#if he wasn’t Geralt maybe

[rocinawanda]

After putting it off for a... while

I finally watched The Witcher S3 and yeah that sure was a season.

rip Tissaia your lightning magic was cool

my favourite part of the season was probably just Geralt, Ciri and Yen going about living and trying to train her. Ciri jumping onto Geralts back had my heart. everything else was just kind of bleh

with this show my interest was mostly in Geralt and Ciri’s dynamic so S2 was for sure the best in my opinion and this new one just went downhill as the wider politics don’t grip me at all.

with how S2 ended I really thought we’d see more of Emhyr but it was just a lot of people chasing Ciri around for episodes on end.

and given Henry leaving, i’m gonna say this is my stop and i’m getting off the witcher train but enjoy the rest guys

[hanzajesthanza]

people (the rest of the hanza. not including geralt) often forget that cahir was 1. the guy that kidnapped ciri 2. an officer in the military

he’s literally so polite in geralt’s company you wouldn’t even guess he was the black knight. and yet. and yet.

i’m never certain exactly how to reconcile this tactful and strategic mind with the terrified young man

[ultralightpoe]

Spellbound - Geralt

Spellbound - Geralt

Authors Note: I’m back because I quit my job and have a better schedule at the new job 

Warnings: semi smut 

Word Count: 4012

Description: geralt fights his feelings until you get trapped in a spell 

brothel worker! reader x geralt 

Enjoy!

Geralt was going to tear whoever did this to you to pieces. He would gouge their eyes out and make them eat them. 

That was just one of the thoughts that rang through his mind as he cradled you in his arms, your nose bleeding onto his now naked torso, the shirt you had torn off of him a mere moment ago nearly in the fire. 

This was not supposed to be how this happened, this wasn’t supposed to happen at all. He had made himself stay away for this exact reason, everything he loved was destroyed. 

The witcher had always been against you joining the group. 

You had been a brothel worker when you came upon Jaskier six months ago, walking the streets with achy legs from a long shift, smelling of the salt water you had bathed in when you saw a group of men holding him up and beating on him. 

A yell had crossed your lips and without thinking you picked up a log near your feet, launching at the men and swinging anywhere you could to scare them off, hitting a couple of them harshly before they finally scampered away leaving you standing in the mud with a log and the poor fool laying bloody and beaten on the ground. 

You had brought him to your tiny rooms at the brothel, helped him clean up and soon enough he was asking you to join them. You hesitated for a moment, watching him use one of your rags to dot at the cuts along his face before shrugging. 

Anything is better than the life of a brothel worker, right?

Wrong. 

Brothels didn’t have the annoying attitude of Geralt the fucking Witcher. Okay well some did since Jaskier admitted to Geralt being a frequent guest of them, but you had never seen him and you wished you never met him either. 

He spent every waking moment snapping at you, or blatantly ignoring you when you were trying to ask questions. It was either you didn’t exist or everything you did was wrong, and you could never figure out why the way he treated you bothered you so fucking much. 

Men had done far worse to you in that brothel, but Geralt giving you the cold shoulder nearly brought you to tears? What?

Then again none of the men that came to the brothel were like Geralt at all. None of them had those melting golden eyes or the firm touch of a protector, none of them could turn a sword in their hands the way he does or make anyone feel at ease in his presence. 

Well……anyone but you. 

Maybe he knew you had feelings for him, maybe he hated your guts. Many reasons why he never wanted to talk to you filled your head and none of them were good. 

You spent your days obsessing over a man that barely glanced back at you, your horse in the back of the group with Jaskier always a force between you both. 

Geralt takes a moment to tie the corset of your dress so you weren’t exposed before pulling you into his arms and laying you on his bed, moving to grab a cloth from the basin in the corner of the inn room. 

When he returns to your side he takes a chance to slide the hair from your face, swiping the damp cloth along the blood trail your nose left in soft strokes as he watches you sleep. He would make sure you were breathing and comfortable before he went out and broke some limbs. 

It had been six months of that behavior, and it was truly beginning to wear you down. 

The days were spent either passive aggressively ignoring him back for scoffing at any mistake of yours he pointed out. Today was a passive aggressive silent game. 

He had woken you up by snapping in your face and the months of travel and anger were beginning to catch up so you had slapped his hand out of your face, watching a small amount of shock fill his face before his eyes narrowed in anger. 

“You overslept….again.” In the beginning you would have a snarky retort, something mocking his breath or face, but now you merely rolled your eyes and turned your back to him as you packed up your bedroll. He doesn’t seem to understand your silent game since he tries to piss you off once more. “We are going to be behind if you keep sleeping like this.”

It would be so easy to turn around and tell him to shove off, but then he would know he had that effect so you simply picked you belongings up, fixed your boots and walked to the horses where Jaskier sat atop his own. 

The bard gives you a knowing look as you mount your own horse after fixing everything onto it, legs swinging with a natural ease and a slight warmth on your thigh. When you look down you see Geralt's hand placed on it, and you realize he had helped you up. “Are you angry with me? Or have you lost your voice?”

“Just matching the treatment given to me.” You snark, a feeling of pride in your chest when you see him all but snarl. You kick the horse into gear after that, this time taking the lead as his hand slips from your thigh and he rushes to Roach. 

By the time he catches up he makes Roach walk alongside your horse, his face furious. “The treatment I gave you?”

You hum out, moving to speed up your horse but Geralt is too quick, within moments he has the reins of your horse in his hand, pulling on them until you are close enough for your thighs to touch. 

“Answer me.”

You hum again, your heartbeat rising and you wonder if he can hear it when his eyes cast down to your chest before looking back at you. 

“Humming is not an answer.”

You hum once more, moving to snatch the reins but his hand reaches out to grab your jaw. “I need to hear your voice.”

You slap his hand away once more and snatch the reins, giving him a glare before moving forward. 

“I don’t understand.” He grunted to Jaskier later that day, fixing his travel pack on roach as the bard leans against the same post the horses were tied to. You had gone to the market to grab some necessities and when Geralt demanded to go with you he had been met with another empty hum and Jaskier had told him to back down. 

“She’ll avoid attention if she isn’t traveling with a witcher, not to mention she knows how to bargain for cheaper prices when she isn’t flanked by your glare.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He growls, watching the bard smirk.

“The market workers like the attention she can give them-”

“We agreed she didn’t have to do any of that stuff if she traveled with us.”

“She does this willingly, and even so it’s not the same as in the brothel. She doesn’t have to offer up her-” A heavy growl slips from Geralt and Jaskier chooses not to finish his sentence, instead rolling his eyes and moving to his own horse. “I think you would be better off if you just told her you love her.”

“I do not-”

“Oh hush. I see you watch her sleep every morn, then I see you yell at her for waking up late because you forgot to wake her up.” He laughs. “And I see you hover whenever she mounts and dismounts Lugo. Not to mention the way you give her the bigger rations of whatever we eat and-”

“Fuck off.” 

Jaskier takes the win and turns away from the witcher, fiddling with the lute while Geralt tries to make himself look busy. 

After a moment of silence the witcher stands quickly. “Why won’t she speak to me?”

A laugh escapes the bard once more. “Because you ignore her any chance you get?”

“I do not.” 

“Well I know that. But she doesn’t, because you never even bother talking to her. You’d rather silently pine like a lost-” He trails off when he sees you emerge from the hills, sacks of produce in your arms with a small smile on your face. “Fresh hells.”

“The men were ready to lose their money today boys!”

“Did they bother you?” Geralt growls and you give him a glare back before shoving the sack of apples into his chest. 

Once he is sure you are breathing properly he covers you with the blanket, before moving to grab his sword, careful not to wake you up. 

You spend the rest of the day simply ignoring them both, too busy being proud of the way you scammed the merchants and all you had to do was lift your skirt to your knee. 

Geralt kept Roach near your own horse, and Jaskier took the back for once, all of you traveling in silence until Jaskier begins to whine. 

“It has been forever since we slept indoors.”

Silence follows for a moment before Geralt turns to glare at him. “And Y/n just saved us so much coin we can each get a room in the next town.”

“This is true! I did!” You laugh, turning to look at Jaskiers mopey face. 

“Fuck.” Geralt grunts, turning back to the road so he doesn’t have to look at either of you again. 

Jaskier is still sitting in the hall with his lute, strumming softly in the drunken daze as the crowd they had gathered earlier has finally died down. 

“Bard.” Geralt grunts, trying to get his attention. But Jaskier doesn’t move, simply keeps his eyes closed as he plays a chord. So Geralt kicks his chin. 

The bard before him jumps up with a shout before his eyes land on the white haired witcher before him. 

“I got us all rooms and I found you in a hallway.” 

“I was merely resting for a moment.” He sighs, reaching down to grab the ale mug filled with coins he earned from his performance. “It’s hard to be a -”

The silver amulet is shoved in his face before he can finish the sentence, eyes widening as Geralt grunts. “Who gave this to Y/n?”

“The charming blonde who had been dancing with her all night while you sat in the back and glared.”

“Where did he disappear to?”

“You mean after you snatched her?”

By the time the three of you made it to the next town your ass was worn from the saddle and you were a bit wobbly when you got down, Geralt standing behind you and you scoffed as you looked at him. “Waiting for me to fall so you can lecture me?”

He opens his mouth to respond and you find yourself excited that he is actually about to answer back before he huffs and glares before disappearing. And once more you are left feeling like nothing. 

You watch as he disappears into the tavern before turning to Jaskier. “I asked around at the market…”

“About?”

“About work.”

“Ah!” He smiles, moving to lean on you. “And what did you find for our dear witcher to do?”

“Not for him actually.” Your throat tightens as you struggle to find the words. Jaskier doesn’t seem to catch on to your solemn mood. 

“Oh? A performance for me? I’m sure I can prepare a lullaby or two-”

“For me.” You interrupt, pulling yourself away from him and crossing your arms uncomfortably as he stares at you. 

“For…..you?” You nod at his question, trying to gain some power here. “What do you-”

“Madame Horchels brothel is in this town, she is famous within word and if I met with her then I am sure I would be set up with a room and a hot meal a day-”

“Why in fucks sake would you ever want to go back to that?”

Tears were welling in your eyes as he stared at you and you struggled to find words. “I am just……tired of feeling useless and pathetic……”

“So you would go back to whoring?”

“You don’t have to act so disgusted!” You snap, shame filling you at his reaction. “I never saw you complaining about my past when I was flirting with guards or-”

“I am sorry, I never meant to judge. I just think…..” He sighs out and rubs his face aggressively before moving to pull you into a hug. “It’s been a cold couple days. How about we go in and get a drink, a good night's rest in actual beds before we make decisions? Yeah?”

A hooded figure passes you both to get into the tavern and you simply shrug. “I think my mind is made up Jask.”

“I think it would be a mistake and we would miss you terribly……..okay I would miss you terribly.”

“Why would you miss her?” Geralt snaps out from a couple steps away, eyes squinted in an angry manner. He had originally come to snap at you both to watch your surroundings but had caught the tail end of the conversation instead. 

“Y/n here was just rushing a decision. But we aren’t gonna talk about that, right now a round of ale on me.”

“You spent all your coin two towns ago on new strings for your lute.” Geralt reminds, eyes never leaving your figure. 

“Then I shall make more coin!” He cheers, pulling you into the tavern and snatching the room keys from Geralt. 

Things escalated from there, and any time Geralt asked about their conversation they changed the subject and he was beginning to lose his mind. Were you okay? Why would Jaskier miss you? Why was he so worried about this? He watched you drink all night, ignoring him, and he watched as many of the men in the tavern asked you for a dance. He knew none of the men were a threat, and you knew how to handle them, even if it got out of control he could have his sword to their throat with a mere minute. So he didn’t really pay attention to your dance partners. 

 But one in particular caught his attention, the hooded figure that had walked too close to you both earlier had emerged from his corner and asked for a dance, and something in Geralt screamed for him to go and get you away. But he didn’t, instead he sat back and drank, allowing you room to have fun. 

The blonde stranger whirled you around and spun you and bought you drink after drink. Your eyes glazed over and your smile was wide enough to split your face, a jealous feeling crept into Geralts chest and the urge to punch the stranger grew and grew as Jaskier played song after song. 

“Can I get you another drink?” 

“Hmm?” Geralts attention snaps from your figure to the tavern wench beside him, giving him a small smile. 

“Another ale?”

“I think I am fine. Thank you-” She doesn’t wait, walking away since she didn’t get more coin and when Geralt sneaks his attention back to you he can’t help but slam his empty mug down. 

The stranger had you turn around with you lifting your hair as he placed an amulet on your neck, kissing your shoulder and before Geralt could stop himself he lunged to grab you. 

One moment you are giggling about the gorgeous, the next you are thrown over Geralts shoulder as he shoves the gorgeous fae away from you, hauling you up the stairs of the inn with no care. 

“Put me down!” You shout, slamming your hand into his back as he walks through the first hall then up the next flight of stairs. 

“You’ve had too much to drink.” 

“And you care why?”

“Because that man would take advantage.’ He growls. 

“Well he gave me a necklace, that’s how the business works.” You giggle, reaching up to touch the necklace but the world whirls once more as Geralt places your feet on the ground and pushes you into the wall. His hand stopped your head from hitting the wood but the rest of you was pressed between him and the wall. 

“Don’t do that.” 

“Do what?” You ask breathlessly, watching his face with adoration. Had he always been so…..

“Joke about that. You need something then I will get it for you.” 

“What if I want the prettiest jewels in the kingdom?”

“Then I kill more beasts.” He was dead serious and the hazy feeling was taking over so before you know it you find yourself leaning in to whisper “What is I want an orgasm?”

A red tint crosses his neck but his face remains serious as he leans his head against yours to whisper. “Then you ask me.”

And for a moment you can’t breathe, you find yourself aching, every part of you wanting to touch him suddenly. But before you can he whispers once more. “But not tonight. My first time with you will be sober.” 

Then the wood behind you disappears and you realize he had pressed you against the door to your room. Landing in a ball on the floor he sends a small smile before slamming the door and the heat that had filled you dims for a moment. 

But just for a moment. 

You pull yourself up from the floor, moving to the bed before the aching returns and your body heats up twice as bad. Everything begins going hazy as a sweat covers you and then you lose it. 

“I need to go.” Geralt snaps, shoving Jaksier to the direction of the stairs. “You go watch her. Don’t let her make any more mistakes.”

“Where are you- Geralt? What happened?! Hello?!” Jaskier calls after the witcher, watching him storm through the tavern before slamming the doors on his way out. With a deep sigh the bard grabs his jacket and mug of coins before making his way to find the rooms. 

It had been an hour since he left you in your room and Geralt could not relax himself. Jaskier had just stopped singing and Geralt was still pacing the inn room, back and forth back and forth. 

The aching hard on he had refused to go away, the image of your dazed eyes all he could think about, and the way you whispered to him had him so close to snapping all together. But he didn’t, and you were safe in your room with him just two doors down. But the floorboards creaking by his door caught his attention, and he reached for the sword as the doorknob jiggled. 

Stepping towards it slowly as it creaks open only to reveal you, standing in the hall in nothing but your dress slip and a flushed face. “Geralt-” You moan out and his knees nearly buckle when you rush in and slam the door. 

The sword falls from his hands so he can catch you when you come hurdling to him, pulling him in for a harsh kiss. Your lips melt into his and you moan in victory when he kisses back, pressing yourself against him as your hands fly into his hair. 

His own hands find purchase on you hips, and before he can tell himself not to he moves them to start a grinding motion the both of your would like. It stays like this for a moment until you bite his lip on a particularly aggressive moan, pulling back to catch a breath as you press your hips into his harder than before. 

For a second he admires you, the way your face scrunches up in pleasure and the moans that he is pulling from your lips, letting out a heavy ‘FUCK’ when you circle your hips. 

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease.” You gasp out, hands dragging from his hair to his chest before you start tearing the clasps on his shirt, scratching it a bit in your struggle to get it off. “Ineedyou, it hurtssobad-” 

This makes him hesitate, pulling back a little just as you fling his shirt, your hands flying to undo the slip and he finally catches your eyes. Only they weren’t the eyes he had fallen in love with, instead they were a deep red. 

“Y/n?” He asks, heartbeat racing as he snatches your wrists in one hand, the other coming to grab you chin. “Look at me.”

“Geralt, please. It hurts.” You whine and the gem in the amulet glows the same red as your eyes. 

Dread fills him as he reaches down to tear it off you, the silver cutting you a bit before he chucks it across the room. 

He couldn’t breathe properly as he watched you come down from the spell, anger filling him. You hadn’t meant any of this, this had been a spell. 

He was a fucking fool. 

“Geralt?” You breathe out, taking in the room before looking at his shirtless torso and the small scratches you had made to get the shirt off. “What-”

And just like that you were gone. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your nose started bleeding as you passed out, he barely caught you before you hit the floor. “Fuck.”

You awake mid day- the sun blaring in through the blinds and you do your best to cover your eyes.  “Oh make it stop-”

“There are no covers for the window.” Jaskier sighs from where he is laying on the floor. “I tried stealing the blanket from you and you hissed at me.”

“Serves you right….” You mumble, taking in the room as you realize that last night hadn’t been a dream after all and a deep embarrassment fills you. 

“H-have…..have you seen Geralt?” You ask, leaning over the bed to look at him.

“He left around sunrise in a pissy mood.”

“Did he… did he say anything?” You felt like an utter fool, and you were doing your best not to be sick. 

“Said to watch you so you didn’t make any more mistakes.”  Jaskier shrugs before yawning. 

“He said that? He said mistake?” Your voice cracks as you wrap the blanket tighter around yourself. 

“He did. I assumed he caught you with the blonde gu- Y/n? What’s the matter?”

“I…… I have to go.” You rush out, jumping over him to leave the room. 

- - - - -

Geralt finds Jaskier waiting at the horses when he rides up, tired and cranky, and he gets even crankier when he sees that your horse is empty of all your travel bags. 

“Is she not awake? Do we need to get a healer?” He rushes out, launching from roach to get to the tavern only for Jaskier to hold the lute in front of him. 

“She woke up several hours ago, it’s nearly dusk.” 

“Then where is she?”

“Gone.”

“Gone?” His heart is racing too fast and he’s hoping that Jaskier starts laughing soon and this is all a joke. 

“I told her you said to make sure she didn’t make any more mistakes and she got really sad and started crying as she packed up.” He explains. “She went to this brothel and they wouldn’t let me in but they let her in and she came out to say bye soon after that.”

“She went to a brothel?!” He snaps, grabbing the collar of Jaskiers dress coat. 

“Don’t blame me! This is your doing!”

“How. So.”

“You were the one that made her feel worthless! Never looking at her and always in her business about her mistakes-”

“Her mistakes get her hurt, or worse, killed!”

“Then tell her that! Rather than yell at her all the time with no explanation-”

“Where is the brothel?”

“It’s no use.”

“Where. Is. The. Brot-”

“She made a deal! The madame owns her!”

“Not on my fucking watch.” Geralt snaps, mounting the roach in one fluent move before nodding to Jaskier. “Hurry.”

He had to get you. 

Part Two

[endiness]

okay, i have gone through probably 50+ s2 interviews of hc researching this so far and i have to say that at this point i really don't see how he wasn't deliberately trying to manipulate the fanbase and the media against the writers and the show to get them onto his side. (and also, like, a very specific, extremely toxic section of the fandom at that.) (it's the sexist incel gamerbros. i'm talking about them.)

"I wanted to represent as much of a book-accurate Geralt as possible and a lot of the fans did as well, and so I campaigned really hard to make sure that he was more verbose, he sounded more intellectual, his choice of words was more thought out and that his approach to Cirilla and everyone else wasn’t antagonistic. Because it initially came across as he was just grumpy all the time with everyone and everything and I really wanted to show this three-dimensional character […] It’s gonna be tough to do the stuff which is as brilliant as Sapkowski’s writing, but it’s something I’m always gonna campaign for and it’s hopefully fit into the vision of the show."

there are so many interviews (ie virtually every interview out of 50+ with the exception of maybe, like, 3) where hc says the exact same thing about how he just cares so much about book accuracy, specifically where geralt's characterization is concerned, and that he really started to push for a more book accurate geralt in s2 and wanted him to be more verbose and intelligent and show that he isn't just a one dimensional character who just grunts and says hmm all the time like in s1 — and at no point does he ever take any responsibility for how that was due to his acting choices in the first place because he would cut his lines.

he also just straight up lies about the situation because the writers originally wrote geralt as being more verbose and book accurate in s1 but then changed the way they were writing him due to the acting choices he made. and yet he acts like that was never the case and that geralt was never originally written that way and he pushes this idea that a book accurate geralt went against lauren's vision. even though, once again, that was the original vision and it only changed due to him.

and on the extremely rare occasion (i'm talking, like, maybe 2 con panels here) that he ever takes any kind of responsibility for his role in all of that, he still waffles about and tries to present this image that he wasn't really cutting that many lines and they weren't really that important anyway and it didn't really matter:

"I didn't even cut that much. Just little bits when someone says how they feel, I thought if Geralt says nothing, and maybe the well-known grunts or hmms and sometimes the occasional f-word, people can take from that what they will."

even though that can't be true as confirmed by joey:

"Henry likes to cut his lines, 'cause he's lazy. No, he literally just likes to cut them. He likes to do more up here [frames his face with his hands] and just with face and hmms and grunts. There's a lot of hmms, and so I often have to take a lot of his lines and turn it into a lot of my stuff so that the plot happens."

and even hc himself confirms this and what joey said in a s1 interview:

"All the grunts, I either added or I didn't say anything and just grunted instead. It was often up to the other actors to go, 'I think he's not gonna say anything now.'"

i also have to point out that hc directly links his push for a more book accurate geralt to reading comments on reddit as i think that's very relevant to what section of the fandom exactly that he's pandering to and why he's been so vocal about it while lying about the role he played in everything and what actually happened:

"I’m on all the Reddit forums. I’m reading all the reviews. I’m literally trying to get everyone’s information. Some of it is not useful, and other criticisms are incredibly useful. I take it all in, and I look forward to bringing it even closer and closer to Sapkowski’s writing. I think any of those criticisms, they often lie in things like I was saying—we don’t have the advantage of a long involved conversation or dialogue with Geralt, so they are criticisms which I think I was prepared for. So for me, it’s about seeing that, understanding it, and working out how I can do my job better within the framework provided, [how to] appease and make those people feel comfortable that I do actually understand this character—and love this character just as much as they do."

"As a source for information, it's really helpful for me to see what everyone's saying, what everyone's thinking, and to see how much my thinking falls in line with whichever side of that spectrum it is and whether I'm doing the wrong thing, for example, by campaigning hard for the book Geralt to exist or whether I'm doing the right thing."

and just another important thing to point out imo: virtually the only times hc ever takes any responsibility in any capacity whatsoever for his own role in the show not adhering to the books (which even then he barely does and it's still always with a lot of excuses), it's only ever at con panels — which are far less likely to get picked up by news outlets and seen by a broader audience — and not in formal interview settings. (except for, i think, one interview he gave early on when s2 first went on hiatus. but even then, it still has the same problems that the con panels have where he comes up with a lot of excuses that don't match what happened.)

then there's an interview hc gave where he went on about how he added some book dialogue into a scene and he made it out to be like it was some kind of rebellion against the writers and he didn't consult them as he was just going to do what he wanted, consequences be damned:

"I did not feel like having long discussion about whether I could add this bit somewhere. So I just did it, said the words in front of the camera, and was ready to face the consequences."

and meanwhile what actually happened was that lauren eventually let hc have free reign and rewrite a scene that he was unhappy with. which, y'know. kinda fucking weird to present what happened in the way he did.

and then there's him pushing this narrative that the female characters — namely yennefer and ciri — were given more depth and focus than geralt and the male characters as if that came at their expense and all of which is somehow due to lauren's women-centric vision of the show as if that's somehow opposed to how the books themselves are:

"On season two, I wanted to bring as much of 'Book' Geralt into the show that Lauren's vision and that the plot would allow. That's a tricky thing to do, because the plot, as Lauren has said, is very centred around bringing women into the centre of The Witcher."

"In Season 1, there wasn't really much of an opportunity for expansive dialogue which Geralt is known for — in the books, he's often known to monologue — because we had two original origin stories which were the center point of the show."

"Lauren’s vision was more of an ensemble piece than the first Witcher books. It’s driven a lot more by the characters of Yennefer and Cirilla."

"I wanted to make sure we really explored as much as showrunner's vision could allow. She has her own plan, so I’ve got to toe that line between book Geralt and Lauren’s vision."

"I wanted to try and bring as much of the book’s Geralt into Season 2 as possible, and as much as the vision, the plot and storylines would allow. The toughest part for me was finding that balance between the showrunners’ vision and my love for the books, and trying to bring that Geralt to the showrunners’ vision."

"It’s important for me to have the character be three-dimensional and it’s tricky to do, as I was saying earlier, because there’s a certain vision and there’s a certain set, storyline and plot. And so, it was about me trying to find Geralt’s place within that."

"There’s only so much space to provide the same character from the books within the showrunner’s vision. But, I did my best to provide a bit more of a three-dimensional character with a bit more emotionality."

"It's important to me that the men in the story are three dimensional as well."

like, first off — and not to continually reiterate this but — that's not true. in s1, geralt was originally written as being just as verbose and intellectual as he was in the books and that only changed due to hc cutting his lines and we know that joey often had to take his lines, too. so there was, in fact, always plenty of time for geralt to be book accurate and for yennefer and ciri to have their own focus. these things were never mutually exclusive and it's definitely some kinda take to imply otherwise.

secondly, while it is true that geralt is the main character of the short stories, ciri is the main character of the main series starting from blood of elves, the book that s2 adapted. and despite claims otherwise, her pov has always had the most focus — yes, even more than geralt (sans baptism of fire, obvs.) and it's not like ciri is the only female pov, either, or that there aren't other important female characters that make up the series. there's yennefer, triss, milva, philippa, fringilla, nimue, condwiramurs, kenna — and that's just off the top of my head. there are plenty more where that came from. women and their stories have always played a central role in the books. nothing about that goes against them or is unique to lauren's vision.

and just with boe in particular, like. triss's pov is either focused on more than geralt's or at least about as much as his depending on how you want to break things down. and with dandelion following very close behind them, too! like, ciri may be the main character of the main series and geralt may be the main character of the short stories and their povs are the most focused on overall, but the books are still very much an ensemble piece made up of a collage of many, many povs to paint a full picture of the universe. and, yeah, the women make up a huge part of that. so the show focusing on ciri and yennefer and the women — and, yes, the men as well because it does actually do that! — is um, still book accurate. so y'know, why the fuck is he presenting this idea that's somehow not the case.

in general, hc emphasizes in a lot of interviews how much he fought for "male characters to be three dimensional." which yeah, given the context of everything else, is some suspicious kinda phrasing because it gives this undertone that the show wasn't writing three dimensional male characters in the first place as opposed to the women and that it's only due to his efforts that anything changed.

also, i have to highlight this quote of him talking about the three dimensionality of men because ~curious that he omits women from the list of people real menTM can be loving and caring toward:

"I believe that real men are very sensitive. They are very capable of doing things which can be violent, if possible, or necessary. But at the same time, they are incredibly capable of love and caring amongst men and towards children and family and all sorts."

and then there's the way hc talks about changing things which comes across as so suspicious, too, imo. especially when there is every other cast member to compare him to. because the way the rest of the cast has talked about this is that they all very consistently say that the whole process is very collaborative and that lauren is very much willing to hear them out about their thoughts and concerns and that it really feels like a team effort and that everyone is working together. and meanwhile the vibes that hc gives off is either "me vs the world (ie the writers)" or "but there's nothing that i can really do to change anything and it's all on the writers~" either way, his attitude very much comes off like all bad decisions are the writers' fault but meanwhile any good decision was due to him and him alone (or maybe the rest of the cast, but definitely not the writers.) like, weird af to play it off that way especially since every other cast member didn't seem to have any problems and they all gave credit where credit was due ie to lauren and the writers.

in conclusion, it'd be one thing if hc had just taken the l and admitted that he is the one who fucked up geralt's characterization in s1 and so he sought to rectify that in s2. but yeah, he doesn't really do that. instead he lies over, like, 50 times to create this narrative of him pushing for book accuracy as if that's somehow in opposition to lauren and the writers and as if they didn't originally write geralt book accurately in the first place and as if he played no role in the lack of book accuracy at all. and then that there's also him pushing this subtle (or not so subtle) narrative about how the women were taking a more central role as opposed to the men and that's somehow unlike the books and something purely due to lauren's vision, too? even though women have always played a central role in the books to the point where ciri is the main character of the main series? and that he's directly linked this narrative he's pushing to reading comments on reddit? (and that he also has a history, since s1, of trying to cater to game stans?) yeah, i just don't see how this doesn't add up to him trying to manipulate the media and audience — especially the worst parts of the fanbase — against the writers and the show and onto his side.

(also just one last thing i'd like to note as i find it super weird that when hc was asked about giving freya any advice, he immediately shut down the notion that he would ever do anything like that and he would never offer her any unsolicited advice and he would only ever give her any if she came to him first. like, there are literally s1 and s2 interviews where freya talks about hc giving her advice. i mean, maybe she did come to him in the first place, idk. but the immediacy in which he shut down the idea that he would ever do anything like that as if offering someone younger than you advice and being a mentor to them is wrong… weird. sus, even. like, why are you scrambling to cover your ass for something that's not even bad and, also, why are you lying about it by omission in the very least.)

[deandoesthingstome]

Back to Reality - A Final Fantasy

Pairing: Werewolf!Walter x Reader

Summary: Go get your wolf, girl!

Word Count: 5.2K

Warnings: 18+, NO MINORS, oral sex (m and f receiving), p in v (missionary), fingering, monster fucking (right?).

A/N: A little angst never hurt anyone, right? It'll all be okay. I swear. I wanted to get this out the day after Geralt, but life. At any rate, I think this is it for now. A real nice end to spoopy season with Walter.

Fantasy Hotel Masterlist

“Hi.” 

He wasn’t right there when you turned from the counter after picking up your coffee, but he was standing close enough that there was no mistaking who he was greeting. Had he been any closer, you probably would have sloshed your latte all over his chunky, dark blue sweater and you were glad you stopped short when you saw him. You didn’t think he’d want to smell like pumpkin spice the rest of the day.

“Hi yourself,” you smiled, a little shyly. 

When you asked at the front desk if they really meant anything, and then again if they could get a message to Walter, you had no idea he’d show up at your regular coffee shop the very same day. As in the day after the night you'd just been with another man. It wasn’t as awkward as you’d thought it might be, but it wasn’t exactly relaxed either.

You'd been dreaming of this moment, but now embarrassment began to creep in and you wondered if you'd made a mistake. Several of them. Four to be exact.

"Would you like to sit and talk with me?"

The urge to sink right to the floor in front of him was hard to resist but you were still at a coffee shop and people were lined up to grab their to-go orders so you found an empty table in a secluded corner and sat yourself down across from him.

His eyes were melancholy and you imagined they matched the lonely howl from your night with August. There was no mistaking it and you wanted to wipe the sorrow from his face but how could you? You were likely the cause and he was probably just here to tell you to forget it as a courtesy since you'd stupidly put your business on blast at the front desk. Fuck.

"You alright over there? You look a million miles away. You sure you're okay to talk with me?"

You took a deep breath and let it rush out.

"It's really nice of you to do this in person. A lot of guys would just not call."

"Not call? What are you...? What do you think is happening here?"

"I mean, you came to tell me to back off, right? Like, you're flattered and all, but you wouldn't, couldn't be with me after everyone I've been with. I mean, you worked with those guys."

"So you know I don't work there anymore. That was the first thing I wanted to say, so good. That's out of the way."

Why would he want you to know that? Maybe so you knew you could keep going back to the hotel and not have to worry about running into him? He continued.

"But why on earth do you think I'm here to tell you to back off?" he raised a quizzical eyebrow at you.

It was as if all the air was suddenly knocked out of you and it was all you could do to gather your wits to answer him.

"Well, I just thought...I mean, you can't possibly want someone who..."

"What? Someone who isn't afraid to go after what she wants?" Now both eyebrows raised.

"Walter. You can't mean that. You...I'm sorry but you don't look like someone who's super excited about the prospect."

He paused.

"I know I look tired. I am tired. I've been up nights trying to figure this out. But, look, my exhaustion is also not all about this. I left the hotel for a few reasons. One was you, but maybe not why you think."

"Well, why did you?"

"It's not ‘cause I fell hard, though I did. And you might think that made it difficult to keep hosting, and you'd be right. But honestly I got torn. Torn between knowing you were having the time of your life, which you absolutely deserve to do, and dealing with the taunting."

"Taunting?"

"Some of the guys figured out how I felt, and one of them started giving me shit about it. Betting me he could steal you from me if you ever made it to his room, not that you were even mine to begin with. And, yeah, feeling the way I do made it harder and harder to host properly so I made a decision."

"You left."

"I left."

You thought back to your night with August and now you knew for certain he was referring to Walter. And after what Geralt had said, you wondered why August gave you an option to shut him out. It sounded like August wanted Walt to see, to know you were being satisfied by another man. You could understand how that must have felt. You had jealous thoughts, too, when you found all Walt’s time slots had been booked. Imagining him with other women, well, it wasn’t all bad, but it wasn’t the greatest feeling in the world either. And yet, Walter indicated there were other reasons he left.

"But that's not all?"

"I was also studying part time and between all the bookings, I was falling farther and farther behind. I had to stay up late to finish assignments and I had an important test coming, so I quit to focus on that because I never wanted to host forever, but once you came along, I never wanted to do it again."

You were speechless. Awestruck. If anyone had told you that Walter felt the same way about you from the get go, as you found yourself feeling about him after weeks of experiences, you would have said they were crazy. And yet, here he was, spilling his guts. He gave it all up without even knowing if he had a shot with you.

"And you don't care I went back? To other rooms?"

Walter looked around the coffee shop, then turned and spoke cautiously to you.

“Can we…? Look, I know we don’t really know each other, and if you want to do this in a public place, I get it. But could we at least take a walk? I feel like everyone’s looking at us and I can’t think straight.”

This man was flustered and you were, too. Confused by all the feelings and emotions and confessions. Plus, what did you really know about Walter anyway?

“I’m going to text some friends and let them know where I am and who I’m with. Is that okay?”

“Yeah. Of course. We’ll just head across the way to the park, okay?”

“I’ll be right out.”

sendmeanangel: you’ll never guess who showed up to get coffee this morning    sendmeanangel: we’re having coffee and talking in the park across from a place called The Runcible Spoon.   sendmeanangel: I’ll text again in an hour so don’t expect any replies until then

Then you shut off your phone and headed out to meet Walter.

MNstrluvr: Ohmygodddd! darkgothnightengale: it’s all happening!!! Where are you now? darkgothnightengale: hello??? I know it’s only been 20 minutes but how can you not have just admitted your feelings and jumped his bones by now? Give us all the details!

You found him on a park bench and sat, one leg drawn up with a foot tucked under your other knee so you could turn to face him while you talked. You wanted him to reach out and touch you as well, run his hand over your arm while you talked, but maybe you weren’t there yet. Maybe that would be awkward.

He took a deep breath and began.

"As to your question from before: I can't lie and say I don't care or wish I'd told you that very night how I thought I was feeling, but I thought it was way too soon to trust those feelings. And since you didn't know, and we weren't together, how could I expect you to just not do what you wanted? That's something else that's kept me up at night. Thinking about how to reconcile my feelings about you with both our pasts.”

Walt went on to tell you how much your night together had affected him. How he couldn’t get you out of his mind. He apologized for the locker room talk. He knew Sy had mentioned it and he felt miserable about it. It was just something they did, share notes in case a guest came back around so they could make sure to work any of their favorite things into the stay. They weren’t usually so personal with the comments, but he’d gotten carried away.

August had been particularly prickish about it, especially when it became clear how uncomfortable talking about the guests was making Walter, even going so far as to taunt Walter with the exact date and time of your reservation in his room. He’d given notice the next day.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“You quit your job over me. Well, sorta. What are you going to do now?”

“I was already working towards my private investigator license. Ironic, huh? A PI and I couldn’t find the one person I really wanted. I asked the hotel, but they were not interested in breaking protocol or the privacy agreement. And until I got the call this morning, I thought I wasn’t on the best of terms with them anyway. I think I left them kinda high and dry. But the desk agent is a friend.”

“Yeah, Geralt mentioned something…” you trailed off, embarrassed to be bringing up your latest conquest.

“Who’s Geralt?” Of course he didn’t know.

“He’s a new host at the hotel,” you answered sheepishly.

“Oh. Right.” Walter looked away for a moment. “Of course.”

“Walter, I’m sorry. I wasn't trying to hurt your feelings.”

“By going back there?” he turned to you again. “How could you know I had feelings to hurt?”

“Well, I knew I had feelings that hurt.”

He stared at you in disbelief as you continued.

“I thought about you almost every day after our night together. I kept going back to different rooms, because I’d had such a good time and I wanted to see what else was out there. And look, I did have good times. I hope that’s not a problem.”

“I hosted other guests after you. I can’t really say anything about it, can I?”

“Right. Okay, well. The more time that went by, the more hosts I met and experiences I had, the more I knew I only wanted you. And then I couldn’t find you.”

“Find me?”

“I tried to re-book your room for weeks. You were always full.”

“You tried… What?”

“I know it’s probably super odd for me to keep going back there the way I have been, and then admit that I also wanted to come back to your room. But it’s true. That’s what’s been happening.”

“I guess the only thing I can say to that is I’m flattered. And then to let you know that if you still feel that way, I’d love to take you out tonight. I’d love to stop talking about all this time we’ve lost and maybe see if we can move forward. Because it took me a while but I realize it doesn't matter either way. Whether you went back or not. You are your own person. You're allowed to experience life the way you want to. I'm just here hoping you want to experience it with me again."

sendmeanangel: okay, i’m back and still alive, but i need a shower. Gimme another hour. I’ll fill you in I swear! MNstrluvr: meana, where are you????? Did you already fuck him???

sendmeanangel: oh my god you guys are insane. It’s only been 45 minutes MNstrluvr: you can’t just drop that and run. You had to have to known we’d need more sooner sendmeanangel: i think i’m allowed to gather all the intel before i share it with you lol darkgothnightengale: you got your intel and then bailed for a shower! Boo! MNstrluvr: so what’s happening? Why are you stalling like this??? sendmeanangel: he’s taking me out on a real, honest-to-goodness date tonight MNstrluvr: YES!!! Where are you going? sendmeanangel: dinner and then a moonlight walk darkgothnightengale: isn’t it a full moon tonight? sendmeanangel: yep ;) MNstrluvr: you are so getting fucked outdoors!! sendmeanangel: Wait someone's at the door. I think it’s my lunch. Hold on. MNstrluvr: send them away and come back to finish this talk!!!

"Walt? What're you...?" you spoke with surprise, thinking he wouldn't be here to pick you up for dinner for another five hours at least. It had only been one since you gave him your address and left him at the park, floating home on cloud nine. Now he stood in front of you, a bag of food in his hand.

"I couldn't wait any longer. I had to just...can I...?" Walter  dropped the bag and made a motion, hands out in something like a plea, knee beginning to bend with something like reverence. Nothing you understood until you nodded your head.

He stepped forward then, into your space, your tiny studio apartment that until now was always just fine for your needs but suddenly seemed three sizes too small for the man who was bending to kiss you and wrap his arms around your thighs, urging you to encircle his waist with your legs as he moved to kick the door closed behind him.

Your fingers tangled in his gorgeous locks as you relished the feel of his lips on yours once more. You'd only experienced that two times with Walter at the hotel, and the urgency of only one of those came even close to the feel of this one, and you suddenly wondered if he'd held something back when he kissed you goodbye back then. The euphoria blinded you to any other movement until you felt your body peeled from his and deposited on your sofa. And not that you minded couch sex, as previously confirmed with Mike, nor were you assured in the moment that couch sex was the end goal, but you wondered briefly when you'd have a moment to help him unfold the futon, since your studio only had enough room for a convertible bed.

For now, Walter simply slipped down to the floor and settled between your thighs, braced his arms tightly against your hips, caressed the bare skin between your shirt and pants with his rough hands, and nuzzled his face into your stomach. You held him close, hands still shifting through his curls and you could swear you heard a whimper, but whether from you or him it didn't seem to matter.

For a few beats, it was just this sweet. A man on his knees before you, somehow awed by your presence and content to be pressed against you, to feel you hold him close. And then it was more. Then it was his mouth, covering a clothed breast with warmth, teeth nipping at the flesh through your shirt, his tongue leaving saliva on the fabric so that it clung to your erect nipple protruding proudly regardless of your bra and top in the way.

When he noticed you staring down, as if surprised by your body’s own response, he simply smirked and moved his attention to the other side. When he tired of the barrier, he slipped his hands up your back under your shirt to unhook your bra, then lifted both articles of clothing up your body and pulled them off your arms, before returning his attention back to your chest and his hands to your hips.

Heat was building, and along with it, an urge to roll up into him. When he felt the movements of your hips, he drew a hand over one thigh to cup it against your clothed sex as he peeled his head back to gaze up at you.

"Just as eager as I am," he grinned. "I like that."

"Please, Walter," you begged, though for what exactly you weren't sure.

"I got you," he emphasized with a firm press of the heel of his palm, dragging it up and over your increasingly sensitive nub to hook his fingers into the waistband of your leggings. At your approval, he removed them and settled back between your legs, though he nuzzled a little lower than before.

He dragged you down, pulling your ass off the edge of the futon so he had a clear path to his objective. You expected him to dive right in, hoping he remembered what he already learned from before, and then he spoke and your mind exploded.

"Such a delightful sight," he said, tracing down the crease of one thigh and up the other with a finger you desperately wanted him to dip inside you. And he could tell. "She's so eager, positively dripping, isn't she?" He squeezed an inside thigh, then nipped and licked the other before speaking again.

"Yes, Walter. Please," you gasped, already anticipating the sensations he was going to create for you. You shuddered and bucked involuntarily at his low chuckle, putting your pussy directly against his lips and he didn't try to resist any longer.

His hunger was apparent, and it matched the desire building in you. He lapped eagerly, licked and sucked with need, tongued expertly at all the spots he already knew were favorites and then he found a few more, too. You tried to hold onto a fleeting thought about his technique before it drifted into the air above you as you found your fingers back in his hair, clutching and pulling him close to your core. Walter feasted like there was no tomorrow and you closed your eyes with the knowledge you were going to have as many tomorrows with this man as you wanted.

When you came it was with the cry of his name on your lips. He crawled up off the floor to settle on the futon beside you, scooping you onto his lap and hugging you close to help steady you.

He placed kisses on your forehead and spoke words into the consciousness you struggled to maintain as your chest heaved. "Shh, I got you. You're good. So good. So beautiful."

"Walter, that was..., jesus..., fuck...," you stammered, barely able to control your thoughts and you wished you could have sunk into the ground below you when you heard the next words out of your mouth. "Did Sy give you pointers?"

Walter's immediate laugh was hearty and heartwarming, dispelling the thoughts you had that you deserved to be tossed across the room for even daring to bring it up.

"I've always known clients prefer him for that over any of the rest of us. I took him out for beers one night and I may have begged for a trick or five. Sy's a good guy and he thought you deserved it, though I'm sure he never would have agreed if he thought I was coming back to the hotel." Walt bent to capture your lips and when he was done kissing you hard and deep, he spoke again. "I do, too. Think you deserve it."

"What about you?" you asked, aware now of a hardness pressing against your flesh through his pants. "Don't you deserve more, too?"

You wiggled off his lap and stood, hand out to urge him up. You swallowed hard as he towered over you, eyes full of desire and lust.

"I deserve whatever you're willing to give me."

"I'll give you everything, Walt," you admitted, fingers already working the buckle of his belt and buttons of his pants.

His lips crashed to yours as soon as he tossed his sweater to the floor and he held you entranced with his tongue even after you dropped his jeans down his legs along with his boxers. It was just a low growl but the sound from the back of his throat was enough to send a wave of slick down your thigh as you clenched around the space where you most desired him to be.

"Fuck, Walter," you gasped into his mouth and begged. "Fuck me, please."

It was a mad dash to remove his boots so he could discard his pants, though not before he grabbed the made-just-for-him condoms from the pocket, and then unfold the futon for a larger surface area on which he could move you around and manipulate your passion. It was no plush cabin bed, but it would have to do.

"Fuck, I wanted this outside tonight," he admitted, staring at you as he rutted into your core with abandon. 

"It's a full moon tonight," you noted, as if he wouldn’t already know that.

"I still wanna fuck you under it," he growled, staring deep into your eyes.

You were losing control, falling up through space and time as you felt every inch of him against every inch of you and it still wasn't enough. You couldn't stop your eyes from closing as you begged him for more.

"Hey," he called, lifting your leg around his waist and when you opened your eyes you saw him smile as you wrapped your other leg the same way without prodding from him. You were mesmerized by the motion of his hips and barely caught the glint, a hint of change to amber, but you did.

“No!” He stilled immediately but you held on as he tried to withdraw from you. “No, stay with me, here just like this. We can do that again, later, whenever. Just,” you drew a hand to cup his face, “please. Like this. Like you. Just you.” You kissed him deep and rolled your hips to spur him on again.

You were prepared to feel less full, less fucked, though not by much, with Walter in human form. You were not prepared for the way he fucked you to feel just as animalistic as the monster. His assault was merciless, even as he grunted in your ear all the ways he was going to make you his. How he planned to take you softly in the moonlight so you’d know it didn’t matter what form he was in, you could have him any way you wanted. 

When you finally came apart for him, he let loose with a loud growl and you were sure your neighbors were gonna call the landlord any minute. He hurried back to your side after disposing of the spent condom, curling around you and melting you in his warmth.

“Do you have anywhere you need to be?” he asked. “I still wanna take you to dinner, but I’d love to just stay here with you for awhile. If that’s okay?”

You were about to answer him, but your returning senses also meant you could hear the buzzing vibrations of notifications on your phone. Shit!

“Uh, no. I don’t have to be anywhere. Maybe you could grab that bag you left outside and we can see what else I can scrounge up for us to eat right now?”

You grabbed your phone as he peeled open the door, careful to tuck himself behind it as he grabbed for the food, lest a neighbor get a view they didn’t pay for.

sendmeanangel: okay look. He’s here. Right now. Can’t talk. All good. MMNstrluvr: MEANA!!! darkgothnightengale: GIRL YOU BETTER SPILL SOON!

You found some chips and salsa and split your sandwich with Walt, not that it looked like nearly enough food to tide him over till dinner. But he didn’t seem to mind. The next few hours flew by as you both sought to learn as much about each other as you could as soon as possible.

He explained that the special skill he had only worked within the confines of a vortex, over which the hotel had been built. It’s why he couldn’t bend time to allow him to study and work and wonder about you without losing sleep somewhere along the way.

After a shower, and some shower head, and then another shower, Walter asked if he could take you somewhere special for dinner. Somewhere not in town. He let you send GPS coordinates to your online friends with the promise they wouldn’t send you any details of the location. He wanted it to be a surprise for you. They were only to use it if you didn’t check in after dinner and again in the morning and once more when you were back at your apartment.

The sun was just sinking low with a burst of evening color when Walt pulled up to the lakeside cabin. He helped you out of his truck, then grabbed your overnight bags and the groceries from the backseat. You couldn’t wait to see the place in the full daylight, but you could already tell it was magical. 

An a-frame cabin with large windows faced the lake. An oversized wooden deck made up a large seating area and all around landing pad in front of the entrance. A set of side steps allowed access from the driveway, but along the full length of the deck three stairs led to a narrower mulched path that in turn led to a wooden dock out onto the lake. A seating area was visible there as well, though there were no chairs.

Walt let you in first, then followed and set the bags down before closing the door.

He must have noticed you still admiring the sunset out the windows.

"I can make it last."

You blinked and turned, curious about what he'd just offered.

"Are we in a vortex then?"

"Yes, I got lucky finding this spot. Don't own the place, yet, so I can't come out whenever I want, but I made sure tonight was free."

"And, I mean, no. It's beautiful but I'm really looking forward to the moon. Can you make that last?"

He bit his lip and nodded, letting a smile and glance drift to the floor, shaking his head as if he still couldn't believe his luck.

"Yeah, I definitely can," he grinned at you before sweeping you into his arms. He kissed you hard and deep and you could feel the way he held back.

"Don't," you said, pulling away from the kiss so you could look him in the eye.

"Don't make it last?" he asked, confusion furrowing his brow.

"Don't hold back."

He did not. Every ounce of your clothing was on the floor next to his in what felt like a heartbeat. He was pawing at every inch of your body and you were enjoying it, the way he caressed you, held you, molded you to his form.

"Outside?"

"Won't matter," he huffed between kisses. "She's not up yet. Later. After dinner."

"Will you do it anyway?" you asked, and nodded earnestly when he asked if you were sure.

He again didn't waste a moment. One second he was Walter, the next he was the wolf and he was at your throat. Then down your body, then between your legs.

He made you come on his tongue at least three times before he presented his enormously hard member to you and helped you work your mouth around the tip.

You wanted so much more. You gave it your best shot. But he was huge. Larger than you recalled. When it was clear you'd need your hand to cover him completely, he licked your palms and wrapped your fingers around his length.

He pulled you off just as you finally found the right rhythm, the right pressure, the right speed.

"You're gonna make me come," he growled.

"Kinda the point, Walt," you grinned up at him. "C'mon, lemme..."

"You asked me not to hold back. Sorta assumed you meant the fucking."

"I meant don't..." you licked your lips. "Hold..." then your hand. "Back..." And with that, you took him back into your mouth and kept working him to climax.

You swallowed him down and glanced up, marveling at the way he shifted. The hair receded, though clearly not completely. The nose shortened, teeth shrunk, though a fang still peeked from his mouth as he panted for air. His stature gave back the extra inches balancing on the balls of his feet gained him. And with claws retracted back into his normally large hands, he reached to bring you to his feet before him.

After the kiss, you admitted, "I just figured the faster we finish dinner, the faster we can get to her."

His laugh never failed to make you feel safe and at home.

"That isn't how the moon rise works, but I appreciate the initiative."

She was just at the horizon of the mountain crest behind the cabin when Walt cleared the plates from the table. You started a quick, warm shower just to freshen up and welcomed him into your arms when he joined you.

Then he dried you off, handed you a flannel of his to wear, escorted you outside where he shifted on the way down the steps and led you to the end of the dock. You sat between his legs, back against his chest, and let the heat radiating from him keep you warm. You smelled the chill in the air you knew would lead to frost soon, but not tonight, not tomorrow.

She peered over the tree tops and cast her gaze upon you. You felt her power and you felt his power and you arched against him as he moved his hand between your legs. He nuzzled down your neck, nipped at your shoulder, and carefully, with precision, made you come on his hand.

As you recovered, you unbuttoned the shirt, slipped it off your body, and laid it down behind you. You made your way to your back, letting the flannel shield your bare skin from the hard wood planks. And you pulled him to you, urged him inside you, and held him close. Your bodies moved in tandem as she shone brightly across the gentle rippling of the water, her reflection casting you in her glow.

Walt didn't lie about taking you gently. It was like nothing you ever imagined being with a wolf would be like. As sensual as any touch any man or monster had ever given you, and given your recent adventures, that was saying a lot.

But you could tell he was still holding back.

"I get it Walt," you whispered in his ear. "This doesn't have to be the way you say it though." You smoothed the fur along his face as he pulled back to watch your face. "Don't hold back."

With a snarl, he did as you bid, taking you apart as he had back at your place just mere hours ago. Though once the moon reached her peak, you could tell he'd halted time and it was gonna have to be you to beg him for mercy, plead with him to stop treating you to the most intense, overpowering yet intimate orgasms you'd ever felt. You had to urge him to finally come and let the moon fall how she wanted.

"I love you, too," you whispered to him as he collapsed beside you.

Bonus Edit: Absolutely GORGEOUS header created for me by my wonderful friend in fic, @geralts-yenn:

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[shy-urban-hobbit]

For the first time in a long time, Eskel wasn’t the first one back. It wasn’t surprising, apparently Geralt had arrived back a fortnight ago, anxious to be back with Ciri. The child was currently sat at one of the long tables, legs swinging as she drew in the blank journal Vesemir had given her whilst the adults talked amongst themselves. It was to be a welcome home present for her Uncle Eskel and therefore, she was determined to make it the best picture of her entire six years.

“I ran into Lambert a couple of months back.” Eskel said as he finished warming up by the roaring fire in the great hall after his climb up to Kaer Morhen, “He said he’s bringing his Cat with him this year.”

Vesemir nodded, “Meaning he’ll be coming from further South, so we should expect him a little later.”

Ciri looked up at that, “Uncle Lambert has a cat?”

“Hmm? Yes, Aiden.”  Geralt answered, attention still mostly on his brother.

Ciri gave an excited wiggle. Her grandmother had never allowed her to have a pet. The closest she’d come was the cat owned by one of the courtiers; a fat, fluffy thing with a squashed face named Pumpkin (something which had confused Ciri, considering the cat wasn’t orange). She imagined pulling a string for them to chase, sitting petting them whilst Uncle Eskel read to her from one of the storybooks he’d decided wasn’t too grown up for her like he had last winter. Maybe she’d be allowed to have them sleep in her room sometimes. Oh yes, Ciri couldn’t wait!

“Papa, where will Aiden be sleeping?” Ciri had looked all around the Keep and she couldn’t find anything resembling a cat bed. Not even a cushion like the one Pumpkin would spend all day sitting on.

“He usually shares with Lambert.” Geralt said, as he tucked her in, “He’ll have his own room too though. Just incase.”

Ciri blinked. The cat was going to have its own room, “Why?”

“He’s like anybody else. He likes to have his own space sometimes or he gets grumpy. You warm enough?”

She nodded, feeling her eyelids already starting to grow heavy, “Goodnight, Papa.”

“Goodnight, Cub.”

Ciri was perched on one of the kitchen counters, munching on a couple of carrot sticks Eskel had handed to her when a thought struck her, “Uncle Eskel, will Aiden have to catch and eat the rats?”

Eskel laughed loudly and had to pause in his vegetable chopping so he didn’t lose a finger, “You know, I only said that as a joke about your Uncle Lambert’s cooking, right? And no, Cub, there’s more than enough here for Aiden too. Nobody's going to go hungry.”

“Okay.” Ciri nodded and went back to her snack, satisfied with her answer she’d gotten.

 Geralt reported seeing smoke halfway down the mountain. Lambert would be home by tomorrow.

“Will Aiden like me?”

Pumpkin had hissed and scratched at her if she ever tried to pet him or play with him after all. Even though she was nice and never tried to pull his tail or anything like that.

Vesemir ruffled her hair, “He’ll love you, Cub. Just do as you do with everyone else here and take heed if he wants to be left alone, alright? Don’t go chasing him.”

“We were worried you wouldn’t make it.” Geralt said, embracing Lambert in a rough hug, not waiting for the other to shake the snow off his cloak and boots, “Thought we’d have to come down and dig you out. Aiden.” He extended a hand to the stranger, who grasped it tightly.

Ciri stared up at the man stood next to her uncle. The man her papa had called Aiden. He was a little shorter and leaner, but still tall with green eyes and a friendly smile, his curly black hair flecked with snow and tied back from his face.

“You’re not a cat.”

That drew their attention. Aiden cocking his head towards her with an “Eh?” whilst Geralt hissed her name in admonishment.

Ciri crossed her arms, “Papa, you all said Uncle Lambert was bringing a cat back.”

“Geralt, what is she-“

Aiden put a hand on Lambert's forearm, interrupting him,  “I think I see what’s happened.”

He crouched so he was level with the little girl, fighting to keep down his laughter lest she think it was directed at her and not the situation (Eskel had already lost that battle and had retreated to the kitchen), “I’m a Cat in the same way your Uncle Lambert’s a Wolf. That’s my school, see.” He held out his medallion for Ciri to get a good look at.

“There’s other Witcher schools?”

“A year here and she doesn’t know that. What the fuck have you actually been teaching her, old man?”

“Lambert, watch your language!”

Ciri turned big eyes on the group, “So, there’s no cat for me to play with?”

“Oh I wouldn’t say that, Cub. I’m always up for a round of hide and seek, and I bet you’ve found all the best hiding places by now.”

Ciri nodded, it was true. When she wasn’t at lessons with Grandpa Vesemir, she’d had a lot of time to explore.

Aiden gave her an easy grin, “Great.” He dropped his voice to a stage whisper, “You can show me the best places to hide from your Uncle. It’s always funny making him jump.”

Ciri giggled.

“Alright, back to your lessons now Ciri. Let Lambert and Aiden get settled.”

 Ciri took Geralt’s hand, letting him lead her to the library. They may have waited until Ciri was out of earshot, but Geralt heard all too clearly the Cats laughter and Jaskier-worthy exclamations about how she was “Too fucking adorable!”. Geralt smiled down at the little blonde head. Yes, she most definitely was.

[sillyrabbit81]

Love Sick

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

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Female Reader

Word Count: Approx. 2.9k

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

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

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

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

Dividers by me.

Masterlist

Celebration Masterlist

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

“Come in.”

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

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

“Geralt,” you whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So what brings you here then?”

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

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

“No,” he says.

“Then what do you need a healer for?”

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

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

“Vesemir will know what to do.”

“Geralt, please? Just tell me.”

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

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

“What are the symptoms?”

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

“And how long has this been going on?”

“Months,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Geralt is blushing.

But he does not look away and neither do you.

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

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

“Months.”

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

“When was the last time you touched your…”

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

“Days, weeks, months?”

“Months.”

“Why haven’t you?”

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

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

“Yes.”

“Can you reach—”

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

“Why not? Lack of motivation or interest?”

“No.”

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

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

“Oh,” you say softly.

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

“I have to check… here.”

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

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

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

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

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

Geralt looks stricken. “Why not?”

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

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

“She must be beautiful,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She’s very lucky,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh,” you breathe.

“Keep going,” he says, “I need this.”

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

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

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

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

And he can’t take his eyes off you.

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

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

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

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

“Same thing,” you say.

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

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

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

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

“But I’m not. You made me love sick.”

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

“Geralt—”

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

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

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

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

“Fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Geralt loves you.

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

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

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

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

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

[talesof-old]

the light you gave me | g.r.

pairing: geralt of rivia x reader

warning(s): 18+, rough (ish?) sex, possibly ooc geralt, sex in the woods, unprotected sex, geralt needs better coping skills lmao, reader has a vagina and he calls reader witch and sweet girl, geralt tackles reader in the woods?, severely unedited and not proofread at all, i think i might actually rewrite this/add more once i get my shit together

word count: 1.6k

kinktober series

geralt saved you from a life that would’ve killed you, so if he wants a chase on occasion, you’re happy to give it to him

prompt: primal, rough sex/outdoor sex

masterlist

You paused, listening as the forest around you silenced. Your heart thundered in your chest, a plea to finally slow down. Something sounded from your right and you bolted, chest heaving as you wove through trees. Geralt had given you a knife, and it rested snug on your hip, a small solace given what monsters may lurk in this wood.

You panted, spotting your makeshift camp in a clearing. You’d been circling the site for at least thirty minutes, drawing Geralt out. It wasn’t too often that he got so riled up from a hunt that he needed to take his energy out on something other than a monster. Today, however, the monster found him first. You still weren’t entirely sure what it even was, but it had come out of nowhere as the two of you were traveling. You’d been knocked off your horse and thrown across the road, thankfully entirely uninjured except for a few nasty bruises on your back and arms. Geralt had yelled for you to stay down and drew the monster away.

By the time he’d come back to you, whatever elixir he had taken was still coursing through him, his eyes dark as night with spiderwebs of black reaching out across his face. The magic of elixirs was not lost on you. Interest swirled in your gut as you helped him set up camp, but you held back as you noticed his clenched jaw and tense shoulders.

It hadn’t taken long for you to strip your outer layers, stuffing them in a bag to avoid anything getting on them in the night while you slept. Geralt’s eyes followed your every move, and you kept your questioning gaze to yourself. Instead, you simply examined him back. His hair was damp from your forcing him to at least rinse off in the river, and you could see the still healing bruises on his collarbone. His shirt was revealing enough to give you a good view of his chest, and you smiled gently, an idea already forming in your mind. Running from Geralt wasn’t easy. He was fast, and had longer legs than you. Besides that, you were more of the healer type, and running didn’t particularly suit you.

It was after dinner, the few dishes you did use cleaned, dried, and put away before you started enacting the first steps of your plan.

Geralt knew you were up to something, saw the mischievous glint in your eye that was far too familiar to ignore. You’d unlaced a fair amount of your dress, showing cleavage that always seemed to grasp his attention. When you’d first done it, he was convinced you’d put a spell on him. He still wasn’t sure you hadn’t.

His eyes wandered over your skin, jaw clenching and blood simmering when he caught sight of a nasty bruise on your arm. What he didn’t realize was that you saw the shift, far too aware of how he was feeling.

You disappeared from his sight, entering the little tent you’d put up for privacy. It wasn’t something you used often, but you thought maybe it would be nice for after the hunt. However, you knew tonight it would not be used. Instead, Geralt would take you somewhere in the woods, after he’d done whatever he needed to get the anger out of his system.

You grinned, unlacing your dress further and tossing it into a corner. Your corset wasn’t particularly pretty, but it was functional, and would aid in your little chase. You made quick work of the lacing, switching into a thin chemise. Your tunic and trousers were discarded and neatly folded, resting on top of your bedroll as you relaced your corset and poked your head out of the tent. Geralt’s back was to you, a clear shot at escape. You drew in a deep breath and bolted.

“I know you’re close, witch.”

His voice took a turn, lowering with each word he spoke. You were drawn from your thoughts as warmth pooled between your legs and you silently cursed yourself.

The chase continued until you were wheezing, bringing yourself to a stop behind a tree, hoping no spider decided to crawl on you. The forest went silent and your heart skipped a beat. A deep growl sounded from behind you and you jumped, barely turning in time to see Geralt racing towards you. Your eyes widened and despite knowing there wasn’t a chance to outrun him, you tried. You’d barely made it a few feet when suddenly he collided with you, arms wrapped around you to soften the fall. You landed with a huff, struggling against his arms. No matter how many times he did that, and no matter how much you liked it, it was still annoying. He was hovering over you in a blink, fingers digging into your soft skin. You fisted your hands in his shirt. He growled again, pressing his lips against yours. The kiss was a flurry of teeth and tongue, a convincing distraction as he hiked up your skirts and removed your undergarments.

Something stroked your lower lips and you jolted as he slipped his middle finger into your cunt. A moan escaped your lips, body arching into his. He chuckled, free hand gripping your ass to pull you closer. Geralt began to guide your hips, fucking you with his fingers as the night darkened. You grasped his wrist, bucking against his hand until he pulled away. You began to whine, all noise stopping when he slapped your thigh. His eyes were nearly all pupil when you made eye contact, both waiting to see what the other did.

He broke first, flipping you around and resting his hands on your hips, positioning you on all fours.

“Take what I give you.”

You hummed, ignoring the sound of ripping fabric and a slight pinching of the hem as he exposed your breasts to the cold forest air. Geralt tugged you back towards him, ass pressed against his pelvic bone as you both grounded against each other.

“You’re such a good girl, doing what I want.”

You only sighed in response, mind focused on the roughness of his hands. Calloused fingers roamed your skin, a wet spot forming on his trousers as your bare cunt rubbed against the fabric. He hissed, making quick work of the buttons and pushed them down to his knees, guiding his cock inside you. You gasped as the head pressed against your lips, unconsciously pushing back against him. He groaned, using his free hand to keep you in place as he inched inside. You moaned, fingers grasping at the rotten leaves on the forest floor. Geralt bottomed out, hips flush against you as you clenched around him, chest heaving. He trailed a hand down your back before resting it between your shoulder blades.

You shifted, urging him to move before you lost your mind. Geralt wasted no time.

He pulled nearly all the way out before slamming back into you, a cry escaping your lips as he hit some spot inside you that had you seeing stars. He kept up a relentless pace, grunts filling the air as he used you for pleasure. All you could do was moan brokenly, mind foggy. The feeling of him inside of you was too much.

He thrusted in and out of you, stimulating every spot that had you gasping. You clenched around him, arms and thighs shaking. He took mercy on you, sliding his hand further up your back until he could clasp your hair, tugging you backwards to rest on him. You gasped at the new position, arching into him and squeezing your eyes shut. Geralt kept a firm grip on your hair, tugging at it in time with his thrusts, using his other hand to tug at whichever nipple he felt like touching. You rolled your hips, back bent as you tried to chase your own pleasure. He just scoffed, continuing to play with your nipples until they were nearly sore and you were crying for release.

The tightness in your gut was too much, all encompassing as Geralt pulsed inside of you. You arched your body further, burying your face in his neck as he rammed into you. He brought his hand from your chest to your clit, ghosting over it to see your reaction. You barely registered the touch at first, too cock-drunk and lost in the sensations. Geralt growled against you, the sound sending vibrations through you as he began to rub furious figure eights against your clit. You cried out, pressing yourself against him further, desperate to run from the feeling. It was too much.

Stars burst behind your eyes as your orgasm began to wash over you, your limbs shaking furiously. Geralt grinned, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before sinking his teeth into your flesh, a broken sound leaving you.

Geralt mockingly cooed at you, releasing his grip on your hair as he thrusted hard into you, cock pulsing as he grunted. You squeezed tight around him, a hiss escaping his lips as he came. You followed not too far after with a hoarse cry, grinding your hips against his to ride out your high. Geralt wrapped his free arm around your waist, chests heaving as he pulled out of you. You whined at the sensitivity of your cunt, turning and nuzzling into his chest. He stroked your cheek, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head. The two of you stayed like that for a while, waiting for your hearts to return to their normal beats. Geralt started to pull away, chuckling when you whined and weakly pulled him back to the ground.

“We’ll stay here a while, sweet girl. We’ll move when you’re ready.”

[dreamofbecoming]

au where geralt never figures out jaskier wasn’t the one with the wishes (maybe his second wish is more subtle and he just figures the guy had a stroke or whatever) until months later he runs into a bard calling himself valdo marx and he’s so surprised he just points and says “but you should be dead!” and the djinn, who at this point has been following this stoic taciturn dipshit around for months waiting desperately for him to express a desire for literally anything at all, it’ll take anything at this point just want something it’s begging you, goes THAT COUNTS BITCH NO TAKE BACKS and marx drops dead on the spot. geralt has to leave town. he never tells jaskier.

[bluedillylee]

Fanart for Sunlight and Seafoam

 “I had a contract between a human and mermaid lover once,” said Geralt. “It wasn’t a bit like that stupid song. Or maybe exactly like it, given how well it turned out. But it was anything but ‘romantic’.”

 “What happened?” both Essi and Dandelion demanded at once, making Geralt wish he hadn’t said a thing. Essi had the calculating look of someone who was eager to start composing whatever he foolishly said, and Dandelion had half-pulled himself into Geralt’s now-soaked lap in his eagerness to get the witcher to speak. It was very distracting.”

This is more book focused with Dandelion instead of Jaskier. Don’t let that stop you if you’ve only seen the tv show because this story is fantastic. I love it and have gone back for several re-reads already

also posted on Ao3

[kittenofdoomage]

A Bargain Struck

Summary: Inspired by this post on Tumblr and the lovely @angryschnauzer. You’ve struck a bargain with something unholy, and now he wants his due.

Pairing: demonic!Geralt x female!reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: angst, demonic rituals, selling souls, everyone’s over the age of 18, this is a sort of medieval AU, use of horns for leverage during sex, transformations during sex, probably a lot of blasphemy?, it’s filth yet fluffy? Soft!Geralt is definitely a thing here. Let’s get weird. Uh, size kink, wing kink, demonic tongue fucking, definitely monsterfucking.

Ao3 Link

A/N: I was too excited to share this one with everyone. I know @deandoesthingstome wanted a tag (I think anyway, I didn't hallucinate that, right?) but haven't tagged anyone else to read. Let me know what you think, in gif form or otherwise!

She can’t help but feel joy when her sister, younger than her by only a few years, bursts through the door of their cottage, laughing as Dotty nips at the hem of her dress. It is a relatively new sight to behold, to see Emily filled with such life, when only weeks before she had been expected to die. “The moon, Y/N, did you see it?” she gasps, coming to a stop at the table, leaning on it with her hands to stare out of the window. “It’s so pretty!”

“I’ve seen,” Y/N replies, turning away from her sibling so she doesn’t see the worry in her eyes. It’s a blood moon, huge and pinkish red, filling the horizon in a stunningly clear sky. You have until midnight at the blood moon, he had said, the formless voice in the darkness that had granted her wish for her sister to live. She knew the price when she sought him out; it was clear in the ritual. Her sister’s life for her soul, bound to him for eternity.

A price she would gladly pay again.

“You’re quiet,” Emily murmurs, pulling out a chair as Dotty jumps around her. “What are you making?”

“Venison pie for supper. And I’m just concentrating.” The pastry around the edges of her creation are not playing ball, and they need to be perfect. This is her last meal with her family, and she intends to savor every moment of it. “Would you mind setting the table?”

She’s spent the last three weeks worrying if they will cope without her. He had given her assurances of a long happy life, but the what ifs and maybes still linger, nibbling at her thoughts until she was consumed with anxiety over it.

Emily hums as she gathers the dishes and cutlery for dinner, making Y/N smile as she finally gets the pastry to behave. The oven billows out a plume of hot air when she tugs the door open, and she shoves the pie in. “There we go,” she mutters, wiping the grease off of her hands onto her apron. “It should be ready when Mother gets home.”

“She’s still at the church?” her sister asks.

Chuckling, Y/N locates her cup of tea, happy to find it still warm enough to drink. “Well, your recovery was nothing short of miraculous,” she sighs. “Mother just thinks she needs to pay Him back.” She could have told her, of course, but their mother had always fallen on the more devout side of religious, and she didn’t think any good could come of confessing her deal with the devil, or something like him at the very least. The last thing she needed is to be locked up for being a witch - if she wasn’t there to pay the price, he could take back what he’d given, and she would not let that happen.

The cottage fills with the scent of the pie as it cooks. Y/N prepares the vegetables, listening to Emily chat about her day, wiping away an errant tear as she soaks in her sister’s excitement and zest for life. She wishes dearly that she could be there to see her grow and learn, maybe get married and have children, and hates even more that she won’t be. As the time to say goodbye creeps closer, she feels her nerves churning into an uncomfortable ball that sits in her belly, filling her with dread.

Their mother comes home just as they are plating up the meal, and the conversation revolves around her day at the church. She makes them say a prayer before supper, though Y/N keeps one eye open because she’s certain no prayer or God can save her from what she’s giving herself to. 

