#geralt/reader

[thedreamlessnights]

Almond, Apple, & Maple - pt. 1

Geralt of Rivia x modern fem!reader (upcoming NSFW)

Synopsis: When a strange young woman crashes into your kitchen and sends you tumbling through time and space, you find yourself transported to a new world - one of monsters, magic, and witchers.

Warnings: Descriptions of vomiting and nausea, as well as blood & severe injuries.

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Surprise! New Geralt series - someone please tell my brain to stop having long-winded ideas and relax? Anyway, as usual, this is the game version of Geralt and written accordingly. I'm very excited to get this story told, and I hope you all enjoy this first chapter! Comments and reblogs are extra appreciated <3

Theo is waiting when you arrive. You can see him from the porch, pacing back and forth in front of the window, the way he always does when it’s dark and you aren’t home. The sun’s just set, but with black clouds brimming the sky, you’d think it had gone to rest hours ago. 

When he finally sees you, Theo lets out a meow that’s deafened by the glass and rubs his cheek against the windowpane, no doubt purring up a storm. It’s only been a few hours since you left, but you’ve missed him. 

Despite your mile-long trudge through the snow and the way you’re sweating under your coat, your fingers are frozen. They fumble clumsily with your keys until the lock finally turns. Theo is immediately at your feet, nuzzling against your legs. He’s the only cat you know that doesn’t try to bolt when the door is open.

“Hey, bud,” you greet him, slightly out of breath. You slam the door shut and squat down, ignoring the protest in your thighs. The icicles of your fingers messily attempt to scratch behind his ears, but if Theo notices that you’re inept, he doesn’t seem to mind.

You’ve never been more grateful for the cans of cat food nestled safely in your inner coat pocket, clinking dully against your remaining seventeen cents. There’s maybe a dollar or two more of loose change that can be scrounged up under couch cushions and in pockets and loose drawers. If you’re lucky, you might find a few crumpled bills. For this week, at least, Theo will be fed. You can’t say the same for yourself.

The house is warm and quick to thaw you out, which means your fingers start working again within a few minutes. Once they’re functional, a can of soup serves as your dinner. Thankfully, the microwave is still working. You dump the soup into a bowl and let it heat, then get Theo’s dinner ready for him. 

When he’s started eating - that’s when the day’s events finally hit you. 

Exhaustion is at the front of it all, thick and heavy, like a two-ton chain on your shoulders. Behind it is defeat. Defeat is exhaustion too, but different. It pulls at you from within. It isn’t your aching body or cracked, dry hands, isn't a chain or a profound sense of guilt; it’s a tiny fire within you, threatening at any moment to go out. And the inclination to let it happen.

You stare numbly at the counter, knowing the fridge is empty, knowing you have only five cans of food left until you go hungry again. Knowing that none of the job interviews have called you back, and that it’s been too long to keep up hope. 

Your hands start shaking and you want to cry, but no tears come. You’ve no doubt exhausted your supply - your eyes still feel puffy and sore from the cry you had earlier. Instead, a lump locks in your throat, and something pulls in your chest, and all at once, you’re not sure you have it in you to go on.

It’s Theo that you’re worried about, more than anything else. It’d be horrible, so horrible for you to dump him off at a shelter, but it’d be even worse to see him go hungry. You’d been hoping - are still hoping - that it wouldn’t come to that, but… you can only hope so much.

The shrill sound of the microwave rouses you from your lethargy and chain of thought. Food. The smell of the soup is heavenly, and it seeps life into you as you chug it down, spreading warmth throughout your chest. But before long, it’s finished. You’re left staring at the empty bowl, still hungry. Wanting to cry again.

Theo must sense that you’re upset, because he nuzzles against you and purrs louder than ever. No tears come, but they would if you had any left. Without him, there’s nothing but a hollow life of work - if you can even find it - and isolation. How can you possibly think about survival when there’s nothing to survive for? 

“What am I going to do?” you ask aloud, swallowing hard. You rub your temples and your words ring out in the silence, as if some response might come. Nothing. Of course, nothing.

It feels wrong to be sitting still like this. More than ever, you should be doing something. Yes, you need to move. The water in the sink is ice-cold and won’t heat, but you scrub the dishes anyway and dry them. Clean the counters. Sweep the floor. Organize the cabinets. 

These miniscule tasks keep you sane. They keep you from thinking.

Padding up to you, Theo stretches up and paws at your legs, clearly wanting to be held. You take him in your arms and hold him close, burying your face into his fur and kissing the soft little spot between his ears. He purrs louder and wriggles from your grip, making his way into your coat pocket and tucking himself into a comfortable position. He’s always been small, and likes being in there, for some reason. You hadn’t even realized you were still wearing the stupid coat.

There must be some way to keep him, right? Someone willing to watch him, just for a little while? But who? And how could you ever repay them?

A flash of sudden, searing light interrupts your thoughts. 

It comes out of nowhere and instantly spreads through your kitchen, brighter than you can stand, a ghostly hue of green. Just as you’ve shut your eyes to block it out, something rams into your shoulder and knocks the wind out of you. 

Your arm instinctively wraps in front of Theo as you stumble back. Your ribs burn with a hot, throbbing pain, and you search for breath that doesn’t come - gasping airlessly, sweat trickling down your neck until you finally taste oxygen. Oh, and your shoulder is jammed and aching too, but it’s clearly the least of your worries, because the room has started spinning. 

This is no gentle turn, no light sway of the ocean. It’s vertigo. The world is coming apart. You can see nothing but a black void as reality breaks at the seams and drags you with it. Nausea and disorientation wash over you until it’s all you can do to hold on to your dinner; hot, stinging bile in your throat, aching ribs. It hurts to breathe. Your knees buckle and legs crumple until you hit what should be hard ground, but it’s nothing. You’re falling. Theo starts wailing and digs his claws into your chest.

You’re on the sea, crashing in the thunderous waves, taking in mouthfuls of the salty water and coughing it back out - sinuses burning. You’re in an earthquake, gravel rattling beneath your hands like the ground might collapse under you, swallow you whole. 

You’re in soft grass, crawling on all fours, not knowing what’s real and what’s not. Your head throbs in rhythm with your heart and your body feels like it’s closing in on itself, compressing, bones bending. And all at once, it stops. 

You immediately lose your dinner. 

Thick, burning acid climbs up your throat again and again until you’re left retching, stomach churning. Theo meows fitfully in your coat, but you can’t move to let him out. With how hard you’re shaking, it’s hard to do anything but collapse onto your side. Then he finally worms his way out of your pocket and sits on your chest, wailing some more.

The bright light hasn’t faded, and you blink a few times and squint until you finally realize it’s the sun. Warm, golden light is shining down on you. Which would be lovely, if it wasn’t seven o’clock at night and the middle of winter. You’re dry, too, so your memories of the ocean clearly weren’t real.

I must have hit my head, you think. Exhaustion must have gotten the best of you, and you’d collapsed, hit your head, and hallucinated all of this. But when you finally gain the strength to sit up, setting Theo at your side, your thoughts stall in place.

There’s a young, ashen-haired woman lying unconscious next to you, and a wound on her abdomen is oozing blood. At first, she doesn’t seem real. But she’s warm when you lay a hand on her arm, and the ground has stopped spinning, so you figure she is. And she’s hurt.

Your hands move of their own accord, twitching, knowing that you should do something to help but not knowing what. In medical terms, you’re mostly clueless. Thankfully, when you carefully lift her shirt up from the abdomen, the wound doesn’t seem very deep. There’s bruising there too, deep violet blooming around her navel, but it’s her head that’s really scaring you.

On her temple is a swollen lump, not bleeding much - but it’s the internal damage that you worry about. Sure, you’d been trained in CPR when you were younger, but you have no idea how to treat an injury like this. The first thing you do is make sure she’s breathing. Then you find her pulse, strong and even under your fingers. Those things encourage you. 

You know that you should stop the bleeding, too. Clean the wound. Unfortunately, the only possessions you have at the moment are your coat and the seventeen cents left in the inner pocket. And Theo. Not exactly suited for fixing this sort of thing. 

Her clothes are… strange. They almost look like a costume, if the leather didn’t look so real, so meticulously fitted. And she has two swords at her back, though she’s clearly not in any position to use them. Not important, you chide yourself. The number of questions you have about what just happened is only growing and growing. But you can deal with those once she’s been treated. 

Your gaze catches a pouch on the girl’s belt, and you pull it open and lay out her things, muttering an apology under your breath for invading her privacy. Inside are a handful of strange-looking coins, a vial or two of substances you don’t recognize, and a roll of cotton bandages. When you open the vials and give them a whiff, both are their own disgusting, putrid odor, and neither are identifiable. Shuddering at the smell, you replace their corks and return them to the pouch. Which leaves only the bandages.

As cautiously as you can, you wrap them around her abdomen in an effort to stop the bleeding. It seems to staunch the blood flow. Somewhat. You don’t dare to move her or touch her head - nothing to be done about that here without the risk of making it worse. So you stand up with still-shaking legs and take stock of your surroundings. 

Green fields. As far as the eye can see, there are green fields with blooming wildflowers and bees buzzing from one spot to the next. Birds chirp in the distance, a bubbling stream lies about twenty feet away, and the sun is warmer than ever. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it was spring. You have to take off your coat and tie it around your waist to ward off the growing heat.

There’s some form of wooden shack on the horizon, but you don’t feel right leaving the woman alone. Still, isn’t it better to get her some help? Should you be trying to wake her up? After a moment’s hesitation, you give her shoulder a slight shake, and she stirs. Another shake rouses her completely. 

She flinches and sits up with a start - halting the action with a pained yelp as she cradles an arm around her stomach, grimacing. Finally, her green eyes, so bright they almost appear to be glowing, land on you. “Wh-where am I?” she asks faintly, sounding as if she’s not quite conscious. “Who are you?”

Good questions, you think. But you have so few answers.

“I have no idea where we are,” you start. “This place just… appeared. I was in my kitchen, and - then I was here.” It’s a pathetic explanation, but it’s what you have. After a pause, you give her your name, too. You want to say more, but your mouth closes on its own. You don’t know what just happened, and you’re in no position to explain it.

“I see,” she says, voice tinged with effort as she straightens up. Her gaze lands on Theo, calmly laying beside you, and her lips quirk into a small smile - contrasting ghastly with her greying skin. “And who is this little one?” she asks.

“This is Theo,” you answer softly. 

“Ciri,” she reveals. “I’m… Ciri. I’d say it’s nice to meet you both, but...” She trails off, shaking her head. The movement sends blood trickling from her temple down her cheek. “It seems I’m a little worse for wear at the moment,” she lightly remarks, though her tone can’t hide the exhaustion, the dark circles under her eyes. “Help me up?” 

It’s easier said than done. 

You manage to get her standing and haul her arm over your shoulder as support, but she’s stumbling rather than walking. The sun is scorching hot and merciless, and you find yourself immediately missing the snow. You can’t stop here. 

The grey shade of Ciri’s skin gets worse and worse the further on you go. Her steps get progressively clumsier too, like her legs have started to spasm. Finally, her knees simply give out and she collapses, panting as she plants her gloved hands on the grass. The shack isn’t far now, but she’s bled through her bandages. It seems the wound was worse than you thought. At least Theo is obediently following behind the two of you, and seems to be enjoying this strange adventure.

“Only a little further,” you tell Ciri, even though you’re shaking with overextension and every inch of you hurts. Even though you know in your gut what the odds against her are.

She nods, gritting her teeth in determination, so you prop your shoulder under her arm and help her up. It’s worse this time. She’s a dead weight. You’re practically dragging her. But something anxious - manic, even - buzzes under your skin, fills your breath, surges strength to leadened muscles. Your thoughts trip over one another again and again until you find the word. Adrenaline. It’s the only reason you’re still walking.

The two of you have just made it through the door of the shack when she collapses again, tilting her head back against the wall as she gulps in air, pressing her hand against her abdomen.

You’re suddenly overtaken by the fear that she’ll die and leave you here alone. That you’ll be left with a corpse, a hollow, rotting shell of a girl you barely know. You want to ask her if she has any last wishes, if there’s anything you can do. But, seeing as she clearly hasn’t given up on life yet, it seems cruel to start bringing up death.

Instead, your hands, forever busy, start rummaging through the shack’s cabinets and drawers. You find a few small treasures: a bottle of spirit, some dried fruit and meat, and a length of clean (or, at least, it looks clean) cloth. You don’t waste a moment before returning to Ciri, undoing her blood-soaked bandages to press the cloth against the wound.

She softly cries out as you apply pressure, but makes no move to stop you. Her body lies limp as you work. Then you secure the cloth with the old bandages, tying them as tight as you dare. Her stomach is still bruised, after all, and she’s clearly in pain. At least her face looks less grey now. A little.

“Well, well. What’ve you got there?” she asks, her gaze turning toward the floor, where your newly-found treasures lie.

“Some kind of spirit, I think,” you tell her, picking up the bottle and examining it.

“Give it here?” 

You hand it over without hesitance. She bites off the cork, spits it on the floor, and takes a whiff of the liquid inside. Finding it acceptable, she downs a large swig and tilts her head back again, sighing in relief. Yes, she’s definitely less grey now.

She can’t be very old. What happened to her? Who did this to her? You’re suddenly filled with blind anger. A helplessness that you can’t do more, can’t even comfort her. Theo must be sharing your line of thought, because he crawls onto her lap and starts purring, tucking himself into a circle.

“Thank you very much, Theo,” she says weakly, petting his back. She takes another swig from the bottle, then closes her eyes. You linger near the window, fighting the urge to pace around the room. You’re just about to ask her what happened to her when the rapid sound of hoofbeats approaches.

“Ciri!” a voice calls. Deep - coarse. Warm. The hair on your neck stands up at the sound of it. From fear or anticipation, you don’t know.

“In here,” she responds. She doesn’t bother yelling, just speaks the words as if they’re meant for you. You doubt whoever it is out there can hear her, but he comes inside anyway, bursting through the door like he’s afraid it won’t open.

You immediately gape at the sight of him, thoughts conflicting. This stranger, he’s tall, and broad, and beautiful. And a little scary. You should be afraid of him. He clearly thinks you hurt Ciri, from his expression. You should move, or explain, but you can’t. You just stare at him.

He stalls at the doorway, taking in the sight of her with wide eyes, looking almost pained. You can’t tell what color they are - his eyes - but as they rake over the extent of her wounds, something hardens in his gaze. Then it turns to you. He takes a slow step forward, muscles pulled tense like he’s waiting for a fight, watching you the way one watches a venomous snake. Do you imagine the way his hand instinctively twitches toward his blade?

“Geralt,” Ciri says, sounding immensely relieved. “It’s alright. She helped me.”

At her words, he instantly relaxes, gaze turning away from you as he steps over to Ciri and squats down at her side. Your head’s begun spinning again.

“Geralt, is that Ciri?” a distorted, cool-toned voice asks. “Is she there?” The words seem to have come from the air - you can’t see a source for this new speaker. Then Geralt pulls out a small metal box from his belt and holds it up toward his mouth. Like a phone.

“She’s here.”

The response comes through the box again. “Don’t move.” And, apparently, the voice doesn’t wait for an answer. Ten seconds later, a swirling circle of light appears in the midst of the room and a dark-haired woman walks out of it. 

“Ciri,” she murmurs, going pale. The word is half relief, half fear, and her voice is much clearer now that it isn’t coming from the strange box. She kneels at Ciri’s side, tucking bloodied hair out of her face. “Come with me,” she says. “We must get you out of here, get you somewhere safe.”

“Not going to argue with that,” Ciri says, attempting a laugh. The sound cuts off in pain. The dark-haired woman purses her lips, then helps her to her feet, half-carrying Ciri the way you did. The two of them walk toward the swirling circle of light together, and you watch them helplessly - not knowing if you should say something.

At the last moment, just before they’ve entered, Ciri angles herself toward you. “Wait - I forgot to thank you for your help,” she says. “You may have just saved my life. I can’t repay you at the moment, but… thank you.”

Frozen, you simply nod in response, watching as the two of them step into the light together. Ciri’s words swirl through your mind restlessly. There’s a flash, then both of them are simply gone. Vanished into the air. And, a moment later, the circle fades. 

Leaving you and Geralt alone.

You stare at him across the room, and he stares back at you, looking even more confused than you feel. You’ve seen a fair amount of insanity in your life, but never anything like this. You can’t even begin to process what you’ve just seen. And, funnily enough, you’ve never felt more alone in your life, even with his company. 

Now that Ciri isn’t here, you can take in the sight of him fully. Dark leather armor, snow-white hair, and two swords strung on his back. Like Ciri.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think they were wearing costumes. But Ciri’s blood is much too real on your hands, and so is this… weird, fucked reality that you’re in, sunny when it should be winter, daytime when it should be night, you have no idea where you are, and - fuck. What the hell is happening?

Your feet move to take a step toward the table - to sit down, think all of this over. But something strange happens when you move. Your body starts shuddering and the ground below you suddenly feels unstable. Your head throbs and your legs feel strangely light. Instead of taking a step toward the table, your knees tumble out from under you.

Or they would have. If Geralt hadn’t caught you.

tags:

@henryownsme @madamemelancholysstuff @fullmoonshadowwrites @darkscrossfire @beforethepen @julijal @ailynyan @ivuravix

(So sorry if you didn't want to be tagged! If you’d only like to be tagged for my other series, Accismus, please let me know and I'll happily fix that for future works ❤️)

[vikingstoner69]

Fandom: The Witcher

Paring: geralt/reader

Side note: this is pure smut like this took me a while so hopefully it's good.

"So we finally get to sleep in a bed?" You ask geralt who only grunts at you as you enter the town. You send a glear his way this whole trip he has been nothing but a total ass to you. You follow him to the inn and you both sit at the table where you order and get a room for the night.

"You can wash first," he says, his voice low and rough. You take a swig of your drink and set the empty cup down.

"Oh! Now you wanna talk to me? You have been nothing but an ass ever since we left our last job" you snap, finally confronting him about the way he has been treating you. His eyes are cold and hard and you feel your heart speed up.

"Go" he growled between clenched teeth and you felt your temper flare. You bite your lip and stand up trying your very best not to punch him in the face.

"Ya know I think we have traveled together long enough geralt!" You snap slowly and storm off to the room to wash up and then you would leave in the morning.

Your heart gave a painful ping at the thought of leaving him but you couldn't stay. He had treated you terribly since your last job and now he was cold and mean. You sigh and go to the window seat and look up at the full moon as the door slams open. You watch him close the door and he starts to take off his armor. You sigh and look out the window you wanted to cry but knew it would do no good. There was an odd connection between you ever since you were kids and he became a witcher and you his witch. The one who traveled with him everywhere.

The thought of leaving him hurt you more than you cared to say. You didn't want to leave but he didn't really give you a reason to stay either. Ever since that kiss things have been different. You look over at Geralt as he stands in front of you.

"Stay," he says, his voice low and even. His eyes told a different story though. You look up at him and feel your heart ache but your face stays blank hiding your true feelings.

"Why should I?" You ask your tone even. Geralt's body is tense as he watches you.

"You're important to me" he says calmly and you feel your temper spike.

'I'm Important to you!? Ever since we kissed that night you have treated me like shit! If you regret it then fine! It never happened-" you yell but you're cut off and caught off guard when Geralt's hand is around your throat and your back hits the wall. His eyes were shining golden. His hold was gentle but strong enough that you knew that you were not going anywhere.

"I regret a lot of things but kissing you is not one of them" he growls his face extremely close to yours. You look into his eyes, your heart racing.

No

"Then why treat me this way?" You ask, your voice sounded weak to even your own ears. Geralt growls his hold leaving your throat. You both were extremely close that you were breathing the same air.

"I am no good at this (y/n), I'm a monster" he says, his voice low and gravelly. You bite your lip, your hands going to his arm.

"I'm not scared of you Geralt" you breathe his lips so close to yours. Geralt's hand goses into your hair.

"Maybe you should be" he growls his lips crashing on yours making you moan. His hold on you tightens when you bite his lip making him growl and his body pushes you harder into the wall. Geralt pulls back and you pant trying to catch your breath.

"I want you Geralt" you whisper against his lips and he groans. Geralt softly strokes your face; you could see his struggle to let go for once. His fingers slide to your parted lips and you suck his finger into your wet hot mouth and he moans making your insides turn to jelly.

"Fuck" he breathes as you tounge his finger then sucking on it harder you pull off with a pop never breaking eye contact.

"I have gotten myself off by thoughts of you more times than I can count. My favorite thoughts are when you're rough with me" you say as your hands trace his shoulders, your nails lightly running down his chest. You bite your lip and he snarls as he rips your clothes off before picking you up and throwing you on the bed.

"Don't move" he growls, removing his clothes and you lick your lips as he grabs his hard cock and starts to stroke himself and you feel more wetness pull between your legs.

"Geralt please don't tease" you whine as you watch his hard cock. He smirks as he eyes you hungrily and you bite your lip as your clit throbs.

"Let's see how good your mouth feels" he growls standing at the end of the bed and you smirk and roll to all fours and grawl over to him and when you get close enough you lick the tip.

"Your bigger than I thought" you smirk up at him before sucking the head in your mouth and you both moan. Inch by inch you take him down your throat. Geralt's hand goes in your hair and he groans as he holds your head still as he starts to fuck your throat.

"Look at me" he commands and you look up at him as he fucked your mouth and throat making you moan. Geralt snarls and his body stiffens as his hot cum shoots down your throat and you suck him hard getting every last drop and you pull off with a loud pop licking your lips.

"You taste so good" you smirk and he chuckles. Geralt's hand goes to your throat and he pulls you up and he kisses you hard and deep before pulling back.

"Be a good girl and show me what's mine" he growls and you shiver as your body heats up even more. Geralt lets you go and you lay on the bed on your back and you spread your legs for him and he groans.

"Fuck good girl" he growls and crawls on the bed now hovering over you. He leans down and kisses you deeply. You moan and kiss him back just as hard and deep. You moan and cling to him nipping his lip and he growls as he pinches your nipple making you cry out from the kiss and your back to arch. His hot mouth goses down your neck and he bites leaving a mark.

"Gearlt! More!" You beg your fingers tangled in his hair and he chuckles.

"You'll get what you want but first I want you to ride my face" he says nipping your ear lobe making you bite your lip. Gearlt flips you so you are now straddling him and you moan when your cunt rubs his cock. Geralt's hands go to your hips and he guides you to hover over his face and you whine when he holds you still and in place over him. You cry out when you feel his hot mouth on your cunt.

"Oh! Fuck Geralt!" You cry out grinding down on his face. He growls and sucks your clit hard, your hands falling to the head, bored and you grind down and he smacks your thigh and you cry out as he ate you like a man starved. Geralt growls and sucks hard making you scream out as you cum hard and he groans. He helps you to settle on the bed and leans over you before kissing you deeply making you moan as you taste yourself on his lips.

"Never tasted anything so good" he growls as you wrap your legs around his waist making you groan when his cock rubs your dripping wet cunt.

"Fuck me Geralt, fuck me hard I can take it" you beg leaning up nipping his jaw. Gearlt growls as he grinds into you and you moan and he chuckles.

"I quit like you under me while begging for my cock let's hear you beg a little more" he growls as he runs his cock through your drenched folds and onto your clit making you moan and your hips to thrust up.

"Please! Please don't tease me" you big thrusting up your hips and he growls his hold going to your hips and he holds you still his warm golden eyes drink in every inch of your face.

"I know you can do better than that" he smirks down at you and you groan. Your hands lightly run down his shoulders and his shivers and groans.

"Gearlt please fuck me, I want you to fill me full, make me yours!" you beg looking up at him he growls and leans down and kisses you deeply making you moan. He nips your lip and you let his tongue enter your mouth, your tongues battling.

"Look at me as I fuck you" he growls slowly entering you making you moan and your toes curl. You cling to him tightly as he bottoms out your nails leaving marks in his skin.

"Harder" you moan against his lips, your nails drags down his ass where your nails dig in making him go even deeper and harder and he growls before kissing you deep and hard. Geralt pulls away and flips you on all fours and he smacks your ass hard making you cry out and moan as he enters you again fucking you hard.

"Fuck that's it, push back on me, Fuck just like that!" He groans his head thrown back qnd his hand tangles in your hair and he pulls your head back bearing your neck.

"Oh fuck!" You scream out as he pounds hard and deep into you making the bed beat the wall but neither of you cared or planned on stopping. You felt his hot wet mouth on your neck as he leaves kisses and bites up to your ear, his pace slowing but the thrusts got deeper an you push back and he groans and bites your neck leaving a mark behind.

"Your mine, I'm the only one who gets to feel this sweet cunt on my cock" he growls thrusting hard making your toes curl and your body to tingle.

"Yes! I'm yours! Only yours geralt please!" You beg pushing back on his cock taking him deeper and he smacks your ass.

"Please what? You wanna cum on my cock?" He growls in your ear as he fucks you the sound of slaping skin and your moans is all that can be heard.

"Yes! Please let me cum for you" you beg and he groans his fingers rubbing your Clit making you push back and cry out you were so close.

"Cum for me so I can fill you full" he groans as you clench around him and you cum hard.

"GERALT!" You scream as you cum hard, your body shaking as you cum hard.

"Fuck thats it! Fuck good girl!" He growls as he emptied himself deep into you he pants above you as he kisses the mark on your neck before rolling onto his back and you look over at him.

"Damn" you pant your chest rising and falling and he pulls you to his side and you lay your head on his chest. His fingers lightly touch his teeth mark in your neck.

