The scent of you lingers—soft, sweet, utterly misplaced amidst the steel and stone that make up his world. Jasmine and rosewater, clinging to the heavy hush of the corridor, weaving itself into the fabric of his being, staining him with something he will never wash away.
He should not breathe it in, should not let it settle in his lungs like something vital, like something he could not live without. And yet, here he stands, motionless, a knight undone by the mere presence of his queen.
You are close. Too ... close.
The space between you is a fragile thing, thin as the lace that drapes over your arms, as delicate as the breath that catches in your throat when his gloved hand twitches at his side, as if longing—aching—to reach for you. The flickering torchlight casts golden embers against your skin, makes a halo of your hair, tricks his mind into thinking you are something divine, something holy. And perhaps you are.
Lace whispers against cold metal as you lift a hand, fingers tracing the ridges of his armor with a familiarity that should not exist. A tenderness that should not be his to claim.
"You stand before me, silent as ever," you murmur, tilting your head, your gaze searching his with something unspoken. "Tell me, my love, has your tongue forsaken you?"
A slow exhale. You are toying with him, as you always do—sharp and knowing, your power lying not in the crown you bear but in the way you speak his name as though it is something sacred. He should not indulge this, should not stand here beneath your touch, should not let his resolve fracture like glass beneath your fingertips. And yet, he does.
"You tempt fate," he says finally, voice low, reverent.
A confession. A warning.
"And yet, it is all I have left."
His breath catches. The weight of your words settles heavy in the space between you, a truth neither of you wish to name. The world will take everything from you—has already begun to. The court has spoken. The match has been made. Soon, you will belong to another, to some noble born into a name that carries weight, to a man who will sit beside you on the throne that he himself has bled for.
Yet you reach for him.
Your fingers brush the worn leather at his shoulder, linger where armor meets flesh, as if you could undo him with a touch alone. And God help him, you can.
"Tell me you do not love me," you whisper, voice steady but for the way your fingers tremble against him. "Tell me your heart belongs only to your duty, and I will go. I will leave you to your honor, to your kingdom, to whatever lies ahead without me."
His jaw tightens. He sways, barely perceptible, as if your words have struck him like a blade to the chest. It would be the right thing to do, would it not?
To let you go? To be the man honor demands he be?
But honor has never known the way your voice softens when you say his name. Honor has never felt the warmth of your hand in his, delicate and desperate and pleading. Honor has never stood in the shadows, torn between love and duty, between a kingdom and the only thing that has ever truly belonged to him.
"No," he breathes, bowing his head, his voice raw with everything he has refused to say. "No, my beloved. My heart is yours, now and always."
A queen must wed. A knight must serve.
And yet, in this stolen moment, he falls to his knees before you—not as a knight, not as a man sworn to duty—but as the only fool who has ever loved you as you deserve.
The wind howled like a dying animal through the wooden beams of Kaer Morhen, slipping between the cracks and rattling the shutters. Snow pressed heavy against the stone walls, and the embers in the hall hearth were choking out beneath the weight of hours passed.
But his door wasn’t locked.
It never was.
You stood in the hallway barefoot, fingers clenched around the edges of your shawl. Your breath fogged in the dark, and when you looked down at your hand, it trembled.
You weren’t cold. Not really. Not just that.
You just couldn’t sleep.
And there was something unbearable about the sound of wolves in the woods when you didn’t know if the one inside these walls would ever look at you the way you looked at him.
The door creaked when you pushed it open, soft like you meant to turn back.
But Geralt didn’t speak. Didn’t stir.
He was awake. You knew that.
You didn’t ask permission. You just crossed the room slowly, the wood floor colder than stone. And when you reached the bed, you paused — long enough to let him object. Long enough to run.
But still, he didn’t move.
And so you crawled under the thick woolen furs beside him, not touching. Just there. Just close.
The fire was already lit in his hearth. His body already warm.
You didn’t even know if he wanted this.
But he let you.
—
“You should be asleep,” his voice broke through the dark after long minutes. Low. Rough. Barely a whisper.
“I couldn’t.” You kept your eyes on the ceiling beams. “The cold got in again.”
A beat of silence. The kind that always stretched too far with him.
“I lit the fire,” he said.
You swallowed. “I know.”
He turned onto his side. You felt the mattress shift beneath you, but you still didn’t look.
“I’m not asking for anything, Geralt,” you said. Your voice didn’t shake. Not quite. “I just… couldn’t be alone tonight.”
He didn’t answer.
But you felt the warmth of his body come closer, just slightly. Not touching — but enough to feel the heat rise against your skin like the promise of something he wasn’t going to give voice to.
That was how he was. Always.
—
You woke up hours later, curled in the hollow space where his body had been.
The fire was out. The room ice-cold.
And Geralt was gone.
—
You sat up slowly, heart pounding even though nothing had happened. Nothing ever happened. That was the curse. That was the trap.
Your hand reached for the blanket where he’d been — it was still faintly warm.
The wind screamed again outside the fortress, and your breath hitched. The cold hit you this time, bone-deep.
You pulled the blanket tighter and told yourself not to cry.
—
You found him in the stables an hour later. Shirtless, wiping sweat from his brow, practicing sword swings with a rage that didn’t match the hour.
“Geralt.”
He didn’t stop. His jaw clenched tighter.
You stepped into the hay-strewn space, snowflakes still tangled in your lashes.
“You left.”
He didn’t turn around. “I had things to do.”
“There’s frost on the walls.”
He turned slowly then. Face unreadable. Muscles flexing in the early light.
You hated how beautiful he looked in the cold.
“I didn’t ask you to come,” he said finally.
Your stomach dropped. “I know.”
“I didn’t promise you anything,” he added, tone like steel.
“I know.”
Then silence again.
You swallowed the lump in your throat, fighting the sting in your chest. “Was it that unbearable? Me beside you for a night?”
His expression flickered, just for a second. Pain, maybe. Or guilt.
“No,” he said quietly. “It was… too bearable.”
That broke you more than cruelty would’ve.
—
You turned to leave.
You weren’t going to beg him. Not now. Not ever.
But then — his voice again, behind you, quieter this time.
“You smell like apples.”
You froze in the doorway. “What?”
“Your skin.” He paused. “You smell like spiced apples. Like home.”
You turned back slowly.
He was standing there like a man at war with himself, fists clenched, eyes down.
“You were warm,” he said. “And I— I didn’t want to need that.”
The ache cracked through your ribs.
“I’m not asking you to need me,” you said softly. “I’m just asking you not to punish me because you do.”
His eyes met yours then.
And for a moment, you thought he might come to you. You thought the distance would close.
But he just nodded once.
And you left him there — again — in the cold.
—
That night, you lit your own fire.
And locked your own door.
And tried not to remember how it felt — warmth beside steel.
Summary: Geralt takes pity on a family of farmers in an isolated village surrounded by misfortune. After saving them from the clutches of a beast, the head of the family proposes to pay the witcher for his services by offering him the hand of his only daughter in marriage. He does not want to accept it at first —the life of a witcher was incompatible with the concept of marriage—, but after getting to know the young lady better and understanding the cruel fate that awaited her if he did not intervene, Geralt feels the need to protect her
Warnings: fem!reader, arranged marriage (kinda), protective and possessive Geralt (let’s gooo), a bit of angst, mentions of scars (both Geralt’s and the reader’s), fluff, SMUT MINORS DNI, inexperienced reader, loss of virginity (not realistic), porn with feelings (or at least I tried), porn with plot, penetrative sex, possessive Geralt (yes, again), size kink, fingering, creampie, my obsession with Geralt’s thighs, pet names (dove), let me know if a forgot anything!!
English is not my first language
Word count: 23.200 (I had fun, okay?)
Note: this fic is probably very inaccurate regarding the life of a farmer and the traditions of marriage in the witcher universe/medieval times, but if I researched that in depth this fic would never have seen the light of day lol I hope you don't mind.
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Geralt of Rivia was not known for working for free. Like all witchers, he made a living using the skills that had been instilled in him, killing monsters for a price and ridding the continent of evil beings. It was a noble cause, a tough job that someone had to do to ensure the welfare of the population. But that was all it was, just a job. He had learned the hard way that he was no hero or knight in shining armor. People didn't see him that way anyway, so it was stupid of him to try to be something he was not. His skills were not to be wasted on saving helpless women on the side of the road or on charity work, that much was clear to him. The people he saved were not going to give him recognition. They were not going to shower him with gifts and sing songs about his heroic deeds as they did with knights returning from battle because he was not a hero. People tended to see witchers as mutated freaks, but they recognized that, from time to time, they had a use for them. So he —and all of his kind— had to make sure to charge well for his services since that was the only thing people were willing to give him in return for his efforts. So Geralt did not work for free.
That's why when the residents of a small town he was passing through approached him for help he had to turn them down. They were troubled by disappearances and strange, brutal deaths that they could not explain. Some swore they saw a creature prowling in the night, growling and howling as it searched for its next victim, but no one knew what it was. However, the small town of farmers and craftsmen was not going through a good time financially speaking. A combination of bad weather and a plague had ruined the crops, so they didn't have much money to spend.
“If you want gold you should go talk to Lord Veldren, he's taking from us what little we have,” was the answer Geralt was usually given when the subject of payment came up in conversation. It was nothing he had not heard before, nobles who did not tighten the pockets of their people were few. But there was a pain in the eyes of the villagers, an anger in their voices as they spoke, that caught Geralt's attention. He wondered what kind of things this Lord Veldren would do to evoke such a reaction in the people.
There was one particular family of farmers that caught his attention. A weeping woman begged for the life of her eldest son who had been taken by the beast. According to her tales, the people, tired of being harassed and intimidated by the creature, organized to do the work that their Lord refused to do. The bravest and most skilled men of all the families went out to hunt it under the light of the full moon and that was the last time they were seen alive. Parts of the remains were still turning up around the village and discovered lost among the crops, although damaged beyond recognition. Many of the families did not have a body to bury and that was part of the reason they were all so shaken. They had lost husbands, sons, friends and protectors that night and it had all been for nothing.
The woman wept in the arms of her husband who did his best to contain her, but even he was unable to hide the sadness that overwhelmed him. There was something in her grief that struck a chord deep inside Geralt. He couldn't explain why, but he didn't feel right going through town and leaving them behind with their suffering. So, as they had no money to pay for his services, he took the villagers' concerns directly to Lord Veldren. They had told him that he was aware of the problem, but had no desire to do anything about it. But maybe things would be different now that Geralt was there. Maybe the Lord's whole problem was that he didn't want to get his hands dirty and would rather let his people die than risk his own skin. But now that the witcher was there to do his dirty work for him maybe his predisposition would be different.
No one in the village had much faith that it would work, but they showed Geralt how to get to him. Some even walked with him, taking advantage of the moment to tell him as much detail as they could about the danger they were in. Some of their stories the witcher could attribute to the collective panic that had taken hold of the town since some of them were things that he, in all his years of experience, had never heard of. But others helped him compile a list of possible responsible creatures, which grew smaller and smaller with each story he heard.
When he reached his destination, Geralt wished he had listened to the villagers' warnings. He knew his share of rude and unwise nobles, but none compared to Lord Veldren. He barely looked at him for the entirety of their meeting —which was not long— as if to lay eyes on him was a privilege the witcher did not deserve. Nor did he let him speak for long, barely getting as far as presenting the problem before Lord Veldren was shooing him away with an expression of disinterest on his face.
“It's interesting that you're the one presenting the problem,” he said in an accusatory tone when Geralt insisted on the danger to the villagers. “You're a witcher who kills beasts for a living. All you want is to fill your pockets with MY riches.”
“You, my Lord, surely must know that this problem has existed long before I passed through your lands.” Geralt spat through gritted teeth, clinging to what little thread of patience he had left. “You must have noticed that your people are dying at an alarmingly rapid rate.”
“There have been pests affecting the crops, probably bringing disease. It's being taken care of, not that I owe you any kind of explanation.” The disdain in Veldren's voice was evident which made Geralt's blood boil.
“It's a werewolf. And it's not going to stop until someone makes it stop. If you don't do something, your people will keep dying.”
“Why don't you let me worry about my people, witcher. You go find some other fool to steal their riches from. My people are fine.”
“That's not what the corpses piling up next to the dead crops say.”
“There are always more people. Nothing is lost that can't be replaced. Now you get out of here and don't come back or you'll regret the consequences.”
Geralt didn't stay to argue with Lord Veldren for another second, he knew it was a waste of time. He was not going to change his mind and was willing to let his people die just so he wouldn't have to back down. However, Geralt had changed his mind after their short conversation. The moment he turned around he knew he would return to the village to help the farmers free of charge. Not only because it was the right thing to do, but also because he knew that it would piss Veldren off more than anything. Geralt was not afraid of retaliation. He had no issue with avoiding that town in the future should he be banished. He liked to take the long way around anyway.
Geralt stumbled into the modest hut of the family of the farmer whose eldest son had died trying to protect his people. They had offered to give him food and shelter while he prepared for the fight with the beast, and a place to rest after the task was complete. So once he was sure the monster was dead, he set out on his way back to their farm.
The older woman ran to him when she saw his condition. He was bloody and beaten. The beast had put up a good fight, but had ultimately failed to withstand the courage of the witcher and his silver sword. However, it had left Geralt with a fair amount of wounds, nothing that wouldn't heal with some rest, but serious enough to scare the poor woman as she saw him come through the door. She and one of her sons helped him sit up, while her husband, at her request, went to get some water —both for him to drink and to clean his wounds.
“It's done.” Geralt said as he finally allowed himself to relax.
The woman let out an exclamation of relief, passing him a glass of water as she mumbled something to herself. He couldn't catch it all, but from what he could make out she was speaking to her son's spirit, asking him to be at peace now that his family was safe. It was then that Geralt remembered the discovery he had made in his search for the beast. With some pain he brought his hand to his neck and tugged at one of the two chains around his neck. He took the woman's hand before she could move away from him and placed the object he knew belonged to her son in her palm. The woman looked at him in confusion until her eyes lowered to her hand and met the medallion resting in it.
“I believe this belongs to you.” Geralt spoke in a soft tone as he saw the tears beginning to roll down the woman's cheeks. He had found the medallion among bloody and rotting remains and knew immediately that he was in front of what was left of the son of the couple because his father wore the same necklace around his neck.
In tears the woman thanked him, repeating the words over and over again as she clutched the chain in her hand and held it to her chest at the level of her heart. She hugged her husband, who held her close and repeated the same praises to the witcher. Since they had no body to bury, retrieving such a significant object from their son was the next best thing to finding some sort of closure. It was something of his to remember him by and honor him for his bravery. It put an end to any doubt fueled by hope and allowed them to move on with their lives.
“I don't know how we can ever repay you.” The man spoke with tears in his eyes.
“I don't need anything. The shelter and food you provided me so far is payment enough.”
“You have given us too much, more than we could ask for. I cannot let this debt go unpaid.” The man insisted, his prideful side coming out. “We are not a family of great wealth, but we have honor. Integrity and the value of our word is all we have. I cannot offer you gold, but I can give you the hand of my only daughter in marriage.”
Geralt's eyes shot upward, momentarily forgetting the leg wound he was studying to look the farmer in the eye. “I didn't do this to get something in return. You don't have to offer me anything.”
“Please, witcher, I'm afraid I must insist. I could not go through life knowing that I owe such a great debt. You have not only saved my family, you have avenged my son's death and brought him home. I cannot allow you to leave this house empty-handed.”
“I assure you that our daughter is well educated in the arts of being a homemaker.” The woman interjected, wiping away tears with the back of her hand. “She has a perfect understanding of how to build and care for a home and a husband. She's been helping me since I was a little girl in preparation for this moment.”
Geralt didn't know how to explain to the sweet couple that he wasn't looking for a wife. Witchers were destined to live solitary lives. Their life mission was not compatible with a family. They had been strategically designed not to be able to leave offspring and no woman would want to be with such a man. The only family they had were the fellow witchers, with whom they met every winter to rest, replenish elixirs and exchange stories of the road. They led dangerous and transient lives, plagued by monsters and uncertainty. There was no place for love or relationships, much less with human women that were not trained in the combat of evil.
“I'm sure that's the case,” Geralt cleared his throat as he searched for the right words to explain the reason for his rejection. “But I'm afraid my life is not compatible with married life.”
“Please, if you won't take her it's only a matter of time until Lord Veldren does.” The woman insisted, desperation evident in her voice. “I know that may sound like a good thing to many people, but not to us. He is an evil man and I would rather my family perish than have to give my daughter to him.”
“I–”
“I can be of service to you.” The sound of a soft, sweet voice echoed in the distance. Geralt followed it, and it was then that his eyes collided with the figure of a young woman emerging from the stairs.
The first thing Geralt noticed, besides your beauty, was the resemblance you bore to your mother. Seeing the two of you side by side was like holding a mirror up to the past. Your features, although modified by the passage of time in the case of your mother, were almost the same. You had the same cheekbones and the same smile, although you differed in one aspect: your eyes. Although they were sweet like your mother's, they were charged with a bravery and ferocity that the older woman did not have. You held his gaze at all times, holding your head high in a proud manner. Your attitude caught Geralt's attention immediately since you were not at all what he expected. He had heard the family speak of you from time to time, but the image he had created in his mind about you from such tales was nothing like the person who was staring back at him at that very moment.
“I have spent most of my days accompanying the village healer, so I can heal your wounds after your battles.” You spoke once again. The politeness in your voice and the smoothness of your movements contradicted the fire in your eyes, which only added to Geralt's curiosity. “If you don't mind, I could show you my skills right now so you can see that I'm not lying.”
Geralt remained silent, but motioned for you to proceed. You walked towards him with a firm step, clutching in your hands the leather bag where you kept ointments, herbs and other medicinal items. You settled on a chair in front of him and after receiving his consent once again, you very carefully examined some of the cuts he had on his arms and face. It was nothing too serious, they just needed a cleaning and perhaps the help of some ointments to treat the irritated skin. Only one cut on his shoulder seemed to need stitches and maybe one on his leg as well. It was nothing you hadn't already dealt with, so you would have no problem treating it and demonstrating your skills.
You asked your family for some space to work and they kindly left you the room to be alone with Geralt. Only then you began to clean his wounds, carefully wiping his skin with a wet cloth to remove the blood and dirt from the irritated areas. He watched you work in silence, admiring you with a puzzled expression. You intrigued him in a way that no human had done for a long time. He was waiting patiently for the moment when you decided to talk to him and slowly reveal a little more about yourself so he could understand what it was about you that he found so intriguing.
