that you’ll have to be there. If not to see them all again, then to avoid disappointing her. Was it really just a few days ago that you and Geralt were in that cave, hiding out from the rain? When you had been telling yourself to shut him out, to not tell him a thing more about yourself? It seems years away now - as if the train of thought had been washed away the moment you’d stepped inside the Chameleon.

At your answer, Priscilla beams at you, and with a final squeeze of your shoulder, escorts you out the door. “Stay safe, all of you,” she says.

Then, Dandelion is shouting out something else about the ballad, Eskel and Lambert are snickering over something about Geralt and a broken leg, and the three of you are finally, truly off.

For the first time, you have something to look forward to after you and Geralt find the djinn. If only your hands would stop shaking.

From the very beginning, the journey out of the city is different than the one coming into it. Your days do not pass away in lengths of unbearable heat or blistering palms. Not that the heat is not there, of course, but it’s more manageable in fair company, when you feel less of a burden and more of a friend.

If Yennefer’s presence had been a shard of ice, then Ciri’s is a warm glass of mead, filling you up from the inside out. Geralt clearly cares tremendously for her, and it’s not long before you do, too. And how could you not, coming to know her?

Everything comes and goes in a blur of sun and moon - strengthening hands on the reins and calluses being built, Ciri’s witty, snippish remarks, and Geralt laughing, laughing, at her tales of being a witcheress. Somewhere in between, you’re being roped into talking about yourself.

Geralt may not push about your past - or who you are at all, really - but Ciri wraps her inquiries in innocent questions that have you talking much longer than you’ve realized. Then, with your throat raw and hoarse, you’ll finally notice her tricks and - with no small sense of betrayal - drop off in the middle of a sentence.

“What?” she’ll laugh. “Go on!”

And then you’ll be talking again.

You can’t stand to speak about certain parts of your past, so you talk about everything else - tales of your rambunctious childhood, memories of your parents that aren’t painful enough to silence you.

You tell them about your father raising horses, and how the first gift you can remember was a mare named Mead - the same one you’ve named your current horse after. You tell them about being five, imagining you were the village’s doctor, going from door to door with a piece of wood and noting down ‘illnesses.’

You’d even pretended to treat your father’s case of ‘measles’ - which was nothing more than a scrape on his arm - with a mysterious plant which had turned out to be poison ivy. It had given you both a horrible rash for a week.

Your mother had tried to be stern then, but couldn’t hide her shaking shoulders from you as she rubbed soothing creams over your arms, concocted from the herbs in the gardens in front of your home. Nor could she hide the fond smile she gave you afterward, gently brushing her thumb over your cheek.

From then on, you’d been banned from touching mysterious plants - which led you to reading books instead. Your parents had been educated, and they’d taught you how to read, too. You’d gone around, begging neighbors for any spare works they could spare. It had been before the war, and times had been different - the people, too. More willing to share, even in Velen, where need bled into the very soil.

Every chance you’d gotten, you’d read and reread books about gardening, history, healing, and anything else you could get your hands on. When you were old enough, you worked any odd job you could, because you wanted to become a doctor. Cleaning, gardening, finding lost items. Mending torn clothes, fetching something from the next town over, catching a fish someone needed for a meal. You’d done it all. Everything you could.

“Busy as a bee, weren’t you?” Ciri muses with a smile. “Buzzing around from place to place.”

You can’t say her description is inaccurate. In those times, you hadn’t been still for a moment. Becoming a doctor had been your lifeblood, the reason behind every action you made. It was planted in you, a root that would not come out.

And, for the first time since you left The Chameleon, your words choke in your mouth, and you can’t speak - not about that. You leave the story there, and Ciri doesn’t question it.

But you feel Geralt’s eyes on you, those warm, inspecting eyes that never seem to leave you. You wonder what he’s thinking. You’d give anything to know.

Just a few days after you’ve set off, Geralt and Ciri take to training you. Even with two witchers, they explain, it’ll be good for you to learn. A real sword is too advanced to start with, and neither of them have practice ones, so Ciri shows you basic defensive actions, dodges, and escapes, and has you repeat them until they’re instinctive. Then she has you practice them in more depth, in various scenarios.

“That’s it,” she says. “Keep spinning. Buzz around! Just like a bee!”

Eventually, that shortens down into a two-worded application of the phrase. “Shift left! Faster! Buzz - bee!”

Any time you’re paired with her, you do alright. Not perfect, but enough to draw a look of pride when you successfully disarm her or escape her grip. She’ll give you a tip or two, then have you do it again.

“How was that?” you ask afterward, panting.

She grins at you, a twinkle in her eye. “Perfect. Just like a bee.”

With Geralt, it’s a different story.

Every time you’re paired with him, even before you’ve started, you freeze up. Your mind goes completely blank, as if the sight of him wipes your memory clean, wipes every instinct away. It’s even worse when he touches you. All you can seem to think about is the warmth of his body pressed against you, and even though you try with all your might to remember what to do, your movements always end up jarred and clumsy.

“Try again,” he says softly, over and over. “One more time.” It’s never unkind, but he’s strict, drilling the moves into you with an intensity that you can only describe as fear. He’s worried about you.

“Gotta use more force,” he says. “C’mon, faster. No, the other arm. Remember what Ciri said?”

You do. Buzz around like a bee. But if you’re a bee with him, you’re certainly a dead one. Your body just will not move the way you want it to, no matter how hard you try. This sort of thing goes on until you’re both exhausted, and you turn in for the night. And, naturally, when Ciri practices the same moves with you the next morning, they come naturally.

“Well done, busy bee,” she says.

And there are Geralt’s eyes again, fixed on you. Golden. Piercing. Almost teasing, as he raises his brows. And you know he knows.

For the fleeting moment when your gaze meets his, you regret not kissing him when you’d had the chance. More often than not, you’ve caught yourself ruminating on the softness of his lips, on how they might feel pressed against yours. On his hands, warm and sure, tracing a path down the small of your back.

Then your mind rushes back to you, and you remember why you hadn’t. Your reasoning seems less and less sound when he’s looking at you like that.

Most nights of the journey are spent outside, but there’s the occasional inn that you come across, and none of you can resist the chance of a warm bed. You and Geralt share a room as you had before, and Ciri takes her own. That’s the only moment of awkwardness you can feel, when the three of you bid each other good night - but it’s brief and fleeting, and there aren’t any moments of tension with you and Geralt like before. Even if you might wish for it.

The inns are rare, and the farce you’ve put up for yourself is bearable. Usually, the three of you sleep in shifts, and the two of them drill it into you to wake them if you hear or see anything.

You never do, not in those nights under the stars, keeping alert in the progressively cooling air. There’s never anything but the three of you and open air, the soft sounds of Geralt and Ciri breathing. It’s the one time you seem to get for yourself, and you come to look forward to it. Being able to think, without Geralt or Ciri watching you, you can almost pretend that the djinn isn’t real.

Almost.

As time goes on, something between you and Geralt slowly shifts. Ciri is a buffer, too clever for anything to slip by her, and Geralt would never do anything while she’s here - not even if she’s ten minutes away, gathering some food for the journey.

There seems to be a silent agreement that settles in. You don’t know what it will be like, in those days after she’s gone, but you do know with an absolute certainty that nothing is going to happen while she’s with you. And, with the lessening number of inns that show on the journey, it makes for very little room between you and Geralt. Not enough room for romance, that’s to be sure.

Thoughts of kissing him fade. Your eyes still linger - on his sure hands, strapping up food to Roach, on the scars of his arms, soft and pink - but you’re quick to catch them. The message there is clear. Not now, it says. It’s not the time.

Maybe not ever, you think, a deep pit in your stomach.

Eventually, with this sort of emotional blockade put up, solidifying, you’re able to do the defensive moves even with Geralt. They collectively decide that you’re ready to move on to something else. The further on you go, the more dangerous the roads are.

Initially, Ciri tries to give you a dagger. Unfortunately, as soon as she hands it to you, your hands start sweating so much that you can barely grip it. It might be helpful if you didn’t feel like throwing up every time you look at it - much less holding it. Geralt finally notices the way you’re trembling and takes the thing away.

Which means you must resort to other methods of protection. As soon as the three of you come across a town with a blacksmith, you’re set up with your own crossbow, equipped with bolts. Thankfully, this turns out to be a success. You’ve worked with a bow before, after all, and Geralt and Ciri make you take turns shooting it while riding on Mead, hitting random targets until you’re very pleased at your aim.

And, of course, Ciri can use a crossbow bolt to hit a piece of wood mid-air. Like father, like daughter, it seems.

When the three of you cross over the border of Kaedwen, the mood changes. You’re not sure why. There’s something deeper, something veiled in the air. You spend your nights tense. Your dreams turn feverish, plagued not only by visions of a dagger in your hand, but by the cave you’d seen that night in Novigrad.

The deep, dark pit seldom leaves your mind. You grow so weary of it that your eyes turn desperately to your surroundings as the three of you ride, pleading for something else to attach to. Rain falls heavily and fog chokes the pathways, making it hard to see.

And, for the first time, the three of you come across some danger.

For a first event, it’s not much. It could be much worse, really. Just a few ghouls, eating a decaying corpse. No bandits. No giant centipedes bursting out of the ground, or swarms of nekkers ready to claw you apart.

Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself. It doesn’t stop your immense sense of discomfort, the sweat pilling up on your palms, trickling down the back of your neck as you mindlessly put an arrow toward your bow.

You hate monsters, but there’s something in particular you hate about necrophages. Something… unsettling about the way they crave rotting flesh. Only one thing lies between them eating you, and it’s your loss of life. Not exactly an encouraging thought.

As the three of you ride in closer, your stomach starts churning at the smell in the air. Death. You’d give anything to never smell it again.

Being at the front of the line, Ciri leaps off her horse and kills three of the ghouls in a quick, clean motion. Then she looks at you. “Just one left,” she says, motioning to one that’s a little further down the road. “Go on, Bee, give it a shot!”

“Ciri,” Geralt says, hand tightening a little on his sword. Hesitation brims his tone. “Gotta be careful.”

She simply shoots him a look, eyes twinkling. “Aren’t I always?” she asks.

You know the answer to that, and you don’t like it. You also do not want to do what she’s asking. You can barely stand to look at the remaining ghoul for a second longer, much less target and kill it. Then again, you really should know how to defend yourself. And if you can’t kill a ghoul, you’re almost hopeless with anything else.

“I’ll do it,” you tell them.

Mead is shifting uneasily under you, so, with your heart pounding like a drum, you swing off the saddle and tighten your grip on your crossbow. You can’t seem to remember how to breathe. Geralt’s silence and his gaze on your back aren’t helping.

It’s the ghoul dashing near you that rouses you. Your heart starts thrumming even faster, as if your mind has finally comprehended the fact that there’s not only disgust but danger here, and you grab the bow and attempt to do what you know.

In, out. In, out. You notch an arrow and take aim. These are natural movements, ones you’ve repeated, and they should come with ease - but this situation is anything but natural. The thing keeps running in circles, distracted by Ciri, who evades its attacks with clean, fluid movements.

She’s clever, steering clear enough to give you a good aim, letting you predict its movements without worrying about hitting her. She’s putting herself in danger for this, and waiting for you, and you need to shoot.

So you do. You line up the ghoul in your sights, take one more deep breath, and your hands shake like a leaf as you finally pull the trigger. A split-second later, there’s a horrific, sick sort of noise, a terrible splatter that you can’t bear to watch. You keep your eyes on the ground and tremble in silence.

“Well done!” Ciri says. “Excellent shot!”

When you look up, the ghoul is dead. You'd actually hit it - something you didn’t think you could do - and on your first try, at that. You give a weak smile at Ciri’s enthusiasm, but can’t turn away from the ghoul’s body.

Blood is spilling onto the ground like dark wine, sickly metallic in the air. The uncannily humanoid face is twisted up in agony, frozen in death. And, worst of all, it’s laying a few feet from the corpse it’d been eating. This close, your gaze takes in every terrible detail. Your throat goes tight.

These are scraps of someone, someone who was like you, now laying in the dirt. Someone who lived, breathed, loved, someone now unidentifiable, rotting and alone. What a terrible way to remain in this world - nothing but a bloody, stinking mass of bones on the roadway. And, for the life of you, you can’t look away. The image burns deep into your mind even as you shut your eyes.

It’s become hard to breathe. The scent of death is burning through your nostrils, choking through your senses. You’re shaking worse than ever. Geralt is saying something, but you can’t hear him - your heart is thundering in your ears, and your stomach is turning again, and all at once, you bend over and vomit up your breakfast.

Geralt swings off Roach and is instantly at your side, gently patting your back. “Hey,” he says soothingly, softly. “You alright?”

You can’t manage an answer. Your knees don’t feel steady. You have to fight the urge to reach out and grab onto him, choosing to plant your hands on your knees as you retch instead.

Ciri is quick to join the two of you, sheathing her sword. “Not to worry,” she says, her tone bright as ever. “That’s the adrenaline, Bee. You’ll adapt over time.”

You spit the acrid taste out of your mouth and wipe your face with your sleeve, tearing your eyes away from the corpse with all the strength you have. You’re still trembling.

What you want is a hug. You really, really just… want to be wrapped up in a warm pair of arms and held. Squeezed tight, like Priscilla had squeezed you. But neither Geralt nor Ciri can read your mind, neither of them have really hugged you before, and you’ve just been vomiting up your breakfast - so of course they don’t hug you.

“What - what were you saying?” you ask Geralt, voice as shaky as you feel. “Before? I didn’t hear you.”

“Told you that was a good shot,” Geralt says. “Gotta aim higher, though. Hit it a little low.” He’s taken to rubbing your back instead of patting, and the action feels so nice that you’re half tempted to lay down in the dirt with your exhaustion and let him keep doing that.

But the smell of death is still in the air, and if you don’t get away from here soon, you’re sure you’ll throw up again.

“Thank you,” you shakily tell Geralt, attempting to straighten up.

He watches you closely, tensing - as if he’s waiting to catch you. “Could take a break, if you need,” he says.

You quickly shake your head, starting shakily back toward Mead. “Not here.”

He must understand - he can smell it too, after all. Stronger than you can. Much, much stronger. How does he stand it? But, from the look on his face, maybe he doesn’t stand it at all. Maybe he simply survives it, because he must.

Geralt gives a nod, helping you up onto the saddle with a firm hold that seems to sear into your skin. “C’mon, Ciri,” he says. “Let’s get out of here.”

It’s not much longer before Ciri’s time with you comes to an end.

You can hardly believe it, when she pulls to a halt and announces that this is where you must part. She hasn’t said it, but the fact that she’s parting with you instead of going all the way to the caves, it’s clear - this is urgent business.

Gods, are you going to miss her. It seems as though just yesterday you’d been at Dandelion’s inn, sipping on honeyed mead, saying your goodbyes. Yet, here you are, and you’ve arrived at Ard Carraigh, and she’s going. Can this be real? Had those days - a little over a month, if you’re counting correctly - slipped under your fingers so quickly, unnoticed?

Yes, they must have, because there’s a numb, aching loss in your chest that only could have come from coming to know her. Worst of all, there’s a terrible feeling that you’ll never see her again - one that pulls deeply at your gut. You can’t stand it. You’re so tired of regrets that you pull her close without thinking and hug her, and she hugs you back tightly.

“Thank you for letting me travel with you, Bee,” she says. “I hope we’ll meet again one day.”

“We will,” you stubbornly tell her. “I’m sure we will.”

She pulls away and gives you a smile, and you watch fondly as she steps over and hugs Geralt.

“Take care of yourself,” he says softly.

“Always,” she replies, grinning at him. She steps back, grabbing the reins of her horse, Kelpie, then swiftly mounts up onto the saddle. “Good luck, you two!” she calls, waving. “I’m sure you’ll sort everything out, and Dandelion will have a lovely ballad to sing!”

You wave goodbye and watch as she rides off, leaving you and Geralt behind. And, in her absence, there’s a large, gaping hole.

You and Geralt do your best to fill it, but you can tell it’s still there. Furthermore, you can tell Geralt is constantly tense - and that does nothing to soothe your addled nerves. You two still have a ways ahead of you, and despite your newly formed skill with the crossbow, your unease remains.

Mostly, you spend the days quiet, and struggle to sleep at night. Geralt does the same. You miss Ciri’s chatter, her warmth, her ease of getting you to speak. Without her, everything is strange and much too silent, much too eerie.

During your night shifts, you keep alert, rubbing warmth into stiff hands. With clouds covering the stars, you often turn your eyes to Geralt - murmuring things in his sleep, brow creased. Sometimes, you’ll catch a few words, a repeated whisper as soft as the wind. Ciri. Yen. And, only once, another name - Visenna.

When he jerks awake, hand automatically reaching for his sword, you scoot back from him - not afraid, but a little space won’t hurt. After a long moment of staring at you, realizing there’s no danger, Geralt relaxes and takes over the shift from you. And you don’t sleep any better than he does.

Three days after Ciri has gone, the two of you come upon more danger. It’s in a small town, one reeking of trouble, and you’d be tempted to shy away from it - if the growling in your stomach wasn’t so prominent. The two of you are riding through when you see him - a boy, no more than eighteen, laid on the ground. He’s surrounded by a small crowd, face red and pained, blood soaking his tunic.

And, for reasons neither you nor the gods can explain, you don’t think for a second before you jump off your horse and dash toward him. Thankfully, Geralt is right behind you.

“What is it? What happened to him?” you ask breathlessly.

“Bandits, likely,” someone replies, voice hushed. “Been worse than usual, of late. The lad came riding up, yelling something about being attacked. Slumped over. Fell straight off his horse into the dirt.”

As you push further in, the crowd starts to separate, people fleeing back into their homes for safety. But you can’t leave this boy here. You can’t. There’s a voice at the back of your mind, shouting out something you should remember, but you can’t hear it past the rush of blood in your ears.

When you lift up the boy’s tunic, you find a great deal of bruising, surrounded by a deep, seeping wound in the abdomen. Without hesitation, you scramble for the bandages in your pack and press them against the wound, applying pressure.

The boy yelps in agony, hands clawing at yours hard enough to draw blood, tears coursing lines in the dust on his face. “Stop,” he groans, “stop it! Gods, it hurts - stop!”

He’s thrashing about with so much force that you can barely keep the bandages on him, much less apply the pressure you need. Blood is pouring out of him, staining the grass under him.

“Geralt,” you pant. “Help me - hold him down!”

But Geralt doesn’t. He simply stares at you, unmoving, an indiscernible look on his face.

“Help me!” you cry, attempting to press harder. “He’ll bleed out!”

When he finally kneels next to you, you sigh in relief, watching as he grips the boy’s shoulders and holds him still. Finally able to apply the pressure you need to, your mind spins, trying to remember if you have a needle with you. A wound like that… it’ll need to be cauterized, too. Stitched up as quickly as possible.

But the boy’s face has gone blue now, and he’s started gasping. Too much blood loss - no, no, no, please. His body shakes with spasms, breathing going ragged. You desperately try to staunch the bleeding, to keep what blood he has left in him from spilling out. “Stay with me,” you tell him, muscles wound so tense you can barely breathe.

But after another horrible round of jerking, the boy’s breathing falters, and he goes still. And then… then, there’s silence. Only silence. Not even the call of a bird, or the stir of the wind. Just… nothing.

The unbearable quiet is interrupted by the soft sound of Geralt saying your name. Slowly. Cautiously, as if he’s testing the waters of your reaction. Then he releases the boy’s shoulders and rises to his feet.

“No,” you say numbly, refusing to look at him. You keep your eyes only on the boy. “You can’t go - I won’t let you!”

Fiercely blinking back tears, you start a series of resuscitation compressions, pushing strong, even movements into the boy’s chest. “Stay with me,” you say helplessly, panting out the words. “You can’t go!”

You work methodically, desperately, waiting for the boy to revive, praying for it. But the body stays motionless under your hands, lifeless, still warm. Your arms are searing from the effort and tears are streaming down your cheeks, blurring your vision.

You can’t fix this, your mind is telling you. There’s no chance.

But you can’t stop. You can’t.

Suddenly, there’s a pair of arms behind you, pulling you off the body. You start clawing, lashing out like a wild animal, screaming and kicking with all your might. “Let me go!” you shriek, wriggling around, beating your fists out until they make an impact on something. “Let me go, you - you bastard!”

“He’s gone, Bee,” Geralt says calmly, his voice soft in your ear. “A wound like that? Nothing anyone could do. C’mon. Gotta get you cleaned up.”

But his soothing tone only makes you more wild, more feral. You scream and kick and claw some more. He gently sets you in a sobbing pile onto the ground, and by the time you come into contact with the soft, fragrant earth, his words have set in. The truth of them, that deep down you already knew. You pull your knees toward your chest and weep.

Kneeling down next to you, Geralt places a hand on your back, rubbing slowly - the way he had after the event with the ghoul. You’ve realized what your mind was screaming at you, now. You wish you’d listened.

“There’s - there’s something wrong with me,” you sob softly. The words are bitter in your mouth, acrid. Tears are choking in your chest, slow to die out, leaving you wracking painfully. “Everything I touch… That’s why I can’t go back to Oxenfurt. I just make things worse.”

Geralt’s touch pauses for a moment at your words, but only briefly. He goes back to rubbing your back. “Did all you could,” he says gently. “Didn’t make it worse. He would have died anyway.”

You shake your head. “I hurt him. He needed comfort, and I hurt him because I wouldn’t stop. And it wasn’t only him,” you choke. “It’s everyone, Geralt. I try to help, but it hurts people. I should just stay out of it. I try to, I really do, but it still just… happens.”

“People getting hurt like that, dying - that isn’t your fault,” Geralt says.

“And how can you know?” you ask. The words are bitter, spitting from your tongue like venom. You regret them, but the anger doesn’t die away.

Geralt sighs, letting his hand go still on his back. “Know it because I used to think like you,” he murmurs. “Never got involved, if I could help it. Thought I made things worse. Maybe I do. Don’t know, sometimes.” He pauses for a moment, contemplating his words, inhaling sharply. “Couldn’t stay away, though,” he says. “Figured it was better to try.”

His words shock you into complete silence. They carry such an intense vulnerability that it numbs you down, every nerve, every sensation. You lay on the ground, stiff as a board, taking it in. He’s never talked to you like this, so openly. Your sobs shudder to a halt and you close your eyes, breathing heavily.

He knows, then. He knows what it’s like. Not everything, of course. Only you could ever know that. But the sickly, squirming pit of guilt in your stomach - Geralt knows what that’s like. And he’s somehow lived with it for decades.

“C’mon, Bee,” he says. “Gotta get you cleaned up. Ought to bury the body, too, before the necrophages smell it.”

Oh. Bee. He’d called you that several times now, hadn’t he? In the midst of everything? You hadn’t quite processed it then, but now that your brain is working… it’s always been Ciri, calling you that. Geralt has never called you Bee before today.

You give a nod at his words, feeling a little calmer, intending to sit up. Your muscles are slow and aching, and you’re still trembling. Geralt shifts and reaches toward you, and you reach back, thinking he’s offering you a hand up. What you’re not expecting is for Geralt to lift you into his arms and carry you. But that’s what he does.

He picks you up like you don’t weigh an ounce and carries you to the nearby inn. His arms are strong and sure, and you lean your face into his chest, too weak to resist the temptation.

“Need a room,” he tells the innkeeper.

They don’t argue with him.

You don’t take in much of what happens right after that. You know you’re set on a bed, and the innkeeper comes and goes a few times before Geralt kneels in front of you, dabbing a clean cloth into a bowl of water.

He keeps searching your face, looking for something. You only start registering what’s happened when he finally starts speaking.

“What you said before…” He pauses, hesitating. “At Blaviken. I felt like you do, afterward. Kept thinking - should have stayed out of it. Tried to, before that. Tried for a long time after, too. Guess, in the end, I couldn’t.”

He takes your hand in his, gently scrubbing away some of the dried blood. “I was passing through, on the way to Yspaden,” he starts. You sit unmoving, afraid you’ll break the spell of his words.

“Stopped at Blaviken on the way,” he continues. “Brought in a kikimora, hoping there’d be a reward. There wasn’t. But the alderman told me to bring it to the wizard - Stregobor. I’d met him before. He didn’t pay me for the kikimora, but he invited me in. Wanted to ask for my help. Wasn’t exactly on friendly terms with him, but I listened.”

He sighs heavily, looking up at you. “Ever heard of the Curse of the Black Sun?” he asks.

You blink in surprise. “I… I have,” you reply, swallowing hard. “I read about it. It was a prophecy, wasn’t it? During an eclipse, sixty girls would be born, made servants of the goddess Lilit, and bring the end of the world?”

He nods. “Yeah. That’s the one.” His face tightens with anger - just a flash, but enough to jar you. There are so many situations where he’s been completely composed even in the face of chaos, of pure frustration. What on earth could have made him so angry?

“These girls,” he slowly goes on, “people were convinced they were demons. Stregobor talked about mutations, insane tendencies… changes in the internal organs, unidentifiable tissue, cruel and aggressive behavior. People who believed the prophecy used it as a justification for murder. They did autopsies, studying the corpses, claiming it was for the greater good. One of them… they vivisectioned her.”

Your reaction is instantaneous. You jolt as though you’ve been slapped. Vivisection? What the hell were they thinking? They’d murdered and tortured these girls just because of the day they were born? Frankly, you couldn’t care less about their internal organs or behaviors. That doesn’t sit well with you.

“Gods…” you say faintly.

Geralt’s jaw clenches. “The girls - they weren’t easy to pick off. After a time, they started locking them in towers, instead. Isolating them. But some would escape. Others died.” He stalls, lost in thought for a moment. “Stregobor had once been sent to supervise one of these girls - a princess of Creyden. Renfri.”

Pain flashes over his eyes at the name, as if it wounds him to say it. Perhaps it does. Even so, he continues.

“Her stepmother, Aridea, had been told by one of Nehalania’s Mirrors that Renfri would kill her and a number of others. They sent a huntsman to kill her. She escaped. Tried to kill her multiple times after that, too. Poisoned apples. Assassins. They failed.

“When Renfri came across Stregobor again, she recognized him - knew what he’d done. So she pursued him, wanting revenge. Tracked him down to Blaviken, where he’d locked himself in a tower at the edge of town, used a spell to keep anyone out unless he wanted them to get in. He asked me to kill her. I refused.”

As if he’s just remembered what he was doing, he goes back to cleaning the blood off of you - but it’s clear his mind is still far away. “I met her,” he says. “Renfri. The alderman couldn’t arrest her - she was protected by King Audoen. But she wanted to talk to me. Snuck into my attic later that night, told me what happened to her. Asked me to kill Stregobor. Told me it was the lesser evil.”

He shakes his head. “Stregobor told me that, too - when he asked me to kill Renfri. But I told her that I wouldn’t kill Stregobor. And that I wouldn’t stand by, letting her slaughter innocent people to get to him. I asked her to leave Blaviken; to stop seeking revenge, because she wasn’t going to kill Stregobor. She gave in. Told me she would leave the next morning and never return.”

His expression has gone permanently pained now. His hand rests on your arm, frozen mid-action. “The next day, I told the alderman that Renfri and the gang she’d brought along with her were going. And he told me… told me one of her men had been at the massacre at Tridam, three years before. Hadn’t heard of it, but he told me what happened.

“A group of thieves were captured by the Baron of Tridam. The remnants of their men seized a ferry of innocents - demanded he set them free. When he refused, they killed hostages one by one until he finally released the prisoners. And… Renfri had mentioned that to me. ‘The Tridam ultimatum.’ I hadn’t known what it meant at the time, but… when I heard it, I realized what was going to happen. And I ran for the market.”

Geralt’s face has gone deathly white. “When I got there, Renfri’s men were waiting for me. All of them except her. She’d gone to the tower to talk with Stregobor. Left a message for me, though. ‘Choose. Either me, or a lesser.’”

He finally sets the cloth down, too distracted in his story to clean. His words sit in the air, tinged with a regret you can almost feel in the air, thick, and heavy. But why? you think. Surely it had been right of him to do? You listen to him go on, scarcely breathing.

“I made my choice. I killed them. All of them…” he says. “After it was done, Renfri showed. Asked me if I was sure I made the right choice. I told her it wouldn’t be another Tridam. She told me that it wouldn’t have been. Stregobor had refused to come out. Even told her she could butcher Blaviken and the neighboring villages, but he still wouldn’t leave his tower… I told her to go. She wouldn’t. We fought…”

He closes his eyes and shakes his head, unable to finish. You don’t need to hear it to know.

“People stoned me, afterward. The alderman stepped in. He asked if… if that was my idea of lesser evil. What was necessary. I told him it was… Didn’t know what else to say.”

He inhales sharply, looking out the window. “He told me to leave, to never return. And I did.”

His words fade into silence. Something in your chest aches so deeply that you can’t even speak. It throbs, pitching amidst the knots of guilt built into your ribs. The Butcher of Blaviken. That’s what they call him, now. Because of that. It haunts him, everywhere he goes.

“Geralt,” you finally whisper, resting a hand on his arm. He inhales sharply and stands, gently pulling from your touch.

“We should bury the body,” he says softly. You follow him without a word out to the grass.

You’re still mostly covered in blood, and now you’ll be covered with dirt. The sun is brutal and the air is sticky, and you can still smell the iron on you, sharp and nauseating. The two of you find shovels and take to digging, your hands reddening from the effort, sweat dripping down your neck. Tears course down your cheeks. And you don’t stop digging until it’s done.

A makeshift grave, marked by a pile of rocks. You hadn’t even known his name. He’d been so young… The town members are still hiding in their homes. No doubt watching you, though.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur to the grave, hoping the boy can hear you wherever he is now. “What you sought in life, may you find it in death. Rest peacefully.”

After a long moment of silence, you and Geralt go back to the inn, this time to properly wash off the blood and dirt. The guilt cannot be scrubbed with it, but it pains you less. Maybe because it doesn’t pain you alone.

The next morning, the two of you are off again. There’s quiet between you, but not uncomfortable. Both of you are grieving. Your thoughts go over Blaviken again and again. Then, hesitantly, over your own past.

You’re going to have to tell him. You don’t know how, or when, but you will. Now that he’s told you about Blaviken, it’s as if something’s come loose. You can no longer keep it in, the way you’d once resolved to. You keep catching yourself opening your mouth - trying to find a way to speak. But the timing isn’t right. It just isn’t right.

The further into Kaedwen you get, the colder it is, and it’s especially brutal that night. It may be blistering hot in the days, but the nights turn icy as death, unnatural and unsettling. The chill bleeds into your bones. Makes you want to curl into a ball and never move again.

And, of course, there are no inns around. You set up your bedroll and try your best to keep warm, but even with the fire Geralt makes, shivering takes a hold of you. It’s not long before your teeth are chattering. You ache for the Chameleon, for the warm, soft feather bed you’d slept on. Your eyes grow heavy, but sleep won’t take you.

When Geralt rests a hand on your shoulder, you jump about ten feet into the air, startled.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says. “You’re shivering.”

“I’m alright.” It comes out between chattering teeth. You don’t need to see his face to know he doesn’t believe you.

“Come here.”

You force yourself to sit up, giving him a look. He raises his brows, patting the bedroll next to him. Surely he doesn’t mean… no, that can’t be it. It’s closer to the fire, that’s all.

With frozen fingers, you pull your bedroll toward Geralt, laying it next to his. It’s a little better now.

Geralt lays down next to you, tilting his head up to look at you. “Get over here,” he says. “Got me worried you’ll freeze to death.”

Your heart starts racing. Fuck. If only he couldn’t hear it. If only the warmth of his arms wasn’t so appealing. You crawl over, resting yourself at his side, and he automatically wraps an arm around you and pulls you closer, into his chest.

Gods, he’s warm. Heat practically radiates off of him. You can’t stop yourself from sighing in relief, tucking your face into his neck. This close, you can smell the smoke on his skin, the hints of wood and earth and sweet leaves, mingled with hints of his sweat.

It’s already overwhelming enough to have him holding you like this. You practically stop breathing when his hand goes to the back of your neck, wrapping it in more warmth, callused fingers that you truly believe could rival silk on your skin. His thumb rubs a slow, soothing motion in the space behind your ear, and you inhale sharply.

Him touching you like this - well, it’s making you cry. Tears start to spill onto your cheeks and you try hopelessly to stop them, terrified that he’ll pull away, stop what he’s doing. But, even though he must know, he doesn’t stop. He keeps touching you, the way you’ve so desperately needed to be touched, and you relax little by little.

After a few minutes, your brain is barely there - melted, as though your body has become liquid. Your thoughts swirl into the heavy grip of sleep, and the world slowly fades away.

For once, you don’t have nightmares.

When you wake the next morning, you’re still in his arms. You can hear the crackling embers from the dying fire behind you, and you can feel Geralt’s breathing - even, steady. His hand still rests on your neck.

You never want to move. You know you’ll have to, but you don’t want to. For a while, you close your eyes and lie there in a meditative state, so content you’re practically purring. Then, Geralt jerks awake, and to your absolute dismay, he lets go of you and sits up, looking alarmed.

The explanation for that comes very quickly. There’s a group of men on horseback riding toward you. You can’t see them, but you hear them, crashing through the trees, clearly not caring if you know they’re coming.

“Geralt-”

“Grab your bow,” he says, pulling out your sword. His voice is low and firm. “Get behind me.”

You do as he asks. Your hands are shaking, but you force yourself to breathe slowly, readying an arrow. You try not to imagine what sound it will make, if you’re forced to kill.

As the men crash out of the woods, you can see that there are three of them. They circle around your camp, whooping and shouting before they come to a halt, grinning down at you with a smile that makes you want to recoil. You step closer to Geralt.

“Look at this, lads. A camp!” one of them says. “What’ve we got here?” He casually rests his hand on his sword, and you can see Geralt stiffen. The speaker is missing an eye, and he reeks so badly that you can smell him several feet away - sweat and whiskey and gods know what else.

You wait for Geralt to respond, but he says nothing - and what could you possibly say?

“Oy!” one of the others shouts. This one is wearing a red vest, stained with something that looks terribly like blood. “You fuckin’ deaf? We asked you a question!”

Still, Geralt says nothing, but his hand tightens on his sword.

“Won’t speak to us, eh?” the third asks. With the authoritative way he talks, he’s clearly the leader of the group. He leaps from his horse, bounding with nimble steps toward you and Geralt. His teeth are black and his hair is matted, and a jagged scar runs down his neck. “I’ll make you talk,” he says. “Could use some entertainment, couldn’t we, boys!”

“Aye, we could!” the man with one eye says, sliding off his horse to join the leader. “Been nothing but sniveling cowards, lately. I bet that grey one would put up a fight.”

And put up a fight, Geralt does.

He slashes so fast you barely see the blade move. All at once, the one-eyed man is crumpling to his knees, blood pouring down his abdomen. The leader draws his sword and leaps back, snarling.

“A lot of nerve, you have!” he says. “You’ll pay for that!”

And, suddenly, everything turns into chaos. The leader strikes, and instantly, the air rings with the sound of blades. The man with the red vest urges his horse on and gallops around, yelling out insults, slashing in your direction. You barely manage to dodge them.

Geralt is preoccupied, so - despite your shaking - you turn your bow toward the red vest and shoot. It hits his shoulder, and he cries out. His horse startles, bucking below him before it throws him off, vanishing into the woods. You’re hoping he’ll stay down, but he gets to his feet all too quickly, favoring his right leg and spitting insults.

You grab another arrow and try to load it up, but you’re too slow, too slow, why couldn’t you have just taken that dagger-

In a moment, he’s on you, shoving you to the ground and knocking the wind out of you. The djinn is tugging, tugging - Geralt’s dancing the line of acceptable distance - and you blindly scratch at the man’s face, gouging your nails into flesh until you hear a scream. His grip slackens, and you prop your feet up on the ground and force your hips up, throwing him off of you - one of the moves Ciri taught you.

Gasping and stumbling to your feet, you dart in Geralt’s direction, but a hand catches your shirt and drags you back, momentarily choking you before he pins you to a tree.

