The Reunion

The Reunion

Summary: A long time ago the three of you could never be apart. Tonight you will be closer than ever.

Prompt: 

My mind went straight to sharing a truck and sharing a lover.

Pairing: Syverson x Reader x Walter. (No ethnic or body type description)

Words: 1.6K (for fuck sake I don’t know how, it’s utter rubbish)

Warnings: 18+, sex, double penetration, threesome sex, anal, vaginal, mentions of alcohol, a very brief mention of high school bullying, biting, unprotected sex, love triangle, slight jealousy, creampie, anal creampie, slight anal play, femDom if you blink, somewhat size kink though the reader’s body type is not mentioned, they are just two huge men.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own.

A/N: So take my migraine, a panic attack and a tendency to write trashy smut and this is what you get. Not beta’d. Sorry if it’s terrible.

The Reunion

It was always the three of you; The Bull, The Bear and their benevolent queen. Decades past since the day you first met - and still, the memory sat sharply in your heart.

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Not me having never seen or heard any of this valuable information 😂😂😂😂 I fucking love Tumblr 😂😂 okay but where do y'all find this information?!? Somebody tell me please

So I was reading through some old Lipstick Ally threads regarding Henry and someone was recounting an old story from a hook up with Henry from years ago and apparently he's noisy in the sheets, moans a lot, he's generally very good and described as a "giver", and apparently big, thick and uncut. He likes to ‘experiment’ in sex. He likes to lead and is dominant but in a gentle way. He likes it ‘gentle’ rough. Girl, I need several moments, I don't think I'm going to get anything done today!

Oh god. I need a moment.

I read something like that long ago in an old message board. Someone said that he is REALLY good in oral and gets off from having a woman squirm and make her come hard. And yes it was also mentioned that he is dominant and kinda rough.

I KNEW my theory of him based on all the Tudors sex scenes is correct and that he is HELLA noisy. Fuck yes, that’s the biggest turn on for me.

And gentle rough basically means that good possessive sex when he bottoms out inside you and grinds you.

💦💦💦💦

Oof daddy...

Night Drive

Summary: A midnight drive turns into an absolute nightmare once Henry decides to take what he always craved for.

Pairing: Dark!Henry Cavill x OfC

Word count: 5.2K

Warnings: 18+, Explicit, sensitive content, Non-con, kidnapping, obsession, possessive behavior, degradation, anal play, breeding, dark themes. Please read with caution.  

A/N: So this is my first non-con, I’m nervous and I really hope you’ll like it. if you’re not into these things, please don’t read, I don’t want to trigger anyone. Feel free to read @brexrif​ essay about reading non-con lit’ as a way of healing. 

Many thanks to @agniavateira​ who both beta’d my work and supported me through the process. And @wondersofdreaming​ for encouraging me. 💖

As always, feedback and reblog if you enjoyed it. 

Title: Night Drive

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Set me Free

Summary:  Part Two to Let Me In - After a night of being an asshole, getting drunk and then falling asleep when you were just finally getting into the mood. The Captain wakes up finding himself in somewhat of a pickle.

Read Part One

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Reader (You)

Word count: 4.1K

Warnings: Explicit Smut, Male Sub / FemDom, bondage, sex toys (woman playing with a vibrator), oral preformed on a male and a female (face-sitting), power play, teasing, unprotected sex, bodily fluids. All the good stuff.   

A/N: SmuttyWeekend Commences! Guys this is my first MaleSub and I was struggling with it being a FemSub. So please gimmie feedback. 😥😥😥😥 Many thanks to @agniavateira who edits my work.

Title: Set me Free

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Needle & Sword

Summary: It’s always been the Seamtress and her cat. That is until Geralt, and his faithful mare Roach, walk through the village one Summer’s day on the edge of Autumn. Which is mightier, the Needle or the Sword?

Pairing: Geralt x OFC Márta (@wolvesandhoundshowltogether ) (2nd Person POV descriptions are, I hope, left vague enough that it could be read as reader despite the name use)

Words: ~7K

Warnings: Mild pining, oral sex (male and female receiving), penetrative sex, passing references and descriptions of wounds and battles, a dick scar (yup!), references to prey/predator vibes, Geralt being a little bit of switch maybe? And copious amounts of eye contact. Also a cat being a cat.

A/N: It’s been a while since I posted anything I know! I kind of lost my motivation to write for a while with work stress and life stress. On top of that, this was just not flowing right for ages and then when I did get inspo, I was too tired from moving house! This was originally a birthday present for the lovely Márta, (so it’s uh been over a year since I had this idea 😬) So fingers crossed it’s actually good because I cannot stare at it any longer… Enjoy!

All pictures taken from either googling or from the Canva database where the header image was made by me!

Masterlist

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The dawning sun shone weakly through the soft clouds, the warmth just noticeable on your skin. Birds sung in the distant treetops and a cockerel crowed gently as you approached the village. The smell of autumn was faint in the air, the edge of a crisp, slightly cooler breeze fluttering around your ankles. You walked down the gentle slope through the centre, narrowly avoiding a deep divot in the soft mud path that directed your journey. You knew there would be a couple more weeks before the weather turned so didn’t hurry to the marketplace just yet. Instead, you beckoned to the white and ginger feline walking alongside you. Shuffling your basket firmly into the crook of your arm, you tapped your shoulder and up Füge went, settling around your neck to stare at passers by, few though they were at this hour.

A few moments later, you finally stepped into the nearby inn, pushing the loud rickety door open with a grimace. You greeted the innkeeper with a smile and a wave as she spoke to a weary traveller. Not wanting to disturb, you settled near the low fire quietly, rubbing your arms to ward off the slight chill. Füge jumped off your shoulder into your lap to be closer to the fire, curling up into a shape reminiscent of a pastry you were hoping to buy later.

For a moment you stared into the crackling flames, lost in thoughts of your preparations for autumn. You’d just started to think about the darning waiting for you at home when you were interrupted from your thoughts by a deep voice that rumbled through your chest like distant thunder.

“Is this seat taken?”

You look up to see a broad man with snow-white hair, like he’d just stepped out of the depths of a winter storm. His eyes on the other hand were a honey tone that spoke of those hours of summer evenings spent in the wheat fields beyond the village. His clothing was a deep midnight black and a little torn in places but neat darns threaded through the clearly well-looked after outfit. His shirt pulled tight around his biceps as his hand clasped the back of the chair and if you thought too hard about the leather trousers hiding in the shadow behind the seat you might just throw yourself into the fire. You cleared your throat, gesturing him into the seat.

”Help yourself. I’m-” You held one hand out to the stranger while the other pet Füge as she purred.

“Oh I know who you are, Seamstress.” He replied easily, “Your cat is hard to miss.”

“She’s a personality that’s for sure!” You chuckled, scratching under the kitty’s chin.

“Geralt of Rivia.” He continued, extending his hand to meet yours. His hand was warm, his grip firm as he regarded you with interest. You swallowed.

“Pleasure to meet the famous White Wolf in person.” You added and smiled after a moment, letting go and turning to the basket by your feet. You pulled out your latest piece of work, quietly threading a crimson thread through a cornflower blue doublet, hoping to distract yourself from your new fireside companion.

🗡⚔️🗡⚔️

You’d sat in friendly silence for an hour or so while you worked in the empty inn. Geralt had even taken out one of his swords to polish it and it had taken an inhuman amount of focus to ignore the vision of the silver sword balanced across his thighs for as long as you had. But then one fateful moment he leant forward and the fire highlighted the raft of dark chest hair that disappeared past those tiny buttons and…

“Sweet Melitele!” You broke the silence with a quiet curse, sucking your finger to ease the pricking wound and the embarrassment you felt.

Geralt looked up from his task and grunted his condolences for the pain, before returning to his sword. You internally chided yourself for making such a simple mistake. But resolutely focused back on your work, you barely noticed Geralt leave until he returned a short while later, bringing the smell of baked goods with him. You looked up to find him holding out a crescent-shaped pastry. Your stomach flipped a little at the sight, just out of hunger, nothing else of course.

“Mm?” You couldn’t trust yourself to form words just yet.

“Ida told me it was your birthday.” He replied with a non-commital grunt.

Your head snapped to the side to look over at Ida who was nonchalantly wiping down the counter, trying not to catch your eye, a knowing smile hovering at her mouth. You turned back to Geralt, a similar grunt echoing his.

Meanwhile Geralt returned to his place by the fire, gently lifting off Füge who had stolen his seat in the intervening time. Your heart definitely did not skip a beat at his gentle grip on the mischievous feline.

“Well you didn’t have to.” You groused, clearing your throat, but took the package carefully from his hand. “At least share this with me. No arguments. It’s my birthday after all.” You smirked, pulling the pastry in half and offering the other half to him. Silence fell again as you both ate the treat, savouring the taste of the buttery pastry on your tongue. You glanced over at the mysterious witcher to find Geralt wrapping a new leather band around the hilt of his sword, concentration etched into his features as the muscles twitched in his bare forearms. When did he roll up his sleeves!?

He started to untuck his shirt, showing a tantalising glimpse of muscles and some gnarled scars across his abdomen, when he paused. He let his shirt go and turned to rummage in the saddle bags by his feet, tipping out shirts and wrapped bundles in the process. You stared for a moment too long, the image of muscles rippling against the taut black material seared into your mind; a question bubbling from your lips before you could stop it.

“Did you dye all your shirts Geralt? I’ve never seen material so black!”

“No.” Geralt busied himself with his dagger this time, wiping crusty black gunk off the blade with the hem of his now untucked shirt. “Monster Blood.”

“Oh? What monster?” You asked, a little distracted by the continued appearance of skin.

“Many.” His tone was suddenly cold and gruff. “Do not think that I’ll kill them for you to make you some dye Seamstress.”

“No, no. I’d never ask you for such a thing sir.” You hurried to reassure him, a cold chill descending between you, despite the fire.

He simply grunted, continuing to clean his knife. On an impulse, you leant across to capture his hand in yours and still his blade.

“I’ve heard the tales, I know you only kill when necessary.” You squeezed his hand. “Trust that I will not add to that burden.”

He looked up at your touch and any other thoughts you might have had, fell away like autumn leaves. The burnt amber of his eyes bored into yours for a moment longer and you moved closer, catching the scent of cloves and hay before the door to the inn burst open.

You both leapt back in haste. Geralt’s stern features were already focused on the door, automatically flipping the dagger in his hand, ready for anything. You meanwhile, had dropped your sewing onto the floor in surprise and now stood hurriedly, stuffing things in your basket. The raucous noise of people coming into the inn alerting you to the time that had passed in his company.

“Come find me later.” You blurted out, finally gathering up your basket, before clicking your tongue for Füge to follow you. Geralt watched you and the orange bottlebrush tail leave and turned back to the fire with a sigh, picking up his sword to resume cleaning it.

On the other side of the door, out of sight of the morning crowd, you leant against a nearby wall. A shaky breath wheezed from your lungs and your skin tingled where his hands had touched yours. You startled when Füge jumped up, her soft cheek rubbing against yours as she curled around your shoulders with a quiet chirp. You reached up to absentmindedly scratch at her ear.

“Well I’m awake now, that’s for sure. Let’s get to the market.”

🗡⚔️🗡⚔️

You stood, hands on your hips as you surveyed the small set up in the grass at your feet on the bustling village green. It would do for now but you really could do with a little table. Füge sat in the basket at your side, leisurely licking her paw as she regarded the passers by with the kind of superiority only a cat could possess.

Examples of little swatches of repairs and darns were spread across the russet coloured cloth from the moth eaten, to snags and rips, there was little you couldn’t repair or embellish. You’d even managed to lovingly restore a deep blue horse saddle blanket that had been discarded from a Temerian patrol near your small cottage. You smiled at the tiny dandelions you’d painstakingly sewn around the edge to cover the temerian symbols, it was one of your favourite projects, a forgotten flower for a forgotten garment. You sat down in the grass, the sun lightly warming your skin and set about unpicking the neck of the doublet, repairing the terrible job you’d done this morning in his company.

🗡⚔️🗡⚔️

After finishing his sword repairs, Geralt had journeyed out to the stables to check on Roach, spending an hour or two washing and brushing the faithful mare until she was almost dozing off in his arms. He laid the clean but almost threadbare horse blanket over the door of the stall as he left, hoping it would be dry enough by the end of the day to saddle Roach back up again.

The sun barely at its peak, Geralt found himself at a loss. He’d not had so much free time in a village for a while. No-one here seemed to mind his presence and simply carried on as if he was any other traveller passing through.

He passed by the bakery on his left, nodding lightly, awkwardly, as the baker waved at the witcher. He’d only meant to stop to gather some basic bread to restore his pack, but they’d been so kind, pressing a few other treats into his hands at the ungodly hour he’d arrived in the village. He was only saved further awkward refusals by spotting the inn owner unlocking the front door and ducked out of the quaint building and hurried across the path to greet her and buy board. A few hours rest was all he had needed and he'd just come back down to inquire with Ida about Witcher contracts when you’d arrived.

You hadn’t seemed like a distant traveller but it was clear you didn’t stay near the village from the large basket on your arm and the well-worn boots on your feet. When Ida had caught Geralt staring, she’d cleared her throat and he turned back a little embarrassed. Ida had chuckled then and explained that you and her were friends and that you repaired the bedding for the inn on a regular basis. It was your birthday today he had learned and when you’d not recoiled in horror but instead smiled at him, he’d been seized with the urge to bring you a gift. Jaskier had always told him that a gift was rarely unwelcome and a perfect way to ingratiate yourself. He had of course heard the grumbling of your stomach and the bakery was only too kind as to oblige with your favourite pastry.

Geralt shook his head to clear his mind of this morning, hearing the noise of market stalls now in full swing before the village green came into view around the corner. He saw you almost instantly. The way your deep red skirt lay out around you in the grass and the easy way you conversed with others at nearby stalls made something in his chest expand a little. Geralt turned away and looked towards the sun for a moment until the feeling passed.

But no matter the reluctance, his feet seemed to follow a path directly to you within moments. He almost made to turn away but you caught sight of his swords in the sunshine out of the corner of your eye and called to him.

“Hello Wolf. Taking in the sights?” You smiled, hand shading your eyes as you looked up at him.

“Something like that.” He murmured, before clearing his throat. “Any notices posted in the village?”

“Maybe. I’ve not checked myself today but they’re usually outside the alderman’s house.”

“Thanks.” Geralt replied, a little absentmindedly as your refurbished blanket caught his eye.

“You like it?” You held it up for a closer look and he nodded, the ghost of a smile appearing on his face.

“I have a friend who’d find it amusing to find this particular flower on my horse.”

Your heart skipped a very cliche beat as his amused countenance met yours.

“Well then you must take it. It would not be kind to prevent such a wonderful smile from lighting up your friend’s face too.” You felt your cheeks heat as the compliment left your mouth.

“I’m afraid it is too fine of a garment for Witcher’s work. Beautiful though it is.” He bowed his head a little, though his eyes remained on yours for a moment. “Maybe another time.”

Before you could gather up the words to protest, he was gone into the crowds, his sword glinting briefly in the heavy sun. You sighed, flopping back onto the grass. Today was going to be a long day if the disappointment curdling in your stomach was anything to go by.

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Geralt moved away at pace, finger and thumb rubbing nervously together as he focused on the feel of his sword calluses smoothing over one another. He would be gone soon and he could put even more distance between himself and you, the woman that made his chest feel tight and heart thud like it did before he took one of the many potions in the holster strapped to his thigh.

He paused as the winding path gave way to a few more houses, one of which had boards nailed to the fence as a rudimentary notice board. There were a few dull beige scraps of paper fixed to the board, curling and faded. Geralt adjusted his swords and stepped aside the soft mud of drying cart tracks to the other side of the path and approached the house.

On closer inspection the notes were mostly minor grievances and lost items, the ink running down the pages or turned dull grey from exposure to the sun. Geralt almost turned away before spotting a neatly scrawled but muddy note in spiky black ink jammed in between the boards. Geralt pulled the dirty piece of parchment from the town board and skimmed the contents. A drowner. Simple enough. He stepped past the board and up the short path to the house beyond. Geralt knocked firmly on the alderman’s door and stepped aside as the wooden door creaked open moments later.

A grizzled old man in a neat and well cared for tunic peeked out into the midday sun with a wrinkly hand shading his eyes. His eyes travelled up the broad frame of the witcher, a curt nod of acknowledgement as the man’s eyes alighted upon the dull grey of the witcher medallion around Geralt’s neck.

“Ah yes, Ida told me a Witcher was in town. Come, let's discuss the terms.”

Geralt ducked under the doorframe and followed the man into the house.

🗡⚔️🗡⚔️

The sun was setting when you finally arrived home, the golden early evening sun searing into your eyes as you gazed across the distant paddocks for a moment. Füge was happily snoozing among your purchases in the basket at your hip but perked up at the sound of the latch. She didn’t move when you put the basket down inside, only peeped at you from over the edge of the wicker, eyes getting a little wider in the fading light.

You leant down to light the fire, stretching as the warmth filled the room. Moving towards the larder, you pulled out some dried fish for the cat and mashed it into a paste with some melted fat from last night's meal. Füge hopped out the basket with a soft meow and circled around your legs as you finished up your task. You chuckled as she tried to get to her dinner with some enthusiasm only to bump into your boot as she stepped directly in your path.

“So much mischief in a little package!” You exclaimed sweetly, as you placed her food down, much to the cat’s excitement.

"If only it was this easy to tell what he wanted." You sighed, thinking of the white haired Witcher and hoping that today's contract was an easy one for the wolf.

You were just tidying away the remains when you heard a soft knock. Your heart leapt into your chest as you stepped towards the door, just knowing in your gut that it was him on the other side of the door and that he'd definitely just heard you speaking to your cat. Stopping briefly, you took a deep breath, adjusted your dress and opened the door.

“Good evening Seamstress.”

Geralt filled the doorframe, the setting sun casting a deep shadow over his face but not enough that you missed the slight smile around the edges of his mouth. You almost forgot to be embarrassed and simply stared a moment at the man. The white was almost gone from his hair at this hour, the sun's rays settling between hair strands to set his whole head on fire with bold strokes of ochre and umber. It took a moment for you to gather your thoughts into an actual sentence.

“Uh hello. Please… call me Márta. Come in dear Witcher.”

Geralt stepped into your home, ducking a little under the frame.

“If I am to call you Márta, then you must call me Geralt. I insist.”

“Can I offer you a seat by my fire then… Geralt?” You asked with a cheeky smile, warming to the man’s presence again quickly.

He nodded and shrugged the swords off his back, placing them carefully by the door and rummaging in his pack. He clearly found what he was looking for as he straightened up and turned back towards you, a leather pouch clenched in his fist.

The silence was palpable, standing a few steps away from each other it seemed as if the world had stopped for a brief moment. And then sped up all at once.

“I-“

“Thank-“

You both began to speak at the same time. Geralt sighed and you smiled, gesturing for him to go ahead.

“Thank you. Roach looks beautiful.”

“She’s a sweet girl and deserves nice things.”

“Yes, but you didn’t have to.”

“But I did Geralt. You needed one and I had one. I saw the state of the last saddle blanket.” You raised your eyebrow, eyeing the leather pouch. “I won’t accept coins for it either.”

“What will you accept as payment then Seamstress?” Geralt asked softly, tucking away the coin purse. Your mind definitely went to unsavoury thoughts about the gentle beast standing in your home. Coughing lightly, you were about to quip about how seeing the pair of them happy was enough, when you saw the darns in Geralt's shirt once more.

“Let me work on your shirt.” You blurted out, your cheeks heating rapidly at your boldness.

Now it was Geralt’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

“I- The colour fascinates me and I want to know what it’s like to craft with.” You explained in a rush, to fill the silence. His silence was telling and you looked away, saddened that you'd managed to upset the man once more.

You saw his sturdy looking black leather boots step into your peripheral vision, rough fingers suddenly gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him. You could scarcely breathe as the scent of cloves and hay washed over you once more. His eyes searched yours intently and you were sure he could hear your heart beating harshly against your ribcage.

“Very well” Geralt murmured after a moment, seemingly finding nothing amiss, leaving the ghost of his touch against your cheek and some less than innocent feelings in his wake.

Geralt turned to his pack and dug out another couple of dark shirts, both worse for wear than the one currently stretched tight across his torso.

You took the shirts from him and gasped at the unusual softness, completely different to the texture you had expected from a man who lives from inn to inn - if he’s lucky. Gesturing for Geralt to sit beside you, you took a seat closer to the firelight to see more clearly, the low sun having cast large shadows across your home. Both shirts were full of neat darns and rips, grey and deepest black shades splattered across it. One was fit for nothing better than rags or bandages, Geralt nodded at your running commentary. But the second was reparable… just. Even despite the charred rip across one shoulder.

“Uh..” You hesitated a little, “For damage this severe, you’d uhh… Need to wear it. Makes it easier to make adjustments.”

Your cheeks felt hot again and you looked down at your lap where Füge had arrived and was kneading away at your skirts. If Geralt found the request odd, he didn’t make any suggestions otherwise and you felt his weight rise from the furs beside you. Eyes elsewhere, you missed the slight smirk that appeared on his lips for a fleeting moment. When his voice filled the warm silence a moment later, you could have sworn it was deeper and richer than before.

“Of course.”

It absolutely did not make you clench your thighs together to relieve the building tension. Not at all.

You heard rustling and resolutely looked at your fingers threading through Füge’s fur, not looking at the bare expanse of skin in the corner of your eye. A moment later he was covered once more; well, as covered as someone wearing a ripped shirt could be. You placed Füge on the floor gently and stood, brushing the fur off of your lap. Stepping closer to Geralt, you cleared your throat hesitantly and reached out with slightly shaking hands.

You held the shirt hem gently in one hand, concentrating on the feel of the fabric on your skin and not on the heat radiating from the man wearing it. You felt the texture of every single thread, the slip of the monster blood and slime between the fibres and the permanence of the stains. You felt every true strike of the sword and every missed swing as you held the fabric tighter.

Your other fingers traced the charred fabric along the thick muscles of the Witcher’s shoulder and such was your focus you missed the vibration of his medallion and the sharp inhale as your skin touched his again. Geralt remained still, only the twitch of his finger against his thigh showed that you had any further effect on him.

Under your touch, the fabric began to knit itself together, the char of the burnt fibres falling away like ash to the floor between the pair of you. Buttons pulled back into the fabric, dents in the metal fastenings popped back into place with a faint ping. The fabric began to pale a little and you wobbled, a little unsteady on your feet. This was a very different sensation to the fabric dyes that felt like meadows, mud and animals that you normally encountered. Here it was dark and intense, almost living, creeping into your mind and-

Geralt’s hands grabbed your hip as you swayed, holding you upright with gentle force. His bronze tinted eyes were the last thing you saw before your own slid shut to focus on the task. The tingling started at your fingertips, working its way up your forearms and through your limbs until your whole body sang with the vibrations.

A deep exhale and you pushed with your mind, the colour spreading back out from your fingers like ink across a ledger, writing of his adventures in every splotch of colour.

Geralt had never encountered magic like this. Every hair on his body stood to attention, the magic thrumming along his skin as if he’d dipped into the coolness of a shallow pond on a summer’s day. His focus narrowed down to the vibrations of the wolf medallion nestled against his chest and tension of you clutching his shirt. Your knuckle brushed the edges of gnarled abdomen scar unbeknownst to you and Geralt almost leapt out of your grip, the electric sensation almost overwhelming. He straightened his back quickly, gritted his teeth and resolved not to move much, lest he become unsteady on his feet too.

Devoid of vision, you felt the heat of his skin through the fabric, running only slightly warmer than your average human but magic crackled underneath his skin like a second heat that felt like it could scorch your fingertips. The fire at your back felt intense, droplets of sweat rolling down between your breasts as you held on for just a moment longer. You felt the last stitches fall into place as a wave of dizziness overwhelmed you and you lost your grip on him.

Barely coherent for a moment, Geralt caught you before you hit the floor. You opened your eyes to find Geralt leaning over you, his eyes as orange as the flames dancing in your periphery. The dizziness faded quickly, but the crackling, fizzing undercurrent of magic was still singing in your veins. But you’d never been tempted to act upon this residue of magic, not until this unusual man had come into your life.

You reached out to feel the dark grey stubble, rough against your fingertips. The grounding sensation brought you back to your senses a little more even as his hand wrapped around yours, thumb rubbing across your palm as he gently pushed your hand away.

He looked hauntingly beautiful like this, strands of light hair casting shadows across his chiselled face. His pupils were widened with curiosity and something else that you couldn’t quite place until you shifted your leg, a secret smile gracing your lips for a moment.

“If you are not so interested dear Witcher, then by all means leave with my well wishes.” You paused for a moment, looking down between the pair of you. “But something pressed against my thigh would suggest otherwise.”

Geralt growled at the jest, teeth flashing in the cosy darkness of your home. It should have at least made you second guess yourself but the frisson of magic still strong within you had other thoughts. Instead you grinned, grabbing the wolf medallion dangling over you to tug the man down for a kiss.

Geralt’s lips were remarkably soft for the weather his body had to endure and his touch so gentle despite the hardness of his life that you’d felt deep in the fibres of his shirt. Your head spun with the languid kisses he served as his hard body pressed you into the stone floor, all pretence forgotten. Moments passed and you broke for breath, tilting your head back, lungs heaving. The beast of a man took this as an invitation of submission, of need, and grazed his teeth along the slender planes of your throat before biting down at the juncture between your neck and shoulder. You gasped, the bright sensation of pain battling for dominance with the lust and magic coursing through you.

His strength was plain in the way he easily rolled you above him moments later, hands moving to your hips to hold you against him tightly. He rocked his pelvis upwards, making you feel every inch of his interest. It must have shown on your face as a raised eyebrow and a gentle sneer quickly followed, exposing the points of his teeth again in a way that ripped the last vestige of patience from your grasp.

You scrabbled at his shirt, pushing it away from his skin and replacing it with your hands for a moment. Your fingertips caressed the scars and gouges, feeling the stitches and repairs of the surface of his skin, knowing that each one must have caused him pain and cost him more with every potion he consumed. The taut muscles layered underneath seemed strong but exposed as they vibrated underneath your touch. Seized by the need to feel him further, you bent your head to place your lips along a pink scar with translucent grey flecks that arrowed downwards, disappearing below the buttons of those leather trousers.

As your kisses reached the waistline where the scar was removed from your sight, his hand seized the nape of your neck, pulling you up into a sudden, almost violent kiss. Your lips clashed with his teeth in a meeting of passion as he sat up, lips still glued to yours as you remained in his lap, legs wrapping around his back.

You tugged at the hem of his shirt again, it getting stuck between the pair of you to some quiet chuckles against your lips. Your heart melted then, to hear joy out of this worn down man’s throat and you struggled harder but with laughter, trying your best to divest him of his clothes, to make him feel that joy again and again.

Eventually you succeeded, the newly mended material seeming to crackle a little as you eased it over his head. Geralt returned the favour quickly, his large hands making short work of your dress, the fabric falling away from your shoulders with only a whisper and only a couple of ripped stitches.

Quickly, his mouth followed the path of his hands, seeking more desperate contact, before coming to rest over a nipple, breath ghosting on the peak. You heard him swear under his breath as it pebbled under his attention before all sense of words were lost and your thoughts melted into the sensation of his lips against your sensitive flesh.

Your hips moved of their own accord, seeking the delicious friction of Geralt’s hardness against the dewy wetness that had long since formed between your thighs. You were so close to succeeding too, lips moving across his bare skin, his scars and his lips in quick succession. Your hands delved between you both to undo one of the last barriers, the laces of his trousers, when Geralt changed his mind.

His hand moved to hold you tighter against him with the strength of a Witcher, leaving no room for your hips to continue their dance and trapping your hands in an illicit crush. You could only meekly wiggle your fingers against the leather. He growled deeply against your bare shoulder then and you felt like prey and predator all at once. Your heart raced like a rabbit caught in a hunt but the urge to bite and claim in return came swiftly behind it until all you could think was need need need.

Want.

But what Geralt wanted, he got. His lips resumed their painstaking pace across the bare skin of your chest, being sure to leave the telltale indents of pleasure his teeth make along the way. All you could do was take the blossoming heat as it washed over you. Only when your chest was painted in a few marks and you were nothing but a puddle of want, was he satisfied. But he merely loosened his grip to seat you on the bench you’d vacated a lifetime ago.

You felt the soft furs against your bare skin and warm hands pushing your thighs back, the fire heating your damp petals enough to make you squirm against the hold. And for a moment he held you there exposed to his gaze, to the warmth. But it was nothing compared to the feeling of his feverish tongue pressing between your folds suddenly, the stubble of his chin rubbing against sensitive flesh and tiny pinpricks of his teeth occasionally making their presence known against your tingling skin.

As with everything you’d seen from this friendly but stoic witcher so far, Geralt took on the task with clear intent and purpose. He seemed to know your every thought before it even struck you. Every stroke of his tongue was intentional, reading the pulse of your core and the scent of your arousal as the markers of your steady, inevitable path to bliss. You were no stranger to pleasure but this? This was like every moment of lustful magic you’d ever experienced, rolled into one.

You shuddered as he stopped for breath, the warm air of his laboured breath gusting over your glistening pussy. But the air that he languidly shared with your body he stole from your lungs once more as he dove back down and resumed his charge of your undoing. A hand, tanned darker by the sun and hard labour, reached up to grasp at your breast. The other stroked deftly at your entrance with the gentleness of a man that knows how to calm even the most skittish of beasts. Your back arched as his strong fingers beckoned you from within your walls.

"F- fuuuck!"

Rolling with sensation, your hands delved in among the silver threads of the Witcher’s head. This particularly strong wave of pleasure rewarded him with a sharp tug to his hair. He growled into the depths of your pussy without hesitation, his eyes flicking up to capture yours for only a moment. But that was enough for you to tumble over the edge into the abyss of pleasure, mouth agape but no words able to leave.

Geralt continued to taste your pleasure as your high abated, standing once he was satisfied and unashamedly wiping his mouth and chin on the back of his hand without breaking your gaze. You shivered a little as Geralt moved from between your thighs, cooler air moving in where the bulk of the Witcher had vacated. He stood in front of the fire once more, his silhouette proving no less tempting in profile.

You bit your lip as Geralt finally divested himself of those trousers, the ones that would surely haunt your dreams from now on. His cock sprang free, deep throbbing red with a thin white scar running from the base to about half way up. As your mouth watered at the idea of your tongue running along those mysterious ridges and wondering what exactly had been there before you to cause such a scar, his calloused thumb swept across the pink head smearing the pre-come across his skin. You could hear the audible sigh of relief from where you lay, torturously close. He turned back towards you and the look in his eyes was enough to have you panting once more. Geralt’s pupils were blown so wide, only a thin golden ring remained and his veins stood out in relief against his forearms, his hand idly stroking along his length.

You slid off the bench to kneel in front of the man, hands reaching out to touch the broad man in desperation. You felt the wiry soft hair of his thighs under your fingertips as you swept over his skin to your target. Up close he was thicker than you expected and felt like soft velvet as you wrapped your hand around his length, eagerly knocking his hand away in the process. He hissed as your tongue darted out to taste a drop of the pearly liquid that proved his interest in your form and your pleasure.

The salty taste of the Witcher’s essence on your tongue made your mouth water and you eagerly settled between his thighs to investigate further. His hands grasped for you but you plunged your mouth down his length, leaving Geralt to swear this time.

“Fuck. Márta!” He all but choked out as your tongue brushed along the underside of his length.

You opened your mouth wider, hands moving to brace yourself against his thighs, bobbing your head faster along his length. Geralt’s hand reached under your chin and lightly against your throat, forcing your eyes to meet his.

You pulled your mouth away from his length to take a breath, a cheeky grin lighting your features as Geralt’s thighs trembled under your hands. You sat back on your heels, tugging the lust-drunk witcher down to your level by your grasp on his length. He crumpled to his knees in front of you, punch drunk on lust. The Witcher was helpless but to follow your lead until he hovered over you, arm braced on the floor by your shoulder. His eyes sought yours to ask that age old unspoken question.

That unreserved yes lingered on the tip of your tongue but you merely nodded as words seemed impossible. You guided him between your thighs, squeezing his length in a moment of cheeky levity. He answered with his own light smile, before brushing your cheek with his thumb.

A moan and a few choice swears left your throat as he breached that final barrier between you. Slowly but surely, you felt the true measure of the witcher with every inch he pressed closer, deeper until you were surrounded by him. Just when you thought he had bottomed out, he shifted, changing the angle of his excruciatingly slow thrust. He pulled away equally slowly and you shivered as he left you empty for a moment that felt like an age. You opened your mouth, a frown etching into your forehead, when Geralt lent forward quickly, spearing you open once more in one deep thrust.

Air left your chest in a rush, your lungs wheezing with the effort of trying to inhale against the feeling of fullness, of him taking up all the space. The sound of skin on skin was loud against the crackling of the fire as his thighs crashed into yours again, splitting your legs impossibly wider, as if he still couldn’t get close enough to you.

His chest pressed against yours, pushing you into the floor just a little harder than before. Surrounded and all consumed by the witcher, you felt the heat build slowly, spreading like syrupy, thick lines of lust along your limbs with every stroke of his length inside you.

His mouth busy leaving marks on your neck too, the dual sensations overwhelming and he fucking knew it. He stoked the embers of your fire with precision and dedication until your entire body was burning but holding you just on the edge of pleasure. You felt every unique ridge of his cock, your core clenching each time his pelvis pressed against yours but it wasn’t enough. Your kiss bruised lips spread into a secret smile that Geralt couldn’t see as you curled your wrist around in a circle, seizing an opportunity to flip the pair of you until you were on top, spread across his thighs and impaled deeply by the witcher. Magic crackled in the small space between you, Geralt's expression hardening a little, until you rocked your hips just so and it faded into an all encompassing lust. Your nails dug into the fur on his chest as you rose and rapidly sunk back down onto his punishing girth, chasing the long held back high. Geralt met you thrust for thrust, his hands gripping your hips in a way you were positive would leave muscle aches for days.

You leant forward, and mirroring Geralt’s actions from earlier; sought out the sensitive skin of the white wolf’s neck with your teeth. The growl that rolled from his chest at the sensation was almost enough to make you come for the second time that night. But not yet, you needed to see the stoic come unravelled like the poor stitching he had inspired this morning.

Geralt’s thrusts became more uncoordinated and sloppy until he ceded control to you entirely. His hands became soft and supportive then, encouraging you to take what you needed from him as you rolled your hips over and over again. You sat up to better hit that spot and locked eyes with Geralt once more. Something about the way he stared into your eyes was always going to be your undoing as, once again, you fell over the edge into pleasure, calling his name. Geralt followed shortly after, his arms pulling you close enough to kiss you earnestly and deeply as he emptied himself into your warmth.

⚔️🗡⚔️🗡

The moon was bright tonight, the light casting a surreal glow over the open fields nearby. The soft whickering to your right appeared to agree with you. You held an apple out to the horse waiting patiently in the small pasture outside your cottage.

"Here you go Roach. Sweet apples for a sweet horse."

You felt Roach’s soft lips brush against your palm as she took the fruit. Only the kindest of men would have such a gentle horse.

You wrapped the blanket around your bare shoulders a little tighter as you stