Fluffy head canon: we all know how much Geralt loves to dote on Roach. She's the best horse and been such a good girl, got him out of sticky situations and obeyed his every word but she's also a bit iffy towards people. Very territorial over Geralt, doesn't really like human interaction from anyone who isn't Geralt and the witcher knows this, that's why he tries his best to make sure no one touches her, no one gets hurt that way but also she's not made to feel uncomfortable. (1/2)
But then Jaskier comes along & he stays. And Geralt is having to deal with that, deal with his growing feelings for the man. Confused as to how it's happened, questioning why the bard? But then he spots Jask and Roach getting along one morning. The bards sat on the soft grass and he's got Roachs head in his lap and he's running his hand gently through her mane whilst talking to her sweetly, pressing kisses to her forehead. Geralt's taken aback but unbelievably happy because that's his family❤️
Horses only really lay down to sleep if they’re comfortable or if they trust their buddy to look out for them which means that Roach trusts Jaskier to look out for her and take care of her.
Roach being sound asleep with her head in Jaskier’s lap, utterly convinced the bard will look out for her as much as her Witcher because he’s followed them through thick and thin, because he’s been there for so long now - nearly half her life. He’s as much her herd as Geralt is.
The assumption thingy: it's been however many years and you are still not over the amazing ship that was Derek and Stiles (and also just how cute Tyler Hoech is)
YOU’RE ABSOLUTELY RIGHT
leave assumptions you have about me based on my blog content in my inbox and i’ll tell you if you’re right or not!
1.4k with Geralt/Incubus OC, a continuation/prequel of This Post. Also on AO3. TW for dub-con because Incubus venom, though Geralt is VERY into it.
“Incubi. They’re tricky to fight,” Vesemir said, pointing to the picture in Geralt’s book. “They’re more rare than Succubi and twice as deadly. They’re ugly things, immune to black blood, and they’ve got their own kind of magic. Best strategy we’ve got is to use old magic. Name binding, protection sigils, kill them before they can get to your head. But I haven’t known anyone who’s come across one.”
*
At least the cottage he was working in had been abandoned, he thought, his hands invisibly pinned to the bedpost as soon as he finished the words in Elder.
A portal opened in front of Geralt, and fear struck him as his medallion rested cold on his chest. None of the sigils had taken. Nothing had worked.
Unlike what Vesemir had told him, and how his book from training had depicted them;
The creature was gorgeous.
“Millennia of my endless existence, and the one time I come up to stretch my legs, I meet a Witcher.” Baran’rog, he’d been called by the woman who’d managed to get away from him. Geralt opened his mouth to say his name, bind him to the physical world—
A clawed hand cupped his jaw, forcing his mouth shut. “Hush,” Baran’rog said, his voice a soft, rich tone that had Geralt going weak where he was kneeling on the ground. The entirety of the demon was distracting. His skin was warm against his jaw, tight grip forcing him to meet his gaze. He had dark skin, eyes like blood, a massive pair of horns curling around his head.
“You summoned me.” Baran’rog shuffled closer, tilting Geralt’s chin up. A simple baring of his throat and Geralt felt exposed, too open, without having taken any potions, not knowing what would help, armed with only a silver sword and a name.
“That means you’ve started a contract with me.” The demon’s thumb swept over his jaw, the tip of his claw teasing just past Geralt’s lips. “Do they still teach about my kind?” He tilted his head and grinned, flashing a wicked set of fangs. “You do know what my contracts are, yes?”
Geralt tried to bite the claw poking into his mouth, but it slid inside, holding his mouth open. He tried biting down again but the demon’s skin was too tough for his teeth to dig in. Helplessness swept through his gut. He squinted his eyes shut, hoping for all he was worth that the creature wouldn’t just try and use him to feed on. Small blessings, he thought, when the obtrusion in his mouth was all that had happened.
“Perhaps you called because you wanted to see for yourself.” The clawed finger rubbed over his tongue. Fuck, he was going to die—
Geralt’s hand curled as he opened his eyes, trying to shape his fingers into the sign for Aard. The demon slid his free hand into it, his long fingers locking with Geralt’s. Thick claws pressed at his wrist. Geralt’s head spun.
“I’m very good at my job.” Baran’rog licked his lips. Geralt’s breath caught in his throat. “I’ll be honest with you, Witcher.” The incubus knelt in front of Geralt. His legs were shaped a bit like a goat’s, though the smooth red skin remained there, thick calves ending in large, clawed feet with lifted heels. Drool slid down Geralt’s chin. “I came to the surface looking for entertainment, and you’re just the excitement that I need.” He pushed Geralt’s head back against the post, only his horns visible. A shudder went down Geralt’s spine as something hot and wet dragged over the hollow of his throat.
He wondered how he tasted.
“Give me one evening with you, and I won’t come to the surface again.”
Geralt swallowed around the finger still separating his back molars. He could picture those fangs (nearly tusks) so close to his throat, a teasing danger. Geralt’s eyes fell shut. The incubus’ words hardly even registered.
“I won’t even need to bite you, will I? Your heart is pounding. The scent of your sweat has changed.”