Blood is streaming down his face. “I’m going to fucking kill you,” he says. “I’m going to tear you into pieces, you hear me? You’ll wish your mother never popped you out!”

In the midst of your panic, you have the sense to knee up into his bollocks. Pain radiates through your leg, and despite the howl he lets out, he doesn’t let go. More crashing comes from the woods - more bandits, presumably. The look on his face practically spells it out.

For a moment, he’s distracted, slightly tilting his face toward the woods and easing his grip. Taking your opportunity, you slam the base of your hand into his nose with as much force as you can possibly muster. His knees buckle and he stumbles back, cupping a hand over his face.

Limping away, you catch a glimpse of Geralt - standing over the now-dead leader, panting but seemingly unharmed. More men pour in from the trees and slink in, raising weapons, and he readies his sword - but you know there are too many, just too many, and as a hand snatches around your waist and pulls you away, the world begins to crumble.

Nausea sets in, a turbulent dizziness, the world crumbling apart - too far! He’s too far! Something cold slices your arm, and the smell of blood hits you. You throw your elbow backward and make contact with bone, stumbling away and vomiting, knees buckling as the djinn’s wish takes hold. Your palms hit the ground.

Geralt lets out a cry of pain - the kind that can only mean he was hit. You call his name and helplessly crawl forward, trying desperately to get closer. Then, just as the djinn’s symptoms stop, something strikes the back of your head.

Blinding pain erupts through your skull, and Geralt shouts with you as you crumple to the ground. Everything has gone blurry - the voices around you are muffled, but you can see Geralt, laying on the ground and barely moving.

We’re going to die, you think, cheek pressing into the soft dirt under you. Colors spin before your drooping eyes and the urge to vomit again comes and goes. We’re going to die, and it’s my fault.

A heaviness takes over you. The pain is lulling you away, taking you somewhere far from this place. In the last moments, as the world fades, you hear screaming - multiple men screaming - and noises that can only mean death.

Then, everything turns to darkness.

tags: @henryownsme @madamemelancholysstuff @fullmoonshadowwrites @darkscrossfire @beforethepen @julijal @ailynyan @ivuravix @enrapturedbythemoon @angie2274

#geralt x reader #geralt of rivia x reader #game!geralt #geralt x you #geralt/reader #geralt of rivia x you #mywriting

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ro-is-struggling · 1 year ago

Text

Safer In His Arms || Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Requested by anon

Summary: Since you were little you always dreamed of meeting a noble and brave knight, falling in love and marrying him to rule your kingdom together until the end of your days. But as you looked around at the men that had come to the banquet to ask for your hand in marriage, it was clear that those dreams were nothing more than a fantasy. Or at least that's what you thought until fate crossed your path with Geralt of Rivia. The witcher, with his hard expression and cold stare, was the last person anyone would describe as warm or chivalrous. But not you. From the moment you met him, you saw nothing but kindness in his eyes. And when he managed to rescue you from the hands of bandits, you knew that maybe there was still some hope that your fantasy could come true —just maybe not in the way you had always imagined.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, mentions of sexual assault (nothing happens but if it’s triggering for you I wouldn’t read it), protective!geralt, SMUT MINORS DNI, virgin!reader, inexperienced!reader, loss of virginity (not accurate this is just porn!), dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving), penetrative sex, creampie, aftercare, fluff

English is not my first language

Word count: 13500 (not even sorry)

Notes: I don't know why I keep giving every princess I write a sad/tragic story, sorry about that. Also this ended up being way more smutty than I anticipated, sorry about that too (not really). It was supposed to be a fun little hurt/comfort fic about Geralt saving the reader but it developed a mind of its own and ended up being another excuse to write more smut. I tried to make the smut a bit more fluffy than normal since it's supposed to be the reader's first time, but I didn't want it to be too fluffy given that they technically barely know each other, so there's no actual love between them (if that makes sense?). So, sorry if it's a bit all over the place!

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The cold breeze of the summer night hit your skin the moment you set foot outside, reminding you that you should have taken a coat. While the days tended to be hot this time of year, once the sun set over the horizon a cool breeze embraced the entire kingdom, courtesy of the ocean forces that surrounded the borders of the land. It was quite peaceful. On a quiet night you loved to sit in the courtyard listening to the waves crashing against the rocks and smelling the scent of the salty water that was carried by the winds and mingled with the sweet perfume of the garden flowers. It seemed to always bring peace to your troubled mind, and that was exactly what you needed right now.

You could still hear the noise coming from inside the castle, though it was slowly getting lost in the sound of the sea. The laughter, the chatter, the joyful music, it all faded into the background as you plopped down on one of the seats in the courtyard, allowing yourself a moment to take a deep breath and let the beauty of your kingdom impart some of the wisdom you so desperately needed. All the guests were there for you —to talk and dance with you, to make unattainable but romantic promises in exchange for your hand in marriage— and yet all you wanted to do was disappear. You were tired of the politics, the diplomacy, tired of feeling the pressure of having to decide the future of your life and your kingdom in one night. The choice of a husband was very important to your parents, to your people and it should be to you too, but all you wanted was for the day to be over.

"I'm glad to see I'm not the only one feeling overwhelmed in there." A deep voice startled you.

Looking up you were met with a tall man leaning against one of the stone pillars supporting the roof of the covered section of the courtyard. His arms were crossed over his chest, muscles showing through the fabric of his clothes. His white hair hid part of his face, though you could still make out his hard expression and defined jaw. But what caught your attention the most was not the size of his muscles or the fact that the clothes he was wearing seemed too elegant for someone like him. No, what caught your attention the most were the amber eyes that watched you, admiring you from a distance, hiding behind a few rebellious strands of hair. You had never seen such beautiful eyes before. They were piercing, and yet there was a softness in them. Like the sun on a summer afternoon, they shone with an intensity that would have blinded anyone. But you were mesmerized by them, unable to look away.

"Though I must admit I did not expect to find you here, your highness, given that you are the center of the party."

"I needed some fresh air." You managed to say, forcing yourself to look away from his eyes. "I lost count of the number of men I danced with tonight...I just needed a break."

"That bad, huh?" His lips curved upward slightly, giving his hard expression a softer look. "I suppose if any of them had made a good impression at least you would remember their name."

"It wouldn't matter anyways. My parents have a very strong opinion about the one I should choose." You let out a bitter chuckle. "This banquet is just a formality, a contingency plan.... Give everyone a false sense of hope so they won't attack us for feeling left out."

"I'm sure you still have some sort of control over the whole thing. You're the one getting married after all."

"Since when does a woman's opinion matter when there's wealth and power involved? I'm just a pawn in their political game." Your gaze dropped, focusing on the embroidered details of your dress to avoid facing the intense gaze of the man in front of you. "When I was a girl I used to dream of growing up, meeting a brave and honorable prince and falling in love with him... now I know that feelings come after marriage, if they come at all."

Geralt watched you walk arround the courtyard, your fingers tracing the petals of the flowers that decorated the place without paying much attention to your movements. You had a blank stare and a sad expression adorned your delicate face. He was not a big lover of royalty —he didn't care about politics and didn't like the arrogant tone with which most of them used to speak—, but you were different. When he looked at you he didn't see a spoiled, arrogant princess or a manipulative political figure capable of anything to get their way. He only saw a sad and disillusioned young woman, confused about her future and the responsibility that fell on her shoulders.

Geralt felt bad for you and had an inexplicable urge to hug you, though he restrained himself. He opted to move closer to you, just took a couple of steps forward and he was already able to breathe in the scent of your perfume. His nostrils were pleasantly assaulted by the sweet scent emanating from your skin and hair. It was special, a blend of jasmine, vanilla and a hint of sea water. It was like nothing he had ever smelled before and he was sure that your scent would linger in his memory for a long time.

"It is still your life." He spoke behind your back and you turned to look at him. He seemed much bigger now that he was closer to you. His figure towered over you imposingly, yet his eyes were soft. "You can always take back your control over it." Your lips curved upward slightly and Geralt thought the smile suited you much better than the grimace of sadness.

You appreciated his effort to improve your mood. He was a complete stranger who had no reason to listen to your complaints about a life that many considered privileged. And though his words were simple, they accomplished their purpose. You felt so helpless and trapped that you were unable to see that things didn't end there. Yes, you were forced to marry someone you did not love for the sake of your kingdom, but that was not the same as giving up your life, your control and power over it. There was still hope.

"Thank you..." you trailed off, realizing at that moment that you had opened yourself so sincerely to a man whose name you didn't even know.

But before he could introduce himself, a voice in the distance interrupted you, answering for him.

"Geralt! There you are! I have been looking everywhere for you. You are supposed to protect me, you know."

Geralt let out an irritated sigh as the man you recognized as one of the many musicians hired by your parents to play at the banquet approached you. You had to stifle a chuckle as you realized that rather than escaping the noise of the party, he had come there to get a break from his friend's vibrant and cheerful personality. They were an odd pair, but you had no doubt that there had to be trust between them from the way the bard addresses him.

“I’ve been doing the impossible to hide from Lord Kaius for ages! What the hell were you doing out her–” The artist's complaints were cut short when his eyes finally rested on your figure. "Your highness." He gave a subtle bow, the tone of his voice changing to a lower, more subtle one from one second to the next.

"I'm afraid it's my fault. I was preoccupying your friend with the problems that afflict my mind on this fine evening and he was too kind to interrupt me. He was a great help, but you can take him back now. You clearly need him more than I do."

"Won't you come inside, your highness? You wouldn't want to miss your own party." The bard asked and you smiled at him.

"In a moment. I'd like to enjoy the peace and fresh air for a while longer."

Geralt didn't know why, but his eyes kept searching for you in the crowd of people dancing and eating like there was no tomorrow. After Jaskier dragged him back to the banquet hall —and after saving him from the fury of the man whose daughter had lost her innocence in the hands of the bard—, he kept his eyes on the big dark wooden doors, waiting to see you enter. But the minutes passed and there was no sign of you anywhere. He hadn't seen you come through the door and he couldn't find you in the crowd of people or see you at the royal table sitting next to your parents. You had disappeared and some people were beginning to notice.

For a moment, Geralt wondered if perhaps his words had encouraged certain behaviors in you. Maybe your way of taking control of your life was to run away from there, leaving your parents, your suitors and your responsibilities behind and start from scratch. He was wondering if perhaps he should go out to look for you, when his thoughts were interrupted by the sudden entrance of a man running towards the king and queen waving a paper in his raised right hand.

"The princess has been kidnapped." He announced loudly, causing the entire room to fall into a deep silence.

The musicians stopped playing, the people dancing stood motionless in the middle of the room and the queen almost fainted at that very moment. There was a collective sigh and then nothing. Pure silence while the king read the note that had been left behind by the bandits, establishing a payment for the recovery of the princess.

However, the silence did not last long. It was a room full of princes, knights and lords who were there to win the heart of the princess —or at least, the political interest of her parents— so chaos was bound to break out at a time like that. Lord Einar, the one who had found the note in the courtyard, was the first to offer his services to save the princess. His bravery set off a chain reaction of man after man appearing before the king to justify why they were the best suited for the task and not their competitors. And as they fought among themselves, Geralt decided to take matters into his own hands.

He finally felt comfortable as he inspected the courtyard and its surroundings for some sort of clue as to your whereabouts. For the first time since he had arrived at the castle he felt as if he actually had something to do there. Banquets and politics weren't his thing, but tracking down and hunting evil was. And while his area of expertise was monsters, he was willing to make an exception —anything to find an excuse to get him out of the political mess unfolding in the banquet hall.

His senses enhanced by the mutation allowed Geralt to follow the path that your scent had left in the air. He only had to take a couple of deep breaths and he immediately caught the fragrance of jasmine and vanilla that he had smelled on your skin. It stood out above any other scent near him, almost as if he had you in front of him once again. All he had to do was follow it to the outskirts of the castle, where his tracking skills allowed him to form a clearer picture of the situation.

They were heading north, away from the ocean and into the forest. The four pairs of footprints in the dirt indicated the presence of three heavy men who were accompanied by a fourth subject that was not so pleased to be there. The footprints were more shallow and imperfect. They belonged to a person of smaller build who was being dragged by those men. Geralt found no blood on the path, so he felt optimistic. You were conscious and had no serious wounds that would leave traces of your blood on the road, so there was a high chance that he would arrive in time to save you.

Following the path became a little more complicated the deeper he went into the woods, but fortunately for him the vegetation was not so lush and the bandits had not hidden very far away. Soon he was able to hear their angry mutterings in the distance. The night wind carried your sobs with it and Geralt followed them as if it were a map straight to your whereabouts.

You were being held captive in what appeared to be abandoned land. There was a dirty old shack and behind it, in the distance, Geralt could make out a barn that he had no doubt was in the same condition. A dim light was escaping through the half-open wooden door, so he knew that was where he had to go.

Two of the bandits scattered around the property to control the perimeter while one remained inside with you. Geralt was able to slip past them unseen with ease. Clearly, they were not men of great intellect and wisdom. Only a fool would kidnap a princess on the one night she was surrounded by strong and capable noble knights looking to prove themselves to her. Although glancing around, he was the only one there, so perhaps the bandits had a point.

Geralt was very careful with his movements, seeking to stay in the shadows as long as possible to assess the situation. He knew he could take out those men without breaking a sweat, even if they attacked him all three at once. But he had to consider that you were in the middle and any mistake he made could end badly for you. So he took his time, stealing a glimpse of the barn through the cracked door. His vision was limited by the odd angle from which he was forced to observe the scene, as well as the dim light that illuminated the room. Geralt was considering going in with his sword held high and end it all, when a sudden movement forced him to retreat so as not to be found.

Still, he got to see the way the man was mistreating you, pushing you violently against a pile of hay while you cried and begged for your life. And he got to hear the string of degenerate words he spat at you, enjoying the fear in your voice as you struggled to keep your distance from him. It made Geralt angry. Very angry.

The next sequence of actions happened so quickly that it was hard for you to process it. Although, to be honest, your mind wasn't quite there either. A part of you was completely missing, preparing to face the worst. When your captor lunged at you, effectively imprisoning you against the hay and almost completely restricting your movements, your mind transported you to another place. You could still hear his voice in the distance, smell his unpleasant odor and feel his weight on your body, but it all felt distant, muffled by the sounds of the ocean waves crashing against the rocks and the smell of salt water. Your body was still struggling to break free and tears were still streaming down your cheeks, but your mind was preparing to face the horror you knew was coming.

"You can cry all you want, no one is coming to save you." The man clicked his tongue, an evil smile forming on his lips. "A castle full of people and not a single man in sight, what a shame! But don't worry, princess, the time has come for you to know what a real man is." He moved his hands to the buttons of his pants, his leering gaze roaming over your body. You felt like screaming, crying and vomiting all at the same time, but you remained immobile, not knowing how to react. You simply closed your eyes, concentrating on the images of the sea you loved so much, waiting for the moment to pass.

But instead of feeling the weight of your captor's body on you again, you felt the splatter of warm liquid on your skin. Droplets rolled down your cheeks, mixing with your tears, and streams fell on your clothes. When you opened your eyes you found the sharp point of a sword poking out of your captor's pierced stomach. It was his blood that drenched your body, his blood that stained your clothes. It poured down on you from the wound in his stomach and from the cut in his throat that prevented him from producing more than broken cries as he drowned in his own blood.

It took you a few seconds to understand what was happening. Your confused mind, on high alert for new dangers, was not able to comprehend that the death of your captor was something positive for you. You only saw blood in quantities you had never seen before and could not help but scream as you watched in horror as the sword disappeared inside the bandit's body —splashing a few more drops of blood on its way out.

In the blink of an eye, the dying body of your captor was removed from above you and was replaced by a hand that pressed over your mouth to silence you. You struggled against it, your own hands snapping out of their state of shock to clutch at the arm of the new danger in an attempt to separate it from you. But then your eyes focused on the man leaning over you, the one who had saved you and who was desperately asking you to keep quiet.

A surge of calm ran through your body as you made contact with those golden eyes that intrigued you so much. You knew then that you were no longer in danger for Geralt had come to your rescue. Your heart was still beating almost inhumanly fast, pumping adrenaline throughout your body, and your breathing was still rapid, but you were able to calm your whimpers of protest under his hand. You stopped fighting him, trusting that you would be safe under his care.

"There are more-" You tried to warn him as he removed his hand from your mouth, but Geralt shushed you.

"I know, they're outside. That's why I need you to stay quiet and hide while I deal with them. Can you do that, your highness?" You nodded slowly, letting Geralt lead you to the back of the barn. He settled you behind a pile of hay that was large enough to hide your crouched figure, asking you to stay there until he came back for you, no matter what you heard outside.

"Wait! Don't leave me!" you panicked as he took a step away from you. Your hand flew to his arm, clinging to his clothes in an attempt to keep him from leaving. You knew what he had to do, but the thought of being alone again terrified you.

"Everything will be fine." Geralt tried to calm you, his voice a soft whisper. "I promise I will come back for you."

He gave you a moment before trying to leave once again, waiting for you to let go of his arm willingly rather than forcibly push you away. Geralt knew you were terrified and needed support, and he was more than willing to give it, but first he had to take care of the bandits that were still on the loose. And it would not be wise to fight them while you were present. It would only distress you further and put you in unnecessary danger. So, with a slight nod, he left you in the barn once more, disappearing into the night to finish what he had started.

You curled up in your place, listening to the distant sounds of the fight as you let another wave of tears roll down your cheeks. The smell of blood and dirt surrounded you. You were covered in it —in dirt, from being pushed back and forth around the place; in your captor's sweat, after he threw his body over yours; and in his blood, thanks to Geralt's fierce but effective attack. It made you want to vomit. The reality of the situation was starting to sink in, and your mind was slowly beginning to understand the great danger you were in and how lucky you were that Geralt showed up when he did.

“Princess?”

His voice brought you back to reality. He was kneeling beside you, looking at you with concern in those beautiful yellow eyes. The skin on his face was stained with a few drops of blood, as you imagined yours to be, but that did not lessen the softness of his expression. You threw yourself into his arms without a second thought, hiding your face in his neck as you sobbed in relief to know that the danger was over.

"It's okay, you're safe. I'm here, it's going to be okay." Geralt muttered against your hair, pulling you into his arms hoping that would be enough to help ease your nerves.

He held you against his body for as long as you needed him to, stroking your back with his hand in a slow, delicate way to inspire some sense of calm in you. He didn't move for a moment, not even when your sobs began to fade and your breathing became regular. No, Geralt waited for you to make the first move, breaking away from him when you were ready to do so.

"It's all right. You're fine. Just breathe with me. In...and out...in...and out. All right."

You let the soft but deep tone of his voice slowly wash away the paralyzing fear and nerves that plagued you. You focused on the warmth of his body and the way his arms wrapped around you, making you feel safe. You mimicked the rhythm of his breathing, letting him slowly guide you back to normal.

When you opened your eyes again the world around you was no longer spinning. Your vision was still a little blurry from the tears, but you could make out perfectly the yellow eyes, bright as the summer sun, watching you carefully.

"There you are!" Geralt gave you a small smile. "Did they hurt you?" You shook your head. Most of the blood on you at that moment wasn't yours, thankfully. Beyond a couple of bruises on your wrists from the bindings, and a split lip from a slap, you weren't injured. Your head hurt and you had twisted your ankle in an attempt to escape but it was nothing you couldn't handle.

"Who were they?" You asked in a shaky voice as you tried to stand up. You winced in pain as you put weight on your injured foot, but Geralt caught you in his arms before you lost your balance.

"Trust me, you're not going to like the answer to that."

A collective sigh was heard as you and Geralt entered the war room, where the king and queen were coordinating a rescue party with some soldiers and half of the suitors present at the banquet. It was a sigh of surprise rather than relief. It was clear that no one expected to see you there, much less with the disheveled appearance you had.

Your mother was the first to react, running up to you with tears in her eyes. Although she couldn't bring herself to hug you, the blood that stained your ball gown was still fresh, so she settled for holding your cheeks in her hands while repeating over and over again how happy she was that you were safe. Your father reacted by sending the guards to arrest Geralt as his worried mind believed that the witcher somehow had something to do with your kidnapping. You had to stand between them, taking your savior's hand in yours to make your position clear.

"What you imply is ridiculous! He saved me, father. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for him." you stated firmly, keeping your head held high and holding back tears in your eyes.

"He very well could still be behind all this. He's a witcher who wasn't officially invited to the festivities and conveniently vanished in the middle of the night without a word. No one can attest to him but that bard..."

"No offense, your majesty, but I just felt as though the situation was not being treated with the necessary urgency." Geralt interjected, speaking in a calm and slightly defiant tone. "I knew for a fact that she couldn't be far away and that time was of the essence, but everyone at that feast seemed more interested in proving themselves worthy of glory and respect than saving your daughter's life. I just did what had to be done."

"How dare you speak that way about these noble men, witcher! Any one of them would be more than willing to give his life for my daughter!"

"He is right, father. If you want to find a culprit, you should direct your gaze to Lord Einar."

The room fell silent as all eyes turned to him. But his gaze was focused on you, staring at you with a fury you didn't know if the others were able to detect. He took a step forward and you tightened your grip on Geralt's hand, instinctively seeking his support. He stuck to your side, silently letting you know that he was ready to come between him and you if necessary —though he seriously doubted that Einar would be stupid enough to try to hurt you in front of the king.

"This is absurd!" Lord Einar complained with exaggerated outrage. "I will not allow myself to be disrespected in this way! I was invited to this feast to formalize my interest in the princess, which is greater than that of anyone in this room, if I may add. Have you forgotten that it was I who noticed the princess's strange disappearance? If I had not gone out to look for her, perhaps the news of her disappearance would have come too late. And may I remind you, your majesty, that it was I who first offered my services to bring her back safe and sound."

"That was the plan, wasn't it?" Geralt spoke through gritted teeth. "To pay some coins to a bunch of desperate bastards to take her so that you could rescue her and thus win her and the king's heart."

"I will not allow this... thing to disrespect me like this!"

"Your scent was on their clothes. Your name was the last thing they uttered before I slit their throats. You knew you didn't stand a chance with her, so you found a way to force your name to the top of the list."

Intimidated by Geralt's cold, hard stare, Lord Einar turned to look at the king. "These are nothing more than baseless accusations made by someone who clearly wants to distract us from his own guilt and involvement." he said, keeping his head held high as he lied through his teeth. "I beg you, my king, to consider punishment for this insolent witcher."

"Is this proof enough for you?" you snapped, tossing an object on the table.

After the bandits were dead, Geralt had searched their bodies for some kind of proof that their words were true. That's how he had found a ring in the pocket of one of them that clearly didn't belong to them. It was made of a fine metal and in the center, engraved in gold, was the seal of a noble family: the Blakesley family.

The ring rolled against the dark wood, exposing Lord Einar's lies with each flick of the ring before the gaze of all present. There was nothing he could say to avoid the punishment that was coming, so when your father gave the order and the guards took him by force, he decided to take his rage out on you. His voice echoed through the corridors as he was escorted to the dungeon, shouting a string of insults at you. He questioned your honor and your ability as a ruler, claiming that he only wanted to marry you to ensure that the kingdom would not perish when your father died.

Those were nothing more than the words of an unstable man who was filled with spite, angered by your rejection. You knew it meant nothing, but you still couldn't help but feel humiliated as he shouted all those things in front of so many people. Your eyes filled with tears and you clung to Geralt almost instinctively, hiding your face in his neck so no one would see you cry. He wrapped his arms around you, ignoring the very unfriendly looks that several of the men in the room gave him.

Your mother ordered the room to be emptied, realizing that the crowd was doing nothing to help your condition. The last thing you needed at that moment was to feel watched and judged by a bunch of people, so she personally closed the doors behind the last guard to leave the room.

"You should take a long bath, my love. I'll send someone to prepare the tub and clean clothes for you. That will certainly make you feel better." Your mother spoke in a soft voice, placing a hand on your back. "And you, witcher, are more than welcome to stay tonight. I'll have a room prepared for you and bring you some clean clothes. We can talk more in the morning."

You gave your mother a smile as you wiped your tears with the back of your hand, trying to convince her that you were fine. She knew you weren't, but she also knew you well enough not to push you at that moment. So she left the room without adding anything else, leaving you alone with Geralt once again.

"Thank you... for everything." Your voice broke the silence, your eyes traveling from the door to Geralt's face. "I just realized I didn't thank you yet."

"You don't have to." He didn't need to hear it from your mouth, he could see in your eyes how grateful you were. Your expression hadn't changed much since he had found you, even though you tried hard to hide it, there were still traces of fear and distress in your eyes.

"Of course I have to! You have saved me from a terrible fate, not only at the hands of those bandits, but also at the hands of that... man." There were other words with which you would have liked to describe him, but you decided it was not appropriate for you to utter them. He didn't even deserve that from you. "I'm glad you were dragged here... I don't know what would have become of me without you tonight, Geralt."

The room fell silent as you looked into each other's eyes. You lost yourself in the amber that surrounded his pupils —which seemed to be more dilated, although it could well be an effect of the light, you thought—, trying to discover the secrets hidden in his eyes. Geralt was not easy to read, no matter how hard you tried, you had no idea of the things that could be going through his head at that moment. And yet, there was something in his eyes that calmed you. When he looked back at you, there was a softness in them that invited you to continue to admire them forever. It was a connection unlike anything you had ever felt before. It piqued your curiosity and some other things you didn't quite know how to explain.

Your hand was still intertwined with Geralt's and you weren't entirely sure for how long. Although you weren't complaining, you found the warmth of his skin against yours extremely comforting. It made you feel less alone, less vulnerable. You trusted him with your life, you knew that as long as he was around nothing bad could happen to you. And boy did you need that at that moment. You were still quite affected by everything that had happened and the idea of being alone terrified you. You needed company, but not just anyone. You needed his company.

"Would you mind escorting me to my chambers?" you broke the silence, clearing your throat to make sure your voice sounded firm. "My foot still hurts a little and I wouldn't want to fall down the stairs."

It was a foolish excuse. You knew it. Geralt knew it. The twisted foot you got while struggling with your captors was not a cause for concern. It hurt a little, yes, but you could still walk normally. All you wanted was an excuse not to be separated from Geralt and luckily for you, he played along. He allowed you to take his arm for stability and walked with you to your quarters. You appreciated his proximity, enjoying the feel of his body pressed against yours as his warmth enveloped you. But unfortunately it only seemed to aggravate his absence when he pulled away from you, willing to leave you alone so you could rest.

Your hand closed around his arm almost as an unwilling reflex. Your body craved his closeness. Your mind needed his company to be at ease. As much as you wanted to, you couldn't let Geralt leave. Not tonight at least. His eyes lingered on your hand, admiring how small it appeared when compared to his arm, before he looked up into your eyes, searching your expression for an explanation.

"Stay, please." Your voice was almost a whisper. Your eyes had trouble making eye contact with him for the first time since you had met. Geralt knew then that you were embarrassed of uttering those words. "I need you. I... I don't want to be alone tonight."

"Are you sure?" He said after a few seconds of silence, his expression firm but gentle. You nodded, looking at him with pleading eyes as you released his arm from your grip. Geralt sighed and finally crossed the threshold of the door, closing it behind him.

Geralt allowed you to guide him across the room to a door that hid a large private bathtub on the other side. It was already filled with water and salts, ready for you to use it. Everything smelled of you, of that delicious combination of jasmine and vanilla that Geralt found so special. It was intoxicating, like he was breathing in your scent straight from the source.

"Would you mind helping me with the lace?" Your voice brought him back to reality. Geralt watched as you turned around, gathering your hair over one of your shoulders to expose your back to him so he could unfasten your dress. He knew it was inappropriate and that he was probably breaking some rule —not to mention, taking advantage of the king's hospitality—, but he couldn't bring himself to stop. Not when you were offering yourself to him like that.

Geralt's hands caressed your back first, his fingers slowly tracing a path from your shoulders to where the lacing of your dress ended. You closed your eyes, holding your breath as you felt him slowly loosen your dress. You could feel his imposing figure towering over you. He was so close that you could hear his breathing and feel the heat radiating from his body. You liked the proximity, probably more than you should.

When Geralt finished his work and your dress began to slide down your shoulders, you knew you should have been embarrassed. You were used to being naked in front of servants, but they were always women you trusted, handmaidens who had taken care of you since you were little and helped you dress or bathe. You had never been so exposed in front of a man before and you should definitely feel ashamed, but you were not. You simply let the dress fall to your feet and stepped into the tub as if there was no man present.

The water was warm and the tub was deep enough to hide your modesty if you sat in the right position. The dim candlelight also helped, though ultimately you really didn't mind feeling Geralt's gaze on your body.

"Join me, please. The water's nice and there's room enough for both of us."

Your curious eyes unashamedly traced the muscles of his arms and torso as he revealed himself to you. You noticed the scars that marked his skin, some smaller and some larger, and you couldn't help but wonder what the stories behind them were. Geralt was an exceptional man, unlike anyone you had ever met in your life. He was so rigid and reserved, and yet he had shown nothing but kindness and gentleness in your presence. He was a mystery and you wanted nothing more than to discover what he hid behind those beautiful amber eyes.

Out of respect —and some embarrassment—, you looked away as his hands undid the buttons of his pants. You focused your attention on the jasmine petals floating in the water, feeling your cheeks grow warm as a small voice in your head encouraged you to look up.

Geralt settled next to you in the tub, avoiding being too close or sitting in front of you so that you wouldn't feel uncomfortable or self-conscious in his presence. However, you needed his closeness, so you shortened the distance as much as you could, pressing your arm against his. When he didn't complain, you went a step further and rested your head on his shoulder. Geralt stood still for a moment, debating once again whether his actions were appropriate, but in the end he relaxed.

He put his arm around your shoulders, effectively pulling you closer to him. A smile formed on your lips as you adjusted yourself in the new position, hiding your face in his neck. Geralt's fingers traced soft lines on the skin of your arm, a caress that both relaxed and excited you. That kind of intimacy was something new to you. Feeling his naked skin against yours, inhaling that musky scent mixed with something you couldn't describe as anything but his own essence, feeling the soft caresses of his calloused fingers, everything made you feel a certain way inside. You didn't have the exact words to describe it. It was like a flame, a warmth spreading through you that was both comforting and exciting. Ultimately, you didn't care about being able to put a name to what you felt. You just wanted to stay close to Geralt for as long as you were allowed.

Without even realizing it, your hand traveled up to his chest, your curious fingers tracing the jagged lines that marked his skin. You used the scars as a map to his body, letting them guide your path as you explored his chest with your touch. And as your fingers moved, you imagined the heroic stories behind each one, wondering what kind of monsters had inflicted them and if there were any that were human-made.

"I wonder how many princesses you've saved to end up like this." You broke the silence, your voice soft as you got lost in thought. It was mostly a joke, but there was some genuine curiosity hidden in it.

"Surprisingly, less than you're probably imagining."

You didn't quite know why, but hearing Geralt say that put a smile on your lips. It made you feel special, in a way. He hadn't been hired to save you —technically he hadn't even been invited to the party—, he had no obligation to you or your family, and yet he had risked his life to help you. There was something in you that awakened in him his noblest instincts.

"I'm sure that's what you tell everyone." You laughed, looking up at him from your position on his shoulder. You could admire his profile, his sharp jawline and the way his lips curved upward slightly as he let out a huff.

"Often delicate young women like you find my methods to be too... grotesque. They don't see me as being much different from the monsters I kill." Geralt spoke honestly, remembering the horrified expressions on the faces of the maidens he had sought to save from danger in his past, when he had little experience as a witcher. He was young and naive at the time and believed he could use his skills for more than just hunting monsters. After all, evil came in all shapes and sizes, even in humans. It didn't take him long to understand that humans didn't see a knight of noble spirit when he intervened in such situations, only a mutant designed to kill.

You noticed his thoughtful expression, his eyes looking straight ahead as if his mind was transporting him to another place. You wondered what kind of memories he might have swirling around in his head at that moment, outraged to think that someone could treat him badly after he saved their life. You admitted that he had quite an imposing figure and that his expression wasn't very friendly most of the time, but you still couldn't understand how anyone could be afraid of him. Even before he saved you —when he was just a stranger who took the time to listen to your problems— you saw nothing threatening in him. His beautiful yellow eyes inspired nothing but trust in you from the first moment you made contact with them.

“Then they were all fools." You sat up straight, one hand resting on Geralt's cheek to force him to look at you. "I don't understand how anyone could look at you and see danger in you. Even covered in blood, all I see is... safety and comfort." You gave him a small smile as your finger carefully wiped a small spot of blood from his cheek.

"Or maybe you're being naively nice."

Geralt took a cloth that rested on the edge of the tub and dipped it in the warm water. Then one of his hands cupped your chin, tilting your face slightly so he could get a better look at you in the candlelight. The flames danced in the air, creating shadows on your delicate skin. But even in the dim light he could still see the splashes of blood that stained your beautiful face. They made such a contrast that it was impossible to ignore them. The implication of such a violent act had no place on the delicate face of a princess like you. He hated to see the scratch on your lip, the dirt on your cheeks, the dried blood on your skin. You should not have been subjected to such horrors and he wanted to do everything in his power to erase the evidence from your body. So Geralt took the trouble to wipe the blood away, carefully running the wet cloth over your skin until it was all gone.

You remained silent as he worked on you, completely immobile while you watched him closely. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed, but his expression was gentle. His hands moved delicately over your skin, as if he was afraid of breaking you if he wasn't careful. You could barely feel the cloth brushing against your cheek from how slow and gentle Geralt was being. But his fingers... his fingers were another story.

They were warm against your skin, caressing every little spot the cloth passed through to soothe any possible irritation the fabric might arouse. They awakened a tingling sensation as they traveled down your face. When they reached your neck, you knew that Geralt could feel the accelerated pulsing of your heart against his fingertips. It was impossible that he couldn't when you could hear the beating in your ears yourself. His hands felt so big against your neck. If he wanted to hurt you, he could probably do it with just one hand. That should have scared you, considering he was a man you barely knew, but it didn't. You knew he wasn't going to hurt you, not when he caressed the sensitive skin of your neck and collarbones with such gentleness.

"Maybe I'm naive," you broke the silence, your voice barely more audible than a whisper. "But I honestly don't think a mutant designed to kill, as you say, would go to the trouble of caring for me the way you are doing."

Geralt's eyes looked up at you, that intriguing yellow you loved so much capturing you in a transe. They were calling you, daring you to dive into the ocean of honey and mystery that was his gaze. And you obeyed without the slightest resistance, letting your heart take the reins of your body. You leaned towards him, slowly. His hands were still on your neck, but he didn't use them to stop you. On the contrary, he leaned towards you too and when your lips finally collided, he used his grip on your jaw to deepen the kiss.

The kiss started slow, a quick brush of your lips as you finally let yourselves indulge in your deepest desires. But as you became more comfortable in each other's arms, the kiss intensified. You let Geralt guide you, knowing that he would undoubtedly have more experience than you. You surrendered to his lips and the caresses of his tongue, giving yourself to him completely as you struggled to keep up with him.

That wasn't your first kiss, however, it was the first kiss that felt like this, so... intense, passionate. You barely remembered the boy who had given you your first kiss, but you knew you would remember Geralt for the rest of your life. You didn't know how he did it, but the simple touch of his lips and the strokes of his fingers on your skin turned you to mush between his hands. You had never felt anything like it before and you didn't want to stop. But despite your protests, Geralt suddenly pulled away from you.

"What are you doing?" He didn't sound annoyed or confused, more concerned.

"I'm taking control of my life." You leaned into him once more and Geralt accepted your kiss, his desperate lips demonstrating his true intentions. He let his desires consume him for a moment before regaining control over his body and pulling away from you again.

"Are you sure?" It wasn't that he wanted to stop, but the voice of morality in the back of his mind compelled him to make sure you wanted the same. He needed to know that he wasn't taking advantage of you, that you weren't throwing yourself into his arms as a result of your vulnerable state after the attack.