"Mine" he growled lowly his golden eyes shine in the dark and you look up at him an lean up and kiss under his jaw

"Yours"

[pikapeppa]

Would you ever return to Chamomile and Gwent? Or maybe do a new series with Geralt?

Hiii! Thanks for your question! I might return to Chamomile and Gwent if I'm inspired by any future Witcher games that CDPR comes out with. But that would mean I won't be returning to it anytime soon, since any new Witcher games are pretty far off (as per this article).

I can't see myself writing a new series with Geralt because I got so invested in Chamomile and Gwent that I just can't imagine Geralt with anyone else anymore... 😂😅

If anyone is interested in checking out Chamomile and Gwent, it is here on AO3! Geralt x f!Reader, 3 stories spanning >600k words, all with NSFW smut. 🥰

-- love from your friendly neighbourhood Pika! xoxo

[pumpkin-stars]

Reunion

Geralt of Rivia/GN!Reader

AKA Cottagecore!Geralt 2: Springtime Boogaloo

This can be read as existing in the same universe as Delay if you want to, works as a prequel or a sequel :)

Reblogs are very much appreciated 💕

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings/Content: Beefy!Geralt, soft!Geralt, established relationship where they still pine for each other a lot.

You wait by the window, watching the pink cherry blossoms coat the branches at the edge of the treeline, speaking of spring, the welcomed thaw.

The snow had melted two weeks ago, much to your goat’s delight - he’d grown tired of hay in the winter months and could finally snack on grass whenever he was outside the little barn. Your bees are busy too, pollinating all the flowers on your small patch of land, and soon you’ll have enough honey to harvest and sell at the market in the nearby village.

Spring doesn’t always bring the Witcher to your door - sometimes his work keeps him busy well into June and you spend over half a year worrying for his health… or you would, had he not gifted you a magical stone connected to a charm he wears on the chain of his medallion that glows a deep blue when he’s well and turns puce if he’s injured badly.

You know, even if he doesn’t visit, that he’s in perfect health after the long winter, the stone in pride of place on your mantel, glowing blue. He may not come for a long while, but still you wait, kneading bread with practised technique that means you can keep your eyes on the gate at the end of your garden and a few feet beyond for the tell-tale ripple of a disrupted ward.

He may not come yet, the blossoms mean nothing more than the start of his journey to you, but you will watch by the window until he does.

~~~

Geralt navigates the path easily, his well-trodden route a second nature after so many journeys down it. He travels it easier than the path to Kaer Morhen, there’s less danger in this patch of wood than on snowy cliffs, and the faint blue glow beneath his shirt settles any nerves about what he may find on the other side of the gate. Unlike his journey at the start of winter, when he doesn’t know how many brothers will have perished in the months since their last meeting, he can be certain that you will be waiting.

He doesn’t always visit so soon, but he had missed you more this past season than he had thought he would. Bidding farewell to you in mid-September and working on the other side of the Continent for a month before returning to the Keep and a colder winter in the mountains than usual had left too long since he had last seen you, your smile, your eyes… since he had last smelt your scent and laid beside your warmth.

It didn’t help that Jaskier had pilfered the floral, honey, and goat’s milk soap from his pack without him noticing, taking the soothing reminder of you. His ability to smell like you all winter gone. Even Eskel’s soap, made from Lil Bleater’s milk, didn’t smell enough like you to calm him down - he’s sure his brothers will tease him for (at least) the next decade after he’d spent the winter grumpy, pouty (as Lambert had put it), and a little short tempered - not that anyone other than his brothers would’ve noticed much difference in the length of his fuse. Except for you.

He’s missed you - he always does - but this time more than ever, and while he’d usually take jobs on his way to you, this year he’s refused to be distracted - if the problem is large enough, another Witcher can deal with it. He has somewhere more important to be.

~~~

He hadn’t intended to arrive at night. He could’ve timed his journey better and emerged from the treeline mid-morning after spending a night at the village inn. But he was restless - to be so close - and he was sure that, even if he’d directed her toward the village, Roach would’ve continued on her path to you - to your warm and uncrowded barn with the best quality hay and oats - far better than a tiny, cramped stable that wouldn’t even offer her the faintest sniff at an apple.

He always arrives in the day so, when they pass through the wards blocking out the rest of the world, he’s not quite sure what to do with himself.

When the sun is out, you run to him, hug him tightly and urge him to get Roach settled while you draw a bath… but now, with the stars lighting his way, he knows you’re sleeping, that a bath isn’t on the cards until you wake - and he’s unwilling to draw you from slumber before you’re ready.

Roach huffs, nudging his shoulder impatiently.

He smiles, nodding, guiding her to the barn, removing his pack and her saddle before grabbing a bag of oats. The goat is sleeping, thankfully, the little creature is always at odds with him for stealing your attention away.

He gives his horse another once-over before heading to the cottage, being careful of your ever-growing herb garden as he walks.

You always look so peaceful when you sleep, he thinks, that small smile a semi-permanent fixture on his face - at least when he’s here.

He’s careful not to wake you as he strips down, sniffs himself quickly (a little stale from the road, a bit horsey, but not too bad - not as bad as the last few times he’s arrived anyway), and moves to your bed, climbing under the covers carefully, not wanting to disturb you.

He frowns when he realises there’s a pillow between you both, lifting the blankets to get a better look, judging how easy it will be to extract it. You’re spooning it, face nestled into one end, a leg thrown over the other… and… his shirt around it… the one he’d left here after a Kikimora had slashed at him and torn it.

You’ve mended it, shoved a pillow in it… missed him so much that you needed to hug it and soak up the remainder of his smell.

He suddenly cares less about letting you sleep, shifting closer to kiss your forehead and swap places with the pillow, to give you the real thing and not some poor substitute that no longer carries any whiff of him.

“Mm,” he breathes as your head settles on his chest, his arms coming up to hold you, about to get his best night’s sleep since the year began.

~~~

You’re warm. Incredibly warm. You haven’t been this toasty beneath your covers since before winter. Since…

Your pillow moves under your head, rumbles with a snore, faint hair tickles your nose.

You smile softly, nuzzling into Geralt’s chest, letting your eyes open slowly, savouring the last moments of sleep and the first (conscious) moments of his company.

“Mm.” He hums, the heavy arm around your back tightens its hold, keeping you pressed against him - as if you’d ever want to leave.

“When did you arrive?” You whisper.

“Only a few hours ago.” He admits, “Go back to sleep.”

“And waste more of our time together?” You hum, “I’m sure you’d agree there are better things to do than sleep if you don’t want to get up.”

“Haven’t bathed.” He denies you.

“And you slept in my bed!?” You feign offence.

“Mm.” He smiles, cracking an eye open to look down at you, “You don’t seem to mind.”

You settle back against him, kissing his chest, “I don’t.”

He’s put on weight over winter - like a hibernating bear, bulking up on months of regular meals, training with his brothers, keeping warm in the Great Hall and not having to worry for his life or anyone else’s. It looks good on him, the extra muscle, the slight softness around his middle - the signs of prolonged relaxation. Though, compared to most others, a Witcher’s relaxation isn’t… entirely relaxing - logging trees to fuel fires in the Keep would be most men’s idea of a hard day’s work.

But Witchers aren’t most men.

“I missed you.” He says quietly.

“I missed you too,” You kiss his chest again, marveling at the difference a few months can make. He’s never scrawny - not by any means - but you’ve not seen him this bulked up before. “Did you come straight here?”

“Mm.”

“You didn’t even stop on the way? There’s a Wyvern-”

“Eskel will take care of it. I told you: I missed you.”

You smile, “How long can you stay?”

He tightens his hold, “Not long. A week at most. But I’ll be back as soon as I can be.”

“I know. You always are.” You sit up a little, just enough that you can look down at him, “Always.”

“Mm.” He smiles, reaching a hand up to cup your cheek, “I would stay forever if I could.”

“I know,” you cover his hand with yours, squeezing gently as you look him over, “But we both know you can’t.”

“One day.” He promises.

“Once all the monsters in the world are taken care of,” you nod, “or once you grow too old and tired for the job. We can sit on the porch wrapped in blankets and watch the bees all day.”

“Mm.” He pulls your head down, kissing you sweetly, “I’ll make sure I’m not too broken and old to fuck.”

“Good.” You smile, “that is the only reason I keep you around.”

He laughs, kissing you again, “Then you’d best let me up to bathe, dearest, else I shall overstay my welcome.”

~~~

He bathes quickly and thoroughly, washing the journey from his body with pleasured groans, delighting in the warm water and the scent of your soap. He tells you how Jaskier had pilfered his, and you promise to give him several bars when he leaves, so he shall never run out, even if the troubadour steals some more.

You give him breakfast as he sits in the tub, bread baked yesterday, freshly churned butter, some salted meat. The two of you sharing the simple plateful to get your energy levels up before you undoubtedly exhaust each other.

He tells you of his life since he left you, the new scar from a Striga on his shoulder, some still-healing yellowed bruises on his torso from brawling with his brothers, the stiffness that still infects his knee in the cold. He speaks of his joy at seeing his fellow Wolves again - no new losses to report, though all of them are beginning to feel their age.

You tell him of your time - leaving out the last few weeks spent watching the path from the kitchen window - how there were some prematurely born lambs at market recently that you’d considered buying, but had settled on stocking up on oats for porridge (and for Roach), how the goat had chewed through his tether during a storm and you’d spent a week clearing up the mess he’d made…

You both make mention of how you’ve missed the other, and upon his rising from the cooling water, promptly fell back into your bed to truly demonstrate your backlog of affections.

[justagirlinafandomworld]

Daydreams

Pairing: Geralt x Reader

Song Prompt from Unclaimed Love Songs: The Very Thought of You by Natalie Cole

Word Count: 114

You’d been living in a kind of daydream, mind consumed by little fantasies.

No, not fantasies.

Memories.

The roaring heat of his golden gaze. The feel of his mouth over the hollow of your throat as you sank down over him, your fingers drawing up his broad back to entangle and pull his silver hair.

The sun continually set, the nights dragged on, the moon steadily waned in the sky.

Then, one night he returned, trailing open mouthed kisses up your arm to the curve of your shoulder. Calloused hands slipped beneath your gown to tease you into wakefulness.

He too had been living through daydreams and he was ready for the real thing.

[clareguilty]

📚👀

i have an unwritten Witcher fic on my writing schedule where mage!reader sustains an injury that infects them with "chaos venom" which basically takes away their magic and slows the healing process so they are extremely frustrated at not being able to instantly heal and Geralt is constantly worrying about them and babying them and helping them get dressed

its a lot of Tender and Concerned Geralt while reader is achy and grumpy and also kind of touched by how sentimental Geralt is since he usually pretends he doesnt care about anyone ever also i just really like playing around with magic systems and monsters so i get to make up lore for that too

thanku so much for asking bb! i havent revisited this idea in a while actually

[starsm00n]

Is he a scary man covered in blood? Or is he my baby girl? Spot the difference

[nickfowlerrr]

sit me on your throne.

pairing: geralt of rivia x curvy!reader

warnings: i don't know what i'm writing about but if you're here for smut, there's smut. 18+ only. probably ooc - i've only seen season one. if i'm missing something that needs to be tagged please let me know.

words: 4.3k

notes: i really truly do not know. forgive me not.

thank you in advance for reading! any thoughts, comments, and reblogs are so appreciated. let me know what you think. (unless its mean then pls don't).

"You kneel before me?"

Your question is born of nothing but pure confusion as you tilt your head in bemusement at the bulking behemoth of a man before you.

He hadn’t done as much when he first arrived, not to your displeasure, so it was odd to see him do it now - especially after the battle he has just fought.

He is at your feet, his long white hair darker and dingier now, dirty as his clothes and skin; marred with caked mud and what you can only assume is the blood and guts of the beast he has defeated.

The stench he carries with him is pungent, nothing but putrid, and yet that somehow doesn't take from his striking good looks; those paired with his brevity and bluntness have held your attention from the moment he stepped foot in your kingdom.

He is a man of little words, this Geralt of Rivia. His jester of a companion having done much of the speaking - perhaps too much - for him since they arrived.

Geralt says nothing still, only meets your gaze as he takes steady breaths. His yellow eyes, feline and harsh, cut through you in a number of ways - none of which you'd care to share aloud. You have a feeling he knows, however, just how affected you are by him no matter how well you think you hide it.

You are alone together, no guards at the ready, no advisors by your side. Most of your kingdom is now quiet and abandoned, including the halls of your once flourishing and lively home. The halls of this castle have been eerily silent since the night your men went on their mission to save their homestead. You had already sent word for The Witcher, you implored them to keep safe indoors until his arrival. They did not listen. Most of them still having seen you as the young princess you once were, the others simply following the orders of their leaders. You may have been their "Queen", but their faith in their commanders was stronger.

