Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x F!Reader
Wordcount: 4.3K
Warnings: dub-con. sex pollen/potion. rough sex. mentions of virginity. sex on the hard dirt ground. insecure geralt. Violence.
Summary: Geralt rescues a girl twice.
A/N: idk whut this is. my head is heavy with sickness but here we are.
It should have been easy.
Rescue the duchess from the elves camped northwest of the Sansretour River and return her to Beauclair. Kill who you have to. Get paid a sum that would have him comfortable for a solid year.
It was easy until it wasn’t.
It was twilight. The kind of purple-blue evening that drank him up - shadowed him just right.
Geralt snuck into the camp with sword in hand. He crept quietly on booted feet despite his size. He was careful. He had his cloak draped over the fall of his hair though the white would have gone unnoticed amidst elves. He murdered the guards - blade pressed deep beneath their jaws. They hadn’t made a sound - not a shout or yelp. There was only the warm dribble of blood over his knuckles.
He reached her quickly - smoothly.
As soon as he slipped inside her tent, her head jerked up - eyes widening and lips parting and oh -
She was manacled, skirts flowing around her like a yawning bloom. She was lovely. But - that was no surprise. They made them that way in Touissant. Women who reflected the colorful brilliance of the city. Red-gabled roofs and ivory towers. Rolling jewel-green hills and rivers as bright blue as the sky - sometimes to the point where the water was the sky and the sky the water and you did not know what was what or which was which -
It was frosting. It was artifice in so many ways. Geralt hated it because he stood out like a smudge against all that shine.
“I’m here for you,” he said under his breath even though he was already pulling her up and against him. Her gaze was still comically wide - there was swelling along her brow - a cut across her cheek. Her lip quivered and he assumed it was just terror at her predicament. He had no time to ask if she was alright or if she could walk or if she could speak at all. He simply hauled her into his arms and carted her out of that tent and into the forest beyond.
***
She was all silks and skirts - miniscule beads and lace that caught at his shirt and through his fingers as he readjusted his grip. He carried her far enough. He carried her until the calls and cries from the camp gradually became muted - softened beneath the regular din of the forest. Wind. Birds. The creak of branches.
They talked a little. She was subdued and he worried that she was in shock. He was worried that maybe they had done something to her. He wasn’t sure if he should ask.
Geralt - despite those who claimed he was soft-hearted - was not tactful. He lacked gentleness. He lacked bedside manners. He did not speak unless he had to and right now he felt like there was something incredibly wrong with her.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked because he had time now - they were a safe distance away.
She blinked owlishly before digging her fingers into the opening of his shirt. Her breathing picked up and he could hear her heart begin to thump - pounding too hard and too fast.
“Your grace?” He tried, in case she was one of those high-born girls who only answered to their title.
“They - they fed me something,” she murmured. The words hitched in her throat - scattered and shivered as she clung to him. Her skin felt flushed: velvet-burning wet silk. “They made me choose a bottle.”
There was sweat now - beading her hairline. He finally noticed the purple-blue stain across her lower lip. I should have seen that. I should have caught it.
“They laughed,” she added as an afterthought. “They laughed when I chose it.”
He felt something cold and heavy drop in his stomach.
“I think - I think whatever it was is finally affecting me,”
He bent his head - rooting his nose along her jaw and mouth. They were past the point of decorum or manners. He immediately set her down and she crumpled - groaning in pain as she curled into herself. He went with her, going to his knees as he clamped his palm across her forehead. At the contact of his skin, she whimpered. He was certain that he knew what this was.
He smelled it. The elderflower tang of the poison. The syrup sweet brush of it. Sickly and bright in the air.
“Fuck,” he hissed between clenched teeth. “Fuck.”
“It’s - it’s painful,” she stammered as she started tugging at the scoop of her neckline. She shoved at her bodice and it was no use - no use at all. “I - I don’t know what - what this is.”
He scanned the area. There was nothing to be done. Just trees and leaves and dirt. The sky was its own pewter light. He could maybe hold her - stick his bare skin to her own. An elfish sex potion was tricky. Geralt didn’t know if it would demand pleasure or seed or simply naked flesh.
“It’s burning,” she wheezed - once more ripping at her dress - her eyes darkened - rippling with something hungry. Her lashes fluttered. He could smell her - the ripeness of her cunt overwhelmed him.
She looked so lost - terribly frustrated as she gazed up at him Wight hat silent plea of : save me save me save me
***
It all hurt. Everything hurt.
She felt quite sick. She felt as if her skin was on inside out and she was a singular frayed nerve. Raw and writhing.
She didn’t even know the man other than the few things he had told her as he raced out of that camp.
His name was Geralt. Her father paid him to rescue her.
He was a Witcher.
That was all fine and good except she could not pull away from him. She stuck her cheek to his chest - watched sweat drip at the hollow of his throat. Her fingers caught in the chain of his medallion. He smelled like the deep of the woods - the snow frosted on dead trees. Damp and swift and cold.
When he had saved her, his movements had been utterly grateful and brutal at the same time. Fluid as silver spilling - flowing - over stone. He pulled his sword across those guard’s throats before wrenching it upward. The snap of bone and meat and the splatter and mess of his violence. He had smeared blood on her shoulders in his haste to get them out of the tent. She didn’t even mind.
He was frowning at her now. He had his hands on her upper arms to keep her from tipping backward.
“We are going to have to touch,” he said frankly.
“Touch?” She was going liquid between her legs - the warmth and pressure had only increased with each passing second.
His nostrils flared. His pupils dilated. His eyes went half-lidded. He really was quite fierce-looking. Gorgeous - his features were carved and prominent. The blade-sharp jawline and straight nose. His gaze like honey.
She felt like she was melting. She wanted to burn.
“It’s a potion of sorts,” he said. “You’re in the thick of it.”
“Oh,” she muttered. “Oh dear.”
It felt just like when she had drunk too much Beauclair White and her vision had swam and spun until she couldn’t walk a straight line. He palmed her cheek and it settled her - anchored her to the floor and she pushed into it.
He carefully studied her reactions - his expression unreadable. “How bad?”
“Like I’m going to explode,” she slurred and his grimace deepened if that was possible. “It aches.”
She had not yet screamed, but she knew it was inevitable. The pain was only growing.
He ripped himself away from her and she gasped - hands outstretched as she scrambled to yank him back to her body. “Shh,” he soothed. “It’s alright.” He lifted his shirt off - revealing his thick torso. Muscular and scarred and pale against the shadows of the woods. She swallowed as he tossed his shirt and then he was back to her. He engulfed her in his arms. He was broad and hot and his chest hair tickled and rubbed the side of her face.
They touched like that for a moment - maybe several moments. She had no sense of time. She had no sense at all. She could only focus on his heavy, pronounced breathing and his large hand smoothing the back of her head.
“Do you do this for all the damsels you save?” she managed to quip before another cramp shot through her. She groaned - tightening her hold on his bicep - burrowing as far into him as she could - her ear slipping along his sweat-slick skin.
“Easy,” he coaxed - his mouth warm against her scalp. “And to answer your question - no- not exactly.”
“I’m sure - sure maidens fall all over you,” she choked out - her teeth chattering behind her lips. She felt strange. She felt stranger than before. Was she so hot that she was cold or was she so cold that she was hot?
“I wouldn’t say that.” There was something in his tone - a fracture of anxiousness. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered.
He really was beautiful. Beautiful in an untouchable way -a blue flame she could not grasp - but she was touching him now and it felt like she was wrapping her arms around a bright beating heart just like the heart - the organ - that was pulsing and throbbing between her legs as if it had a mind of its own and she wanted him wanted him wanted him - could feel his lap and his smell was that of a furnace and male - masculine - the blood he had stained her with - the salt of his sweat and his stubble rasped across her skin and oh to have that stubble against the inner flesh of her thigh - her cunt -
***
It is not enough,” she pleaded. “Not enough.”
He drew away to stare down at her. Her eyes were too bright - her brow creased in agony.
He grit his teeth before he took her face in his hands, squeezing it tight. “Look at me,” he ordered. “You need to -”
He didn’t get very far.
