#witcher x poc!reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

victoria-daydreams · 2 years

Text

A Close Call

AN: I can’t believe I did it, but I wrote a story for The Witcher universe. I always had this idea floating around in my head, but I didn’t feel confident writing for The Witcher and I still don’t really, but I had to get this plot bunny out before it drove me insane. This is mostly based off Netflix’s The Witcher and I’m hoping I got the personalities right. So yeah, here you go, sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes.

Word Count: 5.9k

Rievone stirred from her slumber, her eyes fluttering open. Golden light streamed through the small window of her bedroom. The sign of a new day dawning in the countryside of Redania. She could feel the warmth of each ray seeping through her blankets. Blinking a little for her eyes adjust to the sunlight, Rievone exhaled heavily before rolling onto her other side. However, instead of the usual empty space she had been used to for many months now, she was greeted by the sleeping face of a man. Her Witcher.

Rievone’s gaze became more alert, her eyes resting on the figure beside her in bed. Lambert’s hair was a mess of unruly red waves and his pale, muscular body stretched nearly off her bed. She reached out to him, using the back of her finger to stroke his cheek. Lambert unconsciously tightened his arm around her, pulling her closer to him. His body was warm against hers, generating more than enough heat to knock off the morning chill.

Lambert buried his nose in her hair, making Rievone smile to herself. When first meeting the stony Witcher, she would have never took him as someone who cuddled. Moving an arm around his waist, Rievone laid her head on his chest and looked up at him. He looked so much younger asleep, more carefree, more vulnerable. His strong jaw was relaxed and the usual worry lines etched into his forehead along with the furrowed brow, nowhere to be found.

Rievone saw him as soon as he rode into the backwater village on a gorgeous, black mare. She had just barely shut the door to her patient’s home. He was a big man with wide shoulders and thick, muscled arms that were noticeable even underneath the black leather armor he was clad in. Her eyes weren’t the only one watching the ginger haired stranger as every pair of eyes was fixed on him. Two swords dangled from the scabbard strapped on his back. One silver for monsters, one metal, for humans.

Rievone knew exactly what he was.

“Witcher,” she thought.

The monster hunter strode stiffly down the muddy road, a glower set in his face. Some villagers averted their stare, others wore a look of disgust. He ignored the leering and maneuvered his horse towards the tavern.

“Right,” Rievone whispered to herself, and pulled the hood of her cloak over head.

She finally stepped away from the door and made her way back to her cottage which happened to be in the same direction of the tavern. Rievone passed a two men lingering outside the inn, making her grip the basket in her hand tighter. She didn’t need any trouble, she just wanted to get home.

"I need a mage or a healer,"

The voice was gruff and unfamiliar, it made her pointed ears perk up slightly. Rievone glanced in the direction it came from. It was the Witcher that had spoken, and to those two men, no less.

“No witches here,” the farmer scowled. “Or their foul magic,” he added.

"We have a healer, but I doubt the half-breed would treat a monster like you,” the other man sneered, and spat on the ground. “Even she has her limits I suppose,” he commented snidely.

"Where is she?" the Witcher asked, seemingly ignoring the insult.

Suddenly, a high pitched whistle rang out in the air.

“Hey, pointy!” the farmer shouted, stopping Rievone in her tracks. “Your services are needed!” he yelled.

She turned to the group of men, “Whistle at me again like I’m some dog and I’ll cut your tongue out,” she threatened, glaring at the old farmer.

Rievone’s defiant gaze met the Witcher’s unflinchingly stare for just a split second before continuing on her path home. She had barely made it down the road when she heard a horse slowly trotting behind her.

"I don't treat Witchers—” Rievone began.

He scoffed, “Of course, you don’t,” he cut in. “You’re going to treat me just as the villagers treat you,” he continued, now riding alongside her. “You finally get someone to look down on,” he finished, with a sardonic chuckle.

“Very often” she finished, looking up at him pointedly.

The man scoffed again, but Rievone could see his lips curve into the barest hint of a grin.

Thus, began an unlikely friendship between a hedge mage and a Witcher. After all, it was only Rievone who saw right through him. The real him, beneath the tough exterior which was the only way he knew how to present himself to the world. Lambert would never admit it out loud, but there lay a soft hearted, lonely man who simply wanted to be with kindness. In kind, Lambert learned that Rievone’s perceived demureness was an act; she could've easily graduated from Aretuza. She was as ambitious and cunning as those sorceresses are renowned for.

Lambert, who was not famous for his chivalry and manners, but instead his quick temper and snarky comments. Any trace of the tough Witcher persona he carried himself by had been stripped away as he dozed. All that remained was Lambert, a man, molded into a seemingly untouchable monster hunter due to a series of traumatic events. If it were possible, Rievone would always want Lambert to always be this serene. Without all those walls in place to hide who he really was. It looked good on him.

"Like what you see, love?"

Rievone was jerked out of her thoughts. Dark brown irises blinked lazily down at her, still glazed over from sleep. A small smile formed on her lips and she lifted her head from his chest.

“Oh Lambert, don't be so cocky,” Rievone said, with a scoff. “Something I know that’s hard for you not to do,” she addded, rolling her eyes.

“You certainly weren’t complaining about my cockiness last night,” he quipped. “Or hardness,” he recalled smugly.

Rievone scrunched her nose in disgust, “You’re a pig, Lambert,” she responded.

They stared at each other for a beat, both completely silent until both their faces split into smiles. Leaning down, Rievone placed a light kiss to Lambert’s lips that was short and sweet.

“Good morning,” she whispered, as if it was a secret between the two of them.

“A good morning indeed,” he hummed, tucking loose strands of red hair behind her ear.

“Did you sleep well?”

“The best in months,”

“Good,” she said, and gave a peck on his cheek.

Rievone pushed herself up from the bed and sat up. Stretching her muscles, they burned with a familiar and pleasant ache and caused her grin to herself, images from yesterday activities flashed through her mind. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and went to stand up, but didn't get far. Strong arms had wrapped themselves around her waist.

"Don't go," Lambert groaned. “It’s too early,” he added, tightening his grip on her abdomen.

“The sun begs to differ,” Rievone replied, with a chuckle.

“No one in this godsdamned village needs a healer at the crack of fucking dawn, Rievone,” he complained, halfway to exasperation.

Her smile turned into a smirk, “I don’t know Lambert, there’s potions to be made, balms and salves, poultices, tinctures—”

Rievone let out a yelp as she felt herself being tugged backwards onto her bed. Lambert pulled her on top of him, his arms curled around her. Her chest pressed against his, and only the thin fabric of Lambert’s shirt that she wore was between them.

"Plenty of time to do that…" he trailed off, bringing a finger up to run across the light dusting of freckles along the bridge of her nose. "Later," he emphasized, now smirking himself.

Bringing her head down to meet his, their lips connected once more. This kiss was slow and passionate, more than sharing just a light peck. Rievone was pressed up against him, her body molding itself to his. Lambert’s hand found itself at the small of her back where her shirt had ridden up slightly, exposing the smooth skin that was soft and warm under his palm. Their lips continued to move over each other’s lazily and Lambert’s hands shifted to tightly gripping her hips, taking a handful of her backside as he did. He coaxed her to grind against him making Rievone inhale sharply, the action igniting the pits of her stomach with butterflies.

Rievone could feel the lightest of pressure pushing against her thigh. The evidence of his desire for her was unmistakable; he was hard and aching with need. She cupped his cheek in her hand, his beard tickling the palm of her hands and slid her tongue over his bottom lip. His hips involuntarily bucked upwards.

“Fuck!” Lambert hissed, abruptly pulling away from the kiss. He turned his head away, gasping for control. “Gods damn woman, you don’t know what you do to me,” he said, in between huffs.

“I could say the same for you, Witcher,” Rievone said, sitting up and straddling his waist.

She ran her fingers up and down his well muscled torso riddled with scars twisting around his body like white vines. Her her hands came to a rest on his chiseled chest, directly above his heart. Lambert tucked an arm behind his head before intertwining his fingers with Rievone’s.

“Come to Kaer Morhen with me,” he said suddenly.

“What?” Rievone asked, her eyebrow quirking up.

“Kaer Morhen,” Lambert repeated. “The keep I travel to every winter,” he reminded.

“Why do you want me to go?” she asked curiously, absentmindedly tracing his scars.

“I worry about your safety, Rievone,” Lambert answered, squeezing her hand which got her attention.

She chuckled, “My safety?” she echoed. “Are there monsters in the woods that the village is not aware of?” she questioned, tilting her head.

Lambert untangled his fingers from hers and let his hand slide along her thigh up to her hip.

“Not all monsters dwell in deep, dark woods,” he stated, rubbing a circular pattern on her skin.

Rievone’s eyebrow raised itself again, this time in half amusement. Dipping her head down, she trailed kisses up his sternum to his throat. He closed his eyes and she knew he was enjoying the attention she gave him. Her kisses were light and mischievous, warm on his skin.

“Tell me,” she began, peppering kisses on the corners of his mouth. “What has my Witcher so concerned?”

“Man,” Lambert answered simply.

“If this is about the barkeep’s boy, I told you already you have nothing to fear,” Rievone said playfully.

“Rievone, I’m serious,” Lambert stated, a frown lining his features.

“And I’m being serious too, Lambert,” she replied, sitting up again. “The villagers can be absolute asses, but they haven’t harmed me,” she commented.

“Yet,” Lambert retorted. “Tensions are running high between humans and elves, and in case you’ve forgotten, you’re a half elf,” he informed. “Not to mention you’re a sorceress, and these people hate magic,”

“You truly think the villagers are stupid enough to kill the only healer around?” She questioned, raising a brow.

“Yes,” he answered bluntly. “Humans are fickle and irrational,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing ever.

“Lambert, I’ll be fine, I promise,” Rievone reassured, bending down to place a kiss on his forehead.

She rested her forehead against his and he curled his fingers into her auburn curls.

“Rievone-“

She put her finger on his lips, “If all fails, I will come to Kaer Morhen at the first sign of trouble,” she interrupted. “I know where it is, you showed me on a map before, remember?” Rievone asked, a small smile on her lips. “I’ll be out of this village before you can say kikimora,” she joked.

Lambert shifted underneath her and before she knew it, Rievone’s back was against the mattress and Lambert was hovering above her.

“If so much of a hair is harmed on your head…” he warned lowly.

“You’ll kill them, yes, I know,” she said, finishing his sentence. “I prefer you don’t,” Rievone said, releasing a breathy laugh. “How else would I get my crowns and coppers?” she joked.

“You’re incredible,”

Lambert grinned at her lovingly and Rievone giggled softly, a giggle that was swallowed by Lambert capturing her lips with his. Immediately, she melted into the kiss feeling her body tingle and course with warmth. Rievone leaned up and returned the kiss with vigor, wrapping her arms around his neck. She clung onto Lambert as their kiss deepened. His mouth moved over hers, stealing away her breath in deep, desperate kisses. Lambert slid his hand from her hip to her thigh, grinding against her as he pulled her leg up to wrap around his waist.

Rievone’s eyes roll back ever so slightly as breathy gasps that left her throat, muffled by his lips against hers.

“Still need to make your potions and poultices?” Lambert murmured, against her mouth before trailing down her neck.

“No,” she breathed, Rievone could not help but smile at his jest. “This is much more important,” she stated, nodding her head.

Lambert let out a satisfied grunt into her neck. His beard tickled her jawline, while his lips and hot breath fanned over collar bone. Everything felt so peaceful, so perfect. Rievone didn't know what time it was, nor did she really care. She would gladly stay in bed all day if it meant more tender and loving moments like this.

~~~x~~~

Two months later

Rievone’s feet hit the frozen ground hard and she immediately stumbled, falling hard onto her hands and knees. The portal behind her spluttered close, the last of its energy spent dying with one final crackle. Heavy, ragged breathing was just barely audible over the howling wind around her. Rievone’s skin was slick with sweat, mixing with blood trailing down her forehead and onto her cheeks. The cold, dampness of the snow soaking the skirt of her dress barely registered with her, not when there was pain lancing through her body. Sharpness in her back, a throbbing slash on her side.

Rievone glanced at her surroundings, her portal had taken to a dark, dense forest. The moon was the only light that shone upon the forest floor, filtering its way through the branches that already lost their leaves. Suddenly, a freezing gust swept through the air like an agonized howl and Rievone stiffened. The biting wind lapped at her newly acquired tender, raw cuts on her right cheek and forehead. The stinging pain hurt, but kept her focused on her mission.

“I need to reach him,” she wheezed, pushing herself up from the ground.

On shaky legs, snow crunched underneath her boots as she made her way through the thick forest. Rievone could barely see where she was going. Her vision blurry both from fatigue and the little white flecks falling from the sky. She held her palm against her side moving as fast as she could, gasping for the frigid air. Blood was seeping from her wound on her waist making it even harder for her to continue at her current pace. Her lungs burned and her legs ached and the snow blanketing the forest floor surely wasn’t making it any easier on her body.

Panting heavily, Rievone finally stepped out into a clearing. Before her eyes, the full moon shined down on the remaining standing walls of Kaer Mohren, snowflakes slowly descending onto the decrepit structure. Tall mountains rose high behind the castle, blocking out the horizon from its vast height. The towers jetted up towards the sky disappearing into the clouds. The ruins was the most peaceful thing she had laid eyes on in hours.

Rievone vision was beginning to swim and each breath she took was more difficult than the last. Briefly, her eyes shut as a shudder racked through her body. She was so tired. Rievone forced her eyes to reopen, wanting her rapidly fogging vision to assess the damage at her side. It only took a quick glance for her to clasp her hand back over her wound again. It was bad. No worse than bad, it was fatal.

Thick, crimson liquid began to pool profusely between her fingers almost instantly. The sudden flow of blood spilling from out of her made her hands slick. Trembling, numb fingers pressed harder against the torn layer of the soaking wet clothes. A rasping moan of pain drew from her throat at the increase in pressure.

Soundlessly, the warm liquid trickled down to the ground in droplets, staining the freshly laid snow red. In the moonlight, her blood almost looked black instead of red, as if she was bleeding tar or ink. Rievone knew wasn’t going to last much longer.

She furrowed her brow in concentration, tugging at the remnants of her magic, ready to cast a spell to freeze the blood in her wound in a desperate bid to staunch the flow. Time, she needed to buy herself time…time to get help, but she realized that trying it would only wear her down further.

“Fuck!” she hissed, her breath steaming in the air in front of her.

Her breaths were coming in short gasps while heart pounded like a drum in her ears. With one bloody palm, Rievone flexed her fingers and the heavy gates flung open. She trudged through the snowy courtyard, the pain in her side increasing with every step she took, but she wasn’t going to allow herself to give up. Not when she was so close.

Rievone outstretched her hand and the wooden doors leading to the Great Hall flung open with a loud bang, causing every head inside the room to whip towards the entrance. Even with clouding vision, she could see the main hall was lit up with candles, a fire roaring in the large fireplace. Gripping her cloak tighter around her body, she didn’t think that it was possible for the hall to feel far colder than the snow storm raging outside. Or maybe it was due to the unknown amount of blood she’s lost? Rievone leaned against the frame of the door, leaving a bloody handprint on the wood.

An older man with white hair that dusted his shoulders and a receding hairline was the first to spring to his feet, a wolf medallion dangling from his neck.

He stared at her warily, “Anything I can help you with?" the man asked, his composure cool.

She didn’t answer, instead she used the door to steady herself, feeling her legs tremble beneath her. Red smeared itself all the along surface as she entered the hall. A loud scraping noise eerily echoed in the hall as Rievone’s feet dragged across the stone floor.

“Lambert,” she uttered weakly.

She swayed, black dots peppering her vision. Rievone took a step forward into the hall and immediately wavered, her knees buckling as they refuse to carry her weight for another moment. Gravity slammed her onto the cold, stone floor. For a few seconds, she was blissfully numb as her brain tried to process what was happening. She couldn't move, couldn't feel. The only sensation she could feel was the dull, icy cold seeping into her body.

“Oh, I’m dying,” she realized.

She knows it by the dull, numbness spreading up from the agonizing throbbing in her side. By the strength she didn't have the to get up, by the will to not keep fighting. A warm puddle of liquid pooling beneath her. It coated her fingers and her arm. It drenched her hip and her side. It spread across her stomach. Above her, she could faintly hear voices and hurried footsteps.

“Rievone!”

Someone had screamed her name. They sounded frantic.

“Strange…I-I don’t remember stating my name,” she thought.

The corners of her eyes darkened, her mind beginning to fog. Suddenly, a pair of hands fumbled over her body in a panic, turning her over to look at them. The last thing Rievone saw was the face of a man framed by curly, ginger hair full of shock and terror, before finally slipping under and feeling her head loll to the side as darkness took her.