Those commanders who led them to their deaths... You still sigh at the loss.

Those who were not taken, slain, by the beast have long since fled for their lives. You cannot blame them. But you certainly could not join them. Your castle once held many souls, but now it is only you and a handful of others. Titles of servants, but you really never were one for titles.

"Your friend?" you wonder.

"Somewhere," he answers shortly, his voice low and deep as he speaks.

You quirk a brow, "Safe?"

"For as long as he keeps himself from trouble."

You hum, a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of your lips. Their relationship amuses you, you must admit.

"You needn't kneel, Witcher," you implore as you sit back on the throne. It is yours in name alone. It has never felt right to sit in. He seems to sense your unease, but he doesn't speak it. You continue, "You have done what you said you would, I will do the same."

Still, he doesn't stand. Not until you flick your eyes and move to stand yourself. He rises easily as he stands before you still. There is not much distance between you, and the stench of him stings your eyes and threatens to gag you. Your face scrunches in disgust as you turn it away from him, grimacing.

"I've had a bath readied for you, and new clothes set aside," you inform him, moving to pass around. He follows you, and you can feel the weight of his gaze as his eyes cling to you. "Your meals will be served as soon as you're done. I don't imagine anyone would be able to stomach a bite with that smell coming off of you."

He says nothing but lets out an amused "hm" at your words, still following as you lead him to the bathing room.

You thank Amaleah as you enter and she leaves with a nod to you, her breath catching when she smells Geralt enter behind you. It's as fast an exit as you've ever seen.

You move toward the bath and wade a hand in the water. It's a bit hot for your preferences but it should get him clean. You ensure the soap Amaleah brought in is fragrant enough and still look for some nicer oils to add to the water; when you turn around to ask your guest his want, you find yourself stunned silent as you're met with the sight of his broad, bare chest. His muscles flex under his pale and scarred skin as he moves, his solid chest is covered in dark hair, trailing down his torso. His arms are strong and big and a thought at the back of your mind wonders how comfortable he must be to lie with.

You blink, mouth parted slightly as you take a breath. You watch his clothing fall as he discards them and your gaze follows his hand as he begins to strip himself of the rest of his garments.

He is completely shameless as he watches you watch him. You feel as if you are in a trance, you cannot bring yourself to look away despite the heavy weight of his gaze assuring you he sees you staring.

It’s not an act of brazenness, truly you would look away and leave him at once…if you could.

“I’ve slain your monster,” he speaks and your eyes rise back to his chest, trying to ignore the heaviness of his thick cock as it hangs so temptingly before you. No, not temptingly…Shamelessly. He has put himself entirely on display before you, without an ounce of shame or concern, and you are still frozen to your spot. “Was there something else you required of me, Your Highness?”

The title gets your attention, the breath caught in your chest finally flows and your eyes flick up to meet his. You can't tell entirely if he meant it as an insult or if he thought you'd prefer it to Queen.

You remain quiet for a moment as you try to gather a response. Either way...

“I told you that wasn’t necessary, Witcher.”

“Geralt.”

You swallow hard as he takes a small step forward, and you will yourself to not break his intense gaze.

"Geralt. I thank you, for saving what was left of this ruined kingdom, but I consider myself not princess, nor Queen, any longer."

"Did you ever?" he asks, staring into your eyes a moment longer before he steps closer still, looking you up and down then nudging you aside, eliciting goosebumps along your skin, rising under his touch.

You glance over your shoulder as he continues past you, lowering himself into the tub.

You think.

You know your answer, but you won't say it aloud. Clearly he knows it, too.

You can hear the water sloshing with his movements as he begins to clean himself.

You take a deep breath.

"The clothes will be brought in shortly. You might tell Jaskier when you're done that the food is ready."

"Ah," he says amid his washing, "so you do know his name."

"Of course I do. I've grown quite fond of the bard in the week since you've arrived."

"I couldn't tell," he says plainly, yet still biting - his words sharp with sarcasm.

You furrow your brow at his meaning and then there's a laugh at the door and you look to see Jaskier as he leans on it. "You sound jealous, there, Geralt," he taunts, holding folded clothing in his hands as he pushes off the door to saunter in. "I wouldn't worry. I don't believe I'm the one who's caught her eye." He looks to you with a smirk, bowing before you, "Your Majesty."

"I am no longer queen," you repeat for what feels like the hundredth time.

"My Queen, none the less," he simpers before standing to his full height.

You smile tightly, eyes narrowed playfully at him before you finally move to exit, leaving them to their inevitable quarreling. And trying not to focus on the tingling still affecting you between your legs.

--

You eat with the women in the kitchen; the dining hall one of your least favorite places to be.

There is a calm yet solemn energy around you all. A peace in the slaying of the monster who took your kingdom, and still the grief from the loss of it all, your people, their families, friends...

Calliope readies the plates for your guests as you bid them all a goodnight, kissing Amaleah's son on his head on your way out with a 'sweet dreams'. Since his father was killed, the poor thing has nightmares recurringly. You only hope with the monster's demise, they might ease for him some. He is far too young to be in such pain...

You think to pass by the dining hall on your way to bed to thank Geralt once more and wish them both a goodnight as well but think better of it.

You will see them in the morning before they set off. You still owe him his coin and you know he won't be leaving without it.

--

You open the heavy door of your chamber and once you are inside, begin to undress.

Slipping into your shift, you swiftly make your way into bed. You thought you'd fall asleep quickly, but as you lay there, your mind wanders to thoughts of only one.

You have one hand on your lower belly, the other resting on the soft skin right above it.

You sigh and close your eyes, but all you see when you do is his built form. His dark, firelight stare set on you. His clothes left on the ground as he stands strong in his glory.

You breathe deeply, your hand starting to slowly drift down your stomach as you tickle yourself. You're so tempted to touch where you want it most, but you can't bring yourself to do it. Not just yet.

You slip your hand between your spread thighs, softly running your fingers across the sensitive skin you find there.

It'd been a week of torment, having Geralt so close and not being able to act on your most base feelings. You know he knows what you think when you look at him, if Jaskier can see it, surely, he can too.

You might feel embarrassed but with the way he's managed to get closer and closer to you with each passing day as he awaited the beasts' return, you would wager he feels similarly.

It feels like an age that you lie awake. All the noises about the castle, not that there were many, have settled and it assures you everyone has retired for the night.

Sleep begins to nip at you but the stronger pull is to the dissatisfaction that weighs on you. The emptiness that echos through your body and soul.

Your fingers twitch, and you begin to glide closer to your uncovered core, the need to be touch too much to be ignored for much longer. Your eyes are closed and you imagine it isn't your hand running over your skin, but rather his large, rough palm feeling you, teasing you just so...

Just as you inch closer, your eyes snap open in the dark as a heartbreaking scream cuts through the night air. You sit up, pulling your hands off of yourself. You know immediately where the sound comes from and who it belongs to.

You get out of bed, intent to make sure Hartley and Amaleah both are okay.

You open your door just as the one across the wide hall does the same. You frighten at the unexpected movement but are then unsurprised to be across Geralt.

He is shirtless again, and his eyes are wide as his chest rises and falls with his heavy breaths.

"Are you alright?" he asks, voice hard.

"Yes, I'm fine. It was the boy, Hartley. He has nightmares," you explain, keeping your voice quiet as to not disturb the renewed peace of the night.

The flick of the flame that lights the hallway allows you both to see one another. You say nothing for a moment as your eyes fall to his bare torso.

"Did the clothes not fit?"

He looks down at himself briefly, then back to you. He shakes his head, "I prefer to sleep naked."

You burn at his words, swallowing hard. "Oh. Well, I- I'm going to check on them, make sure they're fine."

"I'll go with you."

It's not a question, it's a statement. You stop in your start, turning to look at him. You say nothing, just blink and quickly carry on as you were.

You make your way down the stairs and down the hall until you see the flames licking at the end of the hallway.

You follow the glow to Amaleah's room and knock gently as you look in the open door.

She turns and looks to you, her eyes tired and cheeks damp as she rocks her toddler in her arms. He is sleeping again as she rubs his back gently, more to soothe herself than anything.

She sniffles, "Your High-" she stops herself, "sorry, forgive me," she whispers.

"Don't apologize. Please," you implore her. "I know it's habit."

"Are you two alright?" Geralt asks from right at your back.

"We are, thank you. Just another nightmare," her voice gets thick at the explanation. You know it hurts her that there isn't anything she can do but be there to comfort him when they come.

You smile sadly and nod. "We'll let you be, then. Do try to get some rest. He'll be okay," you reassure her.

You pull the door nearly closed and wind up with Geralt firmly at your back.

You turn into him but he doesn't seem to mind as he just looks down at you nearly pressed against his chest. You try to budge him to turn and move back down the hall but he doesn't waver. After a second, he relents and steps to the side, allowing you to go back down the hallway first.

It isn't until you come up on the throne room that Geralt speaks again.

"Might I have a word with you?" he asks.

You stop and turn to eye him as he stands at the entryway of the door.

"Now?" you question.

He nods once, "Now."

You approach him trepidatiously, and as you near, he gestures you in the room before him, extending his arm, "Princess."

Your eyes narrow again. And you turn on him, watching as he enters the room behind you. "Why do you keep doing that?"

"What am I doing?"

"Princess? Your Highness?" you quote him.

"I assumed you preferred it to your true title," he tilts his head at you.

"True title," you scoff, rolling your eyes. "I prefer no title at all."

"And what shall I call you then?"

You remind him your name, not that he really needs to be reminded. You know he knows it full well.

He considers you, then closes in on where you stand in front of the throne.

You don't move back, no, you quite like the closeness when he doesn't reek of death and innards.

Geralt seems to appreciate your resolve, his lips twitching with the beginnings of a smile as he studies your face.

"It's a beautiful name," he speaks lowly, taking another step into your space and raising his hand to gently caress your cheek before he leans in to speak against your ear. Your hands touch his solid stomach in an attempt to keep yourself upright, you can feel the muscles as they flex under your delicate graze. "I think I might prefer princess," he husks.

He slips away from you, turning to take a seat on the throne instead. You follow his movements and turn yourself to face him. You're stunned and completely set ablaze all at once.

"Well I don't."

"No," he smirks, agreeing with you, one large hand settling on his thick thigh as he spreads his legs, "you don't."

"It's too bad," he tsks, his voice a smooth rumbling. "No title, no throne."

"I don't want any throne."

Your eyes are glued to his thighs as he brings attention to his lap by rubbing the muscle there.

"None?" he asks before his gaze shifts directly on you, his mesmerizing stare burning into you. His voice lowers deeper than you've ever heard as a desperate longing shoots through you once again, resounding deep in your core. "Not even mine?"

Your mouth goes dry and your brain fuzzy as you take in his meaning.

Unthinking, you step toward him closer.

"You mean to defile the very one you sit on?"

"You don't seem to care for it much anyway."

Another step.

You are nearly stood between his spread legs, carefully you reach out a hand, your fingers light on his thigh. You feel his muscle then, flicking your eyes up. His gaze is dark and heated.

"That's true enough," you say, your voice breathy in a near whisper.

You gasp as your suddenly pulled closer by Geralt's rough hands around your waist. You can feel him through the thin fabric of your shift and its only then you realize how much of your figure he has seen thanks to your nightwear.

"Truer still," he speaks, "I don't mean to defile this throne." He squeezes your plush waist, groping you through your shift as your hands latch onto his solid shoulders. "I mean to defile you."

He manages to pull you onto his lap with little effort, leaning in to crash his lips into yours.

You kiss him back hungrily, chasing his lips as you settle on his lap. Your fingers wind in his hair and you can feel his cock growing beneath you through the material of his pants.

His hands slide down your waist and over your wide hips, reaching for the hem of your shift and pulling it up. His tongue slips past your lips and you moan, shifting your hips atop him.

You pull away, reaching for your dress and pulling it over your head, discarding it behind your back.

Geralt holds you closer, letting his lips explore your heavy breasts as you allow your head to fall back in pleasure, your hands returning to his hair.

"Geralt," you breathe, pulling him off you after a moment.

"Mm," he hums, kissing the swell of your breast once more before he moves to free himself from the restraint of his pants. He knows what you’ve both been wanting for days. What you need.

One heavy hand returns to your back, holding you by your waist while his other grips his red, throbbing cock.

He moves his tip up and down your slick center, making you whimper as he teases you - his cockhead rubbing delightfully against your sensitive clit.

He watches your face scrunch in rapture and holds you tighter to stop your wiggling about as you whimper.

He smiles smugly to himself and when you're just about to open your mouth to protest his teasing, he finally pulls you down on top of him. The sound that escapes you is music to his ears as you grasp onto him, your nails digging into the muscle of his back as your walls squeeze and stretch to accommodate his thick length, the size of him almost too much for you to take.

"Fuck," he groans as your walls tighten around him. He gives you a moment before he begins to urge you to move. He guides your hips, slow and sensually. The feeling of his hands on you motivates you to try and ride him yourself. And you do try, but you cry out again at how big he is, how fully he is stuffing you. You can barely move.

Geralt kisses you as he holds you closer, taking pity on your tight cunt and instead he moves his hands to your soft hips again. He holds you on top of him securely before he begins to fuck up into you.

You mewl as he jostles you, bouncing you up and down his cock, your breasts moving in time.

You pull on his hair, forcing him to look up from where his gaze was fixed, watching his own cock as he stretched you out for him, watching as your cunt took as much of him in as she could, up to your hooded lust filled gaze. You lean into him, chest to chest as you kiss him fervently. His lips follow yours as you taste one another. You nip at his lip and he growls, his hands gripping the ample flesh of your ass, "Keep that up," he snarls.

"And you'll what?" you breathe heavily, eyes screwed shut, jaw tight as you deadbrain on the pleasure coursing through you.

Your answer is a harsh thrust of his cock inside of you, stealing your breath while he slaps your ass, your flesh stinging from the force.

"Oh, fuck," you whimper debauchedly, your velvety walls squeezing him ever tighter as you feel yourself growing closer with every bounce. The tip of him hitting exactly where you need it to. Your body is on fire and you are loving every second of it. The feeling of him inside of you, of his hands squeezing and caressing you everywhere he can, of his lips demanding yours for more.

His grunts are growing louder and his thrusts more powerful, you kiss him hard in an effort to quiet him some, but you can feel what is coming.

Geralt is near slamming you down on top of him, the sound of your ass slapping against his thick thighs mix with the salacious sounds coming from you both and of your slick wetness as you're worked up and down his shaft, your cunt taking him better and better with each thrust.

Your hands move to hold his face, your noses brush as you breathe each other's air, lips touching just slightly.

"Geralt, I'm,"

"I know," he pants harshly, concentrated before taking your lips in his. You whimper pathetically as the coil in your belly winds tighter and tighter. He keeps you moving a top him, your clit being stimulated with every brush of your hips over his, and then with another deep thrust it snaps before you can speak. Your voice is an empty high then silent squeak as your legs tremble and your eyes roll back. Are you even breathing? Your walls clench down on Geralt's cock and he finally allows himself to reach his own high as your tight walls flutter around him, squeezing him perfectly. You ride the waves of ecstasy as his come spills inside of you. You feel him shudder beneath you and it only adds to your feeling of weightlessness, stars in your eyes as you feel, think, breathe nothing but him.

You part from his lips and your bodies are slick with sweat as you both pant heavily. Geralt holds you to him as he softens inside of you, his forehead pressed to yours as your hand comes behind his neck, holding him to you in kind.

Your lips mimic a kiss but neither of you lean in close enough to actually do it. You work to catch your breath and settle for a minute before you finally break the quiet.

"Do I still owe you your coin?" you breathe, smiling when Geralt laughs in your face. You reach to move a stray strand of hair from his face, holding his cheek gently once you do.

Your stare into one another's eyes for a long moment, just breathing and being close.

"Where will you be off to in the morning?" you ask, hoping your solemn tone isn't as audible as it sounded to you.

"Don't know," he shakes his head, eyes straying to your lips.

You take a breath and pull his face closer to kiss him softly.

"I envy you, you know."

"Don't."

You huff a humorless laugh, readjusting yourself on his lap. "Not because you're a witcher. You may not have the most enviable life, but at least you have one. I've never made it past the most exterior gates," you smile sadly, playing with the hairs on his chest as you avoid his eye now.

"I suppose I'll have the chance, now, though. Thanks to you."

"And where will you go?" he asks.

Your gaze floats up to his and you repeat his previous answer. "I don't know. But I won't stay here. This kingdom is..." you shake your head. "I don't belong here. Never felt like I did. But I made a promise to my mother when I was young, and another to my father before he passed. I know I've let them down," you swallow the rise of emotion threatening to overcome you, "but alas, the fall of a kingdom is ever inevitable. Especially under such rule as my own."

"I've heard word of your rule from many. You're known to be kind. Caring. Protective, even. I don't believe you've failed. I think you were exactly the kind of ruler you should have been, who you needed to be. But perhaps it's a good thing you won't be forced any longer into holding power you don't desire. You're now free to do as you wish."

"I am," you nod lightly in agreement. "If only I knew where to start,” you muse with an uneasy laugh.

His hand runs up your back comfortingly; he's pensive, deep in thought for a long moment before he speaks.

"If you ready your things, I don't think Roach would mind a travel companion of her own. She seems to have taken to Belfast… I'm not sure she'd be ready to part with him so soon, anyway."

"Is that so?" you ask him, faux curiosity playing in your voice.

"And Jaskier is easier to take when I'm not the only one he has around to bother."

"Right," you nod, fighting your soft smile.

"And of course your coin would be useful as well."

"Of course," you exaggerate your agreement. "…Geralt, are you getting at something here?"

"Just that, if you want to join us…you might."

You lean into him again, thumb rubbing along his stubble lining his cheek, and this time he kisses you first. More gently than you expect. You can’t help your smile now.

You part lightly and breathe,

"I hope you mean that, Witcher. Because I just might."

[ro-is-struggling]

Secret Encounters || Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Requested by anon

Summary: They know it's wrong, but they can't deny the desire and lust that overcomes them every time they are together.

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, porn with a little bit of plot (not really), fingering, penetrative sex, mirror sex, rough sex, size kink, belly bulge, breeding kink, dirty talk, mentions of cheating (reader is engaged), fem reader (she’s a princess)

English is not my first language

Word count: 3900

Notes: I promise I'll stop writing tragic princess x witcher stories after this one. Also, sorry for the shitty summary but it's only smut so it was kinda hard to come up with something lol

Geralt had never been fond of royalty, but the moment his eyes fell on hers he knew she was different. He didn't really understand why, but he felt some type of way whenever she was near. Her perfume was intoxicating, a sweet scent that lingered on his clothes and skin and accompanied him wherever he went. He could not escape her even when he wandered alone through the forest in search of the beast he had been hired to kill... not even when he was lying in his bed at night, surrounded by the darkness of the room as he tried to rest. Her scent enveloped him at all times, awakening something deep inside him. It drove him crazy, crazy enough to act on his desires. 

He knew it was wrong, it was inappropriate to take advantage of the king's hospitality like that. And she knew it was wrong too, she was a princess soon to be married, a woman of high value who had no business with a witcher like Geralt. And yet, neither seemed to be able to stay away from the other. It was as if there was some kind of energy force pulling them together, the very will of destiny imposing itself over their own. When Geralt showed up at her chambers she knew she should have turned him away. No matter how much she had been longing for him to take her in his arms and make her his, the right thing to do was to reject him and move on with her life. In fact, she had opened the door with the intention of doing exactly that, but when her eyes met the imposing figure of the witcher, towering over her as his amber eyes admired her face, she could not resist the temptation. She gave in to her desires, crashing her lips against his in a desperate kiss as she slowly pulled him into her room.

The feel of his touch lingered on her body for days, her skin permanently marked by the roughness of his caresses and the warm wetness of his mouth. The sound of his grunts of pleasure as he buried himself in her echoed in her mind at all times. He was all she could think about. She knew it was wrong, but she needed to feel his hands on her body again, exploring every inch of her skin as he showed her pleasure like no other man could.

Despite their desperation, they were able to keep their hands off each other for a while. Though all their self-control disappeared by the time of Geralt's last day in the castle. After slaying the beast —and collecting his reward— the witcher was ready to leave when the king made him an offer he couldn't resist. There would be a feast in celebration of the fall of the creature that had terrorized the town and Geralt, as their savior, was the guest of honor. He would normally have declined the offer, although the promise of free food and alcohol sounded enticing, he hated the idea of being stuck with a bunch of drunken noblemen. However, this time it gave him the perfect excuse to stay there a while longer and say goodbye to the princess the right way —the way he knew they had both been fantasizing about since their last encounter.

The party quickly turned into a game of cat and mouse, defiant yellow eyes meeting hers in the crowd, admiring her lips as she laughed and the way her body moved as she danced. She was doing it on purpose, accepting the proposals of all the knights who bowed in front of her to provoke him. She wanted to spark a reaction in him, see how far she could push him, how far she could push the boundaries of their secret relationship. The thought of being caught filled her body with adrenaline, her heart pounding so hard against her chest that he could almost hear it over the noise of the party.

She waited for the right moment and took advantage of the first distraction to escape to her bedroom. Her eyes met Geralt's before disappearing behind the side door of the great hall, her desire-laden expression a silent plea for him to follow her. She sat in front of the large mirror in her room waiting for him, removing the jewelry from her hair and combing her hair without any haste. And just as she expected, only a few minutes after her arrival, she felt the sound of the door's wood creaking as it opened. She saw Geralt lock the door behind him in the reflection of the mirror and she had to hold back the smile that wanted to form on her lips —a failed attempt to save some of her decency and not look so desperate.

"You're not supposed to be here." She said as if his presence didn't make her heart race. "It's wrong."

"That's not what you said the other night." Geralt's deep voice was music to her ears, his slightly mocking tone awakening that tingle under her skin. He walked up to her, holding her gaze in the mirror as if challenging her. He stood tall at her back, close enough that she could feel the heat emanating from his body, but not close enough to feel the brush of his hands on her skin. 

"The other night was a mistake." She affirmed, setting the comb aside. It was true, their furtive encounter, though pleasurable, had been a mistake. But they both knew well that neither really cared. The desire they felt, the tension in the air, it was all too much, it clouded their thinking leaving them at the mercy of their most primitive feelings. 

Geralt reached out his hands to her, brushing her hair aside so he could caress her skin. He noticed how she stifled a sigh through the reflection of the mirror, his warm touch awakening that flame within her. His fingers moved gently across her shoulders, up her neck until they reached her cheeks. She closed her eyes and leaned into his hand, losing herself in the moment. It felt just as she remembered it, warm and hard, yet strangely soft and comforting at the same time. It was as if his hands had never left her skin, as if his caresses were permanently carved into her body.

"Do you wish for me to leave?" he said, his voice barely a raspy whisper. He knew the answer to her question, he could read it on her face, smell it in the air, feel it in the vein in her neck that throbbed rapidly beneath his fingers. But still, he needed to be sure he was right, hear from her lips the plea for his caresses. He needed to know that she was as desperate as he was.

She didn't give him a verbal response, just rose from her seat and pressed her lips to his. Geralt's hands closed around her waist, pulling her body against his as he quickly took control of the kiss. She didn't bother fighting for dominance, acknowledging her subordination to him almost immediately. She didn't need to win, she just needed to feel his hands on her skin again, gripping and caressing every inch of her body in a rush of pleasure until the early morning sun forced them apart.

There was nothing tender and soft about the way Geralt's lips attacked hers, only lust and desperation, but she loved every part of it. She loved the way his tongue invaded her mouth and how his teeth nibbled at her lips before moving his wet kisses down her neck, sucking and biting at the skin without fear of leaving marks. He knew he could do whatever he wanted with her as she was completely at his mercy, surrendered to the pleasure only he could give her. She didn't care if she had to spend the next week finding creative ways to hide the evidence of their furtive encounter, she just needed to feel him. She wanted him to mark her, to declare ownership over her body. She knew she belonged to him, always would, even if she never saw him again after tonight.

Clothes soon became a problem, a barrier that kept them apart, so desperate hands worked carelessly to fix it. Her dress was the first to go, the expensive fabric pooling around her feet leaving her naked body completely exposed to Geralt's hungry gaze. She should have been embarrassed, but nothing but lust and anticipation pumped through her veins. He was looking at her as if she were the most beautiful and sensual woman he had ever seen, as if she were a goddess he had the privilege of pleasing. Never before had anyone looked at her in that way, so intense, so filled with adoration. She loved it, it made her feel special, powerful. 

Geralt didn't waste a second, calloused fingers caressing every inch of exposed skin. It awakened a fire inside her, a tingling that spread throughout her body, concentrating on her core. His teeth nibbled at the sensitive skin of her neck, sinking his canines into her as his hands moved down to her breasts, earning a couple of sighs from the princess as he showed attention to her nipples erect with anticipation. He smiled against her neck, proud of himself as the scent of her arousal lingered in the air. It was an intoxicating scent, the sweet forbidden fruit begging him to take it.

When his fingers slipped between her wet folds, she let out a moan of pleasure as her grip on the witcher's shoulders tightened. It was as beautiful as he remembered, a harmonious melody traveling through him and going straight to his cock. It was the sound of temptation, of lust, urging him to carry on, to forget all rules of morality and decorum and take what was his.

“P-please, Geralt.” She pleaded against his lips. Her breathing was rapid and she looked up at him through half-closed eyelids. He slipped two of his fingers inside her with ease, pushing them as deep as he could and moving them until he made her moan. She looked so beautiful like this, her eyes closed in pleasure and her parted lips releasing those beautiful desperate sighs, completely at his mercy.It was an image that would stay in Geralt's mind for quite some time. 