She lurched upward - fingers fisting into his hair before she slammed her mouth against his. He reacted automatically - lips parting and allowing her tongue to tangle with his own. He grunted - stunned up until he tasted the punch of sugar and fruit and the immediate sour of sex at the end of it.
He reared back on his heels - shoving her off of him.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered - hand flying to her mouth. “Oh - I don’t - I don’t know why I did that.”
He could see it on her face. It was the potion - entirely the potion. It made you witless - cooked your brain. It was your body’s biological response to crave another - to be filled and sated until you were wrung dry.
So it began for him, too.
It started low in his gut - circling and brewing as all of his blood ran straight to his cock. It was like nothing and everything at once. It fizzed and bubbled - a rush of it boiling like a fever beneath his skin. The pain was like nothing else. There was a hole inside him - black and shredded and demanding to be fed. It screamed and twisted and it would do so until Geralt was no longer himself - more feral and animalistic. Broken by the desire for it.
There was only one thing they could do.
He stared at her dress. The pearl buttons along the spine of the pale blue fabric. The eyelet hooks and ribbons. The ties. The stay that he would no doubt have to slice through. He could rip her apart if he wanted. He dragged his tongue along his canines. He wanted to bite her - taste that raw, tender flesh as more heat spread throughout his chest and lungs and his heart was now beating in his throat and beneath his tongue.
“We - we will have to do this,” he managed to say, but it came out like a rasp - like it was littered with dust and all of his weaknesses. “I’m sorry.” He couldn’t control himself here. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself and as the last bit of logic flew from his head - he thought that was not what he wanted and it was entirely what people would expect of him - the wild beast taking advantage of the maiden - the damsel and oh fuck him what if she was a virgin?
“Do what?” She sealed herself to his chest - grazing her cheek against his own - the press of warm real skin as he tried to grip her shoulders. It felt good. It felt like snow on a flame-rich skillet.
“Fu-,” He swallowed the rest - unsure how to tell her that he was going to take her on the ground - in the dirt. He wrapped his hand around the one she had against his face. He dwarfed her - in every way.
“It’s fine,” she hummed. “It’s fine. I want - want you inside me.”
Everything was happening too fast. He couldn’t remember where he was or how he had just saved her from a camp. He saw her as golden and wet and fever-warm and he wanted to push into her - fuck her - rut like a beast on the cold hard floor. Her nimble hands plucked at his trousers.
“Please,” she whispered. “Please, Geralt.”
***
She could see the blue she’d left on his lips. She lifted her hand and pressed her thumb against it - watched it sink into the flesh. He didn’t flinch away from her, instead he leaned into it - shutting his eyes for a moment. “It seems,” he said - tone husky and far more liquid. “It seems you have infected me, as well.”
Her finger went further - nudging against the hot slippery flat of his tongue. He closed his eyes and sucked on it. Oh. There was every piece of her shrieking. The edges of her telling her it was wrong and improper but she could barely recall her own name.
“I want..” she repeated - an echo of all her begging. “I want -”
“What do you want, duchess?” he asked bluntly and it was apparent that all the softness he had wielded the last few minutes had begun to fade. His demeanor quickened and grew sharp - his features creased to an air of smugness - suggestiveness - as if he were on a hunt.
She was dumbstruck - saliva collecting at the back of her throat. Her chest heaved - her dress too tight - her corset squeezing the life from her.
“What do you want?” His eyes pinned her - held her down. “A high-born girl like you knows how to use her words, doesn’t she?”
It was now him who was advancing on her. This wolf - this giant - with his broad shoulders, his thick arms and swollen muscles. His chest dusted in dark hair. She could see all of his scars - pale and puckered raised flesh from knives and arrows and bites. He flashed his teeth.
“Tell me,” he demanded - voice harsh and low and it punctured the careful bubble that had settled over her like a film. She was no longer quite so lost - so dizzy. She met him at his own pace.
“What do I want?” She shoved her hand beneath the band of his trousers as an answer.
She dragged her palm past the coarse hair leading from his belly button before she circled the thick length of him - thumb flicking over the twitching fat head. He was big and in a way that shook her. She glanced down to see it - the pink-red flesh peeking between the circle of her fist. She stroked him evenly - held it close and firm. He watched her as she did it - his eyes widening a fraction. A ragged sort of noise fell from his mouth on every downstroke.