“You don't have to do this.” Geralt broke the silence after a few minutes of waiting to hear your voice. “It'll probably be healed by morning.”
“The witcher genes, I know... but a little help can't hurt, right?” You gave him a smile and when you looked up to meet his gaze, he noticed that the fire in your eyes had softened, mixed with a hint of sweetness.
“You don't have to prove anything to me. I don't need any payment for my work.”
“My father is a very proud man, Geralt. He will not be comfortable letting you go without payment for your services.”
“And I will not be comfortable dragging a young woman like you into the life of a witcher.” He placed his hand over yours to force you to stop your actions and draw your attention to his face. Your hand was trapped between his leg and the touch of his calloused fingers. “Life on the road is not one for a beautiful lady such as you. And I am not a man worthy of marriage.”
Geralt's voice was soft as he spoke, he wanted to make sure he didn't hurt you with his rejection. There was nothing wrong with you and he was sure that someday you would find a good man worthy of your hand. But he was not that man. He was not husband material and his life was not compatible with marriage. Perhaps if things had been different and Vesemir had not found him he could have had a taste of that life. But the mission to eradicate the monsters on the continent had been entrusted to him and he couldn't turn it down for a woman, no matter how much he wanted to.
“You must forgive me,” you muttered, feeling small under the witcher's intense gaze. You released your hand from his grip and hurried to grab the items needed to close the wound on his leg. “I was the one who put that idea in my father's mind. I figured it was an easy way out...not many men would refuse such a payment, but I guess I was wrong.” You gave him a shy smile before lowering your gaze to his leg once more to begin stitching the skin together with thread and needle. He didn't even flinch as the metal pierced him and you wondered how high was the level of pain tolerance of people like him.
“Lord Veldren, huh?” You knew from the tone he used when he spoke that Geralt understood the predicament you were in.
“He's quite a character, isn't he?” you let out a frustrated sigh. “He's made his interest in me pretty clear, but he knows it's not reciprocated, so he's been harassing my family to make sure he gets what he wants. Times are tough and he's not making it any easier. He's been creating ridiculous rules to raise taxes, chasing my brothers around town, sending me letters and gifts in hopes of winning me over... He's trying to back us into a corner. It is only a matter of time until we are forced to leave our lands or... I am forced to accept his proposal.”
After securing the last stitch, you spread some of the antibacterial ointment the village healer had taught you to prepare on the skin of his thigh. Your movements were slow and gentle even though you were pretty sure that Geralt wouldn't feel much pain if it were different. And once that wound was healed, you then moved over to the cut on his shoulder. You drew your chair a little closer to him so that you could reach the area more comfortably, and asked his permission to pull his shirt up. You felt your face heat up as you watched his fingers work on the buttons to expose his chest and allow you to work more comfortably. You tried to focus your gaze on his wound and only his wound, although you were a little distracted by counting the scars that adorned the skin of his chest.
“Why do you think he's so interested in you?” The question escaped Geralt's lips before he could stop himself. It was in no way a comment on you as a person. Your beauty alone was reason enough to justify any man's interest in taking your hand. But he had to admit that it was unusual for a man of nobility to seek to court a farm girl, much less someone like Lord Veldren. He was someone who craved power and wealth, so it would make much more sense for him to seek to marry someone of his own social standing.
“Because he is insecure and he loves nothing more than making people feel small to aggrandize his figure.” You said as if it were obvious, letting out a dry chuckle as your fingers delicately traced the irritated skin of the witcher's shoulder.
Geralt couldn't help but agree with you. The few minutes he shared with Lord Veldren were enough to recognize that his ego was probably bigger than his riches.
“He inherited the title unexpectedly.” You continued to explain as you carefully secured the first stitch over the wound. Geralt did not utter a single complaint, but you still treated him with the tenderness you would treat any normal person. Just because he was used to blood and pain didn't mean he didn't deserve a soft, tender touch now and then. Especially after he had risked his life to save yours and that of your entire village. And as you worked you explained to him what you knew about Lord Veldren's history.
He had only come to the village after a long search for extended family members of Lord Eldrake, who perished with his son in a tragic hunting accident. He was a distant cousin who lived far away not only physically, but also metaphorically. Veldren had grown up far removed from the riches and customs of the nobility, which showed in the way he imposed his power. He was not wise or cultured, he did not have good manners or a proper grasp of protocols. He only cared about himself, his new found power, and increasing his wealth with no regard for who he hurt along the way. Since he had arrived he had done nothing but squeeze every coin he could from the people, leaving them with just enough to survive. And his hand did not tremble when it came to punishing those who voiced their complaints.
Lord Veldren was a horrible man who was not prepared to fill the role that had fallen into his hands in a stroke of luck. And for you there laid the reason for his interest in you. Marrying into a noble family would mean exposing his incompetence. For now, as things stood, he was completely on his own to do and dispose as he wished, but marrying a noblewoman would mean being challenged. And his ego would not be able to tolerate such a thing. You, on the other hand, were someone he could easily manipulate to please. He held your family's future in his hands and he knew very well that you knew it. He was using them to get to you and it was clear that he would continue to do so to keep you under his control. Lord Veldren was obsessed with you not because of your beauty or your ability to maintain a home —as he often said in his letters— but because you did not present a threat to his ego.
“I know marrying a nobleman coming from a peasant family sounds like a dream come true, but it's not for me.” You muttered sadly as you finished bandaging the witcher's wound. “I always dreamed of marrying for love... but now I don't think that's possible. That's why I thought you were a good candidate. You are honorable and protective, he wouldn't come after you. You could take me away from here or be enough of a threat to force Lord Veldren to leave me alone.”
Geralt could feel your sadness just by looking into your eyes. A light shone in your eyes at the mention of love, the hope of having the life you wanted still alive somewhere in you. However, he had to watch it die quickly, crushed by the devastating reality in which you lived. It was a sad thing to see, but there was nothing he could do to help you. With a bit of luck on your side maybe he could get Lord Veldren to forget about you, but that was far from being the solution to the problem. You would still be trapped in a life you didn't want, married to someone you didn't love. Accepting your hand in marriage as payment for his services would only change the face of your misfortune. He could save your family, but he would become the executioner condemning you to a future of unhappiness. And he was not willing to be such a thing. It was none of his business whether or not to save the lives of maidens who were being threatened by monsters not born of magic. It never ended well and Geralt had no doubt that this would be no exception. Married or unmarried, happy or unhappy, it shouldn't matter to him because he had no reason to interfere.
“Marrying me wouldn't change things. You would only be tying yourself to a different kind of miserable future with a man you don't love. There is still time, you can still find love.”
The last thing Geralt wanted was to hurt you with his rejection. You and your family had been through a lot and he didn't want you to worry thinking that there was something wrong with you that led him to refuse such payment for his services. He knew that you would make an excellent wife someday and that was exactly why he could not take your hand. You deserved to marry for love, as you so desperately wanted, and live a good life with a man who deserved you. And unfortunately he was not that man.
“I'd rather it be you than him.” You looked at him with wide eyes full of despair. “My time is up. You are my last chance to escape him.”
“You must understand that my life is no life for a married man.” Geralt reached for your hand. He took it between his own, his thumb caressing your smooth skin with small circular motions in the hope that it would help soften the blow of his rejection. Your eyes focused on his grip for a moment, admiring the way his hands completely enveloped yours making you feel small and insignificant next to him. Looking up you met a pair of amber eyes that looked at you full of softness in them. “I live on the road, traveling from place to place in search of dangerous beasts. That's no place for a sweet woman like you.”
“I am not a porcelain doll that must be carefully cared for to keep from shattering. I can travel with you. I have traveled many times in my life, even accompanied my brothers on hunting trips. I know how to handle myself in the wilderness.”
“Being a witcher is not like hunting a deer. It's dangerous, especially for untrained humans. You can get seriously hurt if you travel with me.”
“Then you can marry me and go on with your journey!” you raised your voice, feeling frustrated with Geralt's excuses. You pulled your hand away from his suddenly, putting distance between the two of you.
He didn't understand. How could he? He had nothing to fear. He was a fierce witcher who had faced who knows how many beasts in his life and emerged victorious. He would never understand the guilt that ate at you as you watched your family struggling to make ends meet knowing it was your fault. He would never understand the fear of being trapped in a future without love or hope, forced to be the object of desire of a cruel and evil man. Geralt was strong and powerful to the point that you doubted he had ever felt small and helpless, so of course he would not be able to understand your despair.
“You would not have to see me again if you so desired. You could leave right after the ceremony and never come back if that's what you wanted, I don't care. All I need is a ring on my finger that will keep Veldren away from me and my family.”
“And you'll be condemned to live married to a ghost?”
“If that's what it takes! I'm willing to live a life of solitude if it means my family is safe... it beats being the object of desire of the most disgusting man I've ever met.”
From the look Geralt gave you, you know that he feels sorry for you. You can read in his eyes how bad he feels for you, how sad he finds your words and even the relief he feels knowing that he will never be subjected to a similar situation. And you hated it almost as much as you hated having to cry and beg him to agree to marry you. It was embarrassing and humiliating, but it was your last resort. Marrying Geralt was the best possible way out of your predicament. If he didn't want to share his life with you he could easily leave and not come back and it still wouldn't be suspicious given what he did for a living. You would have to stage things from time to time to keep up appearances over time, but even so you doubted that Veldren would dare to challenge someone with Geralt's reputation. You'd be doomed to a life without love, but at least you'd be free.
“I know I'm asking a lot.” Your voice broke the silence that fell over the room. It was softer this time, a reflection of the effort you were making to quiet your frustrations. After all, it wasn't Geralt's fault that you were trapped in this situation and he had every right to refuse to accept your hand as payment. You hoped you could appeal to his kindness. “I just want you to think about it. You don't have to decide anything now. You can stay here for as long as you need to get back on your feet, we'll provide shelter and food no matter what you decide. It's the least we can do after all you've done for us. I just... You are my last hope to escape from him, so please think about it. Please know that I am willing to be a good wife and serve you in any way you see fit, or give you the freedom to move on with your life if you wish. Nothing would change for you as I understand from your words that you do not intend to marry in the near future, but you would be improving my life.”
Geralt remained silent watching you disappear up the stairs as he seriously considered your last words.
The more time Geralt spent with you and your family, the less confident he became in his decision. He initially intended to spend only a couple of days with you, just enough time for him and Roach to rest after the long and tumultuous journey they had made to get there. But the more time he spent at your home, the more difficult it became for him to leave you.
It was one thing to hear them talk about the hardships they were going through because of Lord Veldren, but it was very different to see it happen with his own eyes. In the short time that Geralt had been living with you the tax collector had passed by your home multiple times, always with a new complaint and a threat to go with it. There was no doubt that Veldren was the one behind it. They were, for the most part, empty threats designed to pressure them, but they were no less effective for that. They knew he wasn't really going to evict or imprison them because if he did it was game over. Ultimately, what Veldren wanted was not to make an example of your family, but to force you to give in to his demands. However, they were all well aware that it was only a matter of time before he got tired and decided to deliver on his threats. So they woke up every morning fearing that this was the day he would finally decide he had had enough and leave them in ruins over a mere whim.
Geralt tried to help them in any way he could. He had offered to help with the harvest and had even gone hunting a couple of times to save them from having to go to the market for food. However, they were a very proud family who were treating him as an honored guest so he was not allowed to do much. He found that the best way to contribute to them was to collect some favors from the people in town. Everyone talked about him as if he was a hero. They would greet him in the street and thank him for his work. They sought him out to hear his stories and composed songs about what he had done that night. Being the town hero, many people found that the best way to thank him for his bravery —since they had no coin to pay him— was to give him some of what he produced. In this way he was able to provide your family with a varied catalog of things ranging from fur coats to cattle for slaughter.
Geralt knew that what he was doing was wrong. He was getting too attached to your family, making things personal. He would be lying if he said his hatred for Veldren hadn't grown in the last few days. More than once he had thought of sneaking into his home to end his life and finish the suffering of your family and the whole town. But that was wrong. He was not supposed to intervene in mundane matters between humans. His mission was very simple: to eradicate evil beings born of magic. Human affairs —politics, war, even love— were not his concern.
He knew he had to leave before things got worse, but he didn't want to face what would come with his departure. He didn't want to face you and say goodbye forever because he was no longer completely sure that was the best option. In the last few days he had spent quite a bit of time with you. He noticed that you didn't leave the house much so he took advantage of the time to get to know you better. He thought it would help him stand firm in his decision, but it had done nothing but show him what a sweet and brave woman you were. A woman who didn't deserve to spend the rest of her life next to that disgusting man Veldren.
The words you had said to him that night always echoed in his mind before he fell asleep. The voice of reason told him that it was ridiculous to even consider the idea of taking your hand in marriage. Witchers were not meant to settle down and marry. Besides, accepting your proposal would, at best, condemn you to a life of misery —or an early death at worst. And yet, there was always this voice in the back of his mind. It wasn't powerful, but it would present itself just as he was about to fall asleep. It was the last thing he thought about at night and the first thing he remembered in the morning. That voice that said, “What if you tried? And one day, as he admired the way you groomed and cared for Roach in the barn, he seriously considered listening to that voice in his mind. And that's when he knew it was time to leave.
He decided to do it at night, after the family had gone to bed. It was not the honorable thing to do, but it was the only option that would allow him to get out of there without altering his life forever. Geralt was afraid to face you. He was afraid to look you in the eye and not be able to reject you. He was afraid to say goodbye and feel the weight of guilt increase with every step he took. Guilt for sealing your fate. Guilt for leaving you no choice but to surrender yourself to Lord Veldren's arms for the rest of your life. He kept telling himself that he was not to blame for any of it, that it was not his duty to intervene to fix anyone's life, but he believed it less and less with each passing day. So he gathered his things, took Roach from the stable and set off on his way out of town with the darkness of the night as his ally.
However, fate seemed to have other plans for him.
Geralt walked at a slow pace alongside Roach. The road leading out of town, which normally had people coming and going, was quiet. All that could be heard were Roach's footsteps in the dirt and the sound of the river flowing peacefully. It was a beautiful sight, the moonlight, the trees and flowers painted in the crystal reflection of the water creating a composition worthy of admiration. However, his eyes lost interest in such a beautiful sight when they came across the figure of a woman dipping her feet in the riverbank. She was humming under her breath, the sound traveling to his ears on the night breeze. He knew then that it was not just any young woman there, but the one he was trying to avoid.
He found it strange that you were there alone. It was late and the last he had heard you say was that you were retiring to rest. He hadn't heard you sneaking out of the house and neither did he understand why you were doing it. In the time Geralt had spent there, he noticed that you didn't get out of the house much, not even to stroll through the market like most of the women seemed to do in this town. You spent your time tending the crops and caring for the few animals they had. He had assumed that it was because you enjoyed the warmth of your home, but now he was beginning to doubt it. You looked so free and happy as you walked along the riverbank, the ruffles on your dress blowing in the wind, the fabric clinging to your body. Amused laughter escaped your lips every time the water made contact with your skin, splashing with joy and wetting the hem of your dress.
The woman who stood before him was totally different from the one Geralt knew. He had never seen you like this, so... free and full of life. You looked almost ethereal dancing in the moonlight, accompanied by the chirping of crickets and the splashing of water beneath your feet. A peak of glowing light that pulled him to you like flames to moths. Roach protested when he went out of his way to approach you, but Geralt ignored her. He pulled on the reins lightly to force the horse to move and knotted them in a tree to make sure she didn't escape.
“What are you doing out here alone?”
Geralt's voice startled you. You turned your head to look at him, feeling embarrassed at being caught acting foolish thinking you were alone. There was no mockery in his expression, but your cheeks warmed anyway. What you did notice in his gaze was a hint of guilt that you only understood when you saw Roach waiting for him a couple of feet away.
“You're leaving...” You muttered with a bit of sadness in your voice. He was sneaking away, under the darkness of the night and without saying goodbye to anyone. And that could only mean one thing: he was rejecting your father's offer.
“You shouldn't be here alone so late.” Geralt decided to ignore you since it was the easiest thing to do. He wasn't proud of what he was doing, but he knew it was for the best.
“This is honestly safer than going out in the daytime.” You shrugged, moving away from the water to sit on the shore. You buried your wet feet in the dirt, feeling the small grains slipping through your toes as you wiggled them. “I used to love visiting the market with my mother and playing with the children in the town square... but I can't do that anymore without being watched by Veldren's men... sometimes even he shows up himself... So I stopped going. I focused on my home, on helping my family as much as I could... And I slowly stopped going out, stopped socializing with people other than my immediate neighbors. I thought that maybe if he stopped seeing me so often he would get bored of me and focus his attention on another young girl... but now I'm not so sure that's going to happen.”
You wrapped your arms around your knees, making yourself small as you thought of all you had lost because of that man. And you wondered how much more you had to lose. Your freedom and happiness didn't seem to be enough. Your family and your land were still on the line, and if you ended up accepting his proposal, so was your ability to decide about your own future. It wasn't fair.
Geralt looked down at you for a moment, admiring the way the moonlight reflected on your face. It added a layer of sadness to your expression, a vulnerability he hadn't seen in you before. You looked like a doll made of porcelain, fragile and beautiful, in need of care and protection. He felt the need to hold you, but restrained himself. Instead, he sat by your side offering you a friendly ear to listen to your misfortunes.
“Night is the only time I can be free. The moon is my only friend, the faithful confidant of all my secrets.” You went on, your eyes lost in the movement of the water. “I can escape the four-walled prison and wander around the village, enjoy the scenery and the fresh air without being watched and having every step I take reported back to him.” There was poison in your voice at the mention of Lord Veldren and you hadn't even said his name. “I suppose I have you to thank for that too... The night was no longer safe, but you gave me back my freedom by slaying that beast.”
You turned to look at him and Geralt noticed the tears pooling in your eyes. They glistened under the moonlight just like the water of the lake reflected it, highlighting the beautiful color of your eyes. They threatened to escape, but out of sheer determination you were able to hold them in place. You were not going to let the last image he had of you be of your crying face. You didn't want to cause him to feel sorry for you. You didn't want him to think it was a trick to get him to stay. He had done enough for you and your family, you couldn't ask him for anything more.