"For as long as I can remember, I have always dreamed of meeting a noble prince who would protect me from danger. We would fall in love and live a long and happy life together after our marriage. Now I know that is impossible. I cannot choose who I marry. I cannot choose to marry for love. There's nothing I can do to change it, that's just the way things work." You paused, your hands reaching for Geralt's to entwine your fingers. "But I can still choose who to give myself to, body and soul, for the first time... and you're the closest thing I have to that fantasy."

There was a sadness in your eyes that made Geralt feel bad for you. He didn't know you very well, but he knew you deserved better than a future you didn't want. The inability to choose your own path in life was something that seemed to affect you greatly, and if he was able to bring you some peace he was willing to do so. But the tub full of dirty water was not the place for it, much less considering it would be your first experience of something like that.

"Speak freely." You said after a few seconds of unbearable silence. "If you don't want to be with me because you don't like me I'll understand. But please don't turn me down just because you think you're guarding my honor or something. I want this... I want you."

Those last words seemed to do the trick, because Geralt's lips joined yours once again. Only this time the kiss was different, much slower and more sensual, though just as desperate. His lips moved in time with yours, tongues intertwined in a sinful dance as Geralt allowed his hands to slowly explore your body. His fingers ignited flames on your skin in their path, pleasure and anticipation building inside you.

The water in the tub swirled violently as Geralt lifted you into his arms, moving you to sit on his lap as if you weighed nothing. You clung to his shoulders for support, feeling his fingers dig into the sensitive skin of your hips. But it didn't hurt, at least not in a bad way. It was a pleasant ache that made you feel alive. Just like his kisses, which trailed down your jaw to your neck, sucking and nibbling on the sensitive skin.

Geralt's kisses continued their way down and you couldn't help but buck your hips against his when his lips closed over your nipple. You pushed your chest into him instinctively, giving yourself to him as one of your hands got lost in his hair. Pure pleasure traveled through your veins as his tongue played with your breasts, giving attention to one before moving on to the other. He held you tightly against his body, one strong arm stretched across your back while the other wrapped around your waist, pulling you against his growing erection.

You both moaned as your cunt made contact with his cock. The sensation you felt when the tip brushed against your little bundle of nerves was unlike anything you had ever felt before. The pleasure was much more intense, much more raw. You could feel it spreading through your body and into your bones. So, naturally, you sought it again, creating a rhythm that had you panting in no time.

You were forced to stop when Geralt suddenly stood up, carrying you in his arms. Your moan of pleasure turned into a cry of surprise, the water in the tub moving violently, flooding the room as he moved towards the exit. You clung to his shoulders, afraid of falling, as you asked him what he was doing.

"We can't do it here. It has to be done properly, in a bed where you’ll be comfortable, and not in a bathtub full of filthy water."

You couldn't help but smile to yourself as you understood the meaning of his words. Once again, Geralt was looking after you, worrying about you and your well-being more than any other man in your life had ever done. He wanted to make things right, to make sure that your first sexual encounter was a positive experience. And while he wasn't exactly the man you had imagined doing it with, he was quite close to it. Every thing he said, every gesture he made to you, made you feel more confident in your decision.

Geralt carefully laid you down on the bed, making sure you were comfortable before continuing his assault on your body. He kissed you again and, as you let his tongue explore your mouth, you couldn't help but think how much bigger he felt now that he was leaning over you. He had one arm on either side of your head, holding himself up so he wouldn't crush you with his weight. One of his toned legs rested in between yours, keeping you open and exposed to him. You were essentially trapped under his body, completely at his mercy, and you liked it.

The pleasure building up inside you was starting to feel too overwhelming. As much as you enjoyed Geralt's wet kisses, you needed more. You needed relief. So you pushed your hips into him once more, seeking that intoxicating pleasure you'd felt in the bathtub. Your wet pussy slid easily up his thigh and a wave of pleasure coursed through your body.

"Fuck!" Geralt moaned as he felt your wetness trickling down his leg. You looked so sensual moving your hips against him with adoring desperation, struggling to find some relief. The little moans that fell from your lips in between ragged breaths drove him crazy, making it difficult for him to control his instincts. He had to be gentle with you, it was your first time and no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't pin you down and fuck you until your legs shook.

"Tell me, princess, have you ever touched yourself?" Geralt spoke against your skin as his lips continued their path of wet kisses down your body. "Perhaps when you were alone at night, hidden in the darkness of your chambers."

It took you a few seconds to process Geralt's words, your mind distracted with the way his kisses slowly trailed down your chest, barely pausing on your breasts before continuing to travel down. It made your body tremble with anticipation, wondering what he was up to. He was watching you from his position on your abdomen, lips barely pulling away from your skin so he could observe your face more comfortably, waiting for an answer. The color of his eyes had darkened, the yellow glowing like the flames of the candles that lit the room. There was hunger in them. Geralt was looking at you like a wolf at its prey. You couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious, managing to answer him with a simple negative shake of your head.

"So you don't know what real pleasure feels like, huh?" You weren't sure if it was a question for you, but you shook your head again anyway. You felt Geralt's lips curving into a smile against the sensitive skin of your lower belly and a shiver ran down your spine when you heard his next words. "I'm going to change that."

Despite the firmness in his voice, Geralt was slow and gentle with each movement he made next. He was careful to position himself between your legs, pushing them open and revealing your most secret part to his hungry gaze. He noticed almost immediately the way you tensed with embarrassment, feeling vulnerable, so he was quick to spread sweet kisses on your right thigh, while gently caressing the skin of your left. He could smell the scent of your arousal with every breath he took. It was intoxicating, the sweet nectar he had been waiting to taste all this time. But first he had to make sure you were comfortable. He was there to pleasure you, nothing mattered if you didn't enjoy it.

"It's okay, my sweet. You don't have to be ashamed, you're beautiful." He spoke against your skin, his voice a raspy, sensual, whisper. "I have to get you ready for my cock, all right? This will feel so good, I promise. But if it doesn't, I want you to tell me, can you do that?" You nodded, but that wasn't enough for him. "I need you to use your words."

"Yes, Geralt, I will."

"Good."

Geralt gave you a few seconds to relax before diving into your cunt, spreading wet kisses down your inner thighs as he got closer and closer to the place where you needed him most. When his tongue finally made contact with the sweet nectar trickling down your folds, he let out a sound that vibrated in his chest with force. All hint of self-control disappeared then, buried under the primal desire that the taste of your arousal awakened in him.

He ate you like a starving man, his tongue exploring your most intimate place with expert skill. Your hips jolted as his lips closed over your small bundle of nerves, your whole body convulsing as you felt pleasure like you had never felt before. It was so intense it was almost too much. It scared you in a way, as it felt like your own body didn't respond to you —like it didn't belong to you. It belonged to Geralt now, and only responded to the stimulation he gave your body. You were torn between the need to pull away from his entrancing lips —which were no doubt uttering some spell to claim ownership of your innocence— and your body's carnal desire to surrender to his clever tricks in order to continue to feel such pure pleasure.

"Does it feel good, princess?" Geralt spoke between your legs, his warm breath crashing against your pussy and sending shivers down your spine.

"Yes! So good... please don't stop." You didn't recognize your own voice as you spoke. It sounded raspy from all the moaning, and there was a hint of desperation you'd never heard in yourself before. It wasn't the first time you had begged someone for something you wanted, but it was the first time you actually meant it.

"I won't, I promise. I'm here to make you feel good." Geralt assured between slow, long licks, focusing his attention on your clit before continuing. "But if you're going to take my cock, I'll need to stretch your tight hole." You tensed again and once more he used his strategy of stroking and kissing your thighs to calm you down. You knew that penetration was an important part of the whole thing and you were ready to face it, but still, the unknown scared you a little. "I'm going to insert a finger inside you, is that all right my sweet? It might feel a little uncomfortable at first, but I promise it will feel great afterwards. But first I have to know that you still want this."

"Yes, Geralt, I want this. I trust you, please." You gave him a shy smile, looking at him with complete admiration. He saw the desire in your eyes, mixed with anticipation and a hint of fear. But you were confident in your decision, so he continued.

"Relax, I'm going to take care of you." He murmured against your skin, his kisses slowly moving closer to your wet cunt. "Just focus on the pleasure."

Geralt's voice echoed in your mind, your body obeying his commands as if he had cast a spell over you that left you with no other choice. You focused on the fire burning inside you, on the skillful way he flicked his tongue against your abused bundle of nerves and on the knot in your stomach that tightened with each passing second. You tried not to tense up as you felt Geralt's finger press against your entrance, biting your lip and taking deep breaths to calm your nerves. His tongue was doing a good job of distracting you, but you could still feel the slightly painful drag of his finger inside you.

"You're doing so well for me." Geralt complimented you, keeping his finger still inside you to give you time to get used to the new sensation. You couldn't hide how much it pleased you to hear those words, because your walls clenched around his finger, revealing your deepest desires. Geralt grunted against your pussy, fantasizing about how good your tight hole would feel around his cock.

It took you a moment to get used to the strange sensation of his intrusion. It wasn't painful exactly, mostly uncomfortable since your walls weren't used to stretching like that. But eventually the discomfort faded into pleasure, bringing new sensations as he slowly began to move his finger inside you.

Your moans became uncontrollable, increasing in volume with each of Geralt's caresses. If you weren't so wrapped up in your own pleasure, you would have worried about the possibility of being overheard by some servant or guard walking down the corridor. You knew it might potentially ruin your reputation, but you couldn't focus on anything other than the way Geralt's long, thick finger stretched you, making you feel full in the most pleasurable way possible.

"Geralt I-" You tried to speak, but the air caught in your throat as you felt the knot in your stomach becoming incredibly tight, threatening to snap.

"I know, my sweet, I know." Geralt interrupted you as he noticed your trouble forming coherent sentences. He could sense you were getting close to relief in the way your walls tightened around his finger, your juices dripping down your legs and soaking his hand. "Just let yourself go. I've got you."

Geralt added another finger inside you, stretching your walls even further. He was careful, his movements slow and precise as he both prepared you for his cock and brought you closer to the edge. His mouth focused on your clit, his lips closing around your sensitive pearl as his fingers explored your insides, reaching that spongy place deep inside you and rubbing it until your whole body shuddered with your orgasm.

It felt like your insides exploded, the tension that had been building in your core suddenly snapping as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through your body. Your mind went blank, eyes rolling back as Geralt did his best to hold back the violent spasms of your muscles.

And then your body fell limp on the sheets. You could barely hear the world around you over your racing heartbeat that throbbed in your ears. You knew Geralt was muttering things against your skin as he kissed his way back up, but your mind was too lost in the pleasure to make sense of his words. Your chest was rising and falling rapidly, your body desperate for oxygen as it struggled to regain control.

"There you are!" Geralt gave you a soft smile as you opened your eyes, his face slowly coming into focus on your clouded vision. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine! That was..." you paused, searching for the words to describe it. Although explaining your feelings proved to be more difficult than you expected. You were convinced that there were no words in any language you knew to describe what he had made you feel. So you let out an airy laugh, hiding your face in his neck and spreading small kisses over his skin.

"Do you still want to go through with this?" Geralt asked you, pulling away from you a little so he could look into your eyes. You kissed him back, tasting the sweet flavor of your arousal on his tongue. It was strangely erotic for you to feel your own essence on him, like a mark that, though temporary, showed to whom his lips belonged. It sent a rush of desire and confidence through your body, igniting the fire inside you once more.

The pressure of his cock was nothing like his fingers. While the stretching sensation was not completely foreign to you, Geralt's cock was much longer and thicker than his fingers so it hurt a lot more when he began to push it into you. The mixture of your arousal and his saliva helped his member slide more easily through your walls, but you still couldn't hold back the whine of pain, which vibrated against Geralt's lips.

"It's all right... you're all right. Just a little more." He crooned as he rested his forehead against yours. His fingers caressed the skin of your hip, giving you comfort as you clung to his shoulders. "You're doing so good for me, my sweet." His voice was soft, but erratic, laced with the clear pleasure that sliding so torturously slow inside your tight walls brought him.