As her family continues to chatter obliviously, she tries to keep her focus on them, to enjoy the moments she has left with them. Emily is talking about a local boy she has a crush on, and Y/N feels her heart in her throat when her mother asks if she will be going to the market in the morning.

“I hadn’t given it much thought,” she mumbles, cheeks rapidly warming. “How’s the pie?”

“Wonderful as always,” her mother replies. “I don’t know where you get your cooking skills from, certainly not me.” The joke is supposed to make her smile but Y/N only feels regret that she’s leaving them.

“You’re a good cook too,” Emily insists, grinning at her sister who manages a weak curve of her lips.

She’s trying so hard not to show her grief. She should be happy. Her sister will live a full and happy life. Y/N couldn’t think of anything she wanted more.

Dinner is over quickly, and once everything is cleared away, Y/N looks out of the window. The moon is a deeper shade of red now, hanging ominously over the trees in the distance. It’s bright enough that the whole valley is bathed in an eerie crimson, and she shudders as she looks towards the forest and the darkness waiting to greet her.

She still has time. Her sister is already in front of the fire, needlework in hand, humming again like she is prone to do since her recovery. Their mother reads, glasses perched on the end of her nose to make her look far older than she is, and Y/N smiles as she sits between them, letting the warmth of the firelight wash over her.

“You should take the rest of those apples to the market tomorrow,” Mother says quietly, and she nods, even though she knows she’ll never go to market again. The apples will probably rot in the basket. 

The night draws on. Mother retires first, kissing her firstborn on the top of the head as she passes, before taking Emily’s hand and looking at her fondly. Y/N watches her go with a heavy ache in her heart, wishing she could say goodbye, and not just leave them without resolution.

“You’re still being quiet,” Emily observes, putting her needlework away. “What’s wrong?”

There’s a second where she’s not sure what to say. She can see herself spilling the truth, dragging a promise from her little sister that she would live her life, fall in love, do all the things Y/N would never get to do. But she can’t say it because then Emily would know, and she couldn’t bear the thought of her sister carrying the weight of that guilt forever.

Sitting up, she smiles, shaking her head. “I’m just tired,” she says, getting up to take over the seat their mother had vacated.

Emily watches her for a moment longer, obviously deciding whether to prod at the subject. When she makes her choice, she sighs, rising from the chair. “Well, I’m tired too, so I’m going to bed. Goodnight, Y/N.” She turns, then pauses before crossing the room to lean down and press a kiss to her sister’s temple. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Y/N whispers, tears in her eyes. If the younger woman notices, she doesn’t say anything, quickly retreating and leaving her sibling alone. 

She waits a while, watching the fire die out until there are only a few embers remaining. Once the red glow fades, she gets to her feet, making her way to her mother’s room first, and she finds her in a deep slumber, one arm slung over the edge of her bed. With a smile, Y/N pulls the door shut, moving to the next, and Emily is asleep too. She lingers for a second, wishing once more that she could say goodbye, but time is running thin, so she closes the door and moves on.

It didn’t seem worth the effort to take anything with her, and it’s easier to move silently with just her cloak. She fastens it at her throat and makes her way out of the cottage, careful to lock the door behind her, slipping the key into her pocket through habit - it’s unlikely she’ll need it again. Pulling her hood up, she walks away from the village and towards the forest, keeping her footsteps light and quick. Her cloak catches on the undergrowth as it gets thicker, and soon she’s picking her way along the narrow path between the trees, feeling more anxious as the darkness crowds her. Further along, the trees are so dense that the moonlight cannot penetrate their leaves and she has to slow to avoid tripping on unseen hazards.

Her destination isn’t all that far. The ground grows steeper, and she has to be more careful as she searches for the ruins in the dark. It helps that she has walked this path before, when she made her bargain, and she knows she’s there when she finds the first stone, stuck upright in the ground with strange symbols she traces with her fingers.

The ruins are empty and dark. Huge stones mark the circle, with some lying flat in the middle, almost like an altar. She doesn’t know what they once were but she can feel the electricity in the air, taste it like iron on her tongue.

“Hello?” she calls in a shaky uncertain voice. It must be nearly midnight; if she looks up, she can see the moon high above the trees. The wind rushes around her, and she shivers, tugging her cloak closed. “Are you here?”

Everything falls silent. A twig snaps, and she spins, peering into the dark thicket of trees between two of the largest stones. She’s about to call again as two golden eyes suddenly become visible, and instinct makes her pull back.

“Hello?” she whispers this time. For some strange reason, she doesn’t feel afraid, just apprehensive and uncertain in the face of something so unholy.

“You are ready to finish our bargain.”

She casts her gaze back the way she came, sorrow heavy in her heart. “I am.”

“The price was agreed,” he murmurs, golden eyes shining in the darkness surrounding him. “Yet I see tears in your eyes. Do you wish to take back what was given?”

Horror fills her, the image of her sister dying slowly still imprinted in her mind. She doesn’t want that. “I’m never going to see my family again,” she replies softly, wiping at her eyes. “Are you so unfeeling that you cannot understand grief?”

He chuckles at that, and she can hear him shifting around. “I understand perfectly.” Squinting isn’t giving her a clearer view of him, though her eyes are still adjusting to the lack of light. “You’re not afraid.”

It’s a statement, made out of curiosity, and she lets her shoulders relax. “I don’t think so,” she whispers. She’s uncertain what faces her, but it’s difficult for anything to overcome the despair at leaving her family. “Can I see you?”

There’s a pause, more rustling, and he clears his throat. “Have you ever seen a demon before?”

“No,” she answers truthfully, even as her mind conjures images of disgusting beasts and eldritch creatures.

He harrumphs under his breath. Y/N watches, unsure what to expect, and then he steps forward, letting the darkness melt away. At first he seems huge, and she hears the rustle of wings, but as he comes closer, he seems to shrink into a more human shape. He’s still tall, broad, rippling with muscle underneath a black shirt that clings to his skin, and the only things that indicate his otherworldliness are his golden eyes, his long white hair, and the two thick black horns curving out from the sides of his head. She sucks in a breath at the sight of him, and he stares at her with a hungry look in his eyes.

“Are you frightened now?” he asks.

There is fear but it’s inspired by a new feeling inside her, something raw and primal, something that’s telling her she belongs to this creature, and she’s not sure if it’s magic or him, or something else entirely. “No,” she says again, shaking her head this time.

His lips curl into a smile. “Curious,” he rumbles. “I knew there was a reason I answered the summons.”

The comment makes her frown. “Aren’t you compelled to?” He laughs, and it’s a sound that makes her insides quiver with need. There’s something strange about him that draws her in, and she takes a step closer to him, tilting her head. “Do you have a name?” she asks boldly.

He watches her in amusement, like he’s never encountered anyone like her before. “Geralt,” he concedes.

It feels more comfortable to have a name to use, though she’s no closer to understanding what is happening. If he didn’t have to respond to the ritual, why did he? The thought makes it out of her mouth before she can stop it, and the amusement doesn’t fade from his face.

“The ritual only binds the one whose blood is used,” he murmurs, closing the distance between them. “You are now bound to me, Y/N, for what I have given you. Do you understand what that means?”

Her mouth goes dry. “You take my soul,” she rasps, eyes watering again. “I have to die.”

There’s a second where he seems confused, and then his knuckles are brushing her cheek, wiping away the errant tear that escapes. “What gave you that idea?” She stares at him, puzzled by his words, and he’s suddenly right there, looming over her, one meaty paw cupping her face. Her heart is racing at his proximity, and she begins to understand exactly what he wants from her. “You’re mine now,” he repeats softly. “I will only ever protect you.”

“I-I don’t understand,” she breathes, lifting her hands to brace them against his chest, to stop him getting closer or just to touch him - she’s not certain which. He’s real and solid under her palms, and she’s surprised when she feels the dull thud of his heart in his chest.

“I’ve been alone for so long,” he hums, dropping his head just enough to nuzzle the tip of his nose against hers. “I was growing weary of solitude. Then I heard your plea…”

His lips brush hers, and she stuns herself by lifting her chin, allowing him to initiate the kiss. It’s not like she hasn’t been kissed before, she’s just never been kissed with such raw need, and before she can register it, he has her body pinned against his, held in place with a hand on her lower back. She can barely breathe when he breaks away to look down at her; his eyes are nearly black and it’s too hard to pull her gaze away.

“But you’re a demon,” she mumbles.

He answers in a gentle tone, almost amused by her dazed reaction. “I cannot help what I am.” His hand is around her hip now, keeping their bodies pressed together, and she can feel something hard digging into her belly. It takes a second for her to realize; her eyes widen, but she doesn’t pull away.

“You want me to be your companion,” she says slowly, acutely aware of how large he is. “For me to - to -”

Geralt smiles, and it’s a hungry smile, exposing his sharp canines. “Yes,” he confirms, voice thick and syrupy. “I knew as soon as I heard your plea. You are lonely too.”

She wants to be indignant at that, to deny it, except she has always been lonely. Once she thought she had found someone who she had been prepared to give her whole heart to, only for him to shatter the dream and walk away. Since then, her only duty had been to her family, and though she loved them dearly, she had never tried to be anything but the perfect daughter and sister.

“You see?” Geralt draws her back to the present. “You ache for someone to love you. To care for you. It’s why you were so ready to sacrifice yourself for your sister.” His hand somehow covers the whole side of her head, which should be terrifying, but she’s leaning into it, finding comfort in the touch. “You’re mine, Y/N.”

She nods, almost in a daze. He pulls back, taking her hand to lead her to the altar-like stone in the middle of the ruins, and she follows without question. When he sits, he drags her between his thighs, and the angle is much friendlier to her neck when he kisses her again.

“I need to hear you say it,” he growls, unclasping her cloak to let it fall to the ground.

Her eyes lock on his. The golden in them is nearly entirely eaten by black, and a rush of warmth ends right at her core. “I’m yours,” she manages weakly, suddenly acutely aware of the pounding of her heart and the blood in her veins. She feels like she should resist simply because he’s a demon, but she doesn’t feel any danger from him at all.

He tugs her dress up, slicing through the fabric that gets in his way with sharpened claws that are gone by the time he finds her flesh. Heat floods her face when he rubs thick fingers against her sex, and she flings out a hand to brace herself against his shoulder, leaning to the side as he sinks a single digit inside her. It’s thicker than anything that’s ever been inside her before, making her squeak and cling to him, and a rumble of amusement echoes in his chest.

“I’m not a virgin,” she whispers, suddenly in fear of disappointing him.

“Neither am I,” he replies in a quiet laugh. She gasps as he works a second finger into her, and she begins to think that if his cock is bigger than this, he might not fit. Somewhere in the back of her mind, there’s a part of her that rallies against the idea of intimate relations with a demon, but she ignores it in favor of his touch, gasping as he thrusts his fingers inside her as deep as they can go.

She can hear how wet she’s getting, and he can too, grunting his appreciation when his fingers come out glistening. When he pushes them into her again, she whimpers, rocking her hips to meet his movement, focusing on the fire he’s igniting in her belly. She’s felt it before, just not this powerful, like she’s forgotten how to breathe, and before she can vocalize the pleasure, her pussy clenches and she’s dripping down his wrist. He moans, almost covering the squelch of his fingers as they keep sinking into her over and over, forcing her to ride out every wave of her orgasm until he’s satisfied she’s done.

He withdraws, allowing her to rest as he tears his shirt off, but her attention has moved to the bulge in his pants. Reaching out, she brushes her fingers against it, looking up sharply when he growls low in his throat and slides his hand to the fastening. His cock springs free the second it's able, and she swallows around the lump in her throat, still uncertain she can take him.

Her apprehension must have been plastered across her face. He catches her chin, forcing her to look at him, and she sees reassurance in his eyes. “It will feel good,” he says softly, taking hold her hand to guide it to his shaft. It’s warm to touch, solid under her fingertips, so she grasps him in her hand, tentatively stroking down then up, smiling when he moans. “That’s it,” he purrs, pressing his hand between her thighs again.

The intrusion of his fingers is familiar now her body has adjusted but he takes his time to open her up properly, bringing her to the cusp of climax after climax. By the time he is hauling her into his lap, she’s a panting mess, yet she still hesitates as he presses the wide tip of his shaft to her entrance, using his fingers to position himself. His golden gaze fixes on hers when he begins to drag her down, and for a moment, she’s convinced he’ll break her, then the first inch is in and she practically begs for the rest. He sinks up into her slowly, letting her pussy drench him to ease his path, and when he’s finally buried deep, she can’t breathe for the pressure in her belly. Her walls hug him tightly, cockhead snug against her cervix, and he keeps her right there, grinding inside while she can do nothing except accommodate him.

“How does it feel?” he asks in a gravelly voice that makes her feel like he’s holding something back.

“You’re -” She still can’t control her breathing, almost shivering through overstimulation. “You’re so big, I -”

“Hmmm.” He sounds amused, watching as she gasps and splutters, pressing her hands against his chest before sliding them to his shoulders. “Would you like me to move?”

She whimpers with a nod. “Yes,” is all she can manage, and he chuckles, putting his hands to her waist. The first slow pull away from him has her digging her nails into his shoulders, but her body is quickly acclimatizing and when he’s almost fully withdrawn, she only wants him back inside her. He gives her exactly what she wants, filling her again, and she cries out in ecstasy, drowning out his low possessive growl.

There’s an electricity in the air when he begins to fuck her, overriding her meager strength to manipulate her body until she’s almost out of her mind with pleasure. The intensity of it makes her feel like she might die if he stops, or if he doesn’t; either way, she’s craving more and more, and it seems he is more than willing to give it. She comes for him easily, easing his path into her slick channel even more, and she’s sobbing by the time she’s done, prompting him to slow just a little.

He growls as she leans back just a little, held in his grasp. “I want to see all of you,” he grunts.

A clawed finger tears down the front of her dress. The fabric falls either side, exposing her breasts, and Geralt doesn’t hesitate, curling his long tongue around one stiff peak as she moans decadently. She reaches up, letting her fingers slide over the horns either side of his head, tugging experimentally. It inspires a moan that vibrates out against her sensitive skin, so she does it again, using the slight leverage to lift off of his cock before sinking back down.

He doesn’t stop her when she does it again. His hands tighten around her waist, giving her assistance on each stroke, bringing her down hard until she’s stuffed with him again. “I want to see all of you too,” she whines, resting her hands at the base of his horns. “I want to see what you really look like.”

Releasing her breast, he meets her gaze, baring his teeth slightly as she keeps moving. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmurs.

“You won’t,” she promises desperately.

His grip on her waist tightens, forcing her to slow. She gasps, watching the slow ripple as he relinquishes the control over his form, whimpering when he pulls her down hard on his cock as it grows with him, pushing her to her limit. Large black wings sprout from his back, his teeth become sharper, and his eyes glow; he’s breathtaking and terrifying, or he should be, but she feels no fear, only the need for him.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asks, holding her down on his cock with clawed hands.

“Yes,” she hisses, panting and wriggling to relieve the unbearable pressure in her belly. He grabs her hand, pressing it down against her gut, and her eyes go wide. “Oh -” She can feel him, right underneath her palm, throbbing inside her.

“Like you were made for me,” he snarls, rocking his hips again so she can feel the thick girth dragging against her walls. “You’re mine.”

He moves before she can react, finding herself naked and pinned underneath him on the stone altar. His wings expand then contract, surrounding them as he slides down her body, covering her aching cunt with his mouth. She yelps when she feels his tongue probing her entrance, thick and long, wriggling, and it’s a new sensation that curls her toes as he pushes the flexible organ inside her. It doesn’t fill her like his cock does but it seems to touch every hidden part of her, and she can’t catch her breath, panting hard as she reaches a new high on his tongue.

She’s shaking from head to toe, yet he doesn’t stop, groaning against her pussy, nuzzling against her clit. The additional point of stimulation makes her reach down, sliding her fingers around one horn, and he snarls, fucking his tongue into her with a little more vigor. Her back arches at the unexpected force, and she can feel her heart hammering hard in her chest. She screams and writhes, but he holds her in place until he’s satisfied, and she’s boneless, eyelids fluttering as she fights the urge to pass out.

Withdrawing slowly, he climbs up her body, lining up his monstrous cock once more, and she feels like she’s looking up at a god instead of a demon. Her thoughts are swept away in the next instant when he cants his hips forward, burying his cock to the root inside her aching channel again. She falls apart in seconds, crying out until he silences her with a heady kiss. 

Time is meaningless. Every thrust sends her spiraling, raking her nails over his biceps as he claims her body along with her soul. She can’t think between bursts of ecstasy except for one driving need to feel him come inside her.

He growls as his strokes become sloppy, harder, faster, and finally, he buries himself as deep as he can, punching a choked cry out of her lungs as he spills into her. It’s hot and thick, and she groans as he keeps her still, riding out his orgasm and grinding deep until he’s done.

Her head rolls from side to side as the pleasure resides, though she can still feel him buried inside her, keeping his seed deep in her womb. He doesn’t move yet, coaxing her into a soft kiss as he remains with his wings sheltering them from the cold air. She hiccups a sob against his mouth, letting her fingers tangle in his hair, and when they part, she gasps for breath.

“Do not fret,” he murmurs, nuzzling into her gently.

She doesn’t feel up to anything like fretting at that moment, even as she looks up at his demonic countenance. Her limbs feel like jelly, and she’s certain she could fall asleep in the warmth of his hold. “Will they be alright without me?” she asks, because she has to know, and she trusts him to give her the truth.

He nods, kissing the corner of her mouth. “Yes.”

It’s all she needs. Her eyes flutter shut as she curls into his chest, contentment washing through her as the demon holds her close, lifting her from the stone to carry her towards the darkness he had come from.

When dawn breaks, all that is left is her cloak and a few tattered rags.

Thanks for reading! Please, please let me know if you liked it 🤗

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

After hours

Masterlist

Pairing: Geralt x Librarian!reader

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

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

Word count: 3.9k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That didn’t last long. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[haddonfieldwhore]

just pretend

while passing through your home town, you run into your ex. to get them off your case, you tell a simple little lie

•g/n reader, this was supposed to be fluff, awkwardness, fake dating, mention of parental death (no detail), a few uses of e/n (ex’s name), not edited as always lol

you had secretly dreaded that this day would come; the day you passed through your home village on a quest. you hadn’t told geralt that this is where you had grown up, but he seemed to be able to tell that something was up, as you seemed to be walking on eggshells ever since you’d arrived. he gave you a sideways glance, which you made no mention of as you looked around the small town. little had changed, all the buildings were the same, the townsfolk you had grown up with having aged in the years you had been away.

“something troubling you?” the witcher asked, his tone serious. you shook your head, and he chuckled slightly.

“why are you laughing?” you demanded, only causing geralt to shake his head, amused.

“your ears turn pink when you lie, you know.”

“it’s cold-“

“mhmm.” geralt hummed, not believing your excuse. you groaned as your eyes landed on the person you hoped to avoid, your ex from when you were a teenager. it was never anything serious, but they seemed to never have moved on, hence whenever you visited you tried to avoid them at all cost. you grabbed geralt by the arm and pulled him behind a tent.

“i need a favour?”

“now?”

“yes. i need you to pretend we are…. together,” geralt a jaw stiffened at your words, his eyes wide.

“what?” he asked sternly. it wasn’t a perfect plan, but maybe if you ex thought you were spoke for, they would leave you alone.

“i promise i will explain later- just please… do this for me and i will forever be in your debt,” you begged. geralt must’ve been able to tell how desperate you were, as he gave you a short nod in response, followed by a simple ‘alright’. you took a deep breath, before taking his large hand in yours and leading him back out into the main area of town. to your dismay, the two of you numbed right into your ex, a shocked look on their face as you stood in front of them, hand in hand with the witcher.

“y/n? how are you? it’s… it’s been ages.” they spoke, rather awkwardly as they regained their balance.

“i’m well, thank you. and you?” you replied to be polite, not because you were really interested.

“i’m good. what’s it been now- 4 years? i think i last saw you at your fathers funeral.”

“it’s been 5 years actually.” you corrected, noticing that their eyes had once again traveled to where your hand was intertwined with geralts. the man next to you cleared his throat.

“darling.. are you going to introduce me to your friend?” he tugged you into his side, giving a forced, but convincing enough smile.

“oh, yes. e/n, this is geralt of rivia. geralt my love, this is an old friend of mine. we grew up here together.” you explained. they laughed lightly.

“if i recall we were a little closer than friends, isn’t that right?” they pushed your arm teasingly, your face hit with embarrassment.

“i’m not sure what you mean,” geralt spoke, his tone serious. he wasn’t stupid, he knew what they had meant; but he didn’t appreciate them making you uncomfortable seemingly on purpose, and he felt it only fitting to return the favour. your ex began to stutter awkwardly, and tried to dig themself out of the hole they had begun to dig.

“forgive me… i just …. i was-“

“hmm.” geralt interrupted with a deep hum, a sound he often made when he wished a conversation to be over. “should we go get settled at the inn, dear?” he turned to you. nodding, you excused yourself, budding a quick goodbye and following after geralt, who was leading roach over to the stable on the way to the inn.

after checking in and getting settled in your room, deciding to share one to keep up the act, you were now explaining what was going on to geralt. albeit he had figured out bits and pieces, he listened as you spoke.

“so… you more using me to keep them from -“

“do not say it like that.” you pleaded, causing the witcher to laugh lightly.

“it is fine. we will only be in town for the night, and then we will be gone, and this little game will be over.” geralt spoke matter of factly. he was right; we just had to pretend for one day.

•

the night came and went quickly, some much needed rest leaving you feeling refreshed when you woke up, if not a little nervous about having to keep up the act. most of the day went by without incident, now early in the evening when you grew bored of sitting inside the inn.

“let’s go get a drink.” you suggested.

it had been about an hour or two since you and geralt had arrived at the bar, both a few drinks in when he noticed your ex at across the room, occasionally looking over. the witcher leaned close to your ear, he breath tickling your neck.

“they’re watching, over by the door.” he whispered. “you should laugh as if i’ve said something funny.” the two of you laughed at nothing, and after a minute as not to be obvious, you glanced over and saw your ex finish his beer, aggressively slamming the mug on the table before starting to stand. grabbing geralt’s arm, you pulled him from his seat and through the bar, down a quiet hallway.

“what is is?” he asked.

“they were walking this way, sorry i panicked-“

“do you trust me?” geralt asked. you nodded, and out of the corner of my eyes you saw e/n approaching from a distance, but we’re distracted by geralts fingertips tilting your chin upward.

his lips were on yours before you knew what was happening, gentler than you expected, not that you had expected to be kissing him. his lips moved perfectly with yours, the taste of ale on his tongue as his hands rested on your hips, his muscular frame trapping you between him and the wall your back was pressed against.

your hands went to his chest, and he seemed to pull you even closer, as you heard footsteps approaching, and someone clearing their throat. geralt pulled away, and you opened your eyes to see your ex stood there. you worried about what they were going to say, but to your surprise they gestured to the doorway to the restroom you hadn’t realized the two of you were stood in the way of.

“pardon me.” they spoke, waiting for you and geralt to move, and going through the door once you had stepped to the side. geralt still held your body to his, you realized, and your eyes met his as you looked up at him again. although no one was watching, he kissed you again, softer this time.

“i haven’t done that in a while, forgive me if i’m out of practice.” you said sincerely. you couldn’t remember the last time you had kissed someone. the witcher smiled at you.

“you’re doing good so far.” he hummed, and you felt your face get hot again.

“thank you.” you spoke. “i owe you…. a great deal.”

“don’t mention it. now let’s get moving, night will be upon us soon.” you smiled as you watched geralt turn and walk out through the bar. as happy as you were to be leaving this town, a part of you couldn’t help but wonder if things between you and geralt perhaps weren’t just pretend.

[bluewritinghood]

Witcher! Watch out for that tree!

“You didn’t have to throw that guy through a table you know.” Jaskier says absentmindedly plucking at his lute as he walks beside Geralt down the dusty path.

“He was being an ass.” Geralt reminds him.

“Yes, well it did get us kicked out of the inn though so maybe not worth it?” Jaskier says still plucking at his lute more than likely trying to subconsciously perfect a tune that would soon make an appearance in one of his latest songs.

“He called you a cocksucking bastard.” Geralt reminds him gruffly. “I wasn’t going to let it go.”

“I mean it’s not the worst thing I’ve ever been called I could give you a whole list of insults a mile long that’s been hurled at me this year alone and never repeat the same one twice.” Jaskier laughs at his own expense.

Geralt offers an irritated grunt by way of reply.

“I mean it wasn’t even really an insult since it’s true, I mean half of it at least.” Jaskier says tuning his lute slightly.

“You were an illegitimate child?” Geralt asks surprised.

“Oh gods no. No matter how much my father would like to claim otherwise, I meant the first part. You didn’t know I was Bisexual?” Jaskier asks sounding genuinely surprised.

Geralt doesn’t answer, doesn’t say anything at all, doesn’t look away from Jaskier even as they approach an enormous tree in the road. But surely Geralt couldn’t miss it, its trunk was wider than his shoulders for heaven’s sake.

Geralt runs smack into the tree with a dull ‘Thunk’ stumbling backward.

“Good gods Geralt are you alright?!” Jaskier says jogging the few steps he had fallen behind Geralt to catch up with him and check on him. “How in the world did you miss that tree?”

“You’re into men?” Geralt asks instead of answering the question.

“Yes, I thought that was painfully obvious. Don’t tell me that’s why you ran into the tree it’s honestly not that surprising. I mean I’m kinda fruity.” Jaskier says with a laugh.

Geralt just stares at Jaskier until his smile fades.

“You’re not opposed to that sort of thing are you?” Jaskier asks suddenly a little worried that this of all the things might be what ends their friendship.

Geralt is a silent as a stone for a few minutes leaving Jaskier to wonder what exactly he would say if he ever said anything at all.

“No.” Geralt finally grunts out relieving Jaskier of his fears.

“Well that’s a relief.” Jaskier says with a nervous chuckle.

Geralt continues to stare at him until Jaskier finally asks. “What exactly is the problem then?”

Geralt finally stops looking at him only to start looking anywhere but at him. “I’m in love with you.” He mumbles.

“I’m sorry come again?” Jaskier guffaws. “Because I thought a certain sorceress occupied that stony heart of yours.”

Geralt shakes his head reverting back to his normal taciturn state.

“You’re telling me I’ve had a chance with you all this time and you’re just telling me now?” Jaskier asks voice raising an octave.

Geralt finally seems to get the message that his feelings are reciprocated because the next thing Jaskier knows he’s being pushed up against the tree and Geralt is kissing him.

Ao3 link to this story.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/45596839

[gods-no-longer-tread-here]

“What do you want, warrior?”

The man soaked in blood grinned. His eyes were black, his skin was snowy, and the veins in his face and exposed hands pulsed with dark power; but he was no witcher. He couldn’t be. His grip on the silver-bladed sword was awkward, unused to the weight. He did not have the build of a monster-killer. If not for the magic, and the blood, he would look weak.

“I want my witcher, of course,” he rasped.

The lord scoffed and sipped his wine. “You cannot have him, and you will die if you continue this foolish quest,” he said flatly. “You may have cut your way through my men to reach here, but you are human. Humans cannot contain witcher magic. Do you want to die?”

The man laughed. It was a hideous sound, loud and rough and mad. The lord frowned, and squinted, looking closer. It was hard to tell, when the man was so far away, but…

The cup slipped from his suddenly cold hand.

“Yes,” the man soaked in blood said, his grin that of a madman who died a long, long time ago. “But it will be by his hand, and no one else’s. No one said I was human.”

“Jules,” the lord gasped.

“No. My name is Jaskier. Now give me my witcher, Father.”

~

Geralt pressed his fingers to his eyes again, gritting his teeth. He still wasn’t used to the hazy shadows where his vision used to be. Luckily the torturer was inexperienced; Geralt wasn’t fully blind. Yet.

His fingertips brushed gingerly against the raw, puffy scar at the corner of his right eye. He knew it was only a matter of time before they gouged the organs out of his head. He would fight, of course. He would kill. But his eyes were less important than--

The stench of blood. Metal and sweat. Rage. Witcher potions.

Linseed oil. Buttercups.

The sea.

Geralt attempted to stand, but his feet were still healing. His heart was beating too fast. He turned his head, towards the dim square of light that was the window of his cell. Surely not…

“Jaskier?” he whispered.

The lock clicked. The door opened. Geralt took a deep breath, and tasted the flat, salty-sweet tang of blood and offal. Under it was Jaskier, though—unmistakably his bard.

“Jask,” he repeated, and lurched to his feet. The form in the light gasped, then rushed forward to embrace him. Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier and held him too tightly, trembling with relief. Alive. Safe. Maybe the gods existed. Maybe Destiny had taken pity on him.

But… why did Jaskier smell like witcher?

Pulling away, Jaskier pressed a vial and a sword hilt into Geralt’s hands. Geralt sniffed the bottle as his fingers curled into the familiar indentations of the leather grip. Swallow. Potent. Too potent. It would make him sick to drink it.

“I need you to kill a monster,” Jaskier said.

Geralt felt a feral grin spread across his face. “Give me a scent,” he replied, “And their head will be yours.”

Jaskier held a piece of fabric up to his face. Geralt breathed in deeply, and growled in hate and anticipation. He knew that scent. It was carved into his memory as deeply as the voices of his brothers.

“He’s wounded,” Jaskier told him. “Not enough to slow him down, but enough to cause upset. Can you smell him, Wolf?”

“I smell him,” Geralt hissed, popping the cork from the bottle of Swallow.

“He’s all yours, my dear. I’ll clean up the trash behind you.”

Geralt growled again, drank the potion, and darted around Jaskier. A monster to slay, for his bard. There was no task better suited to him.

~~\0/~~

Ten Years Previously

It was a fine thing, to be free and untethered. Truly he was meant to exist this way.

But Jaskier had tasted the stability of love, and now he could not be satisfied with the adrenaline of lust. So he waited at the inn for Geralt to finish his latest contract, instead of leaving for the nearest court or brothel—one and the same, truly. Full of rich men paying for the use of others’ bodies. And Jaskier was tired of it all.

Nilfgaard had fallen. Cintra had been restored. That didn’t mean there weren’t still monsters to clean up—both beast and man. Whilst Geralt specialized in the former, Jaskier concentrated on the latter. Like now, as he wrote a letter to a contact in Redania containing coded and magicked information. The old men who called this backwater village home were good at hiding, but their soldiers were not. Jaskier had seen them, and their weapons, and their fine steeds. And their sorceress.

She was good, but Yennefer was better. And with the entire force of her Lodge behind her, she could easily sway the woman to give up her lord and his sons. Jaskier allowed himself a small smile as he signed the letter with a tiny bird. Yennefer still wasn’t his favorite person, but only because she wasn’t Geralt. Other than that small detail, there was no one he trusted more.

With the three of them on the trail, Ciri wouldn’t have an enemy on the entire continent within a decade.

Not that she knew the extent of her parents’ goals. The last time Jaskier had seen Ciri, she had laughed that they were all too protective of her. She was a woman grown, with a wife and a place as a weapons-teacher. It didn’t matter how grown she was, though. Not to them.

Jaskier frowned. It was wrong of him to be so protective of her, when he wasn’t even her father. But he would still burn the world to the ground in her name. Was this how her grandmother had maintained her station? This blind loyalty that ensnared the hearts of the powerful until they couldn’t imagine a world without her?

Did it matter? They would root out every speck of conspiracy, to keep her safe. They would kill everyone they had to.

Jaskier pushed himself to his feet abruptly and paced the room. These thoughts, though frequent, and often quite logical, frightened him. He had asked Yennefer to poke about in his head to find any seed of madness in him, but she had said there was nothing other than what all men had. Jaskier had not been violent when he was younger.

When he was ignorant.

He sighed, and sat again. Nothing for it. He’d have to hope Geralt came back without wounds, so they could spar, or fuck, or both.

“I do so wish I understood what’s happened to me,” he murmured, leaning his chin in his hand. “There’s so much beauty and delight in this world, and yet the one thing that doesn’t move me is death. Hmm.”

“Is that so, little one?”

Jaskier shot to his feet and whipped around, his hand going to his dagger. In the corner was a shadow, undulating, covered in eyes of green fire. The lights of the candles and setting sun seemed to leech away into the inky dark of the shadow. The scent of ancient blood on cold stone filled the room.

Jaskier scowled and took his hand from the dagger’s hilt. “Mother,” he said dryly, and bowed. “Stop sneaking around like that.”

A wet chuckle, like a drowned person choking, and the shadow resolved into a tall, broad woman clothed in rags. She smiled, baring her fangs endlessly stained in blood. “But it is so fun, my dear boy,” she cooed, cupping Jaskier’s face in her sea-cold hands. “You are just as easy to frighten as your father. What funny creatures, men.”

“What do you need, Mother?” Jaskier asked. “We’re quite a ways away from the sea. A goddess of sirens should be with her people, in the waters.”

Her smile grew soft, her enormous wings mantling around them both as she pulled Jaskier into a gentle embrace. He hugged her back immediately, breathing her salty scent deeply. He’d missed her. Only a year, and he’d missed his mother, the daughter of Storms and Death.

“I need you to promise not to hate me,” she murmured.

“I could never hate you, Mother,” Jaskier replied.

“Not even if I granted your wish to know?”

“No. Your blood is in my veins. You know I want more than is good for me, always.”

She laughed again. “The sea takes, and takes, and takes, and gives but rarely. It is time I tell you.” She pulled back enough to tilt his face up to look into her eyes of storm-fire. Her expression and voice were gentle as she said, “My blood is in your veins. It is awakening. I am fading, and soon you will take my place, the lord of death at sea.”

Jaskier went cold. “Mother…”

“Hush. I am losing power. It is a cycle, like the tides. I Saw your coming fifty years ago, and that is why I seduced your father, married him in the way of humans, and bore you. Now you are coming into your own. You will take my place and feast on those who trespass in our beloved ocean. Do not be sad, my pearl. I am not dying. I will simply go where the ones before me went.”

“Mother.” Jaskier licked his lips, gathering his courage. “Mother, I can’t leave Geralt.”

His mother smiled indulgently. “You needn’t leave him. You can keep him in the depths, like my father kept my mother. You can even let your little sorceress friend visit once a moon. But you must come home when I fade. You must take up the chalice. There are too many humans who seek to tame the sea. They must remember why they worship us.”

“I’m not god material.”

“Neither was I. It comes to you. Don’t you feel it, my pearl? That jealous love. That lust for the blood of those who hurt those closest to you. That is the sea within you. Answer the call of the sea.”

[starfirewildheart]

Chapter 3

The Wolf and the Flame

Summary: Geralt had just found Ciri and was headed to Kaer Morhen when something drew him into the woods. He found a woman near death and things changed for them all. (I suck at summaries just read please!) Yennefer is bad in the start of this but she and Geralt work on their friendship. Eskel is a dick at first but there is a reason and it works out. Will have a happy ending. Ciri is younger here than in the netflix show. She is about 12.

Warnings: abuse history, injuries, hurt comfort, no one under 18 to be safe, will add when I need to 

Words: 1717

They had been traveling for nearly a week. Naurel was getting stronger but Geralt was still worried. He knew something was not as it should be with her but he couldn't seem to get her to open up about the things that had happened. They came to the last city between them and the final part of the journey to Kaer Morhen. He knew they had to stop and restock supplies. Also, the humans needed a soft bed and warmth for a bit. They left the horses at the stable and walked over to the Inn. Naurel was leaning against him, holding his arm to help support herself or for his warmth, he wasn’t sure which. All he knew was that he didn’t mind it. In fact, he felt at peace when they were touching. 

Ciri heard someone singing inside the bar at the inn and bound up the steps. “It’s Jaskier,” she said excitedly. 

“Ciri,” Gerault sighed as she ran inside ahead of him. “Damn it that girl never listens.” He and  Naurel moved faster to catch up with her. Once inside Geralt grabbed Ciri’s arm and leaned close, whispering something to her that made her shiver and look repentant before he led her and Naurel to a table to sit. “Stay here where I can see you both while I get us a couple of rooms.” 

Naurel waited until he walked away to put her hand on Ciri’s arm that was resting on the table. “You are going to get hurt or end up making him so angry that he’s going to punish you.”

Ciri rolled her eyes. “Please, he’s not my father. I have no family which makes me an adult. I’m in charge of me.”

“You are far from an adult little miss and you are showing that childishness more and more by the day,” Naurel warned. “He cares about you. He worries about you. Stop making it harder for him.” She knew that Geralt was struggling to figure out how to deal with a child. He knew how to deal with a misbehaved witcher but not a young human girl so he just took what she dished out. The yelling, arguing, not listening, stubbornness that she likely got away with as a spoiled little princess and Naurel was losing patients with her. Ciri was a loving girl but she was being a huge brat. She looked up at Geralt as he sat heavily in a chair beside her, noting that he put himself where his back would be up against the wall. “Everything alright?”

He nodded. “Got two rooms with an adjoining door,” he eyed Ciri, “and a large tub.” He grinned when Naurel sighed happily. 

“Mmm, a bath sounds heavenly. Maybe if I boil myself I will actually heat my blood and stop having to steal your warmth,” she smiled at him. 

He reflexively pulled her close. “I don’t mind sharing warmth.”

Ciri made a slight gagging sound drawing their attention. “You two need to get a room.”

“We have a room. Two in fact,” Geralt smirked at her. He loved their teasing banter when she wasn’t driving him mad with worry. Naurel was listening to the two of them and jumped when someone plopped down in a chair near her at the end of the table.

“Geralt you gorgeous beast, who are you lovely friends?”

Geralt shook his head and sighed. “Jaskier,” he nodded in greeting. He let Naurel and Ciri introduce themselves though kept his arm possessively around Naurel. Jaskier was a friend but he was also amorous and for some reason that bothered him where his newest companion was concerned.

“How did two such lovely creatures end up with such a grumpy, silent companion?” Jaskier wondered. 

“He’s not silent nor grumpy,” you smiled at the bard. 

“He’s grumpy and bossy,” Ciri teased. 

The waitress approached and Geralt ordered food for the three of them before joining the conversation. “I’m surprised to find you this far north this close to the snowy season.  I know you hate cold weather.”

“You are right,” Jaskier chuckled. “Oddly enough I’ve been looking for you. You are a very hard witcher to find. You would think with the white hair, yellow eyes, and rippling muscles that you would stand out more.” Naurel chuckled.

“Jaskier,” Geralt grumbled, stopping the bard from babbling. “Why were you looking for me? Is everything alright?” 

“A friend, no, no she’s not a friend she’s a,” he stopped himself before he finished his thought. “Someone we have in common needs to speak with you. She’s rather insistent and very annoying and she keeps following me. I implore you, please speak to her before I throw myself off a cliff.”

Geralt paused as if he was considering the option of speaking to someone or letting him jump, only answering when Jaskier whined indignantly. He had an idea of who the bard was talking about but he wondered why she just didn’t come to him herself. He’d heard that she survived the battle of Sodden from Triss and he was happy to hear his friend was still alive. “Is she here?”

“I’m here,” Yennefer said from behind him. “We need to speak, alone,” she looked at the others pointedly. 

He nodded and stood. “Jaskier, stay with them until I return?”

“Of course,” he smiled as he started asking both of them questions.

Yennefer led Geralt to an out-of-the-way corner near the stairs. She noticed that he positioned himself so that he could still see the table. “I need your help. Something has happened. I’ve searched everywhere, through all the lore about magic and chaos except the books at Kaer Morhen.”

“What are you searching for?”

“A spell,” she lied. “I am searching for a spell to try and help Istredd study the monoliths.” She wasn’t going to expose her weakness to anyone. It was bad enough that the old woman was in her head calling to her, telling her to bring both the woman and the girl to her; she wasn’t about to tell him she had lost her ability to do magic as well.

“Why doesn’t that ring true to me?” Geralt gave her a look.

“Fine, don’t help me,” she hissed and started to walk away.

“Yennefer,” he stopped her. “Portal to Kaer Morhen. Vesemir is willing to work with sorceresses and mages. He will show you the books you are looking for.”

“Why don’t we just travel together?” she asked. “Seems like you seem to be gathering a rather large party on your journey,” she eyed his new friends. “I could help you look after them. They both seem sort of defenseless.”

He could use some help protecting them since Ciri seemed to be so dead set on getting herself hurt. Maybe with Yennefer’s magic, he could actually rest a bit. “You want to travel, on foot, in the cold. You know it will be snowing soon?”

“Please witcher, the weather does not bother me,” she scoffed and walked back to the group at the table. She made sure to place herself next to Naurel where Geralt had been. Jealousy made her blood boil when she noticed how Geralt looked at the woman. The witcher and his new child suprise were supposed to be her family, not this woman's. She was tired of life screwing her over and giving everyone else what was rightfully hers.

Geralt frowned but sat next to Ciri. “Yennefer has decided to join us for the rest of our journey home.” Naurel looked into his eyes in question but didn’t speak, Jaskier however did.

“I’m going to then,” he insisted.

“I thought you wanted to be rid of her?” Geralt asked.

“Rid of me?” Yennefer scoffed. “I saved your life.”

“No, you distracted him so I could run. That’s not saving me, that's being a tease,” Jaskier argued. Ciri laughed at the two of them.

Their food was served and Naurel picked a small piece off of her bread and ate it as she listened to Jaskier tell stories of his time with Geralt. The bard was funny and he had kind eyes. She liked him. She could see how he would get on Geralt’s nerves though with his knack for babbling and Geralt being stoic and quiet.

‘The redhead! Bring the red head’ the deathless mother screamed in her head over and over. It was becoming hard to ignore but she pushed it to the back of her mind and continued on with the conversation. “Awe you left out the story of how the three of us met,” Yennefer interjected. “All bloody and dying because of the Djinn. Geralt, ever the protector, riding in to find me to save you.” She saw the muscles in Geralt’s jaw flex as he clenched his teeth.

“Well, he ended up saving you too,” Jaskier snapped. “More than saving you if I remember correctly.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt sighed.

The bard looked up and quickly realized he’d said too much. “But he came to his senses!”

She closed the door behind her before laying on the bed next to her friend. “He thought she was dead,” she explained softly. She wanted to be sure she knew Geralt had not intentionally tried to hurt her though Ciri never realized that Yennefer and Geralt were mates.

“I know,” her voice choked as she lost her battle with her tears. “It’s my fault,” she repeated to herself more than Ciri. She took the comfort Ciri offered and allowed the young girl to play with her hair before she ran over to the chamber pot and vomited.

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