“I wish you the best of luck in your life, Geralt, and I apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused you... You must leave this place knowing that you helped a lot of people, myself included.” You gave him a smile, a subtle way of letting him know you agreed with his decision. “Although I'm not going to lie to you, I would like to see you again...only perhaps under less tragic circumstances.”
“I'm afraid tragic circumstances are my specialty.” The corner of his lips curved slightly into a sad smile, his gaze momentarily lost, and you wondered what thoughts might be going through his head. “But I'd like to make my way back here someday.”
“You will always be welcome in this town...and you will always have a place to stay. My family and I aren't going anywhere.”
You reached out a hand toward Geralt, daring to brush back a lock of hair that had fallen over his face and obstructed your view of his eyes. You had always found the yellowish hue in them mesmerizing, but somehow they looked even more beautiful under the moonlight. Perhaps it was the lack of light, but you felt they shone with a different intensity. It was like looking directly into the sun, beautiful but painful.
You let your fingers run down his temple until they reached his cheek, gently caressing one of the cuts you had helped him heal. It was nothing more than a line, just a shade lighter than the color of his skin, almost imperceptible to anyone who didn't know it was there, but you still felt it under your fingertips. You were going to miss him. You had grown accustomed to his presence in your home and you would be lying if you said you didn't like what you had learned about him. He was nothing like what people used to say about witchers, maybe a little quiet and grumpy, yes, but he was a noble and kind hearted man. He deserved to have a good life and you hoped he would find it beyond the borders of your town.
In that simple exchange of glances Geralt was able to read in your eyes the true meaning of your words. He saw the resignation and sadness hidden behind them, the courage and strength that he had noticed the first time he saw you. He understood then that you were willing to do anything to protect your family and that you were not going to let anyone or anything break you. It was inspiring, but tragic. The need to protect you grew stronger inside him, every fiber of his being asking him to stop you.
When you removed your hand from his face, Geralt met it halfway, holding it back so you couldn't move it too far away. Your gaze lowered, eyebrows slightly furrowed as you admired his fingers intertwined with yours. When your eyes met the shine of his again, you noticed that he had leaned toward you. There was something in his eyes that you couldn't quite decipher, but that captivated you nevertheless. And suddenly, without even realizing what you were doing, you began to lean towards him as well.
It felt like you were in a trance, being pulled towards Geralt by some kind of magic hidden in his eyes. The air caught in your throat as you felt his nose brush against yours. Your heart raced as his gaze lowered to your mouth, lips parting instinctively, responding to his proximity. Geralt's half-open eyes met yours once again, looking at you with a clear question written in them. And you answered it the only way you could while trapped under that mesmerizing amber glow, pressing your lips against his.
It was a soft but quick kiss. Your lips barely pressed against Geralt's, moving with both hesitation and curiosity to explore the taste of his mouth. You were being cautious, like when you tested the temperature of the water in the lake with your fingers before diving in. You were dipping your toes into the turbulent ocean of uncertainty that was Geralt to see how far you could go.
You pulled away from him after a few seconds, feeling embarrassed by your boldness and how much you were enjoying feeling the caress of his lips on yours. However, Geralt didn't let you pull away too far. His hand came up to your jaw, gripping the side of your face gently to hold you in place. His calloused fingers awakened a warm tingling under your skin, managing to slightly accelerate your heartbeat. His breath mingled with yours and his eyes looked at you with a softness you hadn't noticed in them before.
Geralt could feel the change in your breathing and sense the quickening of your heart in the veins of your neck filled with anticipation. He tried to resist your charms, but you looked at him with pleading eyes. Your tongue peeked between your parted lips, wetting your lower lip in an act of clear temptation. And he understood then that he was not as strong as he thought he was. He gave in to your silent pleas, joining his lips with yours again, though this time in a kiss charged with trust and desperation.
And in that moment, joined only by the moonlight and the chirping of crickets in the night, you both felt a spark. A connection with each other that you had never experienced before with another person. Your lips moved desperately, your hands clung to any part of exposed skin you could touch without crossing a line. You tangled your fingers in Geralt's long white hair, losing yourself in the warmth of his body. His right hand found its place on your cheek, using the advantage to move your head in the direction required to deepen the kiss. His other hand clung to your back, pressing you against his body until there was no more space separating the two of you.
You moaned as he sucked on your lower lip and the sound, though music to Geralt's ears, alerted him to what you were doing. He carefully pulled away from you, making a great effort to ignore your protests.
“We can't do this,” he whispered between gasps. “Not this way.”
“Yes we can...there's no one around to judge us. No one has to know.” You pushed your lips against Geralt's once more and he gave in for a moment before pulling away again. This time instead of whining you simply turned your attention to his neck, planting soft kisses down the column of his throat. If he wasn't going to make you his wife, he could at least treat you to a night of intimacy. That way at least you could choose the first man to give your body to.
“We should wait... for the wedding night.”
You stopped your actions as soon as you managed to process his words. Your head jumped up to look into his eyes, searching his expression for confirmation that you had heard correctly.
“That means...?”
“Yes,” he nodded. “And we're going to do this right.”
Your eyes lit up with joy and hope, looking at Geralt with the admiration with which one looks at a knight returning after winning a great battle. You jumped into his arms, hugging him tightly. You didn't know if he realized it, but he had just saved your life. And no matter how things turned out after your wedding, you would always be grateful to him for that.
The news was announced to your parents first thing in the morning and from that point on, preparations for the wedding didn't stop. It wasn't going to be a big event, just a ceremony with the close family to formalize the union. And you wanted it to be as quick as possible, not only to avoid delaying Geralt's departure for longer, but also because rumors of his heroic deeds had reached Lord Veldren's ears and you knew that couldn't be a good thing. The sooner you were married, the better it would be for everyone.
Your mother took on the responsibility of arranging everything, sending your father and brothers to get food and fabrics and the paperwork as well as the clergy's approval to perform the ceremony. And when she wasn't tidying the house or preparing floral arrangements, she took time to talk to you about marriage and what you could expect after the papers were signed. She spoke from her own experience and it was beautiful to see her eyes sparkle as she recalled her past, the happiness of the first moments of her marriage with your father and the arrival of her children into her life. But, as nice as it sounded, you weren't sure that was your destiny.
“You shouldn't get your hopes up so high, mother.” You sighed, watching her brush and fix your hair through the reflection of the mirror you were sitting in front of. In addition to arranging the ceremony, your mother had taken on the responsibility of helping you get ready for your big day. “I don't think that's the future that awaits me when I marry Geralt. He's just doing it as a favor.”
“You don't know that, honey. True love may still be in your destiny... You wouldn't be the first woman to find it long after the wedding day.” She smiled at you in the mirror before returning her attention to your hair, carefully braiding a strand.
“I don't even know if he'll stay after the deed is done... But that's okay, the whole point of this was to get Lord Veldren off our backs and marrying Geralt can do that, so I'm happy.”
“He can't leave after the ceremony, the marriage must be consummated.”
“Mother!” you let out a high-pitched whine, feeling blood pooling in your cheeks.
“I'm sorry, darling, but you are hours away from becoming a married woman, these are things I need to talk to you about.”
“I'd rather you didn't.”
“Your father and I made arrangements to visit your aunt across town for a few days. We'll leave after the ceremony so you two will have time to be alone and... figure out how to move forward. It's important, honey, that you take some time to think about the kind of woman you want to be, the kind of wife you want to be... and show him that he can find support in you, someone to grow together with. That's what a wife should be...what a marriage should be, a safe place you build as a couple. Your safe place.”
Your mother's eyes filled with tears and you immediately rose from your seat to hug her. You cherished every word, every piece of advice and word of encouragement she gave you and had given you in the last few days. Seeing her so emotional brought tears to your eyes as well, and you wanted nothing more than to be able to show her that she had taught you well. You wanted to make her proud of you, to build a marriage that would show everyone who knew you how well she had raised you, but you weren't sure you could do it.
Maybe under normal circumstances it wouldn't seem so far away. But there was nothing normal about the way you had arrived at this moment. You had thrown yourself into the arms of a kind stranger to escape the advances of a powerful but evil man. There was no love or deep connection between you and Geralt, only incompatible lives and mutual respect. There was a spark, the one you felt in your core when his lips touched yours, but you weren't sure it was enough to build a life with him. You supposed time would show you eventually.
“Thank you for everything, mother.” You mumbled through tears as you broke away from her embrace. “I don't know how the future will turn out, but I promise I will try my best every day to make you proud of me.”
“Oh, honey! I'm already proud of you.”
You hugged through sobs one more time until your mother called the moment over, pulling away from you as she wiped away your tears and scolded you for distracting her when you had so much to do. She proceeded to finish fixing your hair, braiding it into a nice half up half down hairstyle. You admired your reflection in the mirror, unable to believe that the woman looking back at you was you. You had never paid so much attention to how you looked so you didn't even know you had the ability to look so well presented.
You were so distracted by your appearance that you didn't notice that your mother had left your quarters until you felt the door close behind her upon her return. She was carrying in her hands a neatly folded piece of green fabric, which you soon discovered was a dress. But not just any dress, but the one she had worn the day she married your father. She handed it to you with tears in her eyes and helped you put it on while she told you how much she had waited for the moment to see you wearing it.
The dress was beautiful and fit you perfectly. The green fabric clung to your body, caressing your natural curves, all the way down to your hips where the skirt became full and flowy. Similarly, the sleeves flared out towards the lower half of your arm and the edges were adorned with golden thread embroidery that your grandmother had made herself for your parents' wedding. Your mother took it upon herself to add detail to the bodice, embroidering delicate flowers with the same thread.
“I always envisioned it this way,” your mother commented as you both admired your reflection in the mirror. “At the time we couldn't afford to add more detail. Your grandmother sewed everything herself to save us some money, but I always imagined something more. When you were born I knew I had to finish it, so that one day I could see it on your wedding day.”
“Mother, thank you! It's... it's beautiful!” And you really believed that. The dress was beautiful and the story and sentiment behind it made it even more special.
Looking in the mirror you noticed that you felt beautiful for the first time in your life. Not that you thought you were ugly before that moment, you just never paid much attention to such things. You admired the beauty of noble women when you were lucky enough to come across one in the market, but it was always like someone admiring a painting or a statue. You admired their elegance and the detail of their dresses. You were puzzled by the perfection of their skins and the strong but delicate scent of their perfumes. You appreciated the intricate beauty of their hairstyles and the grace of their walk. It was a beauty that almost didn't seem real. You thought that you were not capable of it, that such delicacy and femininity was unattainable for someone like you. But looking in the mirror at that moment, you felt for the first time like one of those women, beautiful and elegant.
“I know it's not as pretty as the dress you would be wearing if you were about to marry Lord Veldren, but I'm happy to be able to carry on the tradition. He probably would have given you a much more detailed and expensive gown, made of the finest fabrics to enhance your beauty... but then I could never have seen this finished beauty.” Your mother smiled, smoothing the fabric of the skirt to fit your body properly.
“I'm not so sure about that. Although I do think he wouldn't have let me wear it, I don't think it would be because he wanted to give me something better, but rather to use it as a tool of control and take away the power of making my own decisions on yet another thing in my life.”
“Maybe so, but you shouldn't think about that now. What matters is that you managed to get rid of him and we will be able to keep the tradition going. Hopefully someday you will be able to add something else to the dress and pass it on to your daughter on her wedding day.”
You smiled at your mother, but said nothing. You really doubted that would be possible given the person —and the circumstances— you were marrying, but you didn't have the heart to break it to your mother at that moment. There would be time for that, but right now you wanted to focus on the positive.
Your mother excused herself again, running downstairs to make sure everything was going according to plan. You were left alone with your thoughts once more, your mind full of questions about what the future held for you. You would be lying if you said you weren't nervous. Even though you and Geralt didn't share the love you imagined every time you fantasized about your wedding day, it was still quite a nerve-wracking situation. Maybe even more so.
Marrying for love meant getting to know the other person, knowing what they wanted for the future and being certain that you would both work together to make that shared desire come true. But you had none of that with Geralt. You were extremely grateful to him for the decision he had made, but you couldn't help but think that you had no idea what would happen after the ceremony was over. Everything had happened so quickly that you hadn't had time to talk about it. Yes, you had shared a meaningful kiss, but that didn't automatically negate the many reasons he had presented as an argument for not marrying you. At the end of the day, he was still a witcher with a bigger mission and purpose than you and you weren't sure how that was going to affect your marriage.
Would he stay with you and build a life together? Would he leave the next morning, never to return? Would he let you into his life or would he run off into the night without even saying goodbye as he had already tried to do? You were fine with any of those options, after all, they all fulfilled your true goal of getting Lord Veldren out of your life. But you would still like to know beforehand what his choice was going to be so you would know what to expect.
The ceremony was quick. There were no special guests or grand entertainments. It was an intimate event, witnessed only by your family and the officiating clergy. There were no special vows either, you and Geralt didn't know each other well enough to write down your feelings for each other and pronounce your vows of love in front of the witnesses present. But that didn't stop it from being emotional, both for you and your family. Your mother had gone to great lengths to decorate the garden for the ceremony, with colorful flowers and candles surrounding the area where it took place. The pinkish orange tones of the sunset sky added a magical touch to the moment, and while the circumstances of the wedding were not perfect, it was very close to what you had always imagined.
The ceremony was quick, more of a formality than a celebration of love, but you were still happy. The moment the union was official you and your family were free from Lord Veldren and his extortions. You were now married to a man very well trained in the art of combat, if he was smart —and you appealed to his cowardice and his need to feel superior— he would focus his attention on another young girl and finally stop tormenting you. And that was reason enough for you to rejoice and celebrate.
You were contemplating going out for a stroll around town hand in hand with your now husband so that rumors would slowly begin to circulate, when a knock at the door interrupted your thoughts. Your father went to answer it while you instinctively hid behind Geralt's imposing figure, peeking over his shoulder to decipher if there was danger on the other side of the wood.
You didn't quite hear the conversation that the stranger and your father seemed to be having, only mumbles. But that was enough to make out that it was one of Lord Veldren's men making demands. Only this time they didn't seem to be directed at your family.
“Where is the witcher? We know you are sheltering him here. Have him present himself immediately!” The man demanded in a firm, threatening tone, causing your gaze to rise to meet Geralt's.
“What is this about?” you heard your father say, clearing his throat to try to sound more intimidating.
“He is not welcome here. We have strict orders from Lord Veldren to escort him to the outskirts of town. If you hide him, we will take you as well.”
Geralt took a step forward, ready to face the men calling his name, but stopped when he felt your fingers close around his arm. He looked down at you and saw concern in your eyes. You were afraid of them, of those men, of their threats, of what Lord Veldren might do to you and your family. He had heard you say it on several occasions, but he had never seen it so explicitly on your face. He knew then that he had to act. His job as your husband was to watch over you and protect you from danger, to show you that you no longer had reason to fear these men. So he took your hand in his and brought it to his lips to place a soft kiss on the back of it as a way of reassuring you that everything would be all right. Then he approached the door and patted your father on the back to signal that he could leave. He was going to handle what was next.
Geralt took a couple of steps out of the threshold of the door to make sure that if things got out of control you and your family could be locked inside the house while he dealt with the problem. The two men Veldren had brought to capture him backed up with every step he took, trying to put as much distance as possible between them and the witcher. Geralt knew then that it was not going to be difficult to get rid of them. He towered over them intimidatingly, his muscular figure large enough to accommodate both men under his shadow. He saw the fear in their eyes and the regret of having left the horses behind to approach the gate.
Despite everything, the men tried to hold their place, and Geralt respected them a bit more for it. However, he did not give in to their demands and when they wanted to force him, he showed them without any trouble or effort the mistake they had made.
“Geralt!” you exclaimed from the doorway, alarmed to see the fight break out. But he quickly proved to you that your concern was in vain. Between blows he even had time to give you a calming look, silently reassuring you that everything was fine and you had nothing to worry about.
“Go inside!” he instructed before turning around and delivering a punch to the guard closest to him.
You didn't listen to him. You stood in place admiring from a distance the skill with which Geralt moved, the precision of his body position and how lethal his attacks were, even as you could tell he was holding back. It was an art, a complex dance that he had mastered to perfection. Those guards never stood a chance.
It wasn't long before the men were on the ground, panting and bloody, wondering what would become of them. But Geralt didn't want to kill them, he understood they were just following orders. His fight was not with them, but with the one who held their leashes. He was the reason they had come looking for him and the one to blame for the fear in your eyes every time you heard the knock on the door. He was the one he really had to fight. So Geralt made sure they heard his next words well.
“Tell Lord Veldren that I'm not going anywhere. If he wants to cast me out, he'll have to come himself to do it in person. If he is not willing to face me then he should leave me and my wife alone or next time it will be me knocking on his door.”
Hearing the protectiveness in his voice as he called you his wife made your heart pound. You weren't used to that, to belonging to someone in that way, but it was definitely something you could get used to. It felt nice having someone caring about you in that way, having someone willing to fight to protect you. You knew it wasn't much of an effort for someone like Geralt, but you also knew he didn't have to do any of it, which made you appreciate it even more.
You ran into Geralt's arms as the men scurried off to their horses, riding away from your home as fast as they could. “Thank you,” you whispered against his chest, wrapping your arms tightly around him.
It took Geralt a couple of seconds to reciprocate, slightly surprised by your show of affection. He wasn't used to humans —much less young ladies such as yourself— reacting positively when he demonstrated his combat skills. People usually had no problem paying him to solve their problems, but they were rarely able to accept the methods he employed to do so. Of course the fight there had not been brutal, but in the past he had earned negative looks for similar things, so your acceptance of his violence took him by surprise. But eventually Geralt relaxed and pulled you close against his body, placing a soft kiss on top of your head.
It wasn't long before you found yourself alone at home. Your family had left for your aunt's place just as your mother had told you and Geralt had disappeared. You were just finishing tidying up, washing glasses and dishes so it wouldn't pile up, when you saw him through the window. He had taken his horse out of the stable and was walking with the reins in his hand at a slow pace in the direction of the exit. And you watched him walk away with sadness in your heart, certain that you would never see him again.
You contemplated running after him, trying to stop him or asking him if he was planning to stop by again. But you regretted it at the last minute. You didn't want to push him any harder than you already had. He had married you because you asked him to and that was more than enough. You couldn't demand that he keep to the guidelines of a normal marriage when you knew very well that there was nothing normal about your arrangement. Geralt had kept his word, he had married you and he had made sure that Lord Veldren knew that you were already taken and that your family was under his protection. You could not ask more of him than that. You now had the freedom you wanted so badly, it was only fair that he could return to his normal life.
You wished he had at least said goodbye, or that he had waited for the sun to rise before disappearing. You'd be lying if you said you weren't sad to have to spend your wedding night alone, but maybe that was for the best. Maybe it was better to not force something that wasn't there. The marital bed your brothers and father had built for you would definitely feel too big and empty without someone next to it, but that would probably be that way with or without Geralt there. You didn't share the love necessary to make the bed a warm and safe place, so the night would be long and cold, alone or together.
When you finished tidying up the house you went upstairs to your quarters and took the time to undo your hair and take off your wedding dress. It felt wrong to walk around the house looking like that when there was no one else around. Without your husband there it felt like you had gone back in time to when you were little and played dress up with your mother's dresses, imagining what your life would be like when you got to be her age. You felt silly, so you put the dress away and covered your chemise dress with a robe since you weren't ready to go to sleep yet.
To avoid being consumed by your thoughts, you decided to grab a book. You settled yourself on one side of the bed, your eyes glancing only for a moment at the empty side before you opened the book with the intention of losing yourself in its pages. It was not an easy task. It took you much longer than usual to read just ten pages, your attention always wandering to the swirl of questions that was your mind, forcing you to reread the same pages over and over again to understand what was going on in the story. But eventually you were able to lose yourself in the words to such an extent that you didn't hear the sound of the front door opening or the footsteps coming up the stairs.
Seeing the imposing figure of Geralt peering through the door of your chambers really surprised you. You put your book down for a moment, watching as he took a few hesitant steps inside. “I didn't know if you were coming back.” You broke the silence. Your gaze returned to the book in your hands to avoid the awkwardness of looking him in the eye.
“Honestly I didn't either.” Geralt spoke in a soft tone and you could almost hear the doubt in his voice. “But I threatened Veldren so I can't just disappear and leave you to deal with the consequences.”
Geralt made his way to the empty side of the bed and you watched him sit with his back turned to you. He remained still and silent for a moment, as if lost in his own thoughts, and you wondered if he was regretting the decision he had made. A lump formed in your throat, making it difficult to breathe. Your heart was heavy with sadness, feeling guilty that you had trapped him into this.
“You don't need to spend the night here.” You muttered under your breath. If he didn't want to be there you weren't going to force him to sleep next to you. There was no one in the house to judge you, so he could sleep wherever he felt most comfortable, far away from you. “You can go back to your quarters, no one has to know.” You looked down at the book once more, trying to find an escape from the shame you felt in the words written on the weathered pages.
“I want to be here.” Geralt turned, looking at you with softness in his eyes. “It's where I belong.”
And he wasn't lying. He had to admit he wasn't sure if things were going to work out, but he was your husband now and it was his duty to be there for you. It was the one thing he was sure of in all of this, it had become clear to him on his walk through town with Roach. He had left with the intention of clearing his thoughts, to contemplate his options and decide how to proceed accordingly. And he found that the further he got away from you, the worse he felt. He didn't like the idea of you spending your wedding night alone, in an empty house without your family or husband. It was wrong. So he came back to hold you in his arms at night as he should and keep you safe in case Lord Veldren decided to pay you a visit. He did not know how long he could keep up the charade —how much longer he could hide from his destiny and responsibilities—, but that was not a concern he had to consider at the moment. Tonight he was supposed to be by your side.
You smiled at him as you heard him say that, feeling relieved. You didn't notice anything in his expression that made you think he was lying to you so you allowed yourself to relax a little. You were still a little tense as you didn't know how to proceed or what he expected from tonight. You knew it was tradition for newlywed couples to consummate the marriage on their wedding night, and you'd be lying if you said you weren't curious about it, but you wondered if it made any kind of sense. You weren't going to build a family together. There was no love between you to express in a physical way. And yet you couldn't help but wonder if Geralt wanted you.
“How long do you plan to stay?” you asked after a moment of silence, shifting your gaze away from Geralt's in embarrassment. You hoped you didn't sound controlling or needy.
“I haven't decided yet... I do have to go back, I have a home and people waiting for me, but we have some time. Besides, I realized it would not be wise to leave so soon after threatening Lord Veldren. I promised you that I would keep you safe from him and I intend to keep my word. It is best that I stay for a while to make sure he does not retaliate.”
You felt that comforting warmth in your belly again as you heard the protective tone in his voice. You tried to focus on that to get rid of all your worries, repeating over and over in your mind that he wanted to be there and that it had been his decision to help you.
Geralt turned his back to you once again and the air caught in your throat when you noticed that he was taking off his shirt, probably getting comfortable to sleep. Heat flooded your cheeks and you couldn't stop your eyes from trailing over his figure exposed to your curious gaze. He was like a work of art, the most beautiful and detailed sculpture you had ever seen. You admired with marvelous awe the way his muscles marked on his skin with every movement, as if they were sculpted by the hand of the most talented artist. His pale skin was the perfect canvas on which the tales of his adventures were told in the form of scratches and scars. Some were larger and flushed, others smaller and faded, but all equally intriguing. There was a large one on his left shoulder blade and another near his lower back that caught your attention. You couldn't help but wonder about the stories behind them. How did they end up on his skin? Who or what was responsible? Had it been saving someone?
You had to occupy your hands with the book, flipping through the pages to distract yourself and resist the urge to reach out to touch every bit of exposed skin your fingers could reach. You didn't know what had gotten into you, but with each passing second it became harder to stay away from Geralt. You were grateful that he had turned his back on you, that way he wasn't able to see the hunger and curiosity in your eyes, which allowed you to keep your dignity.
But even though he couldn't see you, he could still feel your gaze on him. He could feel the way you shifted uncomfortably on the bed and hear the change in your breathing that now escaped your lips in shallow gasps. He knew exactly what was going through your mind and thought it was adorable that you thought you could hide it from him.
“You can ask about them. I know what you want to.” Geralt broke the silence.
He still had his back to you, working on taking off his boots, but you still felt your whole face light up with embarrassment at having been caught. Could witchers read minds? You were pretty sure they couldn't, but the way he knew with such certainty that your eyes were examining his scars scared you a little.
“I guess everyone's curious about that, huh.”
Geralt shrugged. “You wouldn't be the first to ask about them.”
The implication behind his words put a strange feeling in your stomach. The idea that other people had had the opportunity to share such an intimate moment with him didn't sit well with you in the slightest, though you didn't quite understand why. You ignored that strange feeling for the moment, choosing to focus your attention on the moment unfolding before your eyes. Geralt's past or future should not concern you since you were not part of either. But you were part of his present and that was all that mattered.
You moved closer to him on the bed, letting one hand timidly make contact with his back. Geralt said nothing when he felt your fingers on his skin, which gave you the confidence to explore his body with a little more freedom. You were careful with your touch, slowly tracing the lines marked on his skin as you memorized their shape and color, reading them as if they were the story of his life. You tried to guess which had come first, imagining the causes behind each rough line on his skin. Your fingers lingered a little longer on his shoulder as you discovered that beneath your fingertips there was a mark that was almost imperceptible to your eyes. It was almost the same color as his skin, but you could feel the difference in texture when you touched the area. It reminded you very much of the mark that had been left on your shoulder after a hunting accident when you were a child, and you couldn't help but wonder if perhaps he was the same age as you when that wound was made.
“Were they all done by the monsters you hunt?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.
Geralt closed his eyes as he felt your warm breath tickle the skin of his back. He focused on your touch, letting your fingers guide his memory and transport him back to the moments when those marks had been inflicted on his skin. The Striga, the Bruxa, the fight in that bar that one time, the Kikimora in the lake by the side of the road and, finally, the dislocated arm he earned on one of his first days of training when he was much smaller and skittish than he was now.
“Some were made by human swords as well... that's what I meant when I warned you of the danger I bring with me. It's not just the monsters.”
Geralt turned to look at you and met your confused expression. You were lost in thought for a moment and then, without a word, you removed the robe you were wearing, exposing the linen chemise dress that covered your body. The white fabric was loose but thin, exposing probably more than you wanted to before his eyes. He almost felt bad for looking at you until your hands grabbed his and pulled them to your shoulder, right where the short sleeve that held the chemise dress in place had slipped down.
You pressed Geralt's hand against you, feeling a warm tingle under your skin as his fingers finally made contact with the scar you were trying to show him. His eyes moved up from your collarbone to your face, looking at you curiously.
“I got this one when I was about 10 years old. My older brother was just starting to learn to hunt so my dad was going to take him on a hunting trip just the two of them. I begged him for days to let me go with them, I even promised him that I wouldn't leave his sight and I would do whatever he told me to do... He agreed, just to shut me up. And he was very careful all the time, they both were. But still things went wrong and I was shot with an arrow. The wound got infected and I almost died... my father had to carry me two villages away for a healer to cure me.”
Geralt listened to you attentively, his eyes never leaving yours as his fingers slid gently down your shoulder. He wondered what point you were trying to make, though he had to admit he found it a bit difficult to focus having you so close. Your hand never let go of his. It remained lightly clinging to his wrist, giving him enough freedom to move across your skin but keeping it in place. He couldn't help but notice how small it looked in contrast to his, your slender but short fingers had trouble closing around his wrist while his hand could wrap around your entire shoulder.
He allowed you to move his hand once more, guiding it further south this time. You stretched one leg out on the bed, lifting your chemise dress up to thigh height. It was a slow, tortuous movement that Geralt followed closely with his eyes, silently admiring how you shyly exposed part of your body to him. Then you allowed his calloused fingers to make contact with the skin of your knee where he quickly found another mark.
“This one I got when I was even younger. I think I was about 8 years old or so. I fell off a horse and broke my leg. The bone was showing and everything! I fainted from the shock and I don't remember much of what happened. It took a long time to heal and even on rainy days it still hurts and I have a little trouble walking... My point is, we all have scars.”
You offered a warm smile to Geralt, but he looked away. His fingers ran over the faded lines on your knee a couple of times before he spoke.
“It's not the same.” He muttered, lost in thought.
Your smile widened slightly looking at Geralt with compassion. You reached out your free hand towards him, gripping his chin between your thumb and forefinger to force him to look at you. “Yes it is. They may not be equally heroic, but they represent the same thing... danger, risk of death, pain... Any one of those wounds could have ended my life because danger can come from anywhere, even in the comfort of this very house. Life is not a competition about who lives longer, but about who lives it better... if having you in my life shortens my lifespan 10 years I will take it without complaint because it is infinitely better than living 100 years under Lord Veldren's control.” You meant every word and sealed it by pressing your lips against Geralt's in a soft, gentle kiss.
The moment your lips connected you felt that spark again. A warm sensation spread through your body and you found it impossible to separate from Geralt. But this kiss was different from the one you had shared on the lakeside that night. It felt much more intimate and special. He let you set the pace, adapting to the movement of your lips and keeping his hands still. It was clear he was doing it for you, to make you feel comfortable and to allow you to set your own boundaries. And you found that incredibly sweet. His movements were slow and tender, caressing your lips with his as if he knew exactly what to do to sweep you off your feet.
But it wasn't long before you began to feel like you needed something more. As sweet as his lips felt against yours, it wasn't enough. You wanted to feel his warmth enveloping you completely, to explore his body and leave your mark on his skin. You moved closer to him, deepening the kiss in an attempt to satiate the need that was growing rapidly deep inside you. Your hand clung properly to his chin and you sucked on his lower lip with fervor, your tongue timidly caressing his mouth as an invitation for more. Geralt's grip on your leg tightened, his fingers pressed against the sensitive skin of your thigh in warning. He was trying to slow you down, warning you that you were headed down a dangerous path. But all he got from you was a moan. The sweetest, most addictive sound, that vibrated against your lips and awakened a fire inside him.
Geralt's fingers tightened around your leg instinctively, a natural reaction to what your beautiful sounds were provoking in him. He was trying so hard to hold back and you were making it increasingly difficult for him. A moan escaped your lips again, feeling a pressure in your stomach and a pulse between your legs as his calloused fingers marked your skin. This time the sound was much louder and clearer, echoing in the witcher's ears as if it were a beautiful song. One that awakened his most primal desires.
When you fell silent he felt empty. An urgent need to know all the sounds of pleasure that he was able to get from you took over him. Suddenly he lost the little control he had left over his desires, but he gained control of the situation, guiding your body down onto the mattress without separating his lips from yours. He had only one goal in mind: to engrave forever in his memory the sound of your voice calling his name as you unraveled in his arms.
The moment Geralt took control, it was over for you. His body trapped you against the mattress, his much larger and imposing figure hovering over yours like a wolf over its prey. One of his hands rested beside your head, helping to keep his balance, the other ran up your thigh until it reached your hip, lifting your chemise dress in its path. His fingers left a trail of fire over your skin, increasing the pressure in your stomach and the wetness in your most intimate area. Geralt's lips moved down from your mouth to your neck, sucking and playfully nibbling at the sensitive skin with enough fervor to leave marks.
You caught your lower lip between your teeth, struggling to keep the moans from escaping your throat. You were embarrassed by the ease with which he could arouse such improper sounds in you. You sounded so pathetic —your voice so whiny and desperate— that it was hard to recognize your own voice. You didn't want to make a fool of yourself any more than you already were, so you fought against every instinct to keep those sounds inside you.
But Geralt didn't share the same thought. When he noticed what you were doing his hand traveled from your hip to your chin. He used his thumb to free your lower lip, pushing it away from your teeth in a delicate movement. His eyes admired your slightly swollen lips glistening with saliva. He resisted the temptation to kiss them once more, settling for gently caressing them with his thumb.
“Don't do that,” Geralt murmured in your ear, his warm breath tickling the sensitive skin of your ear lobe. “I want to listen to you.”
He showed you no compassion as he placed his mouth on your neck again. He started soft, leaving a trail of wet kisses over the sensitive area just below your ear, a way to lure you into a false sense of security. Then he sucked and nibbled on the skin and didn't stop until he heard you moan under his touch. Only then he ran his tongue over the area, a gentle caress that sought to soothe the slightly irritated skin. And then he started the whole process all over again, working his way downward toward your collarbones.
“That's it, I want to hear you... I need to know that I'm making you feel good.” he whispered against your heated skin.
You wanted to answer him, to assure him that you had never felt anything like this before. But when you opened your mouth no sound came out, only an airy sigh as you felt his fingers brush your nipples through the thin fabric of your shirt dress. Geralt took note of that and soon wrapped his hand around your breast, covering it completely. You arched your back towards him instinctively as he began to play with your nipple between his fingers. It was slightly painful when he pinched them, but it sent a shiver down your spine.
You instinctively tried to push your legs together, hoping that the pressure of your thighs together would be enough to relieve the throbbing need in your most sensitive area. But you were unable to do so because Geralt's leg rested between yours, keeping you open and in place for him. You moaned and squirmed under Geralt's body, frustrated and desperate for some relief. And his solution to your predicament was to push his thick thigh directly against your crotch.
You both moaned as you rubbed against his leg. Your eyes opened wide, surprised by the wave of pleasure that coursed through your body as it made contact with the fabric of Geralt's pants. You had never felt anything like it before, but it did wonders to soothe the pulsing heat inside you. So you moved your hips against him again and again until you established a slow, sensual rhythm that made your whole body feel on fire.
Geralt took a moment to admire you in the dim candlelight, noticing every little detail about you. You looked beautiful with your hair spread out on the bed and your soft, delicate skin covered in a thin layer of sweat. Your swollen, parted lips let out the sweetest sounds, inviting him to devour them once more. Your breasts moved slightly with each sway of your hips, tempting him to release them from their white linen confinement. He couldn't help but notice that you looked very different from the way you did the first time he saw you. The purity and innocence was still present in your eyes, but hidden behind the lust and desire that had taken over your body. He found it increasingly difficult to keep himself under control, especially when you looked at him with half-closed eyes in pleasure, mumbling incoherently as you soaked his thigh with your arousal.
He was amazed at how easy it was to bring you to that euphoric state. Your naivety on the subject made you more receptive to his caresses, all he had to do was touch you on the right place and say the right words and you would whimper for more. Geralt found it incredibly attractive. Knowing that he was the first man to see you in that state awakened something deep inside him. He was the one who was introducing you to the world of pleasure, he would become your standard, your only reference for judging another man's ability to perform, and he wanted to make sure that no one could ever compare to him.
“You look so pretty like this.” Geralt whispered against your lips, his hand clinging to your chin to make sure you didn't move your head back in pleasure. “Such a perfect little dove, feeling good to me.” The nickname escaped his lips without too much thought, but it was fitting. You were his little dove, white and innocent, but with a free spirit that longed to fly and explore the world.
Warmth poured into your cheeks, feeling nervous under the witcher's intense gaze. “Geralt...” you trailed off, not quite sure where you were going with the sentence. You wanted to ask him to stop, but at the same time you were sure you would cry if he pulled away from you. The friction was no longer enough, but you weren't sure you could take any more.
“What is it, my dove? Use your words.” The tone of his voice was gentle, but his lips curved upward in a devilish smile. It was such a distinct contrast that it startled you, it made you wonder if you were capable of enduring what he was dying to give you.
“I need more... I need you.”
“You already have me.” Geralt scattered little kisses down your chin and neck, and pressed his thigh a little harder against your crotch, giving you a better angle to move your hips.
You let out a pathetic moan, closing your eyes in embarrassment and frustration. “You know what I mean.” You mumbled, hoping he wouldn't make you say it out loud.
“I know, I know... but I need to get you ready first... I need to make sure you're ready to take me.”
Geralt pulled away from you and you let out a groan at the loss of the only amount of friction that was giving you some relief. However, he didn't stay away from you for long. His hands caressed their way down your body, making you gasp as you felt his fingers on your exposed thighs. You remained still, expectant. Your eyes didn't leave his figure for a second, waiting to see what his next move was.
“Have you ever done anything like this?” he asked you in a husky voice as his hands slowly moved up your thighs, getting dangerously close to your most intimate area. “Have you ever let another man kiss you and touch you like this? It's okay if you did, you don't have to feel ashamed of that with me.”
You shook your head, having trouble forming a coherent sentence as his fingers drew circles over the sensitive skin of your thighs. “No... I-I was waiting for the right person.” You managed to blurt out between gasps.