~~~x~~~

The first thing Rievone woke to was a splintering pain in her skull causing a soft groan to pass from her lips. She opened her eyes, or rather, she tried to open them. Her eyes felt like they were glued shut, the pressure in her head building like a tea kettle coming to boil. She forced her eyes open just a slit and for a moment there was a piercing, blinding ray of light. Instantly, she shut them again, wincing against the pain.

It took a moment for the fog of slumber to lift from her mind, before lifting her hand to rub her forehead. When moving her hand, the softness of fur blankets under her fingertips was both welcoming and puzzling. How did she get under fur covers? When did she get under covers? Rievone’s confusion only grew as she sensed herself drifting between the hazy state of consciousness and unconsciousness. Blurred Images and muffled sounds began flashing through her mind.

"Rievone, please! Open your eyes for me love!"

The feeling of intense heat and a cool cloth on her head. The taste of bitter medicine. The sound of a door opening and closing, hushed voices outside. Hearing a familiar voice and the thought of opening her eyes crossed her mind, but she was unable to move a muscle. The only thing she felt was a comfortable warmth. A much larger hand tenderly holding hers.

She tried once more to pry her eyes open and with every blink, the pain of the sunlight light began to fade as her eyes slowly adjusted to the poorly lit space. A wooden empty chair beside the bed was the first thing her eyes had landed on. Her eyes darted towards the center of the room, a stone fireplace lined with black ash and soot heated the room to a warm, nearly sleep-inducing temperature. Rievone had to force herself to ignore the urge to fall asleep again.

She pushed herself up in the bed slightly and felt lightheaded from the sudden motion. Every muscle in Rievone’s arms groaned, her bones seemingly letting out a few creaks themselves. This was the exact opposite surroundings she was accustomed to. It was a far cry from the coziness of her cottage. It’s then, the events of the night before came flooding back to Rievone. Jumbled at first, but her brain slowly pieced it back together into cohesion. The villagers. Her cottage. A fire. Running. Blood.

"Half-breed!”

“Filthy elf!"

“She-elf!”

“Nilfgaardian spy!”

The volley of insults hurled her way was relentless, but she held her head high, refusing to allow the insults to get under skin. All she needed to do was collect some herbs from the forest and leave the village when night fell. A rock suddenly hit Rievone on the side of her forehead just below her right eye. Momentarily, she was dazed by the unexpected blow, but then came the sensation of something warm running down her face. Dropping her reins, Rievone lifted her hand to her face. Blood.

Another flurry of rocks soared her way, this time missing their mark. Rievone picked up her reins and kicked the sides of horse.

“Yah!“ she shouted, ordering her horse to sprint.

More rocks were tossed at her, but with the speed she was riding at, she avoided most of the jagged projectiles. Rievone flinched as one struck her cheek, slicing the tender skin. She had spoken too soon.

Rievone lifted her fingers to her cheek expecting to feel the open wound on her cheek, instead she felt nothing, just the smoothness of her skin. The harsh wind whipping loudly against Kaer Morhen shook her from her daze. A shiver ran down her spine, the wintery air getting through the cracks of the walls, whistling through them and giving the room a slight chill. Luckily, the heat from the fire burning in the fireplace kept most of it away. Quietly, faint voices echoed in the corridor outside the door and Rievone’s head snapped in that direction.

The hushed voices became louder and louder as the sound of footsteps simultaneously grew closer. Rievone couldn’t explain it, but she suddenly felt afraid. A subtle click echoed in the room as the door opened to reveal a man and woman as light from the corridor spilled into the semi-dark room. The woman was dressed elegantly, in dark velvets, her hair braided around her head to resemble a crown.

Rievone shifted her gaze to the man and her eyes froze at his appearance. Deep scars ran down the right side of his face distorting his features, reaching from his temple to his lips. Despite the scarring, she could tell he was handsome; brunet hair pulled back into a half bun with wavy strands falling over his face.

“It’s good to see you awake,” the woman greeted softly. “You had us all worried, Lambert most of all,” she said, stepping into the room.

“Had Lambert going half out his mind,” the man commented.

“Not helpful,” the woman admonished, lightly hitting his stomach. “I’m Leyna,” she introduced, placing her hand on her chest. “And this is Eskel, who is going to tell Lambert that he comes bearing good news,” Leyna said, looking up at him.

“Er-hi,” Rievone croaked out, her throat raspy from dehydration.

He frowned, “Why do I—”

“Go,” Leyna ordered, lightly pushing him out the room and closing the door in his face.

She turned around and faced Rievone with a grin on her face.

“I suppose I have you to thank for healing me,” Rievone stated, picking up the cup of water from the small wooden table next to her.

“I cannot take all the credit, it was a combined effort,” Leyna answered, moving over to the fireplace. “My friend Triss helped as well, we made sure to leave no scars,” she added, smiling over her shoulder.

Rievone wiped her top lip of excess water and watched as Leyna kindled the flames that crackled and spit, the flickering light casting dancing shadows on the walls.

“You’re both mages, aren’t you?”

“Yes, and from what I heard from Lambert you’re one too,” Leyna replied, placing the poker down and spinning around. “Says you’re quite powerful yourself,” she continued, sitting down in the chair next to the bed. “I saw some of your handiwork, you tried to heal yourself just enough before you portaled,” she recalled, nodding her head.

“A hedge mage,” Rievone corrected quickly. “I wouldn’t dare call myself a mage since I never received formal training at Aretuza,” she said sarcastically, curling her fingers and watched as the extinguished candle sprung back to life.

An ache inside Rievone’s skull throbbed making her wince and hold her head in pain.

“Too early to try and cast magic,” she thought.

Leyna grabbed the pitcher off the table, “He wasn’t wrong, Lambert that is. I can feel the power radiating from you,” she stated, refilling the cup.

Rievone laughed bitterly, “It’s funny, the Rectoress of Aretuza, Tissaia de Vries, said she could sense my power as well,” she recalled, shaking her head.

She placed the pitcher back down, “You know Tissaia? Oh, how lovely,” Leyna said, her face lighting up.

“I suppose she had plans to whisk me from my father’s farm, but then she realized what I was,” Rievone said, before pulling her hair over one shoulder.

“A half-elf,”

“My father and I knew that such a day would come,” Rievone explained, picking up the cup again. “My mother was a sorceress, it was only matter of time before I manifested my powers,” she said quietly, raising the cup to her lips.

“I’m sorry, I cannot accept your daughter into Aretuza. Upon further inspection, she doesn’t meet our standards,” the Rectoress informed, a stoic expression on her face.

“Your ‘standards’ being ‘humans only’, right?” her father retorted, holding Rievone closer to him. “She’s better off without you lot,” he stated, his eyes narrowing at the woman. “Come on dear, let’s get back inside and finish our breakfast,” he said, looking down at her warmly and rubbing her arm.

“I-” Leyna began.

Suddenly, the door to Rievone room was thrown open, loudly slamming against the stone wall and startling both women. There in the doorway, stood an out of breath Lambert immediately seeking out her eyes. His face was paler than normal, causing the dark rings under his eyes to stand in stark contrast of his skin. The mighty Witcher looked haggard, his unruly hair and clothes were more disheveled than she could ever recall. It pained Rievone to see him in such a state.

“Gods, Lambert!” Leyna exclaimed, rising to her feet. “You nearly made of us die of fright,” she scolded lightly, as he slowly walked in the room.

Quick footfalls echoed in the corridor and sliding behind Lambert was Eskel’s slightly panting form.

“Barely had time to finish her name before he went sprinting,” Eskel said, breathing heavily looking at the sorceress. “Fastest I‘ve ever seen him,” he quipped, glancing at Lambert who was not paying to him at all. His eyes were solely focused on Rievone. “Leyna, let’s give them some privacy,” Eskel suggested, holding out his hand for her to take.

“Of course,” she agreed.

Passing Lambert, Leyna gave his bicep a reassuring squeeze before leaving and pulling the door close. Just before the door completely shut, Rievone could see Eskel rest his hand on Leyna’s lower back before sliding down and grabbing her backside. Promptly, she swatted it away, but not before letting out a giggle as the door shut with a click.

Rievone shifted her gaze back to Lambert, observing the slight shaking of his form and the white-knuckled grip the ginger had from his fists being balled up. He stood there, not saying anything.

“Lambert, I-”

“What was it that you promised me?” he asked lowly, cutting her off. “The first sign of trouble and ‘I’ll be out of this village before you can say kikimora,’” he echoed, and Rievone opened her mouth to explain herself but found that her throat suddenly felt dry. “Tell me Rievone, what was the first sign? Was it the stab wound to your side? The slash to your back? The cuts on your forehead?” Lambert questioned.

Rievone could taste the anger in his voice, the fear in his words, and yet his face was gentle, eyes soft. Lambert began to pace back and forth in front of her and ran his hand through his hair, tugging at the curls in frustration.

His pacing suddenly stopped, “The moment you heard the elves aligned themselves with Nilfgaard, you should’ve left that backwater village!” Lambert said, his eyes boring into hers.

Rievone swallowed deeply, “I was going to leave at nightfall, but the barkeep’s son h-he-” she stammered.

Lambert’s eyes darkened, “What did that bastard do to you?” he growled, walking to the bed.

“H-He followed me into the woods,” she answered, as Lambert lowered himself next to her. “You knew how he could be Lambert, always making advances at me,” Rievone continued, noticing his jaw tighten. “When he followed me, I thought it was out of the kindness of his heart this time. You see, I just had rocks thrown at me,” she informed. “That’s why my face was cut up,” she explained, running her fingers across her cheek.

“At first he did try to comfort me, he helped clean my face off,” Rievone said, with a soft sigh. “I closed my eyes for one second, and he took that as an invitation to kiss me,” she went on, as Lambert narrowed his eyes. “I shoved him away…” she said, trailing off.

“What the hells is wrong you?” Rievone shouted.

“I turned my back on him, it was a terrible mistake,” she remembered, her breath slightly faltering. “My rejection of him had consequences,” she said, her eyes never leaving Lambert’s.

“Elven bitch!”

“He stabbed me in the side first,” Rievone began, and Lambert warily reached his hand out to where the wound should have been. “Then, he slashed my back. Only reason he didn’t kill me was because I fought him off with my magic,” she said, letting the heat of his palm anchor her as the warmth permeated through the thin material of her dress.

The man fell back onto the ground, “Y-You’re a witch,” he stated, his knife slipping from his fingers. “You’re a filthy witch!” he yelled, pointing fearfully at her.

“He ran back to the village and told everyone what I was,” Rievone recounted. “There was going to be a manhunt for me, they were going to kill me,” she whispered. “I tried to go back to my home, but…” she trailed off again.

Camouflaging herself behind a bush, Rievone carefully pushed away leaves that blocked her view to her cottage. She gasped at the crowd amassed at her door.

"Burn the witch!" the mob cried, as they surrounded her home.

Rievone looked on in horror as they broke the windows in and tossed their torches inside, setting her once cozy home aflame.

"Let’s get the she-elf witch and kill her!"

Her head snapped in the direction of the voice as they walked in the direction where she had been left for dead. Rievone held her side and slowly backed away from the burning cottage, her breathing uneven. She forced herself to tear her eyes away from the fiery blaze and turned around, limping off into the dark woods.

“They burnt it down. My cottage, everything inside, gone,”

Lambert’s fingertips traced along her jaw, his thumb ghosting over her cheek like she was made of glass.

“I don’t give a damn about your cottage,” he stated, his voice low.

Rievone frowned, “Lambert-”

“No!” he snapped, his tone hardening as his eyes fervently searched hers. “I warned you that something like this could happen,” Lambert said, followed by a shaky exhale. “Rievone, seeing you bleed out on the floor of the Great Hall—to see you motionless on this bed—” he paused, taking a breath. “My worst fear very nearly came true, I could’ve lost you,” Lambert whispered, his voice cracking as his thumb gently ghosted her lips.

Lambert’s fingers began to tremble against her skin. Immediately, Rievone placed her hand on top of his stilling the tremors and rubbed her thumb against his skin, moving in small circles. His eyes were glassy and a single tear slipped down his face.

“Don’t cry Lambert,” Rievone said softly, wiping the tear away before pulling him in for a hug. “I’m right here,” she reassured. “And I'm not going anywhere,” she added, kissing his hair.

Rievone felt as his body began to shake violently as he cried silently. Her arms tighten around his him, his tears dampening her dress. A shiver ran through her as Lambert’s breath fanned across her neck and collarbone. He wrapped his arms around her waist and held her tightly, to the point that it was almost crushing, but she didn't mind.

“For as long as I draw breath, I shall never leave you,” Rievone whispered, running her fingers through ginger locks.

Lambert raised his head, “Life without you Rievone, would be unbearable, everything would become meaningless. You are the tether that keeps me going in this godforsaken world,” he confessed brokenly.

Rievone leaned forward, their foreheads resting against each other. She lifted her hand and cupped his cheek feeling Lambert press into her hand.

“My dear Lambert,” she began, her smile small and warm. “Aé minne taedh,” she said, nuzzling her nose against his.

“What was that you just said?”

“I love you, my dearest Lambert,”

#the witcher x reader #black fanfiction #the witcher #lambert x oc #lambert x reader #the witcher fanfiction #poc!reader #woc!reader #half elf #lambert #eskel #black!reader #witcher netflix

93 notes · View notes

kikilefangirl · 3 years

Text

Loved One

Geralt of Rivia x Black!Reader

(Word Count: 1.4K)

The peeking sun shot out from in between the blinds, bursts of light leaving a soft warmth on your face.

Before you opened your eyes, you felt the hard body beside you. The hair on his chest tickled your fingers as you tried not to wake him. The blood rushing through his heart roared in your ears as you laid there. Your eyes fluttered as you opened them slowly, blearing at the harsh light.

“Destiny is taking its course.”

You lay in Geralt of Rivia’s bed, his gruff voice softened from tiredness. You tilted your head to see those unearthly, golden orbs peering down at you through slightly hooded lids.

You frowned slightly as you sat up to face the Witcher. Away from his body, a morning chill sent goosebumps along your bare spine.

“You must guide her, Geralt.” You said softly, keeping your voice low. The two of you slept in this room while the owners and Ciri arranged around it.

Ciri, the poor princess from Cintra, orphaned and a fugitive at such a young age. Too young. You remembered the smell of smoke and blood poisoning the evening air, overpowering the earthly scent that usually awaited you at the castle gates.

You shivered at the memory.

Before the bile could creep up your throat, you shoved it back down. Death reeked over your lands once; and it had done the same to Ciri as her kingdom.

Geralt sat up as well.

“She needs better than me.”

You hooked your legs over his, and cupped a hand on his cheek. You savored the closeness reserved just for you, it eased the mounting tension.

“You cannot abandon her again, Geralt.” You pleaded, but the Witcher gave no quarter. His face remained unchanged, your hands still on him.

You ripped them away, climbing off your lovers lap with a detached sadness. That girl was the key to the latest tyrant to bring violence and destruction throughout the continent. You dressed and Geralt watched you.

Neither of you spoke as you gracefully made to leave.

“She is alone with no family to claim her. Certainly you would know how that feels.”

...

Your airy, breathy voice was unnervingly calm and fact like.

Anger brought Geralt to his feet in a blur. He sprang up from the bed, his beloved already slipping out the door.

Your words echoed in his head—his mother, Kaer Morhen, and his mother again.

“Fuck.”

Geralt surveyed the room as flashes of you invaded his senses. The smell of you— the peace he felt when you were near. Right now, the thought of you and your easy gentleness, made his jaw tighten with fury.

Your words had reached their target, and he hated it. Geralt didn’t like to dwell, not when he had already spent enough years hoping for the impossible. But of course he was breaking his rules when it came to you.

He grumbled as he too, dressed for the day, grumbling to himself in open annoyance.

…

The day was a series of quick bristles through fabric, a blur moving limbs attached to faces neither dared to gaze upon, and an audience.

Everyone noticed the icy cavern between you and your Witcher.

But you hadn’t lied to him.

You never lied to Geralt, a fault that probably made you rather odd company. All of your objections, your laughs, and your smiles were genuine with him. That wasn’t so for everyone—anyone else, but Geralt of Rivia.

You surveyed gorgeous plants hanging over the windowsill, long strains of bright green dangled in the air. A surprisingly elegant and simple touch to the modest cottage.

“—last us a fortnight.”

Your host announced, but you were hardly paying any attention. You were attending to Ciri’s knotted, freshly washed hair, and led her outside.

Your quick nimble fingers made quick work of the fine blond hair—it was nothing like your own. The girl looked so haunted and neglected on her journey to Geralt, you wanted to do something nice for her before the journey resumed.

“Ouch.” The young princess winced at your heavy handedness. You clicked your tongue, loosening your grip slightly.

“You are nearly presentable. Patience is becoming of every young lady.” You admonished, softly.

The two of you sat on the stone step before the front door. High grass tickled the fabric of your dress as you and Ciri traded stories.

You had never really imagined yourself as a mother, but you took to the princess of Cintra and she you. Mother-like then.

When you pinned her last braid, Ciri hummed in excitement as she glanced in the small mirror.

“Many thanks, Y/N. It’s beautiful.”

The girl’s demeanor shifted at the word—she shrank into herself, letting the mirror fall in the grass beside you.

“My people are dying and I am worried about what is beautiful.” Ciri’s lower lip quivered as she sank back to the ground.

You frowned at the girl with a kingdom on her shoulders.

“It is something you love and it will keep you grounded.” Your voice never wavered. It was a clear, calm sound that cut through the haze of Ciri’s emotions.

“What do you love?” She asked.

“I love Geralt, I suppose.” You replied without blinking.

Familiar amber eyes poked out from the door. It was a miracle the Witcher’s large frame fit anywhere. The princess didn’t seem to notice his presence, but responded nevertheless.

“And I love Cintra. What am I to do with that information?” Ciri’s eyes burned with desperation, for the answers to her problems.

You saw it and so did Geralt. The Witcher nodded, bowing his head a tad longer than he needed to. The corners of your lips turned up, forming a sad, delicate smile.

“I have my love, Lioncub of Cintra,” Your eyes flicked up at Geralt, “I have fought many times to keep him with me, always. You must also fight for yours. Always.”

A determination brewed in the girl’s eyes, growing harder and harder with each passing moment. Gone was the clever, skittish girl who escaped the fall of Cintra through the sacrifices of others— no.

Something ancient coursed through her veins, and Ciri looked every bit the cold, ethereal Queen she truly was. You recalled Geralt’s mystified, and all together defeated expression.

The girl had more power that he paled against, and you had ignored his warnings. Ciri was more than a girl, or a princess for that matter.

She was the hope of her people and had a firm hand in shaping all of their futures—whatever they may be.

Ciri took in the wisdom you offered with a deep breath, you waited until her body sagged in an effort to keep upright. You ross to your feet and guided her inside, not bothering to spare the silver haired man a glance as you passed.

…

After Ciri promptly requested to be alone, you wished to be as well. Those plans fell apart when Geralt’s gaze— his impossible Witcher gaze— pinned you to the far wall.

“Y/N, I can see her hurt,” Geralt said in a low, gravelly voice.

He stood at his full height, making everything around him look smaller, all the sudden. You blinked, processing his words.

A silent apology followed as your eyes once again settled on him. You let your gaze drift to somewhere behind him.

“She has too much power to go on untrained.”

Clamping down on your own pride was easier because you were telling the truth. Geralt had said as much and you ignored him.

The Witcher offered an upturned palm. A peace offering. You took it and melted into him, savoring his warmth.

“I will not continue defying destiny.” Geralt broke the comfortable silence that had settled. You felt the hum in his chest when he spoke.

You kissed him then— on his neck, where you were nestled. Underneath his jaw, his chin, and finally his lips.

Whereas you were light and tender in your approach, Geralt possessed nothing of the sort. He returned your affection with a fierceness reserved for lovers only.

When the two of you finally separated, you held his face in your hands.

“I pray destiny will always bring us back together.”

Geralt gripped you tighter, the pressure keeping you in the moment. Proof that your love was real, that he would not let go of you even as times became more and more unsure.

“I will pray, too.”

#geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt x reader #Geralt x black!reader #Geralt x poc!reader #Geralt of rivia x black!reader #Geralt of rivia x poc!reader #the Witcher #the Witcher fic #black!reader #poc!reader #I slept on Henry cavill #I was wrong #geralt of rivia oneshot #this is my first time writing for Geralt #witcher ciri #Geralt angst and then fluff #joined a new fandom I guess

227 notes · View notes

sweetpickolwarrior · 3 years

Text

The Three Times You Didn’t Want Them To Hear You, The One Time You Did (Part 3)

Established fic

Small!Brown!Female!Reader

Not too apparent but just letting you know in case.

Fic summary: You have been travelling with geralt and Jaskier for quite some time, you had always been told that your voice would take you places before you had no choice but to abandon your previous life. You still loved it though. This fic explores the times you let go and let yourself sing. We also explore your backstory and the developing relationship with your older and protective companions :)

PART 1 HERE PART 2 HERE

Chapter summary: Bit of a filler chapter, the wait was more so to plan out the rest of the story clearly. Y/N wants to repay geralt for his kindness and show Jaskier that she does not hate him, but has trouble with words and such. Further apologies for the wait... enjoy!

The fact that you had not been sober enough to truly appreciate the room that Geralt had decided to treat you with left you with a pang of guilt, but a wavering reluctance to bring up anything about that night lest he unnecessarily recall the sound of your voice. You don’t suppose he cared much, as far as you could pick out from that night, it wasn't something that mattered very much to him… but then why the room? The situation slightly baffled you. You much preferred going from contract to contract, tavern to tavern, losing yourself in the endeavours of your companions. You roamed the streets of this new, unusually pleasant town, the bustle of the morning bubbling through. Your mind turned to the small sack you had swaddled at the very bottom of your pack buried beneath your myriad of gatherings from your travels. A small, worn leather sack with a drawstring through the top, wrapped in an old sock that had outlived its original duty a few winters ago sat almost full, the weight of the coin inside at most an apple or two. You had kept it for emergencies, a few loaves of bread and some meat if rations had become sparse, a promise payment for a healer or mage, should one or more of you fall incapacitated while coin was low, an emergency room should the cold threaten to settle in someones bones too cosily, and should you feel the need to express gratitude to a generous but stoic witcher, apparently.

You wandered past a bakers stall, sweet pastries dusted with sugar beckoned, small honey dipped loaves with specks of lavender peeking through the golden slopes glinted in the morning light, puffy buns that had been baked with a clever twist in the top to result in a soft swirl sat in a neat row identical to the sweet fresh bread Jaskier had pressed into your palm earlier. You cringed at the thought of leaving so abruptly and didn't like all this coaxing going on, and hoped he would drop the subject so you could shove the topic down your tunic and carry on your simple shenanigans with the bard.

You strolled through, eyes on the dry dirt of the worn path through the centre, ladies walking with shawls wrapped tight around their shoulders gave you curt, tight-lipped greeting smiles as you passed through looking thoroughly disheveled. You had given up on dresses, petticoats, stockings and other such extraneous garments when tripping up on hems or sweating through layers upon layers had become more trouble than your chagrin had been worth. A tunic and breeches were sported now, along with unkempt, thick jet black hair. You tended to forget what a sight you would be to normal folks, constantly surrounded by the bard in his gaudy and intricate clothing (you still didn't know how he survived on the path) and a burly witcher clad almost always in armour and under that, similar garments to yourself. you supposed the three of you stuck out like an arrow between the eyes. Your mind flashed to what your mother may have said should she see you like this. It confused you for a moment, these memories suddenly deciding they were welcome in your conscious thoughts over the past few days. you stuffed the sudden pang of guilt and shame back into oblivion as your hands moved to your tangled mop, carding roughly through so you may find some semblance of being put together.

~~~~~~~~~~~

You tried hard not to cast your eyes down to your fingers, out of practice as they were. You tried to feel the sections, pick up more as you went, comb through soft with your fingers lest the ends get tangled, keep hold of the ribbon. Roach was being very patient with you. The fire warmed your back as you sat on your knees, tending to a horse who had decided to sit for you. You didn't know much of equine tendencies, but had heard that horses do not sit save for when it was going to rain. Your mind moved to days where your little troop had no choice but to trudge through hail, rain and thunder. She did not object and kept on wonderfully through these times and was rewarded with kisses and slips of dried fruit from you later on.

She had decided to understand what coaxing her to the floor with a brushing, soft words and rubs on her neck had meant that night and folded her legs, coming down with an impressive and somehow graceful thud. You supposed you couldn't know everything about everything and the clearest answer was that she’s just a very good girl. You relaxed as your fingers fell into a rhythm - right strand, left strand, ribbon, taking care to adjust the material so the nicer side was showing. “Expensive.” Geralt stated simply from behind. He was checking through his own pack, counting off vials of witcher potions and such. “Yes, well - an extra room must have cost.. and the food I didn’t touch” you focused on your hands, knowing Geralt was probably trying to avoid eye contact, too. After hearing a somewhat soft “hmm”, your attention returned to your fingers, having now grown a mind of their own. Roach’s auburn mane turned a dark coal in your minds eye, her soft huffs to small complaints of tugging too hard “hush now, or it won’t look nice” you barely whispered as her head jerked, it was an impossible task to try tie the hair of any child into a neat row, your sisters no exception. Your breath slowed as your mothers lullaby sat in between your lips, you tried to grasp the first note of the soft song.

Sisters? Here?

Your knees were cold and sore, kneeling on the ground so long, knobs of grass settling aches into your muscles; your hair unkempt and hastily scraped back, with a small leather tie, bumps hilling over your scalp that you had no care of. Your hands were dirty, grubby from foraging scraps of dry wood to keep warm through the night. Calloused from the past few years of plucking the string of your bow with arrows that reminded you with every swift hit that death was something permanent, immediate, inescapable. These hands were not the same ones that softly put braids in your sisters’ hair. These calluses were not the same ones that came from making music.

The first note of that bloody lullaby froze on your toungue.Best to stop trying to live in the past. Not that you were, trying that is. You wanted nothing more than those memories to keep sitting in the little box in your mind where they were meant to be. Happy, silent, unbothering. Instead they kept feeling the need to rise up, to pester you and drag you away, remind you that those days would never come back, that your whole life had vanished.

Well, this was your life now and different as it was, you needed to live in it. You pushed away the offending memories for the second time that day, focusing on finishing Roach’s mane.

Impeccable timing as always, Jaskier came strolling through after having washed everyone’s clothes in a nearby stream, no doubt a vein of the river you had found yourself in those few days ago. “Honestly, why do I bother? They're bound by fate to stink of ash and dirt anyway- I know! I could write a shanty about the smoked Witcher’s shirt - a real pub sway! Sometimes he smells of heroics and adventure! The whiff of a lady’s perfume often, but will always return to the ash of a trusty campfire” he leaned to put the folded pile down neatly. You were in awe of how these thoughts came running from your musical friend, you were convinced that he could write a song about watching clothes dry and still make it magnificent.

Ah. Exactly.

A dramatic gasp came from the bard, no doubt with a soft hand upon his chest. Your fingers tensed as you pat roach and tried to seem as nonchalant as possible.

"Now! Which one of you has been able to tie a bow so pretty all this time?”

You had laced the ribbon, as careful as you could to not disturb the strings, behind where they were pulled taut to the tuning pegs of Jaskier's lute, taking care that the tails would not brush against the front or impair his hands while playing. The ribbon you had bought was a soft lavender colour, embroidered with a deep violet, floral and feathery motifs weaving through the sleek fabric. You turned to see Jaskier caressing the fine fabric “I shall have to have an outfit made to go with this! Oh what a look that could be for the bardic competition this autumn! Simply revolutionary, a great stride forward in musical fashion! Bows woven through lutes, gods-” a theatrical palm to the forehead “How had I not thought of this before- and Roach! Oh! Exquisite, Y/N,” it seemed he had finally clocked onto the fact that this was your doing, both you and Geralt huffing amusedly as he was practically flying with excitement “I daresay Roach could be a fine show horse! Beautifully healthy and muscular, a shining coat, those deep glistening eyes- “She’s not a show horse” Geralt grumbled "I said could or rather might've been, had the twines of fate been wound a little looser.." You chuckled softly as your trusty bard rambled on into the night about how he knew a thing or two about show horses (being one in a past life, most likely) and you prepared your bedroll, smoothed it out with your hands and checked how close your damp clothes were to drying. When you reflected on Jaskier's words, you thought about how the warm and bitter smell of ash and smoke and fire made from Witcher magic was comforting to you. As you settled, you tried to smell other things, maybe someday you could smell half as well as a witcher if you trained hard enough. Ash, smoke.. the small burnt remnants of a meagre fish dinner, the distinctly horsey smell of Roach, the faintest traces of lavender lingering in your hair. You supposed you could try to hone in your hearing, too. You got comfortable, wriggling a little further in, catching a glimpse of the fine ribbon you had bought before closing your eyes...it was nice to see the splashes of the bright colour woven through your little group. You could first hear Jaskier mumbling on, the scratch of his quill onto the notebook he carried, the pops and snaps of the fire, the wind breathing contentedly through the leaves above, the last clinks of Geralt's potion bottles, then the slight crunch of careful steps in leather boots, his hands patting roach and hushed, almost inaudible whispers of him calling Roach his "pretty girl".

A/N : Hello, dears! I hope you've all been well and taking care of yourselves - I know it has been a tremendous wait. i've been planning the rest of the story out (i'm rly annoyingly particular about it) and lots of things have been a bit crazy the past two months. I hope this chapter isnt dissapointing given the wait but get ready for big angst, hurt/comfort and further progression of the story and characters in the next two chapters. I feel this filler was needed to transition into the next part of the story. I might change the description some as this story is not only about the fact that Y/N can sing, but also focuses on the way that changes her relationship with the boys.

More on the interactions of this night for the boys' POV in the next chapter probably x

I'm hoping the story is well fleshed out and flowing, and that its clear that singing is a great comfort and big part of Y/N's character. I hope its easy to immerse yourself and such. Again, its such a pleasure to receive likes and comments, and i'm very grateful to anyone who has read so far... be ready for great developments! As always, constructive criticism is welcome xxx Thanks gang!

Also yall thank my lil sister for helping me write this, she doesnt have an tumblr account so I cant tag her or anything but she super cool and rambling to her rly helps me organise my writing.

stay blessed!

tagged people:

@ladylizzieofdarbyshire i cannot find @sihxm i did try xxx

65 notes · View notes

twasday · 2 years

Text

FANDOMS I WRITE FOR !!

🅐🅝🅘🅜🅔

✮ Jujutsu Kaisen

✮ Attack On Titan

✮ Naruto

✮ Jojos Bizarre Adventure (parts 3, 4 and 5)

✮ Demon Slayer

✮ Free!!!

✮ Death Note

✮ Tokyo Revengers

🅢🅔🅡🅘🅔🅢

✪ The Witcher

✪ Criminal Minds

✪ Moon Knight

✪ NBC Hannibal

✪ The Mandalorian

🅜🅞🅥🅘🅔🅢

✰ Fight Club (please)

✰ Triple Frontier

✰ Top Gun: Maverick

✰ Bullet Train

✰ Kingsman: Golden Circle

✰ Both Avatar Movies

✰ Wakanda Forever

🅥🅘🅓🅔🅞 🅖🅐🅜🅔🅢

✫ Modern Warfare II & III

(I will add to this list in the future)

3 notes · View notes

for-a-muse-of-fire · 4 years

Text

let’s tessellate

“let’s tessellate”

Fandom: The Witcher (2019)

Paring: Geralt of Rivia x Zahra Auberel (WOC original character).

Summary: The White Wolf returns to his den, and his woman. A “reunion” ensues.

Warnings: NSFT/18+ - you should not be interacting with this fic if you are under the age of 18. Oral (f receiving), rough/possessive sex.

A/N: Please accept this humble PWP as an apology for vanishing from the Tumblrsphere. The world is still very much on fire, but I’ve missed y’all a bunch. I’m afraid I will no longer be providing a taglist - it’s stressful, and I honestly don’t want to. Best practice would be to make sure you get notifs when I post!

Thank you, dear hearts. Enjoy!

The lashing rain and wind has left the tavern utterly empty. One of those mindless summer storms, it cropped up almost without warning. The sky had darkened and gone deadly quiet as the air sat heavy; heavy, and so thick one could feel it settle on the skin. Zahra had let her people rush home when the last patron had scurried out the door – Lucja had just cleared the alley when the wind had picked up.

Thunder growls. Lightning splits the tumultuous sky asunder.

Zahra watches, smiling from the safety of the kitchens. She’s always loved storms like this – unbridled. Dangerous. She watches the crest of trees over the village rooftops; the canopy whips, bends. She counts the beats between the lightning and bellowing thunder. With a grin to herself, she pulls her light robe closer and takes the last walk around, locking the service door, then the heavy oaken door at the front of the tavern. The dying fire barely puts off enough light to see by, but she’s wandered this place in the dead of night for most of her life. Besides, each bolt of light from the storm makes it look like high noon.

One such bolt illuminates the main room when she turns towards the back door. The figure standing there is lit, clear as day – the barkeep shouts, and very nearly jumps out of her skin. “Gods dammit,” Zahra curses.

Pale, soft lips quirk up at one corner. Geralt is drenched to the bone, standing just inside the threshold and dripping on the flagstone. She glares at him as the lightning fades, giving his handsome face back to the shadows again.

“You are an asshole, Geralt,” she hisses. “I’m putting a fucking bell around your neck.”

“I’d like to see you try, love.”

His voice is a match to the deadly rumble that buzzes the thick window glass. It hums over her skin, doing very little to quell the startled tattoo of her heart. Nonetheless, she glowers, bare feet easing across the floor towards him. He lets her slip past him to lock the door.

“Oh, I’ll fucking-well do it,” she threatens, turning to face him. “Big, silver bell and gaudy, terrible silk ribbon.”

The Witcher lets out a low chuckle and though he almost hesitates, he lets her rests her hands on his waist. Zahra peers up at him in the near-dark and feels a thrill chase coolly down her spine. Geralt’s eyes are a deep, shining black and somewhat sunken in their sockets; bruise-colored veins creep down his cheeks. His skin is smooth and pale as fine parchment, while his frost-colored hair is plastered to his cheek with rain water. A silver-toned flash lights the room again and she can’t help the way her breath stalls. Gods.

He may not like it when she sees him like this, but he looks deadly and powerful and it arrows something base and wanton straight through her.

“Injured?” Zahra asks, breathier than she would like.

Black eyes stare. Geralt tilts his head, just so, but grunts once – a wordless ‘no’. He doesn’t shy away or dodge when she reaches for him, and her swift brown fingers carefully loosen the buckles and straps of his leathers. She keeps her eyes on his, muscle memory guiding her through the motions. The silence sits between them, heavy as the thick summer air and only broken by rain and thunder. Zahra feels sweat catch at her collarbone, her heartbeat drumming sharply behind her ribs. Each quick beat feathers heat through her- heat that settles low beneath her navel. It pulses there, a slick heaviness between her legs; she bites her lip and slides the last clasp open. The Witcher’s black eyes drop to her mouth.

“Your heart is pounding, little rabbit,” he rumbles, almost grinning when she drops her eyes. She hears the rustle of leather as he peels his gloves away. “What’s got you on edge?”

Zahra huffs out an embarrassed laugh. The tension breaks – cut by her movement and the growling thunder. The armor finds its place on the hooks by the back door. Geralt tracks her with the single-minded focus of his moniker. The wolf sizing up his prey. The heavy, knowing press of his gaze makes her shudder.

“Let’s get you into dry clothes, hm?” she murmurs.

She brushes past him as the room is lit by the storm. Powerful fingers close on the back of her neck and she gasps, stumbling when Geralt tugs and spins her to face him. He doesn’t kiss her, not exactly, but she feels the press of his mouth over hers. She can feel the damp of his clothes soak through her robe, pebbling her nipples against the plane of his chest. His lips are cool with rain, though his breath rushes hot over her lips and Zahra feels her knees go a bit weak. Geralt snarls, matching the tone and timbre of the thunder.

“I asked you a question, Zahra,” he growls. His nose traces a chilly line up the heated curve of her cheek; she exhales on a breathless moan. “I can feel your pulse. I can smell you…”

Geralt’s fingers tangle in the loose curls at the nape of her neck. Lightning lets her see his pale, beautiful face, and the midnight dark of his eyes while he gives her hair a gentle, demanding tug. He fairly dwarfs her, lets his mouth tease over hers as he rumbles, “You like it, is that it? You like it when I come to you like this?”

He walks forward, forcing her back until she feels the blunted edge of a table against her backside. Zahra braces her hands on the smooth, cool wood.

“What is it?” he murmurs. She feels a tug – he looses the tie on her robe, parting the silken fabric with his free hand. “Hm? Why don’t you tell me why it gets you so hot?”

Calloused fingers twist around her nipple and Zahra gives a short gasp. “I don’t know,” she says with breathless mirth. “You look – oh gods – “

It’s hard to think – let alone speak – with his hand cupping her cunt. Her eyes drift close, lashes fluttering over her cheeks as Geralt slips a finger between her swollen lips, catching the slick on his fingertips before he draws delicate little circles over her clit. Zahra’s voice breaks on a whine.

“Geralt – “ she pleads. Deep brown eyes spring open, meeting lightning-lit black and she gasps out:

“You look dangerous.”

The thunder shakes the room as the Witcher’s mouth covers hers. It’s a biting kiss, greedy with teeth and tongue. He keeps the teasing pressure over her clit, rubbing with the tips of his fingers until her hips roll down to beg for friction. Zahra whimpers when he breaks away, only to utter a breathless curse as Geralt drags open-mouthed kisses down the curve of her throat. The shimmer silk fabric of her robe is yanked open – the fabric slips down her arms. His stubble scrapes harsh over her skin, down her neck, between the valley of her breasts – over the softness of her belly where his teeth dig in.

She moans his name – it makes him smile into her skin. “Fuck, I missed that,” he growls.

Geralt kneels and replaces his fingers with his tongue. Hot, wet – firm against her aching cunt, he pushes the blade of his tongue through her folds and growls at the slippery-sweet wetness he finds. Zahra keens.

The thunder drowns out the sound.

The insistent press of his mouth, the steady flicker of his tongue – they light up under her skin, making her squirm and cry with each crest of sensation. With one hand pressed to the table behind her, she lets the other fist tight in Geralt’s rain-damp hair. The wet strands stick to her palm, tangle around her fingers as she tugs. “Gods – fuck,” she hisses through grit teeth.

Geralt knows her tells, by now. He knows when to flick the tip of his tongue over her clit, when to dip into the clenching heat of her cunt. Her voices goes rough, breathless and needy, in a way that makes his cock throb in the confines of his trousers. When he feels her begin to shake, he gauges the tell-tale tremor of her strong thighs and lifts one over his shoulder. Two fingers press in – Zahra’s hips rock, the sensitive walls of her cunt bearing down hard around the intrusion as she pants. The Witcher’s low moan hums against her clit, pulling a ragged whine up from her throat.

“Geralt,” she groans. “Darling - love – please please please – “

The flickering lightning gives her just enough to watch. Geralt’s plays at supplicant, single-minded in his devotion, though he still looks the part of a god to her, even on his knees. His handsome face tips up towards her, soft mouth slick with her cum – his black, black eyes are hungry when he meets her gaze. The Witcher licks a heavy stripe through her, closing his mouth briefly around her clit to make her jump and swear before he pulls away to stand. Fingers still buried deep, he takes a gentle grip on her throat with his thumb running soft circles over her pulse point.

“That’s my girl,” he rumbles when she shakes. The thunder plays at harmony with his voice. “What do you want, sweetheart?”

Geralt curls his fingers, strokes at that spot deep inside of her until she gasps. “Fuck me,” she whispers. “Geralt, please – “

Zahra hears him snarl in time with the thunder before he spins her. The silk of her robe pulls tight; Geralt uses the fabric to pinion her arms. His breath is harsh against her naked shoulder. With the racket of the rain, she doesn’t quite hear the sound of buttons sliding free, but then she feels the hot press of flesh and the beautiful, aching stretch. The Witcher gives a low moan into her skin, somewhere between relief and ecstasy.

He pulls his fingers through her curls at tugs. The motion arches her back into an obscene curve, forcing his cock so deep that Zahra shouts. It feels like the storm has taken up residence under her skin – lightning hisses from nerve to nerve. Geralt spears her wide open, somehow quelling the desperate ache while adding to it exponentially.

“Okay?” he pants into her ear.

“Yes – fuck yes,” she laughs, breathless and trembling.

She can feel his smug grin against her neck. Geralt flexes his hips, drawing the length of his cock out and then pushing back in to the hilt, making them both hiss. His rhythm rises and falls with the wind – with the torrential rain – and she is swept away by the tempest. He fucks into her with hard, greedy strokes that push her hipbones into the blunt edge of the table until she knows there will be bruises. The hand in her hair stays taught, but the hand holding the robe slips, pressing palm-down on the table by her hip. Damp, lightning-spiked air drags through her lungs as she gasps, moaning and pleading as Geralt murmurs against her temple.

Depraved, and sweet – possessive; he tells her how much he’s missed her, missed her sweet little cunt – fuck – missed how good she feels. “So good, sweetheart,” he moans. “So good for me – fucking perfect.”

The desperate whine that trickles up from her throat only serves to stoke the fire in his belly. She’s starting to shake, and whimper, voice climbing in pitch and volume to pierce over the howling wind. Geralt tugs at her hair, forces her to crane her head and meet the solid black of his eyes. He feels the flutter of her muscles around his cock, a desperate pulsing that drags a pitched snarl out of him before he presses his mouth to her jaw.

“Come for me, Zahra,” he snarls. “Come on - give it to me, sweetheart - “

Lightning fires off, storm cloud to storm cloud. Thunder snarls.

Her ragged scream clashes with the raging storm.

Geralt fucks her through the blinding orgasm until she feels him press tight against her back, frozen in his own pleasure while he pulses inside of her. He whispers his homily into her skin, chanting her name, filling her deep. The rapid beat of Zahra’s heart echoes in his ears. He grips her close, winds his arms around her torso ‘til that rhythm begins to slow. Carefully, he withdrawals, trying not to smirk when he hears her sharp inhale. Geralt tucks himself back into his trousers before burying his face into the fall of Zahra’s hair.

“‘Dangerous’,” he mutters, then chuckles. “Fucking hell, Zee…”

She giggles, sweetly winded, then squirms until the Witcher lets her turn in his grasp. She’s a sight. Soft brown skin dewy with sweat and shameless in her nudity. The smile she gives him settles somewhere between sweet and utterly filthy – it spikes heat straight through him all over again. Her clever fingers wrap around the chain of his medallion.

“I told you, Geralt of Rivia – you don’t scare me.”

She kisses him slowly. Savors the soft give of his mouth and licks the taste of herself from his tongue. Geralt’s hands ghost over her sides, palms pressing into soft, warm flesh. His teeth catch over the sweet fullness of her lip and he grins when she shivers.

“I love you, woman,” he mumbles against her lips.

Zahra draws back with a soft, but wicked grin. “I love you, Witcher,” she purrs back. “Now… take me to bed, hm?”

Geralt growls. “Yes, ma’am.”

#geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt x poc!reader #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #gerat x zahra #the witcher netflix #tutu scribbles

72 notes · View notes

ashthespaceastronautstories · 4 years

Text

Unexpected

Pregnancy was the last thing he thought would happen, he was infertile and it has never been an issue before especially since he had been with you. And despite his work often carrying him away the two of you had remained monogamous.

You had loved him something he didn’t think he deserved someone’s love and affection, despite the occasional disagreements. He knew one day he would “retire” leave the training to the new Witcher’s to Ciri once she was ready. Though that would be a long while and luckily both of you had to plenty of time gods willing.

He was excited all he could think about was getting back to Kaer Morhen where you had agreed to live prior to pregnancy, Geralt wanted you closer and living here had done that and he knew you were more than capable of protecting yourself but it still put his mind at ease.

“How much longer before y/n has the baby.” Ciri inquired pulling Geralt from his thoughts.

“Another month or so.” Geralt replied.

“Are you excited? Will the baby be a Witcher too? How can she have a baby I thought Witcher’s and witches couldn’t.” Ciri rambled on.

“Hmm. I am looking forward to parenting a second child.” He answered looking over at Ciri who gave him a large smile.

“Y/N isn’t a witch...she’s something else you know that.” Geralt continued.

“I know that she makes amazing pastries, and that I’m her favorite.” Ciri said a large smile still on her face.

“Vesemir might disagree with that.” Geralt replied.

“You know I think y/n might be Melietele reborn, you know goddess of fertility, motherhood, peace and all that stuff and she managed to have a baby with a Witcher who everyone knows can’t have babies.” Ciri continued her explanation.

“She’s definitely a goddess.” Geralt nodded with agreement.

Finally they arrived at Kaer Morhen,putting their horses away and unloading their gear the duo made their way inside. The kitchen smelled of apples and spice and something else Geralt couldn’t quite name.

Ciri and Geralt made their way into the kitchen where you were currently fusing at Vesemir trying to sneak off with a pastry you’d just made.

“Ciri! Geralt!” You called ignoring Vesemir you made your way over to Ciri pulling her into a hug.

“Oh you stink.” You chuckled letting her go almost instantly, Geralt smiled pulling you into a kiss.

“How’s our little one?” He asked his large hand resting on your belly.

Geralt would be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying your pregnancy. He loved the look of your swollen belly, and the way your breasts seemed even more full because of the milk. It made his cock hard just thinking about it. He couldn’t wait for supper to be over to get you alone in the bedroom and take you over and over again.

“Did everything go well?” You asked in between bites of your food.

“We killed a werewolf and a vampire.” Ciri replied bouncing in her seat.

“You still need some work but you did good.” Geralt nodded.

The rest of the evening passed quickly and soon everyone was off to bed.

“Ciri thinks you’re a goddess.” Geralt said to you from the tub.

“I wish you.” You replied with a chuckle as you slipped into your nightgown.

“Well she’s right...and you shouldn’t bother putting that on you won’t need it tonight.” Geralt stated leaning back into the hot water allowing his muscles to relax.

“It may be summer but this place still gets drafty.” You replied sitting on the side of the bed.

“Fine. But don’t complain when I tear it off of you.” Geralt said glancing at you a mischievous smirk on his face. You could feel your face grow warm in the weeks he had been gone you missed his touch and him leaving your hips bruised.

“See anything you like?” Geralt asked standing in front of nude and barely dry.

“Maybe” you replied with a grin on your face as Geralt leaned down placing a hungry kiss on your lips.

#geralt x poc!reader #geralt x black!reader #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x poc #witcher geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia henry cavill #geralt fanfic

253 notes · View notes

nachtaiwrites2 · 4 years

Text

nerd vs nerd

nerd vs nerd henry cavill x f!black reader (this is just what I imagined)

(I love The Witcher in all of it’s iterations and I am happy they chose Henry and that Netflix was nice to The Witcher and that Yen was so beautiful and good that I forgot about whoever I wanted to play Yen and I could talk about it all day.)

Lace fronts were a serious business to you and so was The Witcher. You had spent countless hours playing The Witcher 3 when it had come out, and that game even made you go back and play both of the previous game. You even picked up the books to read once you were done with the games. To say the least, you were a bit Geralt obsessed. It had to be fate that the creative director at Netflix had seen your work on Instagram and decided to give you a test run at designing the wig for the new show.

You worked painstakingly for months, testing out colors of silver, white and grey hair dye against 613 bundles of hair. You tried several textures of hair, Brazilian to Peruvian, Indian to Russian. You had never worked so hard on a unit in your life. Everything had to be right, from the ratty look of the ends, to the touches of dirt in the hair. Nothing was too much for Geralt.

The day came where you had done all you could by yourself, but now you needed to custom fit the hairline to the actor that would be playing Geralt. You imagined Viggo Mortensen walking into the trailer. You would probably shit yourself, to be honest, but not before you placed the wig on his head immaculately. No, you would not fan girl until the wig was just right.

You were piecing out the slight crimps that you had put in the wig, making the wig more textured when the door opened. Your body froze and you didn’t turn around. You couldn’t turn around, you had to compose yourself. Who was it, Charlie Hunnam, Viggo, Anson Mount? Oh my god, Idris Elba?? Would they go black for this adaptation? God, you didn’t even consider them going with a black Geralt. If they did, you would have the shift the tone of this white considerably.

“Am I in the right trailer?” An English accent asked.

Well the English accent was right for Idris; the tone and inflection however were quite different. You turned around and was surprised but for a totally different reason.

“Henry Cavill?”

He smiled, “Yes, Henry Cavill at your service.”

Superman?

Superman was going to play Geralt? Was this a joke?

You didn’t mean to, but you were sizing him up as he sat in his chair reading over his lines. Holding your precious shearing scissors to your chin, you tried to imagine him dressed in the gear, two swords on his back, puss peepers in his head. He would definitely make a good looking Geralt but could he play the part? Did he know who he was playing?

“Are you excited for this role, Mr. Cavill?” You spoke, your medium toned voice level, not portraying any emotion other than curiosity. You began measuring the lace front against his head, as he looked at your reflection in the mirror. You could see his gears churn for a minute before he decided on an answer.

“Yes, it’s a great chance for me to flex my acting skills. And it’s Henry, please. Not Mr. Cavill.” He said smiling at you.

You pursed your lips slightly. Just flex your acting skills huh? He wasn’t committed to the role at all. “You know anything about The Witcher?”

Again, he paused to think, making you just a bit more agitated.

“A bit.” He decided on, nodding, before going back to his script.

He knew a bit, so maybe you could test him a little. “Oh, I’ve played some of the games. Did you know That Geralt names all of his horses Roach?”

Henry looked at your reflection for a moment, “Yes I did, actually.”

You smiled as you marked a place on his face with a marker, “Did you know it’s because he doesn’t want them to be special? So, he has no attachment.”

Henry smiled, “…. Actually, I believe that is never discussed in the books or the games. It’s just something that he does. However, I do believe Geralt has quite an attachment to roach, so much that he names each of his horses Roach just to keep that attachment.”

He folded his arms, and looked at your reflection just as you look at his. “Actually, the original name from the books is Plotka, which translates to roach. It’s a type of common fish that no one really fishes for. So, in a way I believe Mr. Sapkowski was showing that although Geralt’s horses are numerous, calling them the name for a common fish, Geralt has some kind of attachment to his ‘roaches’ and keeps each one alive by using the same name.”

“Wow.” You nodded impressed, and went back over to the wig where you bent down to make a note. “Very good Mr. Cavill.”

“I passed then?” You could hear the smile in his voice.

You smiled too, “I had no idea Superman was a nerd.”

“I guess you could say that. …You’re a fan, of The Witcher, I presume.”

“I guess you could say that.” You mocked him, deciding to play it down, not wanting to scare him with your status as number one fan girl of Geralt of Rivia.

“Well, fan, what do you think of me playing Geralt?”

You turned to Henry, now with a yellow measuring tape in your hand. “The truth Mr. Cavill?”

He smirked and your stomach flipped flopped, “Sure, although now I’m not sure if I want the truth.”

You spun Henry around so that he was facing you and then took the measuring tape and measured around the perimeter of his head, “Well, I actually always imagined someone a bit more mature. No offense, Mr. Cavill but you’re kind of too pretty for the role.”