Geralt felt the thumb drag in his mouth again and he clamped his teeth down on its base. He gagged when the tip of Baran’rog’s claw pressed at the back of his tongue, and his cheeks heated more when it made more saliva drip down his chin.
“So much denial,” The incubus sighed, sounding disappointed. “But I can taste all your pretty little fantasies.” his hand curled around Geralt’s jaw, his other hand uncurling from the hands above his head.
Why had they been together? The question pushed to the back of his mind as he focused on the hand tracing down the line of his throat, sliding down the top of his shirt, undoing the buttons. When did I close my eyes?
“I can read you like a book,” Baran’rog hummed. “Your lust is so much stronger than a human’s.” A second hand was on Geralt’s throat, claws pressing to the sides and threatening a lack of blood to his brain and— Why is my mouth open?
“Gods,” Geralt was so hard. He was panting, lust drunk, and his eyes were still closed;
“One night, Witcher. All you have to do is not say my name.” The hand on his throat moved down further, and Baran’rog’s mouth was at his neck, and Geralt was making sounds, lost in the spinning of arousal, aching—
“Want,” he’d never heard his voice come out so high, so airy, so weak, “more.” If he was denied, he was sure he would shatter into pieces.
“You know my rules,” Baran’rog said, and his hands were spreading out over Geralt’s chest, claws on his thumbs just grazing his nipples. Heat like lightning burned through his gut. Fuck, he had agreed to something with a demon— but he could take control, right? He just had to say his name, make his mouth work into three syllables.
But it wasn’t what he wanted.
Geralt moaned when a curious hand brushed over his cock through his trousers. He wanted that hand on him, in him, claiming, claws, too-dark skin, all of it.
“Do you want a taste of my venom, witcher?” Baran’rog asked. “I could take any shape you wanted. A beautiful woman, a human man, whatever your mind craves.” He pulled back slightly, his tongue flicking out over his teeth. “You’re doing me such a great service as willing prey, it would be a shame not to appear the same for you.” Something about being called ‘prey’ made Geralt feel even hotter, and his hips jerked. What was the question? What he wanted? Anything, as long as he kept getting touched, as long as those monstrous hands never ceased. Who did he want? The venom would know, he supposed. He tilted his head, exposing his neck. “So willing,” the incubus chuckled.
“Make it quick,” Geralt mumbled, not even sounding like words, really. His brain felt disconnected from his body. Was he infected already? Baran’rog made a sound not unlike a purr, leaning back in towards Geralt’s neck. Inhuman, hot lips pressed against his skin for just a moment, then there was the feeling of something sinking in, breaking the flesh and sending something hotter coursing through his veins. He lingered for a moment and Geralt’s head continued to spin, breath coming short. He closed his eyes against the sensation, resisting the urge to whine.
“Do I suit your needs?” The incubus pulled away, and Geralt looked to see the form he was in. “Tell me witcher, am I beautiful? Handsome?” His voice had remained the same. Geralt’s cock hardened further in his trousers, the venom setting in and making his skin feel too tight. The image was...
“Stunning,” Geralt breathed, eyes roaming over his figure. Desperation simmered under his skin like fire, admiring his eyes and their colour, the shape of his mouth, imagining how it might feel against his own, the texture of his skin, how it would feel to touch, to bite—
Geralt was ready to skip past any foreplay just to get a taste of the demon’s beauty, ready to sacrifice any semblance of dignity he may have had and beg for anything he could be given. “Kiss me.”
The creature leaned in.
His trousers were unlaced and Geralt lifted his hips slightly to assist with removing them. He shut his eyes when he tasted his own blood on Baran’rog’s tongue, metallic and addictive. Hands curled around his bare legs and claws dug into the sensitive flesh of his inner thighs, a noise falling from his lips. Geralt’s hands came free from their invisible bonds and he touched, reaching not into human hair but gripping onto horns, and he knew where they were—
If you get this, answer with 3 random facts about yourself and send it to the last 7 blogs in your notifications, anonymously or not! Let's get to know the person behind the blog ❤
ALRIGHTY let’s see if we can come up with three interesting facts about my dorky self:
when i was younger i played tuba very seriously and i nearly became a professional tuba player. the tuba is such a beautiful and underrated instrument! it actually sounds a lot more subtle and warm than people imagine based on its size. support your local tuba players, because your orchestras and brass bands would truly be lesser without them.
i am, like most people, bored in quarantine rn, so i’m trying out dumb stuff like learning a blackpink dance. if you want to see something truly hilarious, a hefty-ass white girl powerlifter trying to dance along to kpop is it. (never let anyone tell you kpop idols aren’t talented... it has taken me an entire week to learn just the dance for one chorus of one song at 75% speed and i’m still gobsmackingly bad at it)
i can’t cook for shit... like literally, i live off frozen pizza and i manage to burn pasta. but i mix a mean cocktail. i am a wizard with gin and citrus.
🌼~BEAUTIFUL PERSON AWARD! Once you are given this award you’re supposed to paste it in the asks of 8 people who deserve it. If you break the chain nothing happens, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you’re beautiful inside and out.~🌼 (MERRY I MISS YOU AND LOVE YOU!!)
Ahhh THANK YOU BB <3
I am still here, I am just a sad little beeple at the moment :(