She liked it - liked feeling a man as frightening and huge as this Witcher pant for her - tremble under the caress of her fingers. She nearly forgot that there was a foreign liquid rushing through her veins - brewing and simmering as it took hold of her insides.
“I want this,” she said and he grunted - the palm of his hand coming up to cradle the back of her head and tug her forward.
He captured her mouth in a frantic kiss, pushing his tongue urgently into the cup of it. He slid it behind her teeth. She took it - swallowed it - wanted to choke on him.
He kept his lips on her as he forced her onto her back - the ground cool and hard against her shoulders. He blistered her in kisses - nipping at her throat - the tops of her breasts - his fingers finding her hips through the ridiculous fabric of her skirts.
His touch was bruising and intense and she loved it - craved it.
“More,” she sobbed. “More.”
***
Geralt couldn’t think. He still felt the ghost-print of her hot little hand on his cock - the cushion of her mouth. He rucked her dress up - tearing at all the silk to get to the center of her.
There were her ankles - the bend of her knees - the meat of her thighs and up he went until he found her sex. Even in the shadowy forest, he could see how wet she was. The slit of her cunt shiny and dripping - pearly with slick. He slid his finger through her folds and she jerked - a muffled cry singing from her.
He could truly smell her now - the heat and swell of her. The blood beneath her skin and how her cunt was clamping down on nothing. He stroked her - using his thumb to circle the tight little nub at the peak of her folds. He didn’t even know what he was saying - telling her: quiet - quiet - duchess - sweet girl - let me open you up - let me help you -
He was out of his mind. He needed to breach her - fill her up and so without warning he buried his face between her legs. He plunged his tongue inside her and there was the punch of her cunt in his mouth as she dampened his chin and lips. She made a sweet sound - a stammered coo as her knees tightened over his shoulders - her hips bucking into his face.
He added a finger and then a second. She was soaked both from the potion and his touch. He suckled her clit - lapped at her with purpose as her nails bit into his hair.
He felt her climax - the walls of her cunt clutching around his forefinger and middle. She lurched -hips stuttering - belly tightening quick as he continued to drive his fingers sharply into her tender aching sex.
***
She was floating for a moment, before her second bout of pleasure ripped her back to the ground. His stubble raked across her inner thighs. His thick fingers flexed and scissored inside her - his pace making wet sucking noises with each push. He nudged his thumb into the peak of her cunt and kept it there. It was so much - it was constant - her limbs heavy as her lower muscles cramped and spasmed, but it felt so fucking good.
He kept his fingers inside her as he lifted his head. He advanced forward to kiss her so she could taste herself - the earthy flavor of her own sex. His chin and mouth were glossed with her and she wondered how she could produce so much slick? How could she be this wet, but it didn’t matter. None of it did. She was still burning.
He freed his hand to grab beneath her ass. He guided her hips forward - spreading her thighs and hooking her knees around his waist. She could see his cock - feel it bump against the crease of her hip. It was heavy and hot and when he slid the head of it through her folds - she arched.
“Hold onto me,” he grit as he loomed above - this burly knight with lost lovely eyes. He climbed over her - covering her completely, bearing his weight above her body - one thick arm framed beside her head. His trousers were around his knees and she felt him line himself up with her cunt. She wrapped her arms around his back - clutching at his shoulders. She felt the muscles of him undulate and flex and the whole of him go taut as a bowstring when he filled her in one long thrust.
She yelped. She couldn’t help it. He was enormous - splitting her apart and it ached something fierce - felt as if he was impaling her until he hit the end of womb. His eyes were near-black - the lines of his jaw jumped as he clamped his teeth together.
“Tight,” he bit out like he could barely believe it. “You’re a tight thing.”
He thrusted slow - tentative - before the potion began to snatch hold of him once again. The nature of the poison weaved inside the both of them. It ebbed and flowed. The first touch of cock to cunt tempered the fever - the orgasms - the ripples of pleasure and pre-come. It all worked until it didn’t. Until it wasn’t enough. There was an end to this - a solution that had to be met.
Geralt rocked into her - circled his hips to grind his pelvic bone against the peak of her sex. Her mouth dropped open and he nipped at her lower lip before he slid his tongue down the line of her throat.
“Fuck,” he snarled. “Fuck me - you feel good.”
He quickened his movements. He drew out of her completely before driving back in. Every snap of his hips sent her up the dirt - her hair catching in the leaves and mud. His cock was hitting something inside her - striking the very sensitive patch of flesh deep in her core. It lit her up - made her cry out against the slip of his tongue. She watched his chest move above her - watched the line in his throat jump - his jaw tick and strain. His long silver-white hair tickled her cheek and forehead.
“Don’t stop,” she said. “Don’t.”
She thought of singing - of birds and trees and humans and dancing. She thought that there would be nothing like this again.
***
Geral could barely hold himself back. The poison wrecked him - dipped its claws into the monster that sat in his chest. He could let go if he wanted. He could do it and break her, but for what? She was unbelievable. She was whimpering and clutching at his shoulders - she met each of his thrusts - lifting her hips to take his cock again and again.
Her cunt made the sweetest noises - the echoing squelch of it gripping his length again and again. She was like a decoration - froth and sparkle. He imagined the sight of them: her flowing fancy dress and hair and Geralt in all his black as he rutted into her like an animal in heat.
She dropped her hand between them - caressing the stretched flesh of her cunt where they were joined. Her expression looked fascinated - curious - as her fingertips stroked where his cock was disappearing inside her.
“You’re so wet,” he marveled - his words now messy and gruff. “I’ve - I can’t-shit - “
He slid his touch over the bunches of fabric - the lace and silk. He covered her hand that was pressed against her mound with his own. He pushed it down - squeezed it - before forcing it up to circle the tiny bundle of nerves. “Touch yourself,” he ordered - pleaded - as he fucked into her - his hand heavy over hers. “Just like this, darling.”
He could feel her tightening up - the contraction of her muscles around him. “That’s it,” He ducked his head - dragged his nose against her before offering her an open-mouthed kiss. “That’s it,” he exhaled against her teeth - her hot tongue. She shuddered - twisting around him as pleasure rippled through her bones - her frame. The push of liquid. The brunt of her climax. He fucked her through it - fucked her in short, quick strokes as she arched against him.
He followed quickly - his stomach tightening as his hips stuttered against her own. His reflexes were so muddled that he nearly missed pulling himself out of her. He managed to clumsily, painting her thigh with ropes of seed.
He collapsed beside her - rolling away onto his back. His chest heaved. His cock wet and limp and spent and no doubt it would rise again. This might not be over. He stared up at the dead trees - branches black and gnarled and swaying against the muted pale sky.
He couldn’t look at her. He didn’t want to see if her face was horrified - wrecked in realization of what she had just done - what he had done to her.
“Witcher,” she said and he heard her scoot closer - the leaves crunched and her dress shifted and scraped. “Sir - it’s fine. It’s alright.”
He scowled until his view of the sky was blacked out by her face peering down at him. “It was Geralt,” she murmured - gently drawing her fingertip across his lip. He didn’t move - didn’t flinch. He simply watched her. “Your name was Geralt, yes?”
He grunted in acknowledgment. She had remembered it during the very peak of their fucking - when she was begging him. It had gotten lost somewhere along the way.
“You saved my life,” she smiled. “Twice it seems.”
He blinked at her. There was the smallest flicker of relief in his chest that she wasn’t screaming or running from him or curled up in tears. She stroked his cheek before dragging her fingers along his bare throat as he swallowed heavily - then his sternum - then fluttering over his collection of scars before pressing down against his medallion.
They stayed like that for a moment or maybe an hour. He had no concept of time. Day or night. Was it raining?
Between her soft touches, he felt her skin grow hot. Her mouth parted and he caught the wild thrum of her heartbeat. He could smell her once more, but at least she appeared a bit more there. There was an aroused curiosity behind her gaze.
The Crains → Luke ✦ I’ve been called a lot of things in my life, but fearless is not one of them. I was always a scared little kid. And I thought I’d get braver as I got older, but I didn’t. I just got scared of new things.
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