Henry smiled at you. You noticed that when he smiled, a real smile, that his eyes shimmered. “I’m sure that’s a compliment. A beautiful woman has called me pretty, I’m damn sure that’s a compliment wrapped in an insult.”

You chuckled, “I mean there are worse things to be than handsome, so you don’t have to go home and cry that some irrelevant hair artist called you pretty.”

“You’re not irrelevant, obviously. The producers are really gunning for you to be the hair artist on the show.” He smiled. “And even if they weren’t, you’re still one talented woman.”

You grinned, pulling back from measuring his head to really look at him. He had obviously been working out. His shoulders were nearly bursting through his black t-shirt. He definitely had the physique to be Geralt. Not that you were checking him out or anything. “Thank you. Now, let’s get this wig placed perfectly Mr. Cavill.” You turned him back around not wanting him to see your grin widen even more, forgetting that you were in front of a mirror.

He smirked, “It’s Henry…although…I’m starting to like Mr. Cavill, the more you say it.”

God, you really hoped you got the job. - (author’s note: usually i am kind of against writing real people fics but geralt and yen are otp so…can’t go against that. also, i’m kind of opening up for real people fics…still kind of feels invasive though. anyway I hope you liked it. i won’t promise a part two cause i’m bad at continuing things.)

#henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x black reader #f!black reader #henry cavill fanfiction #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #geralt of rivia fanfic #henry cavill x poc reader #henry cavill x you

269 notes · View notes

mahou-no-momo · 4 years

Text

On one hand I get why you would tag a fic a POC x Reader...but also I feel y'all shouldn't bother just so White readers/writers can understand what it feels like to be abruptly taken out of the experience of the story by having descriptors of the reader's appearance or certain actions done that do NOT match them physically or culturally. It's very jarring having coily hair but the reader being written with straight hair and the romantic partner running fingers through the reader's hair. Or having dark skin but the reader is made to blush from embarrassment. Like it's so very clear it's not meant for all readers. And if you're really gonna write for all readers y'all need to actually learn how to be much more vague with descriptions of the reader so it's more general or just say you have a specific idea of what race the reader is and be done with it because they clearly are not POC.

Y'all make it clear as day what gender reader is which is a great adaptation to be more inclusive and clear in that. But y'all gotta do better in concerns to race. You can't one size fits all for certain things.

1 note · View note

centrumlumina · 4 years

Photo

As part of the AO3 Ship Stats project, this list shows the 100 most-posted pairing tags on Archive Of Our Own in the period 24 July 2019 - 2 August 2020. This list was created by comparing the current number of fics with data gathered for the 2019 AO3 Ship Stats.

There are 71 M/M pairings on the list, 15 F/M, 3 F/F, 8 Gen and 3 Other. (Please note that on AO3, ‘Name & Name’ indicates platonic or familial ‘Gen’ relationships, while ‘Name/Name’ is used for romantic and sexual pairings.)

Of the 200 names on the list, 23 are women and 3 are characters of ambiguous gender, down from 28 and 3 in the 2019 list. 92 are POC, and 7 are racially ambiguous, compared with 64 and 11 two years ago.

For more information about the AO3 Ship Stats project, please check out the accompanying FAQs. You might also be interested in the All-Time Top 100 Pairings and the Femslash Top 100 list. These stats are also available on AO3.

ETA: Fixed the Change value for Merlin/Arthur Pendragon.

ETA 2: Fixed Race categorisation for Michael Guerin/Alex Manes.

A text-only version of this data is given below the cut.

Rank Change Pairing Fandom New Works Total Type Race 1 15 Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Good Omens (TV) 20298 28726 M/M White 2 72 Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù 10671 13130 M/M POC 3 8 Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren Star Wars Sequel Trilogy 9076 21306 F/M White 4 28 Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier IT (Movies – Muschietti) 8441 12227 M/M White 5 N Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion The Witcher (TV) 7573 7573 M/M White 6 1 Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling 7239 40312 M/M White 7 5 Bakugou Katsuki/Midoriya Izuku Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia 7070 16824 M/M POC 8 0 Peter Parker & Tony Stark Marvel Cinematic Universe 6807 17366 Gen White 9 -7 James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers Captain America (Movies) 6262 49659 M/M White 10 4 Bakugou Katsuki/Kirishima Eijirou Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia 6141 15375 M/M POC 11 -5 Steve Rogers/Tony Stark The Avengers (Marvel Movies) 5613 36264 M/M White 12 68 Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens) Good Omens (TV) 5503 7928 Gen White 13 -8 Jeon Jungkook/Kim Taehyung | V Bangtan Boys | BTS 5254 23339 M/M POC 14 5 Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug Miraculous Ladybug 5183 19631 F/M Whi/POC 15 5 Midoriya Izuku/Todoroki Shouto Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia 5001 14073 M/M POC 16 -13 Castiel/Dean Winchester Supernatural 4927 84563 M/M White 17 1 Jeon Jungkook/Park Jimin Bangtan Boys | BTS 4596 17867 M/M POC 18 N Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV) 9-1-1 (TV) 3716 3716 M/M Whi/POC 19 5 Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor Supergirl (TV 2015) 3614 13048 F/F White 20 -16 Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood Shadowhunters (TV) 3599 24787 M/M Whi/POC 21 2 Pepper Potts/Tony Stark Marvel Cinematic Universe 3569 17384 F/M White 22 14 Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia 3565 7325 M/M POC 23 N Adora/Catra (She-Ra) She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018) 3538 4919 F/F Whi/POC 24 15 Dazai Osamu/Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs) 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs 3512 8768 M/M POC 25 N Wang Yi Bo/Xiao Zhan 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV) RPF 3446 3446 M/M POC 26 -12 Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Teen Wolf (TV) 3249 59286 M/M White 27 10 Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin) Merlin (TV) 3157 18688 M/M White 28 -11 Kim Namjoon | RM/Kim Seokjin | Jin Bangtan Boys | BTS 3155 16682 M/M POC 29 66 Ayanga/Zhèng Yúnlóng 声入人心 | Super-Vocal (TV) 3111 5285 M/M POC 30 -21 Min Yoongi | Suga/Park Jimin Bangtan Boys | BTS 3026 19851 M/M POC 31 -3 Sirius Black/Remus Lupin Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling 2958 17686 M/M White 32 N Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist The Magnus Archives (Podcast) 2917 3367 M/M Ambig 33 60 Bakugou Katsuki & Midoriya Izuku Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia 2672 5023 Gen POC 34 12 Peter Parker/Tony Stark Marvel Cinematic Universe 2623 6160 M/M White 35 N Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio Haikyuu!! 2601 10485 M/M POC 36 22 Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling 2583 10171 F/M Whi/Amb 37 -8 Kim Taehyung | V/Park Jimin Bangtan Boys | BTS 2507 9891 M/M POC 38 -37 Keith/Lance (Voltron) Voltron: Legendary Defender 2480 30317 M/M Amb/POC 39 20 Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington Stranger Things (TV 2016) 2438 5338 M/M White 40 N Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou Haikyuu!! 2387 7629 M/M POC 41 N Patrick Brewer/David Rose Schitt's Creek 2363 3150 M/M White 42 5 Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee NCT (Band) 2331 5854 M/M POC 43 8 Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren Star Wars Sequel Trilogy 2304 6506 Gen White 44 N Dabi/Takami Keigo | Hawks Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia 2294 2930 M/M POC 45 N Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru Haikyuu!! 2272 11155 M/M POC 46 -24 Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Min Yoongi | Suga Bangtan Boys | BTS 2259 12668 M/M POC 47 N Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier Fire Emblem: Three Houses 2218 2218 M/M White 48 28 Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth Game of Thrones (TV) 2186 7063 F/M White 49 19 Bakugou Katsuki/Todoroki Shouto Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia 2169 4991 M/M POC 50 N Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh IT (Movies – Muschietti) 2163 3116 F/M White 51 3 Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling 2128 11699 F/M Whi/Amb 52 -31 Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Sherlock (TV) 2121 61544 M/M White 53 -5 James Potter/Lily Evans Potter Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling 2110 10125 F/M White 54 -28 Jeon Jungkook/Min Yoongi | Suga Bangtan Boys | BTS 2074 9498 M/M POC 55 N Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín/Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù 2073 2494 M/M POC 56 -25 Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter Hannibal (TV) 2064 17257 M/M White 57 N Kakyoin Noriaki/Kujo Jotaro JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure 1964 3580 M/M POC 58 N Midoriya Izuku/Uraraka Ochako Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia 1896 3983 F/M POC 59 -46 Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime) 1843 24332 M/M Whi/POC 60 15 Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling 1838 9269 F/M White 61 N Poe Dameron/Finn Star Wars Sequel Trilogy 1806 7238 M/M POC 62 N Kaminari Denki/Shinsou Hitoshi Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia 1791 2732 M/M POC 63 -38 Dan Howell/Phil Lester Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF) 1782 17316 M/M White 64 -54 Keith/Shiro (Voltron) Voltron: Legendary Defender 1764 13925 M/M Amb/POC 65 31 Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Sanders Sides (Web Series) 1720 3917 M/M White 66 N Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell 1707 4803 M/M Whi/POC 67= -33 Kim Taehyung | V/Min Yoongi | Suga Bangtan Boys | BTS 1651 7176 M/M POC 67= N Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth Fire Emblem: Three Houses 1651 1651 Other White 69 N Michelle Jones/Peter Parker Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies) 1639 3692 F/M Whi/POC 70 N Michael Guerin/Alex Manes Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019) 1635 2746 M/M Whi/POC 71 28 Uchiha Sasuke/Uzumaki Naruto Naruto 1625 7705 M/M POC 72 N Bakugou Katsuki/Uraraka Ochako Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia 1617 3776 F/M POC 73 -30 James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark Marvel Cinematic Universe 1559 7456 M/M White 74 -39 James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader Marvel Cinematic Universe 1544 7724 Other Whi/Amb 75 9 Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed Detroit: Become Human (Video Game) 1534 3921 M/M White 76 N Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling 1511 6308 M/M White 77 N Jeon Jungkook/Kim Namjoon | RM Bangtan Boys | BTS 1505 3911 M/M POC 78 N Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan 1501 6017 F/M White 79 N Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth Fire Emblem: Three Houses 1495 1495 Other White 80 N Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester Supernatural 1493 8791 Gen White 81 N Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead & Midoriya Izuku Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia 1487 2200 Gen POC 82 -37 Tony Stark/Stephen Strange Marvel Cinematic Universe 1460 4912 M/M White 83 N Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist Persona 5 1447 3285 M/M POC 84 N Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou Haikyuu!! 1444 4932 M/M POC 85 N Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know Stray Kids (Band) 1440 3091 M/M POC 86 -33 Byun Baekhyun/Park Chanyeol EXO (Band) 1431 6629 M/M POC 87 -45 Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester Supernatural 1416 27696 M/M White 88 N Leone Abbacchio/Bruno Buccellati JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure 1415 2237 M/M White 89 N Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar Lucifer (TV) 1413 4165 F/M White 90 N Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier IT - Stephen King 1396 2268 Gen White 91 N Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard All For The Game - Nora Sakavic 1392 4681 M/M White 92 N Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long RWBY 1390 4358 F/F POC 93 N Midoriya Izuku & Todoroki Shouto Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia 1378 2887 Gen POC 94 N Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker | Darth Vader Star Wars - All Media Types 1369 4112 F/M White 95= -8 Kim Namjoon | RM/Park Jimin Bangtan Boys | BTS 1365 4728 M/M POC 95= N Sokka/Zuko (Avatar) Avatar: The Last Airbender 1365 1828 M/M POC 97 N Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin NCT (Band) 1360 3266 M/M POC 98 N Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies) 1333 14736 M/M White 99 -72 Loki/Thor (Marvel) Thor (Movies) 1330 12863 M/M White 100 N Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders Sanders Sides (Web Series) 1327 3132 M/M White

#archive of our own #ao3 #fandom statistics #fandom research #racism in fandom #sexism in fandom #slash fandom #femslash fandom #fandom studies #ao3 ship stats #things i made

2K notes · View notes

merakiaes · 4 years

Text

WHAT I CURRENTLY WRITE AND DON’T WRITE

PAYMENT - COMMENTS EQUALS NEW CONTENT (PLEASE READ)

(Characters and fandoms for which requests are open are below the cut so if you don’t want to read the guidelines, you can just scroll down there. However, I do recommend you to at least skim through the “I don’t write”-section to make it easier for both of us!)

(IF YOU WANT TO REQUEST ME TO GIVE YOU A SHIP, SEE THIS SEPARATE POST)

MY ONLY RULE:

If you make a request, anonymous or not, you have to leave a comment on your fic. (Read more about why here.) Even better would be if you reblogged it to help get my work out to more readers!, but I will settle with a comment if you, for some reason, don’t want to reblog.

This means there should always be a minimum of one comment under every requested fic I post - if I see that this isn’t being followed, I’m going to stop writing requests. Simple as that.

With that said, don’t bother requesting if you’re not ready to make this exchange because that’s just unpaid work.

I DON’T WRITE:

Smut.

Songfics.

Headcanons.

Specified and inappropriate/illegal age gaps. Example, an underage student and an adult teacher.

Specified body types.

Body image issues & ED’s.

Male reader.

POC reader.

Specified physical features. (Hair colors, eye colors, etc.)

I try to stay as neutral to physical appearance as I possibly can so that everyone gets an equal chance at emerging themselves into the role, no matter the reader’s ethnicity, height, build, and so on.

Writing plus size!reader and writing about eating disorders and body immage issues is too triggering for me as I, myself, struggle with body dysmorphia on a daily basis.

TO THINK ABOUT WHEN REQUESTING:

Don’t be too vague with your request. For example, a request asking for a fic where “the reader is a character x’s sister”, or "the reader is shy” or”sassy”, is not enough for me to go on. I need a scenario, a plot, an action, an endgame, or a dialogue prompt.

Contrary to the previous point; don’t make requests with too much detail or too long of a timeline, either. I don’t have the energy nor time to write requests that are spread out over eternity and that would end up being as long as a novel.

When requesting prompts from my prompt-lists, ALWAYS include the number and name of the list, not just the quote. The lists you can request for are the following:

Fluff Angst Smut Kiss Hug Common tropes

Don’t get pissy if you request something and I kindly tell you that I don’t write that kind of thing, whatever it may be. I’ve had to deal with this a lot lately and it’s really annoying. All writers have their own, individual preferences, and that’s their right.

Keep in mind all that is written above, and feel free to send several requests if you want to guarantee that you get at least one of them done - some things are easier to write than others and I always appreciate having requests to pick from depending on my mood and current motivation.

Requests are currently open for the following fandoms and characters. Please send in requests!

CRIMINAL MINDS

Spencer Reid

Aaron Hotchner

Derek Morgan

Luke Alvez

Emily Prentiss

Penelope Garcia

Matt Simmons

Will LaMontagne

Clyde Easter

MARVEL

Tony Stark

Steve Rogers

Peter Parker (Tom Holland & Andrew Garfield)

Loki Laufeyson

Scott Lang

Bucky Barnes

Stephen Strange

Jack Thompson

Bruce Banner

Eddie Brock

Helmut Zemo

Darcy Lewis

Daniel Sousa

Logan Howlett

Natasha Romanoff

Sam Wilson

Nathan Summers

Pietro Maximoff (Aaron Taylor-Johnson)

TWILIGHT

Paul Lahote

Leah Clearwater

Edward Cullen

Charlie Swan

Mike Newton

TEEN WOLF

Derek Hale

Jordan Parrish

Peter Hale

STAR WARS

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Kylo Ren

Ben Solo

Armitage Hux

Anakin Skywalker

Poe Dameron

Padmé Amidala

Young Han Solo

STRANGER THINGS

Steve Harrington

Billy Hargrove

Jim Hopper

REIGN

Sebastian “Bash” de Poitiers

Leith Bayard

Louis Condé

James Stewart

Darnley

Prince Henri

Claude

Mary Stuart

THE WITCHER

Geralt of Rivia

Jaskier

PRISON BREAK

Lincoln Burrows

Alexander Mahone

KONG: SKULL ISLAND

James Conrad

Reg Slivko

Earl Cole

TRANSFORMERS

William Lennox

Sam Witwicky

Robert Epps

DIVERGENT

Eric Coulter

Peter Hayes

Tobias Eaton

HARRY POTTER

Fred Weasley

Draco Malfoy

George Weasley

Cedric Diggory

Remus Lupin (young & adult)

Hermione Granger

Bill Weasley

Ron Weasley

Neville Longbottom

Severus Snape

GAME OF THRONES

Sandor Clegane

Jorah Mormont

Edd Tollett

Jon Snow

Gendry Baratheon

Jaime Lannister

Sansa Stark

TRIPLE FRONTIER

Ben Miller

William “Ironhead” Miller

Francisco “Catfish” Morales

Santiago “Pope” Garcia

Tom “Redfly” Davis

PEAKY BLINDERS

Tommy Shelby

Arthur Shelby

John Shelby

Finn Shelby

Alfie Solomons

Ada Shelby

PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN

James Norrington

Will Turner

Jack Sparrow

THE HAUNTING OF HILL HOUSE

Luke Crain

Steve Crain

Theo Crain

MISCELLANEOUS

Dan Torrence (Doctor Sleep)

Detective David Loki (Prisoners)

Floyd Lawton (Arrow)

Smitty Ryker (Hacksaw Ridge)

Captain James Nicholls (War Horse)

Sam Drake (Uncharted)

Daryl Dixon (The Walking Dead)

Rick Flag (Suicide Squad)

Nathan Prescott (Life Is Strange)

Sweet Pea (Riverdale - first season only)

Jace Wayland (The Mortal Instruments, 2013)

Murtagh Morzansson (Eragon)

Jason Lee Scott (Power Rangers, 2017)

Jesse Zeklos (Vampire Academy)

Matt Campbell (The Haunting in Connecticut)

Nick Jones (House of Wax)

Ludovica Storti (Baby)

Reid Garwin (The Covenant)

Tyler Simms (The Covenant)

Fezco (Euphoria)

Feel free to reblog this to spread the word!

257 notes · View notes

kikilefangirl · 3 years

Text

Any of y’all like the Witcher or dare I say, SPN, black fanfics? I quit watching Supernatural after season like 8, but I could still churn out a good fic. Did the shitty ending scare y’all off or no?

#black!reader #poc!reader #the witcher #supernatural #kiki’s musings #fanfic writing #fic rec #black fandom #Geralt x black! reader #Dean Winchester x black! reader #Sam Winchester x black!reader #Castiel x black!reader #jaskier x black!reader #black reader insert #not marvel

35 notes · View notes

ask-the-layers · 4 years

Text

Master post for like, rules and characters!

(It's quite long)

- i do not accept nsfw questions for the tiny gang under any circumstances

- Rp is allowed and even encouraged ! But please if it doesn't go your way dont get mad and lets work it out in dms !

- If you are less than 18 it's fine, I'll tag everything apropriately, the rest is at your charge

- This blog is LGBTQ+ friendly, assume every character is bisexual to start with and are all asexual to a certain degree

-All these characters are self insert, so I'm sorry for the lack of inclusivity when it comes to impaired people, poc, or body types. I just think it'd be weird as a white guy to make a self insert that's not my skin color or suffer from smthg i know nothing about

The characters you can interact with ⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️

Tiny gang (under 18) 35/89

Carillon (layer #0 any world)

Clover/ Myrrh Zogratis (layer #6 Black Clover)

Far/Marie Seed (layer #8 Fc5)

Shynnie/ Margot Lumin (layer #10 Radiant)

Dolly/Kira (layer #12 Dolly Kill Kill)

Stud/Julia (layer #14 Assassination Classroom)

Sni/Evelyn Barrow (layer #15 Hogwarts Mysteries)

Blue/Kamilia Light (layer #20 Blue Exorcist)*

Alch/Dalia Mustang (layer #23 FMAB)

Wat/Amy (layer #24 Overwatch)

Tah/Lallys (layer #31 Witch Hat Atelier)

Ùll (layer #34 Helsing Ultimate)

Ava (layer #37 ATLA)

Isch (layer #42 God Of Highschool)

Myr (layer #46 La passe miroir)

Bas Soma (layer #48 Fruit Basket)

Ise Heisenberg (layer #50bis RE8)

Iruko Romm (layer #52 Mieruko chan)

Elzy/Nemuri Kanzaki (layer #53 Beelzebub)

Tem (layer #56 Team Fortress)

Ress (layer #56 bis)

Pako Mcgraw (layer #61 Oksa Polock)

Dee (layer #64 The walking dead)*

Aby Soma (layer #66 Gakuen Babysitter)

Sham (layer #69 Shaman King)

Bale (layer #70 Bleach)

Lif (layer #71 Fantasy Life)

Pine (layer #73 Perfect Crime)

Oden Agriche (layer #74 The way to save the female lead's older brother)

Nina (layer #78 Saint Seiya)*

Theva (layer #80 Ever Oasis)

Dan (layer #81 Danganronpa)

Sonia Allen (layer #82 Professor Layton)

Lou (layer #83 Tokyo Ghoul)

Tear (Layer #84 Kingdom Hearts)

Tanya Archangelo (layer #86 Gangsta)

Ellie/Eli (layers #87 Pokemon)

Amber (layer #88 Ember Knight)

Misty (layer #90 The Misterious cities of gold)

Fanny (layer #91 Spy x Family)

----- layer #94 The Owl House----

Petra Jung (layer #98 Omniscient Reader Viewpoint)

The adults/young adults 54/89

Léanne Lenoir (layer #99 ATSV)

Cob Volaju (layer #102 Cowboy Bebop)

Ollie (layer #103 Percy Jackson)

Zain (layer #104 Hazbin Hotel)

Hugo (layer #105 Dungeon Meshi)

First/Alice Meyer (layer #1)

Sass/Kelly Miles (layer #2 assassin's creed)

Helpy/Dilthen Lòth Greenleaf (layer #3 TLOTR/The hobbit)*

Pandora Baskerville (layer #4 Pandora Hearts)

Rain/Lilia Barnes (layer #4 MCU)*

Cry/Camille (layer #7 Fc5)

Ghost (layer 8bis)

Detroit/Clarice Anderson(layer #9 D:BH)

Wanda Grindewald (layer #11 Harry Potter)*

Rim (layer #13 Skyrim)

Blay Kavar (layer #13 bis Oblivion)*

Games/Lyssia Stark (layer #16 GoT)*

Seas/Galia (layer #17 Story Of Season)

Hero/Kiho Aizawa (layer #18 BNHA)

Shin/Axel (layer #19 Black Butler)

Icy/Torvi (layer #21 God of War)

Mons (layer #22 Undertale)

Vic (layer #25 VampYr)

//Layilus layer #26 undertale au//

Dun (layer #27 D&D)

Red/Læticia Mildred Sinclair (layer #28 Red dead Redemption)*

Odd/Aude (layer #29 American Gods)

West (layer #30 WestWorld)

Nat (layer #32 Supernatural)*

Nev (layer #33 The Promised Neverland)

Cas (layer #35 Castlevania the show)

Lev (layer #36 Solo Leveling)

Serk (layer #38 Berserk)

Ven (layer #39 Seven Deadly Sins)

Ary (layer #40 Marie's Grave)

Etho (layer #41 Sweet Home)

Pwetty/Célemence Monaghan (layer #43 Death Stranding)

Erf (layer #44 The Witcher)

Orwho (layer #45 Doctor Who)

Hunter (layer #47 HxH)

Edi/Lacie Afton (layer #49 FNaF)*

Evi/Fey (layer #50 Resident Evil)

Cana Morgasdotir (layer #51 The Arcana visual novel)

Eym Marian ( layer #54 D-Grey Man)

Rea (Layer #55 Great Priest Imophtept)

Mag (layer #57 The Magnus Archives)

Easter (Layer #58 I'm The Grim Reaper)

Deam (Layer #59 Ava's Demons)

Cath (Layer #60 Call of Cthlhu)

Noce (Layer#62 The second coming of Gluttony)

Neo Dracule (Layer#63 One Piece)*

Ace Armando (layer #65 Ace Attorney)

Juju Sukuna (layer #67 Jujutsu Kaisen)*

Van Em Moire (layer #68 The case study of Vanitas)

Tai (layer #69 bis, worldless)

Sai (layer #72 Doctor Stone)

Echo (layer #75 Records of Ragnarock)

Marcie Lombardie (layer #76 I'll be the matriatch in this life)

Dia (layer #77 Tomb Raider King)

Tally (layer #79 Fairy Tail)

Taka (layer #85 SNK)

Durian of the Sand (layer #89 Naruto)

Fuka (layer #92 Wakfu)

Amaris (layer #93 Candy Love)

Syllas (layer #95 Style Boutique)

Mashi (layer #96 Chainsaw Man)

Mother, the creator

Azurre (layer #97 Star Wars)*

Caïn (layer #101 Winx Club)

Even More !!

Slayer, the annoying 'uncle'

Helg Odinson (God of War oc)

Mun - Me !

* these layers have alternates. If not specified, i'll assume you're talking to the main one

#the layers #long post #the Egoes #this shit is long man #master post #am i going to tag all the fandoms ?#probably #i regzrt it already #let's just put those I'm currently in #blue exorcist oc #black clover oc #saint seiya oc #bnha oc #jjk oc #the arcana oc #tomb raider king oc #doctor stone oc

11 notes · View notes

for-a-muse-of-fire · 4 years

Text

imagine being loved by me

Fandom: The Witcher (2019)

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x fem!poc reader

Summary: You clock him as a witcher the moment he steps into your tavern - his kind never scared you the way the did the rest of the village. So he kills things for money? What’s the alternative - being overrun and eaten alive by things that go “bump” in the night? Given your complete and utter lack of shame, you proceed to flirt mercilessly with the White Wolf, and the night just gets more interesting from there.

Warnings: NSFW/18+ ONLY I STG, GET OFF MY LAWN DAMN KIDS. Smutty smut smut, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, I’d say some dom!Geralt if you squint a bit, plus some standard violence and swearing. Geralt and reader both say fuck a bunch.

A/N: Inspired by my current obsession with Hozier’s song, “Talk”. Y’all, I think this is the first legit thing that I’ve written in several years. Like, at least 5. Maybe more. It’s not perfect, but I still did the damn thing, and that feels pretty rad. Some of you lovely people requested tags - like a dingus, I did not keep track, so this is me doing by best. I honestly don’t think I have to fortitude to keep up a taglist, so I’ll do my absolute best to tag everything under #tutu scribbles so it’s easy to find.

I'd be the sweet feeling of release Mankind now dreams of That's found in the last witness Before the wave hits, marveling at God

He appears in the doorway towards the end of the night. Most of your patrons have stumbled home, save for one small table that has been carousing with a mission. You’re ready to read them the riot act when the stranger steps into the tavern, ushered by a blast of sharp winter air. You notice him right away, mostly because he might be the largest man you have ever seen. He’s tall, and so broad-shouldered that he brushes the door frame on his way in. You momentarily forget what you’re doing in favor of gawking a bit, bar rag paused mid-swipe when he pulls back the hood of his heavy cloak.

Gods on high, he’s handsome. Almost pretty.

Features that belong on a marble statue and a soft looking mouth that you can’t help but focus on.

He takes a cautious glance around the room and catches you staring. Given that you don’t know the meaning of the word “shame”, you don’t bother to duck your head, though you have enough sense to not grin out-right like a loon. It’s difficult, though.

White hair. Honey-gold eyes.

What really gives him away is the silver medallion that swings out from under his cloak. The size of a large coin, it shows a snarling wolf’s head in profile.

A Witcher.

He holds your gaze and something shivers its way down your spine. His boots carrying him silently across the worn floorboards and you find yourself trying to fluff your hair, make the riotous curls behave for once. You move to meet him when he sits at the end of your bar – even seated, you’re nearly eye-to-eye with him. The smile you offer is a crooked one, bordering on coy.

No harm in a little fun.

“Just in time, friend,” you rib him gently. “I was getting ready to close down and call it a night.”

“Lucky me,” the witcher rumbles. Rumbles - you’re not sure what else to call it. His voice sounds like gravel and thunder. His golden eyes take in your face, and you feel warm, in spite of the drafty space. Something in the vicinity of your stomach starts to flutter excitedly.

Testing the waters, you lean against the bar top with crossed arms. His eyes dip to the swell of your breasts at the top of your bodice.

You grin. “What’s your pleasure, Witcher?”

Gold eyes snap up to meet your darker ones and there is heat in that gaze. The witcher lets out a low kind of a sound, that soft mouth of his turning up at one corner.

The fluttering thing in your belly turns liquid – molten.

“Ale,” he says, handing over a few crowns. “Please… miss.”

“Right away.”

You pull a clean tankard from it’s spot and you turn your back to fill it. Being under his gaze isn’t unlike standing in direct sunlight – you can feel it press warmly against your back and shoulders. You try to focus on pouring a decent pint, but all you can think about is the fact that it’s cold out, and it’s been far too long since you’ve had someone warm and vital in your bed. The golden-eyed man behind you certainly seems vital.

Mind made up, you turn to present him with his ale and lean into the bar again. His eyes dip down the line of your neck, a little farther, and then up to find you grinning.

“Enjoy,” you tell him “Get comfortable, Witcher. I’ll be nearby if you need me.”

He “hmms” at you, very nearly grinning himself. Teeth caught against your bottom lip, you pull yourself away and begin your end-of-night duties – gathering empty bowls, cups, dirty utensils – to bring them through to the kitchen. You find yourself stealing one last glance at the witcher as you bump the kitchen door with your hip and slip away. A song, some manner of bawdy barroom ballad, comes to mind unbidden and you find yourself humming tunelessly to yourself as you start the washing.

You swear, you’re barely gone a few moments when you hear the racket begin. Raised voices, drunk voices – damn, you’d forgotten the table of stragglers – and the low rumble of the witcher. An irritated sigh huffs up from your chest and you dry your damn hands on your apron, leaving the rest of the washing in the basin.

The loud voices of drunk men become more clear as you step up to the door separating the kitchen from the tavern: “We don’t want you here, fucking mutant.”

There’s a crash, then the thud of fist hitting flesh. Dammit. So much for your fun tonight.

You swear under your breath and reach for your only real weapon – the heavy wooden baton has a place of honor beside the kitchen door. Slowly, quietly, you easy your way back into the main room. With the layout of the tavern, you’ve appeared behind the drunks – the witcher can see your movements from where he stands, the idiots can’t. The witcher’s mug of ale has been shattered on the floor. He’s surrounded, three drunks around him and the bar top at his back. The red mark high on his cheekbone gives you a hint as to who swung the first punch.

Golden eyes meet yours. You see his jaw tense, and he gives a short jerk of his head; ‘stay back,’ the motion says. It’s almost enough to make you take pause, until you see the glint of a blade; the witcher is focused on you, not on the knife that one of the drunks just pulled. Adrenaline zips through your system and you lunge without thinking, wielding language most unbecoming of a lady. How you manage to keep from tripping on your skirts is beyond you. The would-be knife fighter gets three bone-rattling strikes – knee, diaphragm, nose – and drops, clutching his face with some creative profanity.

His drunk cohorts gawp stupidly at you. You glare daggers in return.

“You are no longer welcome here,” you snap. “Get the fuck out, or it’ll be you on the ground next.”

They considering their bleeding, whimpering friend on the floor and decide not to chance it. You keep your club at the ready, watching as the morons pick up their wounded friend and usher him out the door. The breath that you didn’t remember holding comes whooshing out, and then you turn to your last guest. He’s tense as a wire, fists still clenched – your voice seems to snap him out of it:

“All right, Witcher?”

He exhales, pulling his focus from the door and back to you. “Yeah… yes,” he replies. You watch him flounder a moment, as if he’s just realizing what happened. “Thank you. That was… thanks.”

“Any time.”

That’s apparently not a response he’s heard before – it shows on his face for the briefest of second, and then you can see the barrier drop behind his pretty gold eyes. He seems cold as the winter outside when he speaks again, “I’m sorry for the trouble, miss. Thank you for the ale.”

A few more crowns appear from the folds of his cloak – he leaves them on the bar, and you can’t help but blink at him as he starts to make his way to the door. It’s entirely possible that you should leave him be, but you still find yourself calling out:

“Hold on, Witcher!”

He almost ignores you, leather-gloved hand on the heavy iron handle of the tavern door. You can’t help it – he starts to curse under his breath, and you find yourself grinning about it. He’s still grumbling when he finally turns and those honey-colored eyes find your face again. You tilt your head, curls akimbo across your shoulder, and offer up a soft smile.

Some of the ice behind the witcher’s eyes starts to melt and you could swear he’s trying not to smile back. “… Geralt,” he rumbles at you. “My name is Geralt. Of Rivia.”

“Geralt of Rivia,” you murmur, and offer your name in return. “Please, Geralt. You’re nearly knifed in my establishment and I think courtesy dictates I offer you something by way of apology. Besides… when was the last time you had a hot meal?”

That perks him up. He may not be fully human, but he’s still male.

You exhale, a breathless chuckle of sorts, and move closer. If there’s an extra sway in your hips, well, you can’t help that and he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s momentarily distracted by the cut of your bodice again and you preen internally. You offer him the hand not holding your club and smile up into his face.

“Come and sit with me, Geralt of Rivia.”

___

After the broken tankard is swept up and the spilled ale dried, you disappear into the kitchen and return with a plate for your guest – the night’s dinner special. Braised beef, potatoes with garlic and butter, and roasted winter vegetables from your garden out back. Geralt, finally stripped of his cloak and gloves, tucks in with the ravenous hunger of a tired traveler. He shovels a mouthful down, then stops, blinking down at the plate.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, frowning.

He very nearly speaks with his mouth full, thinks better of it, and swallows. “This is fucking delicious,” he says, deadly serious. You laugh.

“Thank you.” Pride swells in your chest; you’ve always been proud of your cooking. “Most of it came from my own garden.”

Geralt hums. His next bite is smaller, and he takes his time chewing it. The sight of him enjoying his meal makes you feel contented. He eats, and you go about your work. The fire in the hearth has burnt down some, but it’s enough for you to be able to finish the night’s cleaning. When you slip back behind the bar, Geralt’s plate is empty – he may have actually licked it clean. He seems almost content himself as he finishes his ale.

“Still hungry?” you tease. He squints at you for a moment, but the corner of his mouth ticks up.

“No, thank you. I may not need to eat again for a few days.”

You laugh at that, “Good, that’s what I like to hear. Stay put, all right?” You nod at the bruise that’s started to bloom on his cheek. “I think I have something for that…”

The empty plate is cleared and you grab a small basket from the kitchen. After filling Geralt’s mug one last time, you pour a small goblet of wine for yourself and come to sit next to him at the bar. He watches you as you open your small kit. “A cook, a fighter, and a healer?” he muses. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Can’t sing for shit,” you shoot back. “And a cook, yes, but you’re very generous, calling me a fighter, or a healer. Really, I think I just know enough about either to be dangerous…”

Geralt snorts indecorously. “I think our friend with the broken nose might beg to differ.”

“Doesn’t take much skill to break a nose – long as you swing hard enough. Hah!” You’ve found it – the little salve jar at the bottom of your kit. You turn to Geralt with a grin and hold out the jar for his inspection. “I hear your lot are the expert on this kind of thing. What do you think?”

He “hmms” again – you rather like that sound – and twists open the top of the jar. You watch him give a careful sniff before he peers in to look at the contents itself. “Frankincense,” he mutters. “Honey… mugwort? Good mix.”

You grin. “Thank you. Does the trick for black eyes and stove burns. Gimme that – “ Taking the jar back, you take a sip of your wine before tapping the big witcher on the knee. “Turn this way, please.”

He cocks an eyebrow, but obeys, and you move to stand between his splayed legs. Gods, but he’s warm. Heat rolls off of his body like the warmth of your tavern fire and it’s all you can do to keep from leaning into him. By the way he’s eyeing you, you’re not sure if he’d mind. You tap a little of your healing salve onto the pad of your ring finger and place the jar back on the counter – when you meet his gaze, he nods in silent consent. Gently, you take his chin in your hand and turn his bruised cheek towards you.

“You heal faster than most, I’ve heard,” you murmur, gently pressing the salve into his skin. “But I can’t imagine getting hit in the face feels good.”

Geralt snorts again. “No, it doesn’t. Not something you really get used to, either.”

“… Geralt, how many times have you gotten punched?”

“This week, or…?”

You blink at him. When he smirks back, you realize that he is, in fact, pulling your leg. “Oh, you’re the funny one, are you?” you say drily.

He continues to smirk as you grumble, tugging his chin so you can finish applying your salve. Both of you go quiet. The silence isn’t strange – it’s almost comforting. You hear the last intact log on the fire pop. Outside, the wind has picked up. It whistles past the windows, makes what’s left of the fire gutter in the hearth. It’s going to be wickedly cold tonight. You consider your room upstairs, that empty bed…

“Geralt?”

“Hmm.”

You chuckle. Your hand drops from his chin and he uses the opportunity to meet your gaze again. It’s at that moment that you realize just how close you are, and perhaps he notices too. Golden eyes scan your face lazily – heat blooms in your chest when his gaze drops to your mouth. He can probably hear the way your pulse kicks up, what with those heightened senses of his.

Maybe the night wouldn’t be a wash after all.

“I have a hunch,” you mumble. “Don’t be alarmed.”

You kiss him. His lips are dry, but smooth. He lets you lean into him, hands braced on his powerful thighs. His palm is so warm against your hip that you can feel it through your skirts; the sensation makes you shudder against him and sigh into his mouth.

Geralt growls, and you feel a desperate, aching heat settle between your legs.

The hand at your hip presses into your lower back and you stumble into him. You taste the ale on his tongue, try to lick the bittersweet flavor from your mouth as his other hand joins in to squeeze at your ass. He crushes you closer – even through the sturdy material of his trousers, you feel the hard line of him straining against your belly. A whine cracks its way up from your throat, and you want…

You want.

“Stay with me,” you gasp, pulling back for air.

Geralt’s eyes are hooded, his lips slick and kiss-swollen and it takes every ounce of your willpower to keep from lunging in to bite at him. You run your tongue along your own bottom lip and he tracks the motion hungrily.

“Stay with me,” you say again. Your arms wind around his neck. “Keep me warm tonight, Geralt of Rivia.”

He grins slow, pulls you back to him – the tip of his nose is cold when it traces up the line of your neck. “I think I’d like that…”

Teeth and tongue and lips map the curve of your neck. Your fingers tangle their way into the witcher’s hair and tug when he sucks a bruise onto your pulse point. He rewards you with a low sound, breathless and hot on your skin. Oh, he likes that.

“Keep that up,” he growls. “And I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”

You tug again.

The dam breaks.

You’re not sure how, but his hands feel like they’re everywhere; pushing through your curls, squeezing at your hips, groping at your waist. It’s like he’s trying to break you apart, piece by piece. Strip you open until you’re nothing but bared nerve endings and gasping breath.

Somehow, you make it upstairs and into your room. It’s a miracle that the only clothing left behind in the tavern is his cloak and gloves. Everything else is strewn this way and that through your room – your bodice ends up thrown over a chair and Geralt’s shirt nearly gets stuck on a rafter. One of his boots ends up by the cold fireplace and he kicks the other one off as he whips your chemise over your head. He crowds close, pushes you back until he has you laid out naked across the bed.

Geralt’s grin is lopsided – wolf-like – as his golden eyes take in your bare skin. Your breath stutters when he lowers himself, lips hot and smooth on the skin of your neck. He nips and bites his way down your torso, pausing only to lave his tongue over the dark peak of one breast, then the other. Fire shoots through you and your eyes slam shut – you gasp his name, make him chuckle into your flesh. Strong hands ease your legs apart and you jump when he bites at the softness of your belly, just below your navel. You can feel his low laugh more than you can hear it.

“Easy, little rabbit,” Geralt murmurs. You breathe out a shaky chuckle and prop up onto your elbows, just in time to watch the witcher reach up to tie his shock-white hair away from his face.

Your mouth goes dry. That wolfish grin is back.

His breath is hot on the crease of your thigh. “I’m just getting started,” he rumbles.

Then Geralt swipes his tongue up the slit of your sex and you wonder for a moment if this is what being struck by lightning feels like. His tongue finds your clit and it is suddenly very hard to think anymore. Your back bows up from the bed as you groan brokenly. One hand shoots down, fingers reaching for something to keep you from flying through the roof, and you grip at the witcher’s hair again. The growl he lets out buzzes against your core and it all goes fuzzy after that.

You feel him grip bruises onto your thighs. You feel the rasp of his stubble. Then, pressure, followed by delicious fullness a Geralt pushes one finger, then another into your slick heat. He stretches you, twisting and thrusting his fingers in time with the flicker of his tongue. You gasp for breath, hips lifting to meet Geralt’s mouth. He seems to be enjoying himself as much as you are – he growls against you, and the hand on your thigh jerks you closer. The sound his mouth and his fingers on you is utterly depraved, wet and sloppy.

Geralt’s fingers curl inside of you, pressing up towards your navel. You come, hard and fast, crying his name.

Over the thunder of your heart, you hear him growl against your thigh, “Fucking beautiful…”

He lays a few biting kisses to your inner thigh before he stands and swipes the back of his hand over his mouth. You stare up at him with outright hunger as he strips off his trousers. He’s solid muscle, battle-scarred and gorgeous, thick cock curving up towards his belly. He smirks, but doesn’t move, seemingly content to let you feast your eyes.

Once you’ve had your fill, you meet Geralt’s hooded gaze and push yourself back on the mattress. With a little extra arch in your back, you crook a finger. Geralt crouches and crawls up the bed to you. His hips settle between your parted thighs, hands braced on either side of your head. Those eyes of his scan your face hungrily before he lunges in for a kiss.

You lick the tang of your cunt from his tongue. The underside of his cock slides against your clit, making you arch into him with a whine, “Geralt…”

He hums low in his chest, shifts his weight to bring one hand up to cup your cheek. “Look at me, sweetheart,” he rasps. His thumb strokes slowly over your cheekbone. “Look at me – want to see your face – “

Geralt shifts back and thrusts home, hard – the blinding pleasure punches the air from your lungs in a shout. Your hands fly up to grip his back. “There it is,” he groans. “Good girl…”

All you can do is mewl in response, trembling. The thumb brushing at your cheek moves to your mouth, pressing and stroking at your bottom lip. You meet Geralt’s gaze with lust-glazed eyes and suck the tip of his thumb into your mouth.

“Fuck”, he hisses.

He drags a slow thrust out, and pushes back in to the hilt over and over. Each heavy thrust of his hips drives you into the mattress and you meet him eagerly, pitched cries muffled by his thumb. Geralt curls himself over you. His thumb pulls from your mouth with a wet sound so he can grip your chin instead, force you to meet the heat of his eyes. It’s skin and sweat and heated, desperate pleas. Your hands grip at his shoulders, his back, nails leaving lines of red that only spur him on. The witcher pushes at your chin, baring your neck to him so he can scrap his teeth against your sweat-slick skin. You clench around him with a low cry.

His lips press against your ear and he starts talking, rumbling, low and filthy. Your eyes nearly roll back into your head.

Fuck, the mouth on him. He tells you how fucking good you feel around his cock, how wet you are for him; it’s a litany of debased promises and you can only gasp in return. The rumble of his voice, the drag of his cock pushes you higher and higher, tightens the coiled lightning in your belly. You are unconcerned with keeping quiet.

Geralt slips a hand between your bodies. The pad of his thumb pulls across your clit and you are gone, your orgasm fierce and relentless. You keen, whole body curling up into Geralt’s chest; your teeth catch his shoulder and you bite down hard enough to bruise.

The witcher gives a ragged shout into the side of your neck. He pulses into your clutching heat, hot and steady.

Neither of you move for what seems like an age. You feel sticky, and sore, and it feels good. Geralt shifts at last, carefully slipping out of you – you both shudder with the last aftershocks. “Fuck,” he grunts.

“Pretty sure we just did, love,” is your slightly slurred response.

Geralt squints down at you, but you just smile sleepily back, and it’s enough to make him laugh. Like a good gentleman, he makes certain to roll off of you before he collapses on his stomach with grumble. He pulls you into his side; you hum contentedly. The blistering heat beneath your skin has begun to cool, and you feel wonderfully boneless.

The witcher can barely keep his eyes open, but he tries to focus on your face. “All right?” he mumbles into a pillow.

“More than,” you murmur back.

“S’good…” And he’s out cold.

You follow soon enough.

_____

You don’t wake until the next morning, sore, but very pleased with yourself. Winter sunlight, bleached and cold, pours in from the casement. There is a brief pang of disappointment when you reach for Geralt and find him gone, but then you hear the crackle of a fire and turn over. It’s a lovely sight. The witcher stands from his crouched position in front of your now-lit fireplace, and you take a moment to admire the well-sculpted curve of his backside as he pulls his shirt on. He’s found his trousers and boots, as well – pity.

“Thank you,” you mumble, sleepily. He turns to you as you sit up, bedsheet clutched over your nakedness.

“Don’t mention it.”

You study his handsome face for a moment. His expression is unreadable, but his golden eyes are warm. “Leaving?” you ask.

“Have to,” he tells you. “Unless your town has a noonwraith that needs destroying.”

“No, thank fuck.” You stand and stretch with a groan, tying the bedsheet over your breasts. “Well, come on, then.”

Geralt chuckles, but follows you downstairs and to the kitchen. Into a kerchief you tie a loaf of bread, some good cheese, salted pork, and dried fruit. The witcher looks at you with something akin to surprise when you hand him his provisions. You simply smile back and step into him. He allows you to wind your arms around his neck, meeting you halfway in a kiss that makes your heart skip a beat. You don’t want to let go, but you force yourself to step back after a few breathless moments.

“Goodbye, Geralt of Rivia,” you murmur. You consider more, almost don’t, and then, “If, ah… if you ever find yourself out this way again – “

“I will. I’ll have to.” He gives you a crooked grin. “Only place I can get good meal around here.”

You laugh outright, and it seems to make Geralt’s grin widen. Following him back into the main tavern, you insure he has his effects and provisions before you watch him take his leave. With a shiver, you recall the newly lit fire in your bedroom and find yourself taken the steps two at a time to get there. Between the cold, bleached sunlight shining in from the window and the warmth of the fire in the hearth, it doesn’t take much to convince yourself that a lie-in is just what you need.

Your pillow still smells like him.

#geralt of rivia #geralt x poc!reader #geralt x reader #geralt x you #the witcher #the witcher netflix #all aboard the smut bus #poc reader #fanfic #fanfiction #geralt smut #tutu scribbles #the wench and the witcher

1K notes · View notes