"I know, I know," he soothed her, his free hand coming up to caress her cheek. "I have to get you ready for me."

"I-I need to feel you, p-please." She whimpered in a pathetic, desperate attempt to get him to do what she wanted. She needed to feel all of him, his hot skin pressed against hers, his fingernails sinking into the skin of her hips as he buried his cock deep inside her, his ragged breaths in the hollow of her neck. She needed him as much as she needed the air she breathed and could wait no longer.

Thankfully he took pity on her, removing his hands from her body to unbutton his pants. She suppressed the whimper that wanted to escape her throat as she felt empty without his fingers inside her, knowing the sensation would not last for long. Geralt instructed her to turn over and her body obeyed him before she could process his words or wonder what he was up to. Her body no longer belonged to her, it belonged to him and always would.

He held her against his chest for a moment, one hand roaming her body while the other held her head steady facing forward. She could feel his hard member pressed against her lower back as his heat enveloped her completely. Their gazes met in the mirror once more and she saw the darkness of desire staining the beautiful yellow orbs. He buried his nose in her hair, inhaling her intoxicating scent before lowering his lips to her ear.

"I want you to look at yourself in the mirror as I fuck you, princess." Geralt whispered in her ear, his voice firm and slightly deeper than normal. His eyes never left hers in the mirror, studying her reaction in the reflection. "I want you to see how beautiful you look with your face scrunched up in pleasure so you'll remember it after I'm gone and your future husband can't make you feel this good."

He gave her no warning before pushing his hard cock into her tight wet hole, and he wasn't gentle either. A quick thrust of his hips and he was balls deep inside her as her velvety walls struggled to take him. Geralt was big, it was almost hard for him to fully fit inside her despite how aroused she was. But it wasn't painful, not in a bad way at least. She loved the way his cock stretched her, almost impaling her on it when it was all the way in. The burning only added to her pleasure, the knot in her belly tightening with the promise of her orgasm.

Geralt set a fast, torturous pace, earning a string of incoherent moans each time he touched that special place deep inside her. She could feel him twitching inside her as her walls closed around him, desperate to hold him in place. It was almost too much and not enough at the same time, a mixture of feelings born of her need for relief. The sound of skin slapping against skin combined with her cries of pleasure and Geralt's grunts filled the room. It was loud and she wouldn't be surprised if she discovered that someone passing through the corridor could hear them, but she didn't care. She felt too good to worry about anything else.

The pleasure she felt was so intense that she had trouble keeping her eyes open, her heavy eyelids closing involuntarily against the force of Geralt's thrusts. But each time she did, he tightened his grip on her jaw, growling in her ear for her to open them. The image reflected in the mirrored surface was too much for her to take. Her small figure wrapped in the strong arms of her lover towering over her and making her feel even smaller and more insignificant. The bulge forming in her lower belly with each thrust showed just how deep inside her Geralt was. His teeth on her neck, nibbling at the sensitive skin without taking his intense gaze away from her eyes in the mirror. And finally, her face, with parted lips letting out a string of melodious moans, and glassy eyes filled with tears that threatened to escape at the sheer intensity of what she was feeling. The expression of pure pleasure on her face was one she had never seen on her before  —and she feared that after tonight she would never see it again.

It was all too much for her, and the possessive way Geralt was acting didn't help her in the slightest. He was determined to leave a mark on her, both physically and mentally. He wanted her to see traces of him on her own skin after he was gone, but he also wanted to make sure she remembered him. Make sure she remembered the intensity of the moment and the way he had made her feel. He wanted her to think of him every time her future husband left her unsatisfied, touching herself to relieve the pressure inside her as images of him in this very moment flashed through her mind. 

He made sure to let her know his intentions between grunts of pleasure, feeling her walls close around his member with every word that left his lips. She liked it as much as he did and that only egged him on.

"Geralt, please," she begged, not quite sure of what it was she was asking of him. Please stop because the pleasure traveling through my veins is too much to bear? Please keep going and don't stop until I'm passed out from exhaustion and you've ruined me for the rest of the men? She wasn't sure, both options were equally valid.

"I know... just let go," he encouraged her, his warm breath crashing against the skin of her ear as he spoke. "Just let go for me, princess."

Her body took his words as a command and it wasn't long before the knot in her belly snapped, sending wave after wave of pleasure through her insides. Her orgasm hit her like a pile of bricks, leaving her completely stupid. Geralt's name escaped her lips like a prayer as she lost herself in pleasure. All thought left her mind, she could only feel as her lover's thrusts slowed, her body trembling in his arms from overstimulation.

She only had a couple of seconds to recover, whining as she felt empty when Geralt pulled away from her momentarily. Her legs were weak and she struggled to stand, so he took her in his arms and laid her down on the bed carefully. He settled into the space between her legs, taking a moment to admire her and caress her body before continuing. His hands ran over her warm, sweat-covered skin in an almost gentle way, an act that contrasted with the roughness of his behavior so far but was nonetheless welcomed by her.

The tenderness didn't last long, though, because once he slid his cock inside her once more, he returned to the animalistic grunts and punishing rhythm of his thrusts. This time it was more desperate and erratic, letting her know that he was close to his own orgasm. His cock twitched inside her, threatening to paint her velvety walls with his seed. The very idea was enough to have her on the edge again. 

"You feel me, princess?" He said, taking one of her hands and bringing it down to her lower belly. He pressed it against her skin, trapping it between his palm and the bulge forming there from his cock. It added a new sensation and she couldn't contain the moan that escaped her throat. "Feel how deep inside of you I am?

"Fuck," she cursed, eyes rolling back as her free hand clutched at Geralt's wrist to make sure he didn't move it off her belly. The pressure felt too good, wave after wave of pleasure coursing through her with a force that left her breathless.

"I'm the only one who gets is deep, f-fuck, the only one who makes you feel this way." He wasn't asking, it was a clear statement, but still she nodded, letting out repeated affirmations between high-pitched moans.

"I belong to you... My body is forever yours, no one will ever make me feel this good." The animalistic growl he let out at those words almost pushed her over the edge, leaving her on the verge of her second orgasm. She knew he was close too, she could feel it in his erratic thrusts and the way his cock twitched inside her. She needed to feel him come undone for her, to paint her walls white as he emptied his seed inside her. She needed him to mark her, to claim her as his own. They both knew a relationship between them was impossible, but she would always be his in secret. Her body would always miss him.

"Please, I need to feel you." She managed to say between moans and ragged breaths. "I need you to fill me up, please." She sounded pathetic at this point, but she didn't care. All she cared about was feeling Geralt's seed trickling down her thighs as she tried to catch her breath. 

The witcher groaned, a cocky smile playing on his lips. One of his hands flew to the headboard of the bed, the wood creaking under his strong grip as he adjusted his position. The new angle allowed him to reach even deeper —if that was even possible—, impaling her on his cock as she cried out in pleasure. Her nails dug into his back, leaving traces of red marks on his skin.

"You're desperate for it, aren't you?" he teased her arrogantly. "Don't worry, princess, I'm gonna shoot my seed so deep inside of you that you'll carry it for days. Is that what you want? You want me to mark you as mine? You want to feel me between your legs while you swear loyalty to your husband?"

"Yes! Fuck, Geralt, please... mark me, claim me as yours, please." 

The witcher did not expect to find it so erotic to hear her admit her deepest desires, but he did. It awakened something inside him, a primal desire that took over his body. He became an animal, a fierce, possessive wolf that was desperate for some relief. After all, that was exactly what their relationship was, pure animal instinct, pure lust and desperation. An intense attraction they couldn't resist even when they knew how wrong it was.

He came with a loud grunt, emptying his load inside her warm, tight walls. She felt every drop of it, her cunt filled to the brim with his desire for her. The intensity of his orgasm triggered hers, her body trembling under Geralt's weight, her walls tightening around his cock, milking him for everything he had. His name fell from her lips as pleasure consumed her, a prayer begging him to stay with her. He knew it was impossible, but in that moment - mind clouded with pleasure as he felt her crumbling beneath him - he really considered it. He wanted to feel her body against his again, hear the sound of her voice as she moaned his name outside of his memories. He needed her.

But that was just a fantasy, the desire for the impossible. She was a princess who was soon to be married and he was a witcher who had nothing to do with the court and royal affairs. She was not his —even if her body was— and he was not hers. And that was the hard truth. So when he came to his senses he rose from his place on the bed, where he rested with her beside him. The princess watched him as he dressed, trying to ignore the strange feeling of emptiness that came over her at the thought that once he crossed the threshold of the door she would never see him again.

"Will I ever see you again?" She asked in a whisper, as if afraid of being heard. Geralt admired her naked figure on the bed as he contemplated his answer, liking the way the dim candlelight illuminated her skin covered in a thin layer of sweat. As wrong as it was, he would really like to see her again, but the truth was he didn't know if it would happen. The future was uncertain, especially in his line of work, so to give her a straight answer would be to lie to her.

"Only time will tell."

[ramen-flavored]

[valeskafics]

Headcanons for Geralt of Rivia x Reader with a Size Kink

a/n: first time writing for geralt ayyyyyyyy lmk if you wish to be added to the geralt, jaskier, the witcher, or general taglists! ❤️

TW: violence, profanity, innuendo, fingering, oral m and f receiving, p in v sex, size kink duh, sexy times

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Witcher characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

-it goes without saying that geralt is a rather formidable man, size wise, quite a bit taller than average and broad, exceedingly muscular

-it's one of the first things you noticed about him when he comes to your village to hunt a striga that has been stalking your people

-you notice him almost immediately when he walks into the tavern where you sit in a corner with a few friends

-while they are completely terrified of him, you find yourself utterly fascinated

-when geralt's honeyed gaze turns to meet your curious eyes, you feel your throat constrict slightly, unable to breathe as he drinks you in, every feature on your face, every curve of your body hidden by your dress, and judging by the slight upturn of his lips, you think he is quite pleased with what he sees

-you watch geralt in action, fighting the striga, but more exciting than anything is the moment when the creature makes to attack you and the man lifts you into his arms to pull you out of harm's way, holding you with one arm and effortlessly defeating the monster with the other

-you gasp, your hands twisting in the fabric of his shirt as he slowly sets you down, leaving you to gaze up at him, and he loves how small and vulnerable you look standing in front of him, your lips slightly parted in wonder

-his hand moves to grip your chin, making you shy away ever so slightly at his touch, something else he quite enjoys

-geralt speaks in that low baritone of his that you find utterly impossible to resist, asking if you live nearby, to which you nod, pointing to a small cottage a little bit away from the two of you

-the surprised yelp that leaves your mouth when geralt lifts you up and tosses you over his shoulder, a hand placed squarely on your ass, delights him, as he tells you that you're sufficient enough payment for killing this striga

-the way he manhandles you onto your bed after kicking open the door to your home drives you absolutely mad, his imposing form hovering over you as he holds your wrists above your head with one hand with little effort

-his other hand quickly undoes the bodice of your dress and does away with your underclothes, his smirk deepening at the gorgeous sight before him

-"such a pretty little thing" he drawls, his hands tracing the contours of your body, finding the apex between your thighs and seeing that you're already wet for him, he lets out a dark chuckle, "you want me, don't you, little one?"

-"yes, geralt," you nod eagerly, throwing your head back against your pillow and mewling his name pathetically as he pushes three long thick fingers inside you, the wet noises they make being borderline obscene as he pumps the digits in and out of your cunt

-you can't help but wonder that if his fingers feel so long and thick inside of you, how his cock must feel, a question that he makes sure to answer for you sooner than later

-however first? he decides to fuck your mouth, admiring the way your lips wrap around him, barely able to take him, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat each time he bucks his hips against you, a few tears falling from your eyes that he thinks make you look even more beautiful as you gag on his cock

-and when he finally fucks you, it's everything you ever imagined and more

-his cock is long and girthy as he sheathes himself inside you and you feel almost as though he's splitting you in half, the sting being almost painful at first, but your body soon accommodating him

-geralt admires the sight of the outline of his cock against your belly with every thrust into your wet cunt, pressing down on the bulge, making you cry out his name pitifully, like a bitch in heat as he continues fucking you into the mattress

-he loves being on top of you, pushing your knees up to your chest and folding you in half so that he can see how small you are compared to him as he pistons his hips against yours, feeling you squeezing around him impossibly tight with every thrust

-with his inhuman stamina and strength, he makes sure that you reach your peak many many times that night, to the point that you think you may faint from how much pleasure he's given you

-needless to say, anytime he finds himself passing your village after that night, he makes certain to look you up

[thedreamlessnights]

Accismus - pt. 1

{next chapter}

Geralt of Rivia x gn!reader (Eventual NSFW)

Synopsis: After coming across a djinn, you wish for constant protection. He grants it by sending you a witcher.