Geralt remained immobile once he bottomed out, spreading kisses all over your face and neck as he gave you time to adjust to his size. It was the hardest task he had ever had to do in his life. Facing any monster was easier than staying still when your warm, wet walls wrapped around him so well. He was desperate to move, pull out of you almost completely only to slam back in, thrusting his hips against yours as he pinned you against the bed. But it was your first time, so he had to be gentle with you. You weren't ready for that kind of rough loving, so Geralt pushed his dark desires aside and waited for you to give him the signal to move.

After a while, your moans of discomfort turned into whimpers of protest, not from pain, but from the growing fire inside you that wasn't being tended to. You experimentally moved your hips against Geralt's, just to see what it would feel like. It was a small movement, but it was enough to push his cock deeper inside you, sparking a pleasurable tingling sensation that spread throughout your body. So you did it again, moving with more confidence this time. And again, only this time, Geralt met you halfway, grinding his hips against yours.

Your walls tightened around his cock and the growl that escaped his lips was so deep and primal that it almost pushed you over the edge once more. Something about knowing that you were the cause of those moans, that your body, your pussy, your caresses, were responsible for such reactions was so arousing. Knowing that even though you were inexperienced you were able to elicit such pleasure in him made you feel more comfortable and confident. You were turning his world upside down as much as he was turning yours.

"You look so beautiful like this." Geralt said as he slightly increased the rhythm of his hips. "So small and fragile underneath me, eyes filled with lust as you try your best to take me in your tight hole."

You moaned into his mouth, desperately searching his lips for something to keep you grounded as pleasure took over your body and mind. Your cunt clenched at his words, finding the mix of softness and roughness in his action incredibly arousing. His hips moved against yours in a consistent and deep, yet slow and sensual rhythm. His calloused fingers roamed over your body, caressing you in such a subtle way that it gave you goosebumps. His filthy words perfectly balanced flattery and roughness, awakening feelings you didn't know you had. It was all a dangerous, overwhelming mix, slowly getting to you close to the edge.

"Does it feel good? Do you like feeling me deep inside you?" You could only moan incoherently in response, hiding your face in the crook of Geralt's neck as your nails dug into his back. "I like it too. You feel so good wrapped around me, my perfect princess."

"Yes, I'm yours! I'm all yours, please..." You begged, for what, you weren't sure. But that didn't really matter, you just wanted Geralt to do whatever he wanted with you. You knew there was no future in your relationship, but this was no time to think about tomorrow. At that moment you were giving yourself body and soul to him, allowing him permission to use and explore your body as he wished.

"Yes you are, but not just for tonight." Geralt moaned in your ear, his voice a deep hoarse whisper. He sucked a mark just below your earlobe, nibbling the sensitive area playfully before continuing to speak. "You will always remember this night and think of me when your future husband takes you to bed on your wedding night. He's not going to compare to me... to how good I'm making you feel. But that's fine, because at least you had a chance to know what it feels like to be adored like you truly deserve, my princess."

"Fuck, Geralt! I'm-" Your warning was interrupted by a moan as you felt him sink his teeth into the sensitive skin of your neck at the same time he pushed his member incredibly deep inside you.

"I know, I can feel you squeezing me so tight. It's alright, just let go for me, my sweet. I want to feel you as you come undone on my cock."

His hand traveled south, calloused fingers pressing against your abused bundle of nerves, drawing circles over it. The way your pussy clenched around his cock made it hard to focus, his own orgasm approaching with alarming speed. But he kept a steady rhythm, his hips moving in a slow, sensual way to make sure his cock brushed that special place inside you without causing you any pain.

"That's it, keep making those pretty notices for me. You're doing so good for me, my beautiful, perfect, princess. Just let go, I've got you. You're safe with me, just let go."

It was the softness in his husky voice that finally pushed you over the edge, your whole body shaking with the intensity of your orgasm. Geralt's name was the last thing you uttered before the world around you disappeared behind the waves of pleasure. It was a pathetic whimper, a plea for mercy as you felt frightened by the sheer intensity of your orgasm. Geralt was sure he had never heard a more sensual melody. The way you had uttered his name just before the pleasure exploded inside you was something he was never going to forget.

"That's it, my sweet. You did such a good job for me." He complimented you, slowing down the rhythm of his hips to give you time to recover. "You're alright. I'm here, I've got you. Just breathe... that's it."

Geralt's voice helped you refocus on the real world, his sweet kisses slowly lifting the fog that clouded your mind. You could still feel him inside you, his cock throbbing desperate for relief. The shallow thrusts weren't enough and you needed to feel him falling apart inside you. You needed to know what it felt like to have a man —and especially him— come inside you. And you knew it was safe with him since witchers were incapable of fathering children as a result of their mutations.

"Geralt, please... I want to feel you." You managed to say between gasps, locking your legs around his hips to keep him in place, pressed inside you. He let out a deep growl as he understood the meaning behind your words, his eyes darkening with lust. You were definitely going to be the death of him.

"Of course, my sweet, how could I deny you anything?" He murmurs against your lips, slowly increasing the rhythm of his hips. "You want to feel my seed deep inside you, is that it? You want me to fill you up, leave a part of me inside you so you won't miss me so much when I'm gone?"

His words alone were enough to ignite that flame inside you again. Your body was tired, but still screamed for more. Geralt's thrusts became erratic with each passing second, desperate to reach his own relief. And in the search for his pleasure he was taking you with him to a new limit.

"I will give it to you, my princess. I will give you all of me. I could never deny you anything, my sweet, beautiful girl."

His sweet words contrasted with the harshness of his movements, hips crashing against yours in desperate thrusts. He was getting closer to his relief and he could feel in the way your cunt clenched around his cock that you were too. His thumb focused on your clit once more, one, two, three strokes accompanied by his thrusts and you were crying his name again. But he didn't get to enjoy much of the way you tightened around him, because he came seconds later, shooting his load deep inside you.

Geralt collapsed on top of you, his body crushing you against the bed as you both tried to catch your breath. But even though he was much bigger than you, it wasn't an uncomfortable position. The weight of his body felt comforting against yours. You liked the way he hid his face in your neck, breathing heavily against your sweaty skin. It gave you the opportunity to stroke his back and run your fingers through his hair. It felt intimate, in a completely different way than the sex you'd just had.

You whined in protest as he rolled to the side, feeling the mixture of your arousal and his sliding down your legs now that his cock had left you. It was a strange sensation to feel empty without him inside you. You didn't know such a feeling was possible, for you that used to be normal, the only way to feel. But now that you had had Geralt buried deep inside you, that you had felt his seed filling you to the brim, you would always be aware of that strange emptiness between your legs.

"How are you feeling?" you heard him say and you struggled to open your eyes, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion. He was standing at the foot of the bed, a cloth in his hand, and you wondered when he had moved from your side without you noticing.

"Great! That was... great." You mumbled, still unable to find an adequate word to describe how good he had made you feel.

Geralt gave you a small smile before lowering his face to your legs, placing small kisses on your skin as he moved closer and closer to your center. "Open up for me, my princess. I need to clean you."

You reluctantly complied, feeling much more exposed and vulnerable now that the deed was done. However, he was gentle with you, moving carefully as he cleaned you so as not to irritate your sensitive, abused cunt. And when he was done, he kissed his way down your face, caressing your skin with his lips, culminating his journey in your mouth.

"What about you?" you tried to sound casual as you spoke, though you failed miserably. "Was it... good for you too?" You immediately regretted your choice of words, worrying that you had ruined the moment.

"I thought I had been quite clear if not with my words, with my actions at least." Geralt let out an airy laugh and you followed suit, feeling a little more relieved.

Then the room fell into silence. It wasn't an awkward or uncomfortable one, but a peaceful one. You got lost in Geralt's eyes, admiring the yellow glow that was much softer now, though just as captivating. The candlelight reflected in them in a special way, highlighting their unique beauty. You could stare at them for hours if it weren't for the tiredness that was slowly beginning to take hold of you.

You didn't realize you had closed your eyes until you felt Geralt move beside you. You stopped feeling the weight of his body on the bed, so you opened your eyes immediately. Your hand flew to his arm, fingers closing around his wrist. "Please don't go," you begged as you saw that he had sat up in bed. "I want you to stay with me tonight."

Geralt smiled, the corners of his lip curving slightly upward as he reached out with his free arm to grab the blanket that had been left forgotten at the foot of the bed. His eyes lowered to your hand and his expression turned hard as he noticed the ligature marks on your skin. He hated to know the horrible treatment that someone as delicate and beautiful as you had to go through at the hands of those bandits. Even though he had rescued you before something even worse happened to you, as he looked at the marks on your wrists he feared he had not been quick enough.

Noticing the change in his expression, your eyes followed Geralt's gaze with curiosity. You felt embarrassed when you realized what he was looking at with such intensity and released his grip on his arm, seeking to hide your injured wrist. But he didn't let you. Geralt intertwined his fingers with yours and brought your hand to his lips. His eyes didn't break contact with you as he scattered delicate kisses over the irritated area of your wrist, showing you that you had nothing to be ashamed of with him.

"I'm not going anywhere if you don't want me to, my princess. I'm here to serve you tonight." Geralt said as he lay down next to you once again, covering you both with the blanket.

You took advantage of his words and his desire to please you by curling up against him, resting your head on his chest. Geralt wrapped his strong arms around you, pulling you even tighter against his body as he let his fingers trace invisible patterns on your skin. It was extremely relaxing, his gentle touch and the warmth of his body enveloping you was exactly what your tired mind needed to rest. All the fear, the terrifying memories of your attackers and the feeling of danger completely disappeared as he held you in his arms.

"Good, because I feel safer when I'm in your arms." You mumbled as you closed your eyes, feeling sleep slowly overcome you.

It was hard to say goodbye to Geralt when the time came for him to leave. He had only stayed at the castle for a couple of days at your father's insistence, but that had been more than enough for you to grow fond of him. He was not a very talkative person, but that only made your conversations more interesting. He was intriguing, a closed book that only opened with the pronunciation of the right words. You had fun unraveling some of his history, hearing about his adventures and the monsters he had faced. He was definitely the most interesting man you had ever met - far more interesting and noble than most of the men who were competing for your hand in marriage. And now you had to see him go.

You always knew that your days were numbered, that Geralt would eventually leave and you would have to go back to reality. You thought you could do it, enjoy his company and the illusion of freedom you had created with him and then say goodbye as if nothing happened, but you would be lying if you said you weren't a little sad about his departure. Especially because you didn't know if you would ever see him again. Maybe on your wedding day, if you invited Jaskier to play at the festivities he would bring him as security again. Or perhaps, if the kingdom was haunted by some evil creature he would find his way back to you. But nothing was certain and that made you feel quite sad.

"I guess this is our goodbye." You watched Geralt settle his horse's saddle, tucking away his swords and clutching his bag as he prepared to leave. You tried to hide the grimace of sadness that wanted to form on your face, but the disappointment in your voice betrayed you. "I'll never see you again, will I?"

Geralt stopped what he was doing to look you in the eyes. You could have sworn you saw a glint of sadness in the golden fire of his irises, though it disappeared as he blinked. "It'll probably be a while, yeah." He sighed. "But nothing is set in stone. Maybe the search for a job will bring me back down these roads."

You smiled. Even moments before he left, he was still making an effort to make you feel good. "I'd like that." You took a couple of steps closer to him, taking his hand in yours to feel his skin against yours one last time. "The gates of this castle will always be open to you, Geralt of Rivia. And as long as I am alive, you will always find safe passage through these lands."

"Thank you, your highness. It is an honor." He bowed slightly even though he knew it was not necessary. Formalities had been forgotten between you since your night together. Then, he took your hand and brought it to his mouth. His lips caressed your skin gently, planting a soft kiss of farewell. "Until we meet again."

You held back the urge you had to taste the flavor of his lips one last time, knowing that there were too many eyes around you that would deem such behavior inappropriate. And perhaps they were right, after all, a respectable maiden like you, in search of a husband to marry and rule with, could not be seen kissing anybody. You knew you would probably regret it for the rest of your life —especially if Geralt never stopped by again—, but it was the right thing to do. Your days of freedom were over, now you had to resume your responsibilities as a princess and that meant holding back the urge you had to run after Geralt, get on his horse and let him take you wherever he wanted. So you just watched him leave, seeing how his figure became smaller and smaller on the horizon while you wished with all your soul that fate would cross your path again.

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