“Have you ever given yourself pleasure?”
You felt your cheeks heat up at that intimate and strange question. Were you supposed to? Was that a part of all this that you hadn't been told about? When you were old enough your mother had taken it upon herself to tell you certain things, but not even in the days leading up to the wedding had she talked about something like that. You had been raised under the belief that sex was something special only meant to be shared with a spouse. You had felt things in the past, but never acted on it, no more than squeezing your legs together to make the throbbing in your core stop.
“Was I supposed to?” You asked in a whisper, afraid you were doing something wrong.
You didn't have to be too bright to know that Geralt was experienced in the subject —it was clear in the way he moved, in how he kissed you, and in the confidence of his caresses— which only made you feel more aware of your inexperience. You were afraid that he expected something different, that your inexperience would be a problem and that he would reject you for it. You needed him and wanted him to have a good time too, you just weren't sure you could give it to him.
But Geralt smiled warmly at your response, his eyes looking at you with a softness in them that awakened butterflies in your stomach. He didn't seem angry or disappointed, which gave you some reassurance.
“Do you trust me to make you feel good?” His voice was a raspy whisper that made your heart flutter in your chest. You nodded your head, but that wasn't enough for him. “I need to hear you say it, dove.”
“I trust you, Geralt.” You said confidently.
Maybe it was the way you looked at each other as if there was nothing else in the world but the two of you, or maybe it was the slow, passionate kiss you shared afterwards, but the moment felt much more intimate and authentic than you expected. It was no longer just about carnal desire and feeling good, there was something much deeper behind your words and the softness in Geralt's eyes. It was about your connection, how comfortable and safe you felt in each other's arms. It wasn't love, at least not yet, but it was a spark.
Geralt's hands continued to travel up your body as he kissed you, lifting your chemise dress in his wake. The cool air of the room hit your exposed skin, a harsh contrast to the fiery trail his fingers awakened in their path. The higher they traveled, the more your heart pounded in your chest, racing with a mixture of nerves and anticipation.
Geralt pulled away from your lips as his exploring fingers reached the underside of your breasts. He looked into your eyes, searching them for consent before fully revealing your body to his hungry eyes. He didn't have to say anything and neither did you. You simply shifted your position and raised your arms so that he could remove the article of clothing with more ease.
You felt the need to cover yourself as you were finally exposed to him, feeling small and vulnerable under his intense gaze. Your hands instinctively went to cover your breasts, but Geralt stopped you before you could do so.
“Don't hide from me. You are beautiful and I want to take the time to admire and appreciate every part of you to show you how beautiful you are.”
This time it was you who sought his lips since you didn't have the words to express what his tender words and desire filled eyes made you feel. You gave yourself completely to him, body and soul, so that he could do with you whatever he wanted. You let his fingers explore every inch of your body and his lips mark your skin as if he were claiming ownership over your being. And you allowed yourself the same freedom, caressing his arms and back, burying your fingers in his long white hair as he lost himself in the crook of your neck.
When he buried his hand between your legs, your grip on his hair tightened, tugging lightly on the strands as waves of pleasure flooded through your body. It was a pleasure you had never felt before, intense and exhilarating. It set your whole body on fire and made it hard to breathe, but you were sure you would burst into tears if Geralt pulled away from you at that moment. It was all too much —Geralt's caresses, the feel of his body pressed against yours, the wetness of his lips attacking your most sensitive areas— the pleasure was overwhelming and with each passing second you felt more and more as if something inside you was going to snap.
“That's right, my beautiful wife, feeling good for me.” Geralt muttered against your lips, his forehead pressed against yours as he looked deep into your eyes. You let out a pathetic moan in response, feeling your heart pound at hearing him call you his wife. You liked the sound of that, probably more than you should.
You closed your eyes, letting yourself get lost in the moment. The pleasure and possessiveness of his words brought you to a high that had you completely enraptured. Your body no longer felt like yours, it no longer responded to you, but to Geralt's touch, his words and his kisses. You couldn't say that it bothered you. On the contrary, it felt good, right. You trusted him with your body, mind and soul, you knew he would take good care of you.
You were brought back to the moment when you felt a pressure in your core. You opened your eyes, alarmed, as you felt one of Geralt's long, thick fingers slowly slide inside you. Your hand flew to his forearm, gripping it to stop him. It hurt. It wasn't unbearable, but it was uncomfortable. You could feel your velvety walls stretching open, struggling to accommodate his finger.
“Sshh, I know, I know,” Geralt's reassuring voice echoed in your ears. “It hurts, I know. But it'll be just for a moment until you get used to it. Then it will feel good, I promise... Do you trust me?”
Your grip on his arm lightened at his question, a silent answer that you reaffirmed with an affirming nod of your head. “Yes, I trust you.”
“Then let me show you how good it can feel.”
You did not remove your hand from his arm, but allowed him to continue. Geralt's movements became extremely slow and careful. He distracted you from the pain with pleasure, spreading kisses over every inch of skin his lips could reach, and resuming the gentle caresses of his thumb over your little bundle of nerves. Soon the pressure dissipated, your walls opening up to him, inviting him to get lost deep inside with the slipperiness of your arousal. And so he did, pushing his finger deep inside you in search of that special place that would make your toes curl and your back arch in pleasure.
He knew he found it when the volume of your moans increased and you rolled your eyes back. Your grip on his arm tightened, only this time not as a signal to stop, but as a desperate search for some support, something to help you stay grounded while the pleasure consumed you. It hurt a little when he added a second finger to his intrusion, but not as much as the first time. You were more relaxed and more comfortable. You knew you could take it and that the reward for doing so was pleasure like you had never felt before, so you bit your lower lip and took it.
It didn't take long for you to feel yourself on the edge of explosion, the tension in your belly getting tighter to the point of being unbearable. Your moans became more whiny and incoherent, your body moving without your control to the tune of Geralt's touch. You felt you could take no more, but at the same time you needed to know what lay beyond the limit.
“Geralt, I can't... it's too much.” You managed to blurt out between incessant panting. Your vision was getting slightly blurry and you could hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You tried to pull away from Geralt's arms, but he wouldn't let you. He trapped you under his towering figure to make sure you couldn't escape his touch.
“Yes you can. I know you can... You just have to let go, all right? It's okay, I'm here. I've got you. I've got you. You're alright. Just let go, you're safe with me.”
The softness of his words contrasted with the firmness of his touch, his fingers attacking your most sensitive area without any mercy. And the combined effort of both of them was enough to push you over the edge. Your body tensed and white lights exploded behind your eyelids as waves of pleasure washed over you. The world around you ceased to exist. You could hear Geralt's voice whispering sweet nothings in your ear and feel his soft caresses on your skin, guiding you through your climax, but it all felt distant, like a dream. The only thing you could focus on was the pleasure that shook your body.
Geralt's golden gaze was the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes. He was silently admiring you, one finger stroking your cheek in a circular pattern while his eyes watched every little detail of your face. There was something in his gaze, a sparkle in his eyes that captivated you. It was more than lust, more than the lasciviousness you were used to seeing in Lord Veldren's eyes. You couldn't quite name it, but you knew it made you feel good, comfortable and safe. Geralt desired you, but not in the possessive, objectifying way that your previous suitor did. When he looked at you as he did at that moment you knew he didn't see an object he wanted to possess, he saw you as the woman you were. You felt seen by Geralt in a way you had never experienced before. He gave you confidence and self-assurance and you loved the way that felt.
“How do you feel?” his raspy voice whispered close to your ear.
The corners of your lips curved upward slightly, demonstrating the state of complete bliss you were in. “Good... I'm fine.”
“You did so well...” Geralt trailed off, his thumb following the line of your lips as his mind was lost in the image of your eyes closed and your mouth parted open letting out moans and gasps as you came undone in his arms.
It was a beautiful image that he wanted to engrave forever in his memory. Giving you pleasure was his new addiction, the way your body trembled beneath him, the sounds you made, the scent of your arousal, it was all too intoxicating. He was dying to see you in such a state again. And again. And again and again, until his scent was so impregnated into your skin that everyone knew you were his wife when they came near you.
“Do you think you're ready for more?”
You nodded eagerly, regaining the strength to lift your arms and cling to Geralt's neck, pulling him to you to melt into a kiss. “I am, I want everything from you... I want to make you feel good too, even if I don't know how.” You admitted with some embarrassment.
“You don't have to worry about that, my beloved. It makes me feel good to see you enjoy yourself. Tonight is about you and I will take it upon myself to show you all the pleasure you don't know.”
Your heart pounded as you heard the affectionate nickname he used for you. His beloved... You liked the sound of it, even when it wasn't real. You let yourself get lost in the moment, drifting into a reality where he really loved you enough for those words to mean something.
The softness in his voice and the tenderness of his touch made you feel good, safe. It was soothing to know that he had no great expectations for you and was willing to take the time to teach you what you didn't know. However, your newfound confidence suffered a blow the moment his naked body was completely exposed to your curious eyes. He was beautiful and big, almost too big. As you looked at him you remembered the discomfort you felt when his fingers pushed inside you and felt your stomach twist with nerves, thinking there was no way the experience could be pleasurable for both of you.
Geralt noticed the concern on your face immediately and rushed to comfort you. His body was on top of yours in no time, his fingers gently caressing your cheek as he looked at you with softness in his eyes. “You need to relax,” he muttered against your lips.
“B-but, it's going to hurt...it won't fit.” You closed your eyes as he spoke, feeling embarrassment taking hold of you. You wanted nothing more than to make him feel good and let him guide you through the pleasure, but you had to admit you were a little nervous.
You feared that your comment had ruined the moment, that Geralt had grown tired of your hesitation and decided to leave you and go to sleep. But instead of scoffing, he planted a soft kiss on your cheek, making you open your eyes again.
“It will fit. We'll make it fit. That's why I spent all this time getting you ready for me...so you'd be wet and ready to take me.” Geralt spread little wet kisses down your jaw to your neck as he spoke. If it was a strategy to distract you it was working wonders, because you could start to feel your body relax again. “It's going to hurt a little at first, just like before. But then it will feel good... We'll go slow and if at any point you feel it's too much we'll stop completely, alright? You are in control here.”
His words relaxed you more than you expected and with a simple kiss and a slight nod you gave Geralt permission to continue his assault on your body.
You winced as he began to thrust inside you. It felt a lot more uncomfortable than his fingers, though not so strange anymore. Your walls were struggling to accommodate his size and that resulted in a sharp burning pain between your legs that led you to consider stopping everything. And honestly you would have if Geralt hadn't let out the most beautiful sound you'd heard all night. It was a moan like no other so far, a primal growl that came from deep inside him, vibrating in his chest and filling you with confidence. You were making him feel good. Even if it hurt a little, even if you didn't quite know what to do, you were making him feel good. It filled your chest with pride and confidence to know that you were capable of such a thing and that was what you focused on to overcome the pain.
Your hands clung to him, nails digging into his back as you closed your eyes and focused all your attention on him, on his gasps and the way his body pressed down closer into yours.
“That's it, you're doing so well for me, dove” Geralt encouraged you between ragged breaths and a warm feeling filled your insides at the praise. “Just a little more, you can do it.”
“Geralt” you sighed, a mix of pain and pleasure clear in your voice. It was a plea for him to stop and for him to continue all at the same time, the expression of the conflicting sensations you felt inside you.
Geralt felt as if he could die at that very moment. The high-pitched whine in your voice, the glimmer in your eyes from tears and the hunger in your gaze was all too much. Your arousal helped him slide in with ease and he had to control himself from slipping inside you in one quick thrust. You felt so good, so wet and tight that he was going crazy. Slowly thrusting inside you was torture, but it was one he was willing to endure to make you feel comfortable and safe.
He stood still for a moment when he finally pushed all the way into you, giving you time to adjust to him as he enjoyed your warmth. “Can you feel me deep inside you, filling you more than you've ever been?” Geralt whispered in your ear, his warm breath tickling your sensitive skin. “You know what that means, huh? It means you're mine now.”
Your walls tightened around him, causing you both to let out a moan of pleasure. The pain slowly dissipated as your body molded to his almost as if to honor his words. You were his, body and soul. The burning pain turned to pulsing desire and it wasn't long before you were squirming beneath Geralt's body, struggling to find some friction to relieve the pressure between your legs.
“I'm yours... I'm yours...” you repeated between wet kisses, giving him the power to do whatever he wanted with you. “Please...”
Geralt loved hearing the plea escape your lips, a whiny whisper that let him know you were ready for more. He enjoyed the way you looked up at him waiting expectantly for every move, every word, knowing that only he could bring you to that sweet relief once again. He almost wanted to hear you beg more for it, to watch you squirm under his body and whimper in frustration until he decided to give you what you so desperately needed. But he wasn't sure he could hold on that long to feel you fall apart in his arms one more time. He needed to feel you and he needed it now.
“I know, I know... I got you” Geralt breathed as he slowly slid his member almost all the way out of you. You threw your head back on the pillow, closing your eyes as you felt the delicious drag along your walls. He held still for a moment and then thrust inside you again, only with a little more force this time.
The moan that escaped your lips was both obscene and pathetic in equal parts. And Geralt loved every second of it.
“Does that feel good? Was that what you wanted?” You knew Geralt was making sure you were okay with those questions, they weren't necessarily meant for you to have a particular reaction to them, just to communicate your state to him. But there was something in the tone of his voice that sent a wave of pleasure throughout your body.
“Yes, yes! More, please, more!” was all you could blurt out between gasps, but Geralt didn't hesitate to indulge you.
He set a slow, sensual pace at first, dragging his member torturously slow along your walls before thrusting back inside you, using a little more force with each time. His lips never left your body, kissing every bit of exposed skin they could reach. His hands closed over your hips, holding you in place to make sure each thrust of his cock reached that special place inside you that made you scream.
Once you got used to his rhythm, you began to move your hips at the same pace, seeking to meet him halfway and forcing him inside you when he took too long. One of your hands got lost in his hair, grabbing and pulling the strands between your fingers when pleasure overwhelmed you or you wanted to feel his lips in a specific place. Your other hand clung to his broad back, nails digging into the skin until they left marks that would not fade the next morning. And Geralt loved every second of it.
He loved knowing you were feeling good. He loved being the one guiding you, teaching you things about your own body that you didn't even know yourself. But most of all, he loved the idea of you leaving your mark on his skin just as he was marking yours. Being inside you —feeling the warmth of your walls clenching around his cock, hearing your incessant moans and smelling the scent of your arousal in the air— had awakened something primal inside him, a possessiveness he didn't know he was capable of feeling. You were his after tonight and he wanted everyone to know it just by looking at you. No other man would ever dare to get close to you because his scent would be forever present on your skin, warning everyone not to lay a finger on you because you were already his.
“That's it, mark me as yours... I am yours and you are mine... mine to protect. Mine to please and to take care of. Mine to fuck and guide through the most intense carnal pleasures... Mine... My woman.” Geralt emphasized each sentence with a thrust bringing you closer and closer to that sweet relief. His movements were becoming more and more rough and sloppy, signaling that he was close to losing control as well.
You were slowly losing your grip on reality, your mind spiraling with pleasure. It was hard to concentrate on anything but the heat coursing through your body, but Geralt's words managed to bring you back to reality. The roughness in his voice and the possessiveness of his affirmations were a lethal mix designed to push you to the limit of what you could bear.
“Yes, yes! I'm yours, forever... I need... please.” You weren't being very coherent, but Geralt understood perfectly well what you wanted. He could feel the way your walls tightened around him, swallowing his cock deep inside you. You were close to exploding and he was more than willing to take you there.
“I know, I know... I got you, it's okay. You can let go, just relax. Take a deep breath... that's it. Let go, I've got you. I want to feel you come apart around me, please.”
Geralt's fingers pressed against your little bundle of nerves, drawing small circles on the swollen, sensitive skin. His thrusts became more precise, hitting that special place inside you with each thrust. His words were interpreted by your body as a command and in a matter of seconds the pleasure exploded inside you, spreading throughout your body.
You fell limp in Geralt's arms, overwhelmed and ecstatic. He only slowed his assault on your body for a moment, his hips almost ceasing to move to give you time to catch your breath.
“That's it, my good dove” he praised you as his thumb drew circles over the skin of your hip. “I wish you could see yourself right now... so beautiful, so fragile... Do you think you can take a little more? I need to fill you, to mark you as mine in the deepest, most intimate way possible, do you think you can take it?”
You moaned in response, already feeling his hips begin to pick up the pace ever so slowly. There was nothing you wanted more than that. You wanted to be his forever, even outside these four walls. You wanted to feel his warmth always with you and the weight of his body against yours. You longed to feel his scent on your skin and see the marks of his kisses on your body. You wanted everything he had to give you and you were willing to do anything to get it.
“Yes, I can take it! Please give it to me! I need it... I need it all from you, please.” you pleaded eagerly and in response Geralt thrust his hips against yours, setting a fast and lethal rhythm.
It was clear he was using you for his pleasure now, but even then your body responded to his touches, the tension building again in your belly. It was as if you were no longer in control of your own body, as if it had stopped recognizing you as the one in charge and instead waited for Geralt's orders to react. And you didn't fight against it one bit, you simply let yourself be carried away by passion, feeling the pleasure through him.
His movements became more and more erratic and his moans louder and more frequent. He was losing control and you loved knowing that you were capable of causing something like that in him. You liked that he was using you for his own pleasure, that he was focusing on himself and using your body as a tool to achieve that sweet relief. He wasn't actively working on it, but with every thrust and moan he let out he brought you closer to that same edge. It was sweet and overwhelming. You felt the urge to escape from his arms so you could catch your breath, but your body could only press harder into Geralt's, moving your hips to help him find the pleasure he had shown you.
And it wasn't long before you both exploded in a sea of moans and pleasure.
“That's it, take it all in... take my seed deep inside you. Feel me inside you filling you up, claiming what belongs to me.” Geralt growled as he painted your walls with his essence, which mingled with the remnants of your release. “No one else is ever going to get the chance to feel this ever. You are mine... mine.”
You could do nothing but respond in whimpers of pleasure as your body shook with the intensity of your own orgasm, amplified by Geralt's words and the sensation of being filled with his seed.
You lost consciousness after that, reality slipping through your fingers like sand. You could hear Geralt mumbling sweet words in your ear and feel his fingers gently caressing your skin, but you didn't have the strength or ability to move or respond to him. You just laid there in his arms, full and in a state of complete bliss for who knows how long. The passage of time was a concept that had ceased to exist for you. The world around you seemed to have slowed down, but inside you felt your body working at an accelerated pace. Your heart pounded hard against your chest, the sound of pumping blood echoing in your ears. Your lungs struggled to get enough air so that your body could relax, your short, quickened breaths slowly finding a calmer rhythm as time passed.
Geralt took care of you every step of the way as you came down from your high, spreading soft kisses over your skin and whispering praise in your ear. He even went to the trouble of tucking you into bed and covering you with the sheets so that you wouldn't get cold once your body returned to normal temperature. And when you regained consciousness, his gentle smile was the first thing your eyes saw.
“There you are!” He said, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear so he could admire your sweet face in all its glory. He would be lying if he said he wasn't proud of the expression of pure pleasure and satisfaction that graced your face. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine... tired, but fine.” You let out an airy chuckle, still feeling somewhat disconnected from everything.
You both remained silent for a moment, looking into each other's eyes. You couldn't help but think that there was something different about the way Geralt was looking at you. It was something you had noticed before, but you thought it was due to the intensity of the moment. Although now that everything was calmer you began to think it was something else. You didn't quite know how to explain what you saw in his eyes, but you knew you liked the way he made you feel. The only way you could describe it was a soft, comforting warmth, like a sunny spring morning. It felt like a caress to the soul, a tender gesture that awakened a tingle inside you. You felt safe under his gaze, seen in a way you had never experienced with a man.
“Thank you...” your voice broke the silence, ”for everything, I guess... for protecting me, for being such a gentleman, for treating me so well...” You were interrupted by the yawn that escaped involuntarily from your lips, reminding you once again how tired you were. “You gave me a perfect night... If you decide to leave tomorrow and I never see you again, you still leave me with the memory of a beautiful wedding night.”
Geralt was surprised by how much he disliked the idea of walking away from you. He knew he had to do it and a couple of hours ago he was more than ready to do it, but now things had changed. Separating from you was not as easy now that he had you naked in his arms, looking at him with narrowed eyes full of pleasure. It wasn't easy after having heard you beg for his name or having inhaled the scent of your essence. It wasn't easy at all now that he had claimed you as his own, marking you in the most intimate way he could, leaving his mark forever on your skin. He no longer wanted to be away from you and was willing to fight anyone who wanted to come between you. And, to be honest, that scared him a little.
“It's okay... rest.” He murmured gently as he noticed the way you were struggling to keep your eyes open. “We'll have plenty of time to talk in the morning. You need to rest now, my dove.”
The last thing you felt before you surrendered to sleep was Geralt's arms pressing you against his body, letting you rest your head on his chest as he traced sweet caresses on the skin of your back.
The month you shared with Geralt alone in your home was beautiful. You loved waking up tangled in the sheets and his arms, and his honey colored eyes being the first thing you saw in the morning. You loved chatting with him over breakfast and taking long walks around town hand in hand. You especially liked the way he would put his arm around you when a man dared to even look at you for too long, and how he would show you off when his walks through the marketplace ran into one of Lord Veldren's men. At first it was in a provocative way, as if he was looking to generate a reaction in the man, but after days passed and he did not show up at his door to challenge him and fight for your hand, Geralt knew he had won. Then the gentle kisses and soft caresses in front of his men —and in front of Lord Veldren himself on one occasion— went from being a provocation to a brag, a constant display of the weakness the Lord sought so hard to hide.
You learned a lot about Geralt in this time, about his life, his profession and the important people in his life —although perhaps not as much as you would like, as it was hard to get him to talk. Your favorite thing was listening to the tales of his adventures at night when you were both lying in bed. He didn't seem to find them as fascinating as you did, since you sensed a slight annoyance in his eyes whenever you insisted on the subject, but he never refused to indulge you. You loved listening to him talk, especially at night when the warmth of his chest and the deep sound of his voice lulled you to sleep. But besides being a cure for your restless nights, you quickly discovered that his stories were a good way to get to know him better. Geralt wasn't good at talking about himself or his life when you asked him a direct question, but through the way he recounted his travels you were able to gather little bits and pieces of his persona —the way he thought, his moral compass, details of his work and the reality of witchers that you didn't know. You found his world fascinating, frightening and dangerous at times, but fascinating nonetheless.
However, all good things always come to an end, in your experience, sooner rather than later. And this was yours. The day had finally come for Geralt to leave and you woke up that morning terrified that you would never see him again.
You hadn't talked much about it, since you were both secretly dreading the mere thought of being apart. And this morning was no different. You went about your routine as if it were any ordinary day, though with the heavy tension in the air that came from knowing it wasn't. You tried your best to ignore it as much as possible, looking for every excuse to spend more time together, making the most of what you had left. The morning chores were a bit delayed, as getting out of bed proved to be a particularly difficult task when all you wanted to do was melt into each other's bodies until you were one. But beyond the desperation to be with each other, there was not a single mention of the countdown you both had in the back of your mind.
When Geralt had marked this date as the day of his departure he had assured you that it would not be permanent and in the blissful happiness of the moment you had believed him. But now that the time had come, you couldn't help but be saddened not only by having to part from him, but also by not knowing for how long. You had spent a beautiful time together and you wanted to believe that it would be enough for Geralt to want to come back to your arms, but the reality was that you didn't know. You couldn't help but think that he had been almost forced into this marriage and you feared that going back to his old routines would put things in perspective. After all, there was a reason he had refused your proposal so much the first time. He had only agreed to marry you after spending time living with your family, losing himself in a reality far different from his own, and you were afraid that getting back on the road would show him what a big mistake he had made.
You couldn't stop thinking about it as you watched him from the kitchen window, gathering his things and slowly loading them onto Roach. You wanted to run over there and ask him the thousands of questions that were running through your mind. You wanted more than anything to hear him reassure you that everything would be okay and that he would come back for you, but you knew you couldn't completely trust his words. That may well be what he was thinking and feeling now, but there was no way of knowing how time alone on the road, accompanied only by his old habits, could possibly change him. There was no point in exchanging words, so you focused your attention on preparing and packing some supplies for his journey, so that at least he would have fresh food and water until he reached the next town.
You dared to step outside when you noticed that Geralt was almost finished settling his saddle, signaling that you didn't have much time left to keep lamenting about the future. You approached him with a slow step, as if you were looking for any way to drag out every second, taking advantage of the moment to memorize every detail you could find in his sideways profile.
“So you're leaving, huh?” you finally broke the silence, causing Geralt to raise his head to look at you. He was so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn't heard you approach, though it was a pleasant surprise.
At least until he noticed the doubt in your eyes.
“For a while, yes. I have business to take care of, people that are waiting for me... but I'll be back.”
You weren't able to hold his gaze, your eyes focusing on the grass beneath your feet as you tried to keep your emotions at bay. The last thing you wanted to do at that moment was cry, but you could start to feel the tears building up in your eyes.
Geralt noticed your concern and disbelief, and knew he couldn't leave until you knew he was being honest. He needed to make sure you understood that he wasn't playing games and that he intended to keep the promise he had made to you that evening in front of your family.
He hooked his fingers under your chin, using them as leverage to tilt your face up and force you to look at him. “I will come back for you.” Geralt assured you. “I promise.”
“You don't have to, that was the arrangement. Lord Veldren has already found another girl to focus his attention on so he no longer presents a danger to me or my family. You are free to go on with your life as it was before our paths crossed.”
“That's where you're wrong.” The corners of Geralt's lips curved upward slightly at your gesture of confusion. “Our paths did cross and I can't go back now. I can't go on with my life pretending you don't exist, that this time we shared didn't happen... I don't want to. I want to come back for you... and next time I will be the one to share some of his life with you. Perhaps I'll take you on the road with me, how about that?”
Even though nothing had changed, his words managed to bring a smile to your face and soothe your aching heart. There was something in his beautiful honey eyes that invited you to trust him, and the promise to take you on a trip with him made everything more real. It wasn't just words spoken into the wind, it was an idea, a plan for the future, something on which to build your relationship and, why not, a home over time. It was a first step, one of many you had to take if you wanted your relationship to continue, and Geralt was assuring you that he was willing to take it together, as it should be. So, while you were still saddened by his departure, you chose to give your mind and heart a break by believing his words.
“I would like that very much.” You muttered before pressing your lips together in a kiss, sealing your promise.
Watching Geralt leave was not easy, but his promise left you with some comfort. Tears escaped your eyes as you watched his white hair disappear into the horizon, and an aching emptiness built in your chest as you stepped back into a silent house that felt so much bigger now that you were alone. You realized then that you were going to miss him more than you thought and that the time apart would be much harder to endure than you had imagined. Only minutes had passed and you were already contemplating leaving everything behind, grabbing a horse and running to catch up with him. And you knew that feeling would only get worse as the days went by, growing and growing until it became unbearable. And it wouldn't go away until you saw his figure on the horizon again, coming back into your arms where he belonged.
Still, in the midst of your sad contemplation a smile formed on your lips. A gust of wind had blown in through the open kitchen window, and it brought dancing up to your nose the distinctive smell of leather, earth and wood of Geralt. And you realized then that he was still there with you, his scent lingering in the air, on your clothes, on the sheets on the bed and even on your own skin. And there he would remain with you forever, because you were his and he was yours.
Geralt of Rivia tag list: @steviebbboi @feel-my-psycho-love
(I'm so sorry guys I forgot to tag you when I posted it)
Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions
A/N: Not sure why I suddenly thought about him. It was kinda random.
Geralt was already painfully hard by the time you came back from the waterfall, still in a towel and a little cold. You glanced over him with one eyebrow raised and chuckled, "I knew you'd peak. Pervert."
He hummed and smirked at the corner of his mouth, "I don't have to, I already know what you look like naked and wet." Geralt took a few long steps towards you, his hands just under your ass and lifting you up.
"Geralt! Your clothes! I'm still wet!" Both of you laughed, Gerlat's own slightly muffled by your breasts. Feeling his warm breath on your cool skin made your head spin just a little, causing you to fist your hands into his sleeves, the towel slowly falling from your body.
"I don't mind you being wet. But I really should help you warm up. Let's sit by the fire!" Geralt couldn't help the teasing smirk from gracing his face as he sat down cross-legged, siting you in his lap with the tent on the front of his pants. "Of course that's not the only thing I'm after."
You rolled your eyes, draping your hands over his shoulders and bending your knees slightly to draw yourself even closer, "I figured. You're really easy to read Geralt."
Instead of responding with words Geralt responded with his lips, pressing them against yours. You replied right away, parting them for his tongue and sighing into his warm mouth, your hips rolling on their own. Geralt's hands traveled your naked back, his rough fingers pressing and massaging, then traveling to your ass and grabbing a nice handful of your cheeks, driving your pelvis forward.
The rough material of his pants brushed against your clit, his cock throbbing and hot even though his pants.
"That's not just water is it sweetheart?" You didn't have to answer him, he already knew how wet you got for him, how easily you fell apart beneath his hands, his lips. How easily you spread your legs for him and his big cock.
You could imagine it clearly. Fully erect and pulsing for you, a thick pearl of cum sliding from the angry red tip and down the shaft, more and more gathering, forming a stain on the front of his pants the more his hips jolted upwards and you pushed them back down, only adding to the wetness.
Geralt's mouth travels down your neck, his teeth barely brushing against your nipples before closing his mouth around one, pinching and rolling the other between his fingers.
"You're so sensitive." He whispers against your hard nipple, licking over the swollen bud as he starts to buck his hips faster an faster into yours. You fist and pull onto Geralt's hair, guiding his mouth from your breast to your hungry mouth. As you lightly nip on his bottom lip you can feel him growl his release, his hips grinding wildly into yours, his clothed cock twitching against your wet cunt, sending you into your own orgasm.
He pulls away and leans his forehead against your shoulder, your combined heavy breathing, the sounds of the crackling fire and the low sounds of the wildlife in the forest. "I think..." You relax into his embrace, "I think that you're the one who needs to wash up now."
"Indeed." He tilts his head upwards, a blissful grin on his face as he offers, "Perhaps you want to join me?"
"To clean you up with my mouth?" You licked your lips deliberately, watching as his golden eyes follow. His cock gives another needy twitch, already hardening again despite him just coming mere moments ago. "I feel like you like that idea a lot."
Geralt doesn't even remove you from his lap, he just stood up, making you giggle. His hands braced under your thighs as he gave you a small, teasing peck on the lips before taking of in the direction of the waterfall.
summary: the two of you stopped at an inn after a long night of travel, but there was only one room..
pairing: geralt of rivia x gn!reader
warnings: they're stupid, fluff
word count: 1.6k
a/n: i haven't written anything that's not a crack fic or a screenplay in ages. this is my attempt at fixing my bad writing, any constructive feedback is welcome!
it was stupid, borderline pathetic, how the two of you tried to find any reasoning at all that cold winter night.
you and geralt had been traveling for quite some time trying to get to the famous kaer morhen. he needed to gather more elixirs and supplies for future battles and monsters, but the weather became too harsh to keep going up the mountains. tonight seemed particularly frigid, so you both decided to stop at an inn rather than camping outside like usual.
as you walked in, the warmth from the fireplace consumed the small space of the room, a stark contrast from the conditions you came from. a frail-looking old man sat at the counter bored, instantly sitting up as he watched geralt’s large form stomp through the quaint lodge. you followed closely behind as he made his way to the reception desk.
“we need two rooms.” the white wolf grunted tossing a bag of coins on the counter. (haha.. I'm not funny)
“yes of course,” the old man says snapping out of his stupor. he flipped through his log book and lets out a sigh. “unfortunately we only have one room left”
“we’ll take it”
you weren't given much of an option and the innkeeper had already handed you the key. it's not like you were disappointed though. you had developed quite the attraction for the silvered-haired witcher during your travels together. you would never admit it out loud, but the longing gazes and lingering touches the two of you often shared meant something more. at least to you it did.
it was a silent walk up to the room. neither of you knew what the other was thinking, but maybe that was for the better. it was selfish the way you hoped there would be an excuse to hold him close as the night grew colder.
the door creaked open and your heart sunk a little as you took in your surroundings. the room was beautiful, yes. the nicest thing you had stayed in for months but, there was one problem.
there were two beds.
geralt, oblivious to your internal conflict, stepped further into the room and dropped his belongings onto the bed nearest the window. the soft creak of the mattress, as he sat down, snapped you out of your thoughts, and you busied yourself by removing your cloak, shaking off the snow that clung to the edges.
“we should get some rest,” he said, his deep voice breaking the silence. “the snow will calm by morning, and we’ll need to leave early.”
you nodded, avoiding his gaze as you placed your things on the other bed. the room was quiet except for the sound of the wind howling outside and the faint crackle of a small hearth in the corner. the heat was soothing, but it did little to calm the restless energy swirling within you.
as geralt began to undo his armor, his movements slow and deliberate, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at him. the firelight danced across the sharp lines of his face and body, casting shadows that only made him seem more otherworldly. he caught you staring, and for a moment, his golden eyes met yours.
“you’re quiet tonight,” he observed, his tone softer than usual. never in a million years could you have imagined a time where geralt spoke more than you. i guess there's a first time for everything you thought to yourself
“i’m just tired,” you lied, forcing a small smile.
he nodded but didn’t look away, as if he was trying to read something hidden in your expression. the weight of his gaze made your heart race, and you quickly turned back to your belongings, fumbling with your pack.
“get some sleep,” he said finally, his voice low but gentle. “we’ve got a long day of travel tomorrow.”
you nodded again, slipping under the blankets of your bed and turning your back to him. but as you stared at the wall, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was just as restless as you.
a couple of hours passed, and the two of you drifted into a deep slumber. your dreams took you to familiar places—snow-covered trails, battles against monsters, and the quiet moments by the campfire when words weren’t needed. but more than anything, you dreamed of him. his sun kissed eyes, his rare smiles, and his strong presence always keeping you safe.
then the dream shifted. the warmth of the campfire turned into an oppressive heat, the orange glow becoming flames roaring at the edges of your vision. your heart raced as the bed beneath you ignited, the fire consuming the blankets and wood. the panic felt so real, and you jolted awake, gasping for breath.
except it wasn’t just a dream.
flames flickered at the edge of your bed, small but growing, their heat unmistakable. you scrambled out of bed, the pounding of your heart echoing in your ears. the realization hit you like a cold slap: you had caused this. your magic, tied so deeply to your emotions, had manifested the fire from your nightmare.
“geralt!” you called instinctively, but you didn’t wait for him to wake. your hands moved on their own, summoning a stream of water from thin air. the magic poured from your fingertips, dousing the flames before they could spread further. steam rose in a hiss, and the smell of scorched fabric lingered in the air.
geralt sat up abruptly, his sword already in hand, instincts sharp even in the haze of sleep. his eyes darted around the room before settling on you, still standing with trembling hands and remnants of magic fading from your fingertips.
“what happened?” he asked, his voice low but alert, eyes narrowing in concern.
“i—i had a nightmare,” you stammered, your voice shaky. “and I... i think my magic got out of control.”
he stood, crossing the room in a few quick strides clearing some of the smoke with his arms along the way. his gaze flickered between you and the damp, charred edge of the bed, realizing the situation.
“are you hurt?” he asked, his tone softening as he placed a hand on your shoulder.
you shook your head, swallowing hard. “no. i’m fine. i put it out before it got worse.”
he studied you for a moment, his hand lingering as if to steady you. “you should’ve woken me,” he said finally, his voice calm but firm. “fire magic is dangerous if you’re not careful.”
“i didn’t mean to,” you whispered, guilt creeping into your voice.
“i know,” he said, his thumb brushing lightly against your shoulder before he stepped back. “but you handled it well.”
he looked at the scorched bed and then back at you. “you need rest. take mine.”
“what about you?” you asked, still shaken.
“i’ll manage,” he said simply, dragging a chair toward the hearth and settling into it, his sword resting across his lap. “just... sleep. i’ll keep watch.”
you hesitated, the weight of his gaze grounding you. slowly, you nodded and climbed into his bed, the lingering warmth of his presence oddly comforting. his scent lingered on the pillow and you found yourself wanting more.
"wait-" you called, your voice wavering slightly as you sat up in bed, unsure of the words you were about to say.
geralt looked up at you, his honey-dripped eyes still sharp but softer in the dim light. he waited, allowing you to speak, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze.
"you're going to be tired tomorrow if you don't rest now..." you hesitated for a moment, but the quiet need gnawing at you grew stronger. "we can share the bed, i don’t mind."
you could feel the tension between you two, both of you trying to navigate the line between comfort and something more. geralt's gaze flickered to the bed, and for a moment, you saw a flash of hesitance cross his face. but it was gone in an instant, replaced by that familiar stoicism.
“are you sure?” he asked quietly, his voice low and careful, like he was weighing the words carefully.
you nodded, not trusting yourself to speak again. you didn't need to, though; your eyes, pleading and vulnerable, said enough. there was no turning back now.
geralt gave a soft grunt of acknowledgment, settling back slightly as you climbed into the bed next to him. his body remained rigid, keeping a respectable distance, but the air between you was charged with something unspoken. neither of you said anything, but the shared warmth in the bed was all that mattered. you could feel his presence beside you, close enough to touch, but not quite allowing it. as you lay there, facing your back to him, your heart raced with the knowledge that, despite the stillness of the night, something had shifted.
before long, the warmth and the sound of his breathing lulled you into a deep, dreamless sleep. the tension in your body melted away, and the darkness of slumber took over.
but geralt stayed awake a while longer, his gaze never leaving your form. he couldn't help but watch, the softness in his expression betraying his usual guarded demeanor. as the hours passed, something inside him shifted, a quiet longing he’d tried to ignore.
slowly, he moved, as though pulled by some invisible force. he gently shifted closer, his arm slipping around you instinctively. his body molded to yours, and without a second thought, he held you close, his warmth wrapping around you like a shield.
the movement was so subtle, you barely registered it in your sleep. but your body, so attuned to his presence, naturally relaxed against him. his heart beat steadily behind you, his grip possessive but not tight, just enough to keep you there, pressed perfectly against his chest.
and maybe- just maybe, you would never find out that it was him who set your bed ablaze finding it the simplest excuse, in his mind, to hold you close.
Summary: When Geralt of Rivia returns from a brutal hunt in a foul temper, you, his devoted lover, knows exactly how to strip away the White Wolf’s iron control and give him the release only you can provide.
word count: 8000+
Paring: Geralt x Reader
warnings: NSFW, SMUT
A/N : Hello Friends! I wrote another smut Witcher fic! Wanted to do something a bit different and write Geralt as a sub, I hope you like it!
Masterlist
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The village of Elderglen clung to the edge of the Great Swamp like a stubborn weed refusing to be drowned. Three days of relentless rain had turned the roads into sucking mires, the kind that could swallow a horse and its rider whole if you weren’t careful. Ancient willows draped with moss leaned over black water, and at night the air hummed with the drone of insects and the distant howls of things that had no right to exist. This was the Continent—wild, unforgiving, a place where kings warred over scraps of land while older, hungrier things waited in the dark. Monsters born of the Conjunction of the Spheres still roamed here: fiends with branching antlers and eyes like burning coals, drowners that rose from the muck with claws dripping rot, and worse. The villagers paid coin for steel and signs, but they never quite met a witcher’s eyes. Mutants, they called them. Freaks. Useful only when the night grew teeth.
You had learned long ago not to flinch at those stares. You weren’t from Elderglen. You weren’t from anywhere, really—just another soul who had followed the Path beside Geralt of Rivia for nearly two years now. What began as a chance meeting in a smoky tavern in Vizima had become something deeper, something the bards would never sing about because it didn’t fit their tidy tales of heroic monster-slayers. You knew the real Geralt: the man who muttered curses at his own reflection in still water, who woke from nightmares of the Trial of the Grasses screaming in a language no one else understood, whose body bore the scars of mutations that had stolen his humanity but gifted him speed, strength, and senses sharp enough to hear your heartbeat from across a room.
You loved him for all of it.
The Rusty Cauldron was the only inn in Elderglen worth the name—two stories of sagging timber and thatch, its common room thick with the smell of sour ale, roasted turnips, and wet wool. You had taken the largest room upstairs three days ago, paying with the last of the coin Geralt had left you before he rode out. The villagers had whispered when you arrived alone: “The witcher’s whore,” they’d muttered behind their tankards. You had smiled sweetly and ordered another round for the loudest of them. By the second night they’d stopped talking. By the third they’d started leaving small gifts—fresh bread, a wedge of hard cheese—on the doorstep. Fear and respect walked hand in hand on the Continent.
You had spent the afternoon preparing the room exactly the way you knew he would need it. The heavy wooden chair dragged from the corner to the center of the floorboards. The length of soft rope you’d bought from the tanner in the next town, supple and strong. The strip of black silk torn from an old chemise. The fire built high so the room would stay warm even when clothes came off. You knew Geralt. You knew the storm that built behind those cat-like amber eyes after a hunt went bad. Three days tracking a fiend through waist-deep swamp, three days of rotten eggs and sulfur and the constant drip of foul water down his neck. He would come back caked in filth, muscles locked tight, words sharp as his silver blade. And you knew exactly how to break the storm open.
The door to the inn slammed open downstairs just after dusk. You heard the heavy tread of boots on the stairs—deliberate, weary, and angry. Then the door to your room crashed inward.
Geralt filled the frame like a thundercloud given flesh. White hair hung in damp, muddy ropes around his shoulders. His black leather armor was streaked with green slime and darker blood that wasn’t his. The medallion at his throat—the wolf’s head—vibrated faintly, still reacting to whatever residual magic clung to him. His jaw was clenched so hard the scar on his cheek stood out white. Those golden eyes swept the room once, found you standing by the window, and narrowed.
“You’re still here,” he growled, voice like gravel under a boot. He kicked the door shut behind him. “Thought maybe you’d have the sense to leave after three days in this shithole.”
You crossed your arms, keeping your tone light. “And miss the charming welcome? Never.”
He dropped his saddlebags with a wet thud and stalked to the washbasin, splashing water over his face. It did little to cut through the grime. “The fiend was supposed to be a simple contract. One night. Instead the bastard led me in circles through every sinkhole in the swamp. Three drowners on the second day. A pack of ghouls on the third. And the villagers?” He laughed, bitter. “They tried to haggle the pay down when I dragged the head back. Said it ‘wasn’t as big as they expected.’ I should have left the corpse in their well.”
You stepped closer, reaching for the buckle of his sword belt. “Let me help—”
He jerked away, eyes flashing. “I don’t need help. I need a drink and silence.”
Your fingers paused, but you didn’t retreat. This was the ritual. The snapping. The walls. You had seen it before—after the striga in Vizima, after the leshen in the Redanian woods. The White Wolf was used to being the strongest thing in any room. Control was his armor. Tonight you were going to peel it off layer by layer until the man beneath could breathe again.
“Fine,” you said calmly. “Then sit and clean your sword. You’ll rust the silver if you leave it like that.”
He grunted something that might have been agreement and dropped onto the low stool by the hearth. The silver blade—already gleaming despite the muck—came out with a soft rasp. He began the methodical wipe with an oiled rag, movements sharp, angry. Every muscle in his broad back stood out beneath the wet leather. You could see the tension coiled in his shoulders, the way his jaw worked as if he were chewing on words he refused to spit out.
You watched him from the doorway for a long moment, a silent predator in your own right. The air in the room was thick with dust, sweat, and the smoky residue of the day’s hunt. Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf, sat slumped on a stool, methodically cleaning the silver blade of his sword. The firelight caught the hard planes of his face, the deep-set weariness in his eyes. He’d tracked a fiend through the swamps for three days, and the victory had been messy, brutal, and left him caked in grime and something darker. He was a coiled spring of tension, every muscle in his broad back corded tight, his movements sharp with a frustration that had nothing to do with monsters.
You knew that look. It was the look of a man whose world had been reduced to violence and grit, a man who needed to be reminded he was more than a weapon. A man who needed to break.
“Sit,” your voice cut through the quiet, not a request.
His head lifted slightly, those cat-like eyes finding yours. A flicker of something—relief, anticipation, surrender—passed through the amber before he grunted, pushing the sword aside.
You pointed to the heavy wooden chair you’d placed in the center of the room. He looked at it, then back at you, a question in his silence.
“Now, Geralt.”
He stood, a tower of scarred muscle and leather, and moved to the chair. He sat without further protest, the old wood groaning under his weight. His hands rested on his thighs, palms up in a gesture of weary compliance.
You moved behind him, your fingers trailing over the thick column of his neck, feeling the knots of stress bunched there. He let out a low, rumbling sound that wasn’t quite a growl, more a vibration of pure need. You took the length of soft, supple rope from the table. Looping it around his left wrist, you pulled it tight against the chair’s arm, securing it with a knot that was firm but not cruel. His breath, already heavy, deepened. You did the same to his right, his arms now bound at his sides, his powerful biceps flexing instinctively against the restraint.
“What is this?” His voice was gravel, worn smooth by fatigue.
“This,” you murmured, your lips close to his ear, “is what you need. But you don’t get to see it coming.”
You took the strip of black silk from your pocket. He didn’t flinch as you brought it over his eyes, tying it securely at the back of his head, plunging him into a world of touch and sound alone. His world narrowed to your voice, your hands, the scent of your skin.
“You had a long day,” you whispered, your hands sliding down his chest, over the hard leather of his armor. You began to unbuckle it, piece by piece, the sound of straps and clasps loud in the quiet room. Each inch of revealed skin was a conquest. His chest, a map of old scars and new muscle, heaved. His stomach, ridged and tight, twitched under your fingertips. You worked him free of his trousers next, pulling them down his legs until he sat bare from the waist down, the cool air of the room hitting his heated skin.
And there it was. Geralt’s cock, thick and already half-hard, lay heavy against his thigh. It was a formidable thing, long and thick with a prominent vein running along the underside, the head a dark, flushed pink. It twitched as you looked at it, as if it knew your gaze was upon it. The scent of him—musk, leather, the wild—filled your senses.
You knelt between his spread legs, your own breath catching at the sight. You didn’t touch it yet. You simply watched, letting the anticipation build, letting him feel the weight of your stare through the blindfold.
“You’re already so hard for me,” you said, your voice a low purr. “All that killing, all that rage… and this is where it lives now. Right here.”
A low growl started in his chest, but it died as you finally, finally, wrapped your fingers around the base of his cock. His whole body jerked. The skin was hot silk over steel. You gave him one slow, torturous stroke, from root to tip, your thumb smearing the bead of moisture that had gathered at the slit.
“Fuck,” he breathed, the word torn from him.
You leaned in, your breath ghosting over the sensitive head. “You will,” you promised. “But not yet.”
You took him into your mouth.
The first touch of your lips, the wet heat of your tongue lapping at the underside of his crown, drew a ragged, broken sound from his throat. His hips bucked against the restraints. You took him deeper, your mouth stretching to accommodate his girth, your tongue pressing flat against that throbbing vein. You worked him with a slow, deliberate rhythm, one hand pumping the base in time with your bobbing head. The sounds were obscene, wet and slick, punctuated by his increasingly desperate breaths.
You pulled off with a pop, leaving him glistening and trembling. “You taste like the road,” you said, licking your lips. “And like you need to come so fucking badly.”
“Let me,” he growled, the command in his voice fraying at the edges. “Untie me. Let me fuck your mouth.”
“No.” The word was absolute. You went back down on him, this time with more fervor, sucking hard, hollowing your cheeks. You traced the rim of his head with the very tip of your tongue, then dipped it into the slit, tasting the salty pre-cum. His curses were a continuous, filthy stream now, his head thrown back, cords standing out in his neck.
Just as you felt his muscles begin to tighten, that telltale clench in his thighs and abdomen, you pulled away completely. You sat back on your heels, watching his cock jump, angry and neglected.
“No,” you repeated, your voice firm. “You don’t get to come. Not until I say.”
“You cruel, beautiful bitch,” he snarled, but there was no heat in it, only a desperate, aching need.
You smiled, though he couldn’t see it. “You love it.”
You moved then, shifting your position. You trailed your hands down his inner thighs, feeling the coarse hair, the muscle quivering with tension. You pushed his legs wider apart, exposing him completely. The sight of his balls, drawn tight and heavy, and the dark, furrowed pucker of his asshole made your own core clench with wet heat.
You leaned forward, your face inches from that secret part of him. You blew a soft, cool stream of air across it.
Geralt froze. “What are you—“
You didn’t answer with words. You answered with your tongue.
You pressed the flat of your tongue against his hole, licking a broad, wet stripe from his perineum up to the base of his spine. He made a sound you’d never heard before—a choked, guttural gasp that was all shock and raw sensation. His body went rigid, then shuddered violently.
“Oh, gods,” he moaned, the fight leaving him in a rush.
You did it again, slower this time, circling the tight ring of muscle before pressing the tip of your tongue against it, breaching him just a little. He was clean, tasting of soap and skin, and the intimacy of the act, the sheer vulnerability of it, had him unraveling. You rimmed him in earnest then, fucking him with your tongue, soft and probing, then firm and insistent. His moans were no longer growls but high, broken things, his hips pushing back against your face, seeking more.
“Please… fuck, please…” he begged, the word foreign and beautiful on his lips.
“Please what?” you asked, pulling away just enough to speak, your lips wet from him.
“I don’t know… anything. More.”
You gave him more. You slicked your index finger with your own saliva, then pressed it against his loosened entrance alongside your tongue. You pushed inside, just the first knuckle. He cried out, a raw, ragged sound, his whole body seizing. The heat inside him was incredible, a tight, clenching vice around your finger. You worked it in deeper, crooking it, searching.
Your other hand returned to his cock, which was leaking profusely now, a steady stream of pre-cum dripping down the shaft. You fisted him, your strokes rough and fast, perfectly timed with the thrust of your finger inside his ass.
“This is what you needed, isn’t it?” you hissed, your own arousal a throbbing ache between your legs. “To be taken apart. To have no control. To just feel.”
“Yes! Fuck, yes!” he shouted, his back arching off the chair, the ropes biting into his wrists.
You found that sweet spot inside him, the firm nub of his prostate, and rubbed it firmly with your fingertip. At the same time, you tightened your grip on his cock, twisting your wrist on the upstroke. His reaction was electric. He screamed, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure, his cock pulsing violently in your hand. You could feel his orgasm gathering, a tidal wave about to crash.
And you stopped.
You pulled your finger out and released his cock in the same instant.
The sob that wrenched from his chest was a thing of pure agony. “No! Don’t stop! I was so close, please, I can’t—“
“You can,” you said, standing up. Your own clothes felt like a prison. You stripped quickly, letting your garments pool on the floor. The firelight danced over your skin. You climbed onto his lap, straddling him, your wet cunt hovering just over the weeping head of his cock. You could feel the heat of him radiating against your folds.
He sensed your nearness, smelled your arousal. “Ride me,” he begged, his voice shattered. “Please, just fuck me. Use me. Let me feel you.”
“Beg prettier.”
“Please.” He turned his blindfolded face toward you, his expression one of utter torment. “My love. My heart. I need you. I need to be inside you. I’m begging you. Let me feel your cunt.”
It was enough. You lowered yourself onto him, taking that huge, thick cock inside you in one slow, inexorable slide. The stretch was immense, breathtaking, a perfect, burning fullness that made you see stars. You threw your head back, a moan tearing from your throat as you sheathed him completely, your ass meeting his thighs.
“Fuck,” he gasped, the air punched from his lungs. “So good… so tight and wet… you’re fucking perfect.”
You began to move, rolling your hips in slow, grinding circles, milking his cock with the walls of your cunt. You set a punishing pace, rising and falling, each descent a shock of pure pleasure. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, a lewd counterpoint to his broken moans and your own sharp cries. You rode him hard, using him for your own pleasure, your tits bouncing, your nails digging into his shoulders.
“Kiss me,” he pleaded suddenly, straining against his bonds, trying to lift his head. “Please, I need to kiss you.”
You leaned down, capturing his lips with yours. The kiss was messy, desperate, all tongue and teeth and shared breath. It was a claim, a connection deeper than the physical joining of your bodies. He poured all his frustration, his need, his adoration into it.
“I love you,” he mumbled against your mouth. “I love you so much.”
“I know,” you breathed, riding him faster. “Now fuck me back.”
He couldn’t move his arms, but he could move his hips. He drove up into you, meeting your every downward stroke with a powerful upward thrust, pistoning into your sopping cunt with a ferocity that stole your breath. The coil in your own belly wound tighter and tighter, a shimmering wire of pure need.
“I’m gonna come,” you warned, your rhythm faltering.
“Do it,” he urged, his voice a dark rumble. “Come all over my cock. Soak me. Let me feel it.”
The sheer vulgarity of his words, pushed you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed through you, a violent, convulsing wave that clenched your cunt around his invading length in rapid, fluttering pulses. You cried out, your body bowing backward as pleasure, white-hot and blinding, radiated out from your core. You ground down on him, milking your climax, feeling his cock throb inside you as you drenched him.
But you didn’t stop moving. Even as the aftershocks trembled through you, you kept riding him, your cunt still fluttering around him.
“Now you,” you panted, leaning close to his ear. “You want to come, Geralt? You want to fill me up?”
“Yes! Gods, yes, let me come!” He was thrashing now, the chair legs scraping against the floor, his entire body slick with sweat, every muscle straining.
You increased your pace again, a brutal, frantic rhythm. “Then come for me. Come inside me. Give me everything.”
With a roar that shook the rafters, he obeyed. You felt his cock swell even further, then pulse, a hot, liquid jet of his release flooding your depths. He came and came, his hips slamming up into you in short, savage jerks, each spurt wrenched from him with a guttural cry. You collapsed against his chest, feeling the frantic hammer of his heart, the tremors that wracked his massive frame as he emptied himself into you.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breathing and the crackle of the fire.
Slowly, you reached behind his head and untied the blindfold. It fell away. His eyes, when they met yours, were hazy with spent pleasure, the amber soft and vulnerable. You leaned forward and untied his wrists. The moment his hands were free, they flew to you. His big, calloused palms cupped your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks as he looked at you with a reverence that made your heart ache.
“I needed that,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “I needed you.”
“I know.”
In one fluid, powerful motion, he stood, your legs still wrapped around his waist, his cock, still semi-hard and slick with both of your releases, slipping from your body with a wet sound. He carried you the few steps to the bed and laid you down on the furs, coming down over you, his weight a delicious anchor.
“My turn,” he growled, and the submissive wolf was gone, replaced by the predator you’d unleashed.
He didn’t wait. He hooked his hands under your knees, pushing your legs back toward your shoulders, spreading you wide open. The position exposed everything—your swollen, used cunt, glistening with his cum, your asshole, the sensitive inner lips of your pussy. He looked his fill, his eyes dark with a fresh, hungry intensity.
“Look at you,” he murmured, dipping a finger into your soaked entrance and bringing it to his mouth. “Taste you. Taste us.”
Then he was on you. He drove his cock back into your well-fucked cunt in one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. The force of it knocked a scream from your throat. He set a pace that was pure, unadulterated animalism. No finesse, no gentle lovemaking. This was fucking, raw and desperate. The bedframe slammed against the stone wall with every powerful drive of his hips. His hands gripped your thighs hard enough to bruise, holding you open for his relentless pounding.
“Take it,” he grunted, his face a mask of fierce concentration. “Take all of me. I’ve been dreaming of this… of fucking you just like this… all fucking day.”
You could only moan, your words lost in the onslaught of sensation. He was hitting a spot deep inside you with every stroke, a spot that made your vision blur. You wrapped your legs around his waist, meeting his thrusts, your bodies slapping together in a slick, sweaty rhythm.
“I love you,” he chanted between gritted teeth, a mantra against the driving need. “I love you, I love you, I need you, I needed this, it feels so fucking good…”
You were both covered in a sheen of sweat, the air thick with the musky scent of sex. He leaned down, capturing a nipple in his mouth, sucking hard, biting gently, the dual sensation making you arch and cry out. He switched to the other, lavishing it with the same rough attention.
You felt another orgasm building, coiling from the base of your spine, fed by the sheer force of his fucking, the vulgar words spilling from his lips, the possessive way his hands roamed your body.
“Geralt… I’m going to… again…”
“Come with me,” he demanded, his pace becoming frantic, erratic. “Come on my cock. Now.”
His command was all it took. Your second climax shattered you, a deeper, more body-consuming wave than the first. Your cunt clamped down on him in a series of violent spasms, milking his cock. The sensation tipped him over the edge. With a final, ground-out roar, he slammed into you, hilting himself, and you felt the hot rush of his second release flooding your already filled channel. This orgasm seemed even more intense than the first; his cock jerked and pulsed inside you, jet after jet of his cum painting your inner walls.
He didn’t pull out. He stayed buried deep, his hips making tiny, involuntary thrusts as he rode out the last pulses of his climax. His weight settled on you, warm and heavy and perfect. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his breathing gradually slowing from ragged gasps to deep, even draws.
But the night was far from over.
After a few minutes he lifted his head, eyes gleaming with that familiar predatory hunger. “Still not done with you,” he rasped. He pulled out slowly, and a thick gush of his cum leaked from your well-used cunt onto the furs. The sight made him growl low in his chest.
He gathered the mess with two thick fingers and brought them to your lips. You sucked them clean without hesitation, tasting salt and musk and the unmistakable flavor of both of you. His gaze darkened further.
“Turn over.”
You obeyed, rolling onto your stomach. He gripped your hips and pulled you up onto your knees, ass raised high. His hands spread your cheeks, and you felt the blunt head of his cock—still hard, still leaking—press against your other hole.
“Relax for me,” he murmured, voice gentler now but no less commanding. He had already slicked himself with the cum dripping from your pussy. The first push was slow, careful, the stretch burning in the most exquisite way. You moaned into the furs as he sank inch by inch into your ass, filling you completely. His mutations gave him stamina no ordinary man could match; you had learned that long ago. Tonight he intended to use every second of it.
He started slow, deep rolls of his hips that dragged against every sensitive nerve inside you. Then faster. Harder. The slap of his hips against your ass filled the room again, punctuated by your cries and his low, filthy praise.
“Fuck, so tight… taking me so well… my perfect girl…”
You came again just from the fullness, clenching around him until he snarled and spilled deep inside your ass with a shout that rattled the shutters.
He didn’t stop.
He flipped you onto your back once more, hooked your legs over his shoulders, and drove into your cunt again. Then he had you against the wall, your back to his chest, one arm banded around your waist while the other rubbed your clit in tight circles. Then on the floor in front of the dying fire, slow and deep while he whispered every endearment he rarely allowed himself to voice. Each round blurred into the next—hours of sweat-slick skin, broken moans, and the wet sounds of bodies joining again and again. His witcher endurance was legendary, and tonight he proved every rumor true. You lost count of how many times he made you come, how many times he filled you until cum ran down your thighs in steady streams.
The candles had burned low and the village outside had gone silent when he finally carried you back to the bed for the last time. He collapsed beside you, pulling you into the cradle of his body. His chest was still heaving, but the tension that had lived in his shoulders for days was gone. His big hand stroked down your spine in long, soothing passes. The ropes and blindfold lay discarded on the floor like shed armor.
For a long while neither of you spoke. The fire had died to embers, casting the room in soft orange glow. Outside, a nightbird called once and fell quiet. Inside, there was only the steady beat of his heart against your ear and the warmth of his skin.
“Thank you,” he said at last, voice rough but soft in a way the world never got to hear. “That… that’s what I needed. You always know. Always.” His lips brushed your temple. “I come back half monster, and you remind me I’m still a man. Your man. I love you. More than the Path. More than anything.”
You turned in his arms, pressing a kiss to the scar on his jaw. “I love you too. Every version of you. Even the grumpy one who snaps at me when he’s covered in swamp muck.”
A low chuckle rumbled through his chest—the sound you had been waiting for all night. He tightened his hold, tucking your head beneath his chin. “Stay with me. Always.”
“Always,” you promised.
Outside the window the swamps of Elderglen whispered on, full of monsters and danger and the endless road. But inside the little room at the Rusty Cauldron, Geralt slept peacefully for the first time in days, wrapped around the woman who had once again taken his strength, his control, and his stoicism—and turned them all into surrender.
And in the morning, when the sun rose over the misty hills, he would wake with clear eyes and a quiet smile just for you. The Path would call again soon enough. But tonight, and every night you chose to claim him, the wolf was yours—body, heart, and soul.
Summary: Y/N, the last (feisty) female Witcher of the School of the Cat, was busy being hunted by some very stupid men who clearly didn’t read the fine print: ‘Do not provoke the murderous woman with swords and magic.’
Authors note: Turns out destiny really said "Let’s make today ✨spicy✨" and shoved these two mutant killers together. After an impromptu team-up where y/n served up reasons why you don’t mess with Cats and Geralt quietly judged everyone’s life choices.
A delightful bonding moment ensued flames, broken bones, terrified screaming,your typical first date! 💖 By the end, Geralt was so impressed he basically went ‘Get on my horse’
The moon hung low over the darkened forest, casting eerie silver light through the twisted branches. You used your Witcher senses to hear out any noise, you stopped hearing the footsteps of men,the shouts, the clinking of steel. Hunters. They’d been tracking you for days now, ever since your last contract in Nilfguard, which ended up exposing what you truly were. They’d asked for a Witcher, but when a female Witcher came along, that was when it turned.
A female Witcher. One of the only surviving ones. A relic of doomed experiments from the School of the Cat. You were one of the surviving ones. To most, your very existence was tolerated, if only out of fear. But to others, men who thought they had any right of any woman, you were an abomination,unnatural, unpredictable. To them, you were an irrational monster that needed to be put down before it spread. Your lungs burned as you stopped sprinting between ancient oaks and bramble thickets, leaping over roots with feline grace,your mutations giving you speed they could have never matched.
The forest is silent except for the distant hoot of an owl. You pause, pressing your back against a moss covered tree. Suddenly the snap of a twig underfoot. Too close.
You whirl around, steel sword half drawn before noticing them golden eyes in the distance,meeting your own feline eyes. His face is impassive, but there’s something… different in his stare. Recognition? Curiosity? The air hums between you like the tension before a storm.
Geralt's POV
He’d been tracking a trail of blood,humans, not a monster. Men, hunters by the looks of it. The scent was fresh, mixed with something else… mutagens. Familiar, but different.
Then he saw you, more like he walked in the direction of you, a pulling feeling in his chest. You were panting, then like lightning your blades were drawn, golden eyes flashing in the dark like a cornered animal.
You spun towards him,steel hissing from its sheath. Instinct made his own sword arm tense. His eyes flicked to the steel sword clutched in your hand, then up to your face, taking in your features: feline pupils, slender limbs coiled with tension.
A Witcher. He'd never seen a female Witcher before. He'd thought it impossible; the mutagens too fierce, too deadly.
"Lower your blade. I mean you no harm," he said, his voice gravelly and measured as his own sword remained at his side.
Your POV
His voice was low. His golden eyes studying you with a sharp focus.
"You've got hunters on your trail, I am guessing it was you who left a trail of human bodies for me to find” A statement, not a question. He tilts his head slightly toward the very far distant cracks of branches behind you. "Men who think they're chasing prey."
You spot His gaze narrowing at your blades, then it flicks to your medallion, resting against your chest.
"School of the Cat," he murmurs,almost to himself. "So they weren't just stories after all."
The man’s own medallion you notice trembles faintly against his chest as he studies you,not from danger, but something stranger. The school of the wolf. Then the wind shifts, carrying the scent of iron and fear from your pursuers, now barely half a mile behind. You exhale through your nose and the Witcher does the same.
“You’re fast," he remarks, nodding at the tear in your sleeve. “But not fast enough to outrun arrows forever." His hand rests on his horses reins,the mare snorts impatiently.
A beat. Then, gruff but deliberate.
“Two choices. Keep running and kill them alone.. or let me return their hunt with one of my own." His lip quirks,almost humor, almost challenge.
“I don’t care who you are or what school you’re from. But I do care about those men attacking one of my own”. My own. That was new.
The first horn blares in the distance.
“Time's up, Cat."
The Witcher’s fingers twitch near his own sword hilt, not threateningly, but with the readiness of a predator. His golden eyes flicker to the treeline where torchlight now dances between the trunks. The hunters are closing in,reckless, loud, drunk on their imagined victory.
Then his voice again, low, almost amused. You didn’t even know his name.
“let them think they’re hunting you." A pause as he steps closer,not crowding you, just positioning himself between you and the approaching mob. His voice drops to a growl.
"Let them learn what happens when they hunt cats."
The wind carries their rough voices now, their raucous laughter like hyenas.
One of them shouts, "Find more tracks up here. She's near!"
The Witcher grunts,a sound almost like a chuckle,but there's tension in it. "They're eager,what did you do to piss them off so much hmm?” he remarks, more to himself than to you.
His mare snorts in agreement, stamping an impatience hoof as its tail flicks, ears pinned back. Your lips twist into a grim smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. "Exist," you reply dryly.
Then that pulling feeling. The Witcher's head snaps up, his gaze locking on your medallion, or you. You couldn’t tell but he feels it too. Something is happening with this… pull. It feels like... Destiny?
A yell rings out from the trees, closer this time. The men are closing in fast.
The Witcher shifts his weight, eyes darting between the treeline and your face. His mare snorts again, ears pricked, nostrils flaring in the cool air. The first flicker of torches appears through the branches, followed by the men themselves bursting onto the trail. There are four of them, originally 8. They were all rough faced and carrying bows and swords, eyes glittering with drink and bloodlust like hunting dogs on the scent of a fox.
The moment the hunters break through the underbrush, their triumphant sneers twist into shock at the sight of not one, but two Witchers waiting for them,one unmistakably female, her golden eyes gleaming like a predator’s in the firelight. The lead hunter stumbles mid stride, his bravado faltering.
“Wha— There's two of 'em now?!"
The Witcher doesn't move. His voice is steel wrapped in velvet.
"Turn around. Walk away."
But drunken arrogance wins. A crossbow bolt whips towards you instead, until your hand flashes up, Aard spell rippling the air and sending it clattering into the dirt.The men freeze as your spell hums between them like a warning growl.
You begin smirking. “Oh no… you didn’t just try to shoot me." Your fingers curl slowly around your sword hilt. “Now I’m irritated."
The Witcher exhales through his nose,almost approval? Almost amusement? Then his blade sings free as he steps beside you, shoulder to shoulder with this strange Cat who fights like a storm given form. The men’s faces morph from smug confidence to disbelief, even fear. The lead hunter spits on the ground and sneers.
"You think you're something special, do ya? Just cause you're some freak of nature wearing fancy armor?"
You can hear the Witcher's teeth grind beside you, but he doesn't move. He's watching you, waiting. You lean into your stance, smirking. The tension is thick enough to taste, the air alive with a crackle of anticipation.
"Freak of nature?" You reply, tone mocking. "That's rich coming from a man who probably can't tell his ass from his elbow in the daylight."
The lead hunter's face darkens, his grip tightening on his sword. "We'll see how cocky you are when we mount your head on a pike”
Beside you, the Witcher exhales sharply through his nose,almost a laugh. He tilts his head toward you without breaking eye contact with the hunters.
Then he murmurs, voice low and rough like gravel underfoot. “Try not to enjoy this too much."
You flash him a grin,all teeth and no warmth,as your blade hums free of its sheath in one fluid motion. “No promises."
And then chaos erupts in silver flashes and snarled spells as two Witchers descend upon four very foolish men who chose the wrong prey to hunt tonight. This would be an easy fight. The hunters charge. You move in a blur, feinting left before spinning the other way, sword flashing, cutting a silver arc through the dark. The first hunter falls with a choked cry, his sword falling into the bushes with a clatter.
Beside you, the Witcher moves like a predator himself. He's all lean muscle and coiled strength, his blade dancing in time with your own. He fights like a viper, striking fast and silent before vanishing into the shadows again. You fight like a tempest. Brutal, beautiful, a storm made flesh. The men stand no chance. You revel in the fight, all coiled muscle and sharp eyes. The Witcher's mare stomps a hoof, ears pinned as the sounds of battle reach her. The air grows thick with the rank smell of sweat and blood. The two remaining hunters backpedal, their previous cockiness gone. They glance at the fallen bodies,the blood staining the snow,the gleam of your blades in the firelight.
One of them swallows,eyes wide. "Y-you're a monster," he mutters,voice shaking. "A damn abomination!"
You tilt your head, feline pupils narrowing as a slow, chilling smile spreads across your lips.
"Abomination?" Your voice is velvet wrapped in steel. “you think that hurts my feelings? .. well Let me show you what a real monster looks like."
In one fluid motion, you flick your wrist, Igni erupts from your fingertips in a searing spiral. The hunter screams as flames lick up his armor, but before he can drop to the ground and roll, Aard slams into him like an invisible fist. He crashes into the trunk of an ancient oak with a sickening crunch.
The last hunter stumbles back,his sword forgotten in the mud and makes the mistake of turning to run. You’re on him in three strides your mutated speed making it look effortless. You grab him by the scruff of his neck and yank him around to face you. His eyes are wild with terror now; all that drunken bravado has bled out of him like wine from a broken cask.
"You came hunting me…” you purr, pressing the tip of your blade under his chin. "But here’s something no one told you about monsters..." A flicker of Igni sparks around your free hand. “We hunt back.”
And then,just because they called you irrational, just because they think fear makes them right,you let go... and watch as he scrambles away blindly into the dark woods without so much as looking back at his fallen comrades.
The Witcher exhales sharply beside you... not disapproval. No.
Something far more interesting. respect. He sheathes his sword with practiced ease before glancing at where their torches still smolder on bloodied snow.
"...They won't tell tales about this night."
His voice carries finality.
You flick the blood from your blade with a practiced twist before sheathing it, breathing slightly heavier now that the fight has left your veins humming. The Witcher watches you carefully, golden eyes assessing,not with suspicion like most would, but something closer to... understanding?
"You fight well," he rumbles finally. "For a Cat."
You arch a brow at him. "And you don't move half bad for an old Wolf."
The corner of his mouth twitches. Almost humor. Then his medallion thrums faintly again against his chest,yours does too,that strange pull between you still lingering like an unfinished sentence hanging in the cold night air.
In the quiet that follows, his mare stamps an impatient hoof. He rubs a hand through her dark mane before meeting your golden eyes.
"You've got no place to go, do you?"
You don't want to admit it, but he's right. After the debacle in Nilfguard... The Witcher sighs, a heavy sound like the rustle of ancient trees in a winter wind.
"You could travel with me for a while, if you need to. I'm heading north." He glances pointedly at your torn clothes. You study him, searching for any hint of deception. There's nothing,only a steady, honest gaze. He's offering you a way out, a place to rest if only for a while.
You swallow your instinct of distrust, nod once. "I guess traveling together can't hurt."
He grunts,almost in acknowledgement, before moving over to his horse. He offers you a hand and it's too easy to take it,pulling yourself up behind him. Your cloak brushes his side as you settle in, the familiar weight of your swords against your thigh. The mare shifts beneath the unfamiliar weight, but the Witcher murmurs something low and steady in Elder Speech, calming her. As the horse starts forward at a brisk walk, you notice how deliberately he keeps his posture straight,not putting distance between you exactly, but not leaning into the contact either. The silence stretches like an unspoken question.
"...Geralt," he says abruptly, as if remembering basic manners exist. His voice is gruff but not unkind. "My name."
A beat passes before he adds,almost grudgingly. “And before you ask... no, I don't usually pick up strays."
You let out a small laugh, the first genuine sound you've made since meeting. It's a little hoarse, but surprisingly warm.
"Strays, huh?" You reply, unable to help a smirk. “Is that how I'm to be known now? a Stray cat?" You raise a brow, amused.
"Don't worry old wolf, I promise I won't piss on your rug."
Geralt grunts, not quite a laugh, but his shoulders relax the tiniest bit as the tension eases. He shoots you a sidelong glance. There's a hint of a grin there despite himself. The wind whistles in the distance as the horse picks up a trot.
"You're something of a mystery," he retorts, the corners of his eyes crinkling faintly. "Like all felines, I suppose"
You smile at his retort, something about his dry humor making your lips curve.
"Mystery?" You reply, raising an eyebrow. "I merely prefer the shadows, like any good Cat." You shift slightly on the saddle as the horse picks up speed, the night pressing closer around you.
"As for names..." you pause, letting the suspense hang in the air just long enough to pique his curiosity. "My name is y/n."
Geralt inclines his head slightly,acknowledgement, nothing more. But there's something in that small gesture that feels like the first thread of something... uncharted. The road ahead stretches into shadow, but for once, it doesn't feel quite so endless.
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Next: Two Witchers on the Path,uneasy allies or destined sparks? The hunt continues...