Warnings and tags: Mentions of nausea, vomiting, and corpses. No usage of Y/N. Enemies to lovers if you squint.

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: First Geralt fic (which all my friends saw coming). This is the first chapter of a multi-part series, with more soon to come! I haven't seen the show - this Geralt is based off the third game, and the characterization, settings, and descriptions are written as such. Hope you all enjoy!

accismus - feigning indifference to something while actually desiring it.

The woods are quiet today.

Stillness blankets it all like a fog, thick and heavy in the morning air. The dawn sky, painted scarlet-orange and deep blue, gilds the tops of the trees with golden sun. If it were not so utterly, pittingly silent, it would be beautiful. 

The wind is absent in the leaves. Animals are frozen in place, statues in the trees and underground, and nothing moves even an inch. It seems the world is holding its breath.

Then a chirp erupts from the trees, clear and piercing, and the forest returns to life. Whatever threat had been is gone, and the birds go back to their usual high, sweet chatter that echoes through the nearby clearing. Leaves and branches softly rustle, rabbits scurry across the ground, and wolves howl in the distance.

Well-hidden in his position, the witcher sits alone, not yet detected. Despite his state of stillness, his eyes are restless, searching for something he cannot find. 

His frustration seems to slowly devour him, eating away at him little by little.

Nothing here is amiss. The earth smells as it should - of mud, crisp air, berries ripened and full. Salt from the sea lingers in the wind, dulled to a fine mist in the breeze, and bloodmoss oozes the scent of metal and rot.

Aside from the sound of the birds, waves crash on the shoreline in the distance, but there is little else - only the occasional creak of a branch as an animal hops from one tree to the next. 

All should be well. For reasons he cannot explain, it is not. 

With a sigh, the witcher rises to his feet. The movement triggers a flurry of wings into the air, which halts him for a moment before he continues on - feeling as if he’s being watched.

This sensation has gone on since last night, and it only seems to strengthen by the moment. His senses seem to have betrayed him. He can’t sleep or get a moment’s peace, and he certainly wouldn’t be able to concentrate on a contract. 

If Yennefer were around, he’d ask her opinion on it. She’s nowhere to be found, though - hasn’t been for months now. As usual, she hadn’t deemed it important to tell him where she was headed off to.

When he reaches the clearing, he stops. Even the beat of his heart is wrong now. Too fast, out of rhythm. The uneasiness increases until it seems to swallow him whole. Then the hair stands up on the back of his neck. 

His eyes dart back and forth through the trees, searching for something, anything, but finding nothing. Too quiet, he thinks. Hushed and muffled - the woods are waiting, just like he is.

Something takes hold of his feet. How, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t hear a thing, doesn’t see anything at his boots - but, inexplicably, he’s being pulled backward by an unseen force. His chest hits the ground, hard. Then he’s being dragged.

His ribs throb and ache. His ears ring. He searches for purchase in the ground but finds nothing but soft earth. Then, as his fingers claw at the dirt, he’s yanked into the air.

The pressure of the grip becomes a hot, wrenching pain. If he didn’t know better, he’d think that it was branding him - invisible, fiery hands plastered to his ankles, seared forever into his skin. The ground is ripped out from under him in an instant, and he falls into the sky. 

The world becomes darkness. It blurs slowly into life, then fuzzes into waves of colors. His stomach churns with bile, acidic, rancid, and rising up his throat. Colors fade into pure white. The white fades into green. 

Green, which flies toward him in a flash until it hits him, knocks the wind out of him. Only when his fingers curl into it does he recognize it, gasping and straining for air. 

The pain lessens. The green is soft under his hands. 

The witcher breathes into it - the sharp smell of it, the keen familiarity against his cheek and fingers. He moves to stand, and for just a moment, his feet hold him.

Then he is sick on the grass.

Geralt of Rivia falls from the sky. 

There really isn’t another way to describe it. One moment, the air is unnaturally thick. The breeze in the grass stills, hair rises on the back of your neck. Even your lungs seem to halt. 

Then, the sky opens a few feet above you and spits a white-haired man onto the grass. He hits the ground with a loud thump, a sharp, scraping breath, and a moment of silence. 

For that moment, you worry he’s dead. Dealing with this stranger’s corpse would be the final straw on the haystack of an awful, awful week, and you really don’t have it in you to dig another grave at the moment. 

Then, mercifully, his lungs return to their work. The hoarse inhales are painful to listen to, but they’re familiar from experience - he’s out of wind. Eventually, his breathing returns to normal. A little strained, perhaps, but whole and deep. He’ll be alright. 

Relief settles, and your eyes scan him from head to toe where he lays.

A good deal of black armor, fitted with brown straps of leather and chainmail pauldrons. White hair, but the color doesn’t seem to be from age. Not that you can exactly be sure of that when his face is toward the ground - making it impossible to do any sort of real inspection - but the two swords on his back say enough when they catch your eye.

The White Wolf. 

It must be. You’ve heard enough stories. Two swords mean a witcher. Two swords and white hair mean Geralt of Rivia. 

A very stunned Geralt of Rivia. 

His fingers curl into the grass and he stands, stumbling around for a moment before collapsing onto the ground, spilling up the contents of his stomach.

You give him a little privacy. Back turned, eyes scanning the horizon. Your mind is desperately trying to compensate for why he’s here, ignoring the persistent, nagging voice at the top of your head.

You know why he’s here; you just don’t want to believe it. Anything but this.

After a moment, the sounds of his sick fade into nothing. All you can hear is the soft whisper of the breeze against your cheek. When you turn back to him, he’s laying on the grass again - face up this time, a hand drawn over his eyes.

Wherever he’d come from, it must have been a hell of a trip.

“Where am I?”

His voice is not anything like you’d expected. From the stories, you’d thought it would be ice. Cold, emotionless, piercing. Instead, there’s a gruff hoarseness to it; an underlying warmth.

“Velen,” you answer. “Not far from Crow’s Perch.”

He lets out a disapproving noise. “Five minutes ago, I was in Skellige. Why am I in Velen?”

Your lips won’t seem to work, but Geralt doesn’t wait for an answer. If it’s really him, that is. Maybe it isn’t. Maybe there’s another witcher with white hair. Unlikely, though.

He sits up once more, steadier this time. Analyzes the severity of his injuries, then his surroundings, then… you. His voice may not be piercing like you’d thought, but his gaze cuts into you like a knife, cold metal tracing along your frame. 

The hair on the back of your neck rises as he looks you over, suspicious but not scrutinizing. He’s angry and wary of you, and - considering everything - perhaps he should be.

“We haven’t met,” he says. A fact, not a question.

“No. We haven’t.”

Your voice is stronger than you feel, and that gives you just enough of an edge to meet his gaze, even if just for a moment. Then your confidence breaks, and you look away.

“Care to tell me how I got here?” he asks.

“A portal. You fell out of the sky.”

He lets out a huff. “I gathered that.”

It’s much quicker than it should be, the way he pushes himself to his feet and steps toward you. Your legs freeze in place, heart thumping loudly against your ribs as he approaches.

Up close, you can see the gold of his eyes - a witcher’s eyes, slitted like a cat’s. A scar runs deep in his left cheek and up his forehead, and there’s another above his right brow. The little doubt you have left at his identity is crumbling. 

You know better than to lie to him, and your words are chosen carefully.

“I’m not sure how you got here. There was nothing, then you arrived.”

It’s the truth, technically. You aren’t sure - your suspicions are just that, for now. 

“There’s something you’re not telling me.” He cocks a brow. “Mind cluing me in to whatever you’re hiding?”

Shit. Your shoulders slump a little, betraying you.

“I need to confirm my suspicions, first.” You can’t process what to say next - the words stumble from your mouth, blocky. “I - I’m not even sure you’re who I think you are.”

“And who is it that you think I am?”

This conversation isn’t going the way you want it to. He’s too forward, sees too much to try to slip anything past him. You can’t even decide what to call him. Well, the Butcher of Blaviken probably isn’t the safest bet, and the White Wolf seems wrong.

“Geralt of Rivia.”

“Then you’d be right,” he confirms. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way-”

“-Wait,” you cut in. “I need you to try something before I explain. There’s no point in telling you if I’m wrong.” 

His gaze on your face feels like fire in a way that makes it impossible to meet directly. You can’t help shifting your eyes away from it as you step back. Then you point in the direction of the horizon. 

“Walk twenty paces that way.”

If he was suspicious before, he’s ten-fold now. 

“Some kind of trap?” he asks. “You shouldn’t waste your time.”

“I’m unarmed. I’m only asking you to walk away from me, and I’m sure that you can hear there’s no one else here. Do I look like a mage to you?”

“No,” he says, eyes sweeping over you, “but I know the makings of a trap when I see one.”

He’s right to be cautious, and you haven’t exactly given him a reason to trust you.

“I’ll do it, then.”

Eight steps are all it takes. Eight steps to feel exactly what you’d expected to feel, but what you hoped you wouldn’t.

It’s like meeting a wall - a solid, invisible stopping point. When you push past it, the world blurs. Everything spins. Your head feels like it’s being squeezed, gripped, as if waiting for the bone to finally give. Your legs lose their strength and crumble.

When you topple back, bile rising hot at the back of your throat, the sensation disappears altogether. It’s a bitter awakening from your earlier denial.

“Alright, what the hell was that?” Geralt croaks. He’s hunched over, voice strained. “Some kind of magic? A curse?” 

So he’d felt it too, then. You might as well take the plunge and get it over with.

“It’s a wish, actually,” you tell him, shakily getting to your feet. “A wish from a djinn.”

He bristles at the sound of that, straightening up. “Talk. Fast.”

You’re not going to argue with that.

“I wished for protection to be with me always, and - apparently - I got a witcher as the answer.”

Something flickers in his expression before he answers - something that looks a little like fear but could easily be anger. Perhaps both. Or, maybe, it’s something else altogether.

“Better undo it, then,” he says.

“I can’t.”

“You used all three wishes?”

Your silence serves as an answer.

“Great. Stuck with you until we find another djinn.” He runs a hand over his face. “How’d you get your hands on one in the first place?”

“It was… given to me.” The words come out ingenuine, and Geralt’s eyes narrow. “Is that the only way to break it?” you add quickly. “Another djinn?”

His gaze lingers on you for a long moment, as if searching for something hidden in your expression. You wish he’d stop doing that. It's unnerving.

“Yes,” he says. “There’s no other way.”

“I didn’t mean to involve anyone else.” Your words are hushed, but you know he can hear them. “What if… what if we found another djinn? Undid the wish?”

“Being easy to find isn’t exactly what djinns are known for,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Your luck gets worse and worse. Not that you’d thought that djinns grow on trees, but - well, with Geralt being a witcher and all, you’d hoped he’d have more of a lead than you do.

“What do we do now, then?”

You aren’t exactly fond of monsters. Running witcher contracts with him would only put both of you in danger. There’d be a mental toll on both of you, unable to get any privacy. Not to mention, the sorceress from all those stories probably wouldn’t enjoy your neverending presence, either. Clearly, if you want to continue to live, staying like this is out of the question. 

Geralt muses over the situation, considering his options. “Yennefer - a… friend of mine - might know where to find a djinn, but… well, I wouldn’t know where to find her, either.”

The word friend sounds like he’s tempted to say something else. You have a pretty good idea of what it is, but you let it slide without comment. He’s already unhappy with you, after all.

“I could ask around at The Chameleon,” he continues, “see if anyone’s heard anything. Unlikely, but it’s a start.”

“The Chameleon?” you ask, pushing away your curiosity.

“A tavern in Novigrad. Friends with the owner.”

“Right.” You kick a stone, wishing you could go back in time. You’ve wished for that a hundred times in the last few days, and - as usual - it doesn’t come true. The rock rolls pitifully across the dirt, and your eyes sting. “Which way?”

“Let me guess,” he says. “You don’t have a horse? I don’t know about you, but I don’t exactly want to walk to Novigrad.”

The image of a beautiful black stallion is raw in your memory. You close your eyes to shut it out.

“No horse,” you confirm, turning away so he doesn’t see your face. “There are stables not far from here.”

“Got any money?”

You do, for once. It feels like blood money in your pockets, weighing you down, but you nod.

“How much?”

“Enough for two horses, at least.”

The least you can do is pay for his horse, after all. Maybe that’ll make him a little less angry.

“Lead the way,” he says.

The sun is up now, starting to heat the earth, hot dirt under your shoes that will scald later in the day. Geralt stays close to you, closer than he needs to, his right fingers flexing every now and again as if he’s itching to grab one of his swords. He doesn’t trust you; why should he?

The walk to the stables seems so much longer in the growing heat, and it’s even worse with an angry witcher behind you. When you finally make it, drenched in sweat, Geralt heads in to talk to the stable owner. 

You’d prefer to stay outside and wait, but the djinn’s wish doesn't allow that. You follow him in - lingering a few steps behind, keeping your head down. 

He’s much better at negotiating than you’ve ever been. Two minutes of talk later, you’re buying horses at a very reasonable price. The stable owner leaves for a moment and returns with two shiny brown mares, glancing nervously at the swords on Geralt’s back. Geralt doesn’t waste a moment before leading his horse outside.

“Is it always that easy?” you ask, following him out.

“No,” he says. 

He spends a moment longer there, giving his horse some oats and a pat on the neck, murmuring something under his breath. The words aren’t for you.

For some reason, you feel as if you’re invading a private moment - something you’re not meant to see. Just as you’re about to turn away, he props his foot into the stirrup and swings smoothly into the saddle. It’s followed by an impatient look in your direction. “Well? Are you coming?” 

You scramble onto your horse without another word, and your journey to Novigrad starts.

[vikingstoner69]

You know what time it is when i pop up lmao

Geratle x fem!reader nsfw request cough cause i'm the biggest simp for this man-

108 from the writing prompt list “is that my shirt?”

And from the smut list

8 “I’ve never wanted to fuck you more than I do now”

Have fun 🥰‼️❤

Of course as always, you don't have to do this request if you don't want to

 Heya! lovly! thank you so much for the request i'm sorry it took so long and its super sort. If you want a redo just let me know I do hope you enjoy.

as always my ask box is open

You and Gearlt found a cave and made a camp for the night. You watch the fire burn and sigh softly. You both had been on the road for months and you wanted to sleep in a real bed. Gearlt walks back to the cave with two small rabbits.  

"Hey! How far is the next town?" You ask, but before you could get an answer a huge monster apares. Gearlt kills it but not before it let out a Strange dust making you both cough. 

"(Y/n)! Hold your breath!" He shouts, you do as he says but it's too late you have inhaled some of the dust. You groan as your body gets hot. 

"What's happening to me?" You moan, you had no idea what that thing was but all you knew was that geralt smelled amazing and you wanted him badly. In your hazy thoughts you do not hear his answer. 

"We must stay away from each other" he growls his eyes dark with lust. His hands balled into fists trying to hold himself back. 

"No! Please-" your plea is cut short as his hand goes around your throat. 

"But I have never wanted to fuck you more then I do right now" he growls his face going to your neck and he bites making you moan and he growls. 

"Then fuck me!" You moan, geralt snarls and mashes his lips to yours making you moan he picks you up making your legs wrap around his waist. 

Geralt lays you on the bedroll and you cling to him. You both pull at each other's clothes till you are both naked. His hard cock rubs your soaking cunt and you moan out. 

"Fuck! It won't be gentle" he growls his hold on you almost too tight. 

"Please!" You beg and he thrusts forward deep inside you making you both moan at the feeling. He fucks you hard and fast your nails leaving marks in his back as you cling to him. 

"Look at you! Taking my cock" he growls, making you whine at his words. You never knew him to be this way but you loved it. 

"So good! So fucking close!" You moan as your climax was fast approaching.  Gearlt rubs your clit hard. 

"Cum on my cock" he growls and you cum hard with a scream of his name. When you finally come back down geralt is laying on his back panting hard. You look over at him. 

"Are you alright?" He asks looking over at you. You look back at him and smile softly. 

"Yes, fantastic actually " you grin and grab his shift and slip it on feeling the cool breeze on your skin. 

"Is that my shirt?" He growls as eyes go dark with lust again making you smirk.

"Maybe" you grin, he ckxks his finger in a 'come here' Motion.and you did just that. 

[pikapeppa]

Hi there, I hope you're doing alright!

Just to say that I absolutely LOVE the 'Chamomile and Gwent' saga, it's so beautifully written I'm OBSESSED with it! It's so amazing, I've recently re-read it for the third time and it makes me so emotional every time 😭🥹

I love how the reader is so kind and witty and soft Geralt legit got me feral. I'm 100% he'd be so proud like, meeting with a client for a contract and be like "And this is your assistant?" "This is my WIFE" (*insert proud hubby face here*) AND REGIS THANKS FUCK YOU GAVE HIM MORE SPACE WE NEEDED THAT, YOU DID A GREAT SERVICE TO HUMANITY And don't, I mean it DON'T get me started and this absolute treasure that is the one shot with baby Ves jgbrkeguk Anyway, sorry for the rambling but I had to get that off my chest you're amazing, thak you again for one of the best fanfictions ever ❤️

This comment is SO SO NICE. Sorry for the rambling?? Are you kidding?? THIS IS SO LOVELY TO HEAR 😭❤❤

I'm so thrilled you loved the saga enough to read multiple times, you honour me!! Soft Geralt is SO PRECIOUS, I can't get enough of him in game so I dumped a whole shitload of soft Geralt into this series HAHAH. I'm so glad you enjoyed Seeing Regis in this series too!! I love Regis SO MUCH - he might be my fave character after Geralt hismelf?? -- so I had to put him in this series as much as I could! I HAVE A FEVER AND THE ONLY CURE IS MORE REGIS 😂

You even read the Baby Ves oneshot!! AH YOU REALLY HONOUR ME 😭❤ thank you so so much for the love!!

ALSO THOUGH YOUR ART IS AMAZING. I love your tarot series!! Tarot art is always such a GOOD CONCEPT and you've put so much thought into your selections and it's all just so vibrant and good 😭❤❤ thank you for sharing your talents!!

If anyone is curious, Chamomile and Gwent can be found here on AO3! It's 3 fics spanning >600k words, Geralt x f!Reader, rated E for smut (and violence)!

-- love from your friendly neighbourhood Pika! xoxo

[princessaxoxo]

Mine

Dark!Geralt x reader

Summary: Geralt shows you that you're only his.

Warnings: 18+ Only, NSFW, angst, rough unprotected sex (p in v), slight choking, Dub!con, virginity loss, vulgar language

Word Count: 791

With horror, you witnessed Geralt’s golden irises bore into the man’s eyes that he had just killed in a swift motion. The man’s head rolled, stopping right at your feet. Any other individual would be fleeing or screaming. However, you? Not at all. You were utterly still and unmoving in your place.

You began to notice that your hands were shaking.

Soon after, a powerful hand caught your jaw and raised your head. With great intensity, Geralt's eyes met yours, and through clenched teeth, he spoke one word. "Mine."

His breaths were coming out harshly, his chest rising and falling with steam from his enraged state. Geralt’s hand moved from your jaw to your arm and harshly dragged you to the small cabin you both were taking shelter in. You winced under his rough touch. “Geralt! You’re hurting me. Stop!” you shouted, and he ignored your pleas to let go.

The small droplets of blood fell from his sword and led a trail to the small cabin, and inside, he dropped it and shoved you in, slamming the door shut. You were oblivious to Geralt's possessiveness toward you until now.

Geralt stalked toward you, and you began to walk backward, stopping when you hit the wall. He trapped you as he put both of his hands near your head. "I am the only man who will ever be allowed to touch you. Any other man who attempts will be killed by me; the man you just saw was an example."

“Do you understand?” Geralt was waiting for a response from you—any response. However, you gave none. You just stood there, staring right back at him. His jaw ticked, and he asked again. “Do you understand?” You began to stammer out your words. “I.. understand.” 

You’d never been scared of Geralt until now. “I don’t believe you fully do." His eyes looked over your face, and a wicked smile formed. "But you're about to..."

Your heart began to beat out of your chest. Geralt pulled on your hair, causing your head to bend backward, and his other hand gripped your jaw as he grazed his teeth along your neck and up to your mouth, where he smashed his lips against yours.

With his hands still on your hair, Geralt steered you backward until you struck the table on the other side of the room. Every object on the table was shoved off its surface by his hands.

He began to rid himself of his attire. You tried to move, but he stopped you with his large hand, encircling your throat. “Don’t.” He said it with a threatening tone.

His eyes ranked over your body for a moment before he tore off your clothing.

Geralt aggressively started to assault your lips once more, his tongue dominating yours. His hands began to harshly massage your breasts, and he pushed you down on the table.

As soon as you felt the cold surface underneath you, he intruded your cunt with his cock. "Geralt, wait!” you yelled. With no concern for your being, Geralt stretched your walls, causing you to experience an unparalleled level of pain.

Tears welled in your eyes and your nails scraped against the wooden surface. You could feel his sac hitting your ass each time he pushed back into you.

“I'm the only person who is allowed to see your body, to touch you, and to fuck you until you can't remember who or where you are."

His tone turned harsh. "Fucking"—thrust—"take"—thrust—"it". Geralt said this through clenched teeth.

The pain that had consumed you was subsiding, and an overwhelming amount of pleasure replaced it. You couldn’t help the whimpers that fell from your lips.

Geralt moved his hands from your hips to your throat, squeezing lightly. His growls became louder: “The feel of your cunt is astonishing; all mine, all the time, whenever I want."

Mindlessly, you spoke to him. “Yes, all yours whenever you please.” Another moan fell from your lips.

Geralt closed his eyes, trying to control himself before losing control, but you drove him insane with everything about you. His body shook as he felt your walls tighten around his cock. “Fuck..” 

You reached out and wrapped your slender fingers around his wrist as you reached for release. “Yes, come all over my cock. Show me how good I make you feel."

His thumb rubbed across your jaw as he loosed his grip around your neck and bent down to kiss you, this time more softly. Your vibrant red crimson covered his cock from losing the girl you were to becoming a woman.

He carried you to his bed. “For now, rest. I'm going to show you more how you belong to me.”

Taglist: @shellyshellshell @identity2212 @chloe92 @juliaorpll78 @nighttimestan

[stars-before-sunrise]

(HCs) When you're riding them

joel miller, miguel o'hara, marc spector, geralt of rivia

reader is: female

warnings: minors dni. smut. 18+

taglist: @evyiione

Masterlist

Joel Miller

He's watching you. He's lying on his back, hands on your thigh and circling your clit. The sounds you're making are so filthy, so raw, and Joel's loving every single bit of it. The way you're absolutely lost in the pleasure, lifting yourself up and down his cock, it's enough to drive him over the edge. "you're doing so good baby girl." "Joel.." You moan. "'M gonna cum.." "mm-hmm. can feel you squeezing my cock. fuck, gettin' so tight for me." Joel keeps moving your hips back and forth as you cum, collapsing on top of him and panting. Joel chuckles and raises his brow at you. "why'd you stop, baby? I'm not finished." You try to push yourself back up, but when Joel notices your legs shaking, he just flips you over and starts fucking you himself. "look at my little girl, can't even hold herself up for her daddy. so messy for me, sweetheart."

Miguel O'Hara

He loves, loves, loooooves to tease. He loves to see you struggle taking his entire length, and when you just can't take it anymore, he'll grab your hips and push you down further. His tip is kissing and pushing your cervix in such a painful yet delicious way. "Aw, what's wrong, princesa? you can take it, can't you? I know you can.." "Miguel.. it's too much.." You whine. "Look," he brings your hand to feel where his base is. He's all the way inside, and you gasp. Miguel pushes the bulge on your lower abdomen and smirks. "All the way up there." You ride him slowly. The stretch, the sting, it's all too much.. but Miguel's not a patient man. In the end, he's controlling your movements, bouncing you up and down despite your protests, and there's nothing you can do to stop him. "too much for you, baby? is that why your eyes are rolling back now?" "is my princess so cock-drunk she can't even think straight?"

Marc Spector

"Ngh. Fuck. Just like that." Marc's buried his face into your neck, leaving bites and kisses all over. He's holding you so close it's a little hard to move, so you settle with rolling your hips. Marc moans at your actions. You've never seen him so disheveled before. He's sweating and looking at you like he's begging you to pleasure him. "Please, baby. I need to cum. please. let me cum?" He's clawing at your back, and you moan, nodding and giving him permission to paint your walls white. Marc holds you down in place as he ruts into you. But just as you're about to pull away, he holds you still and continues thrusting slowly. "M-Marc-" "Just one more. Please make me cum again? I wanna cum inside you one more time.. just one more." You're beyond exhausted at that point, but Marc keeps begging for just one more. And so how can you refuse him?

Geralt

"Well go on, then." Geralt is soaking in his tub while he waits for you to sink yourself onto him. You've been eyeing him all night, and when he finally invites you up to his room, you'd thought it's all a dream. He watches you carefully while drinking his ale, and you finally take his cock inside you, your pussy squeeze-loving the stretch of his cock. Your hands are on his chest, and he holds them behind you. "Keep them there." He says. You move yourself, rocking your hips and keeping a steady rhythm, and Geralt can't stop staring at your soap covered breasts. He takes the slippery bud between his fingers, rolling it and loving the way you sigh. Oh what you'd give to be able to touch him right now. He chuckles and slaps your butt. "Come on, you can do better than that, can't you?" You whine and pick up your pace, water splashing everywhere. "That's a good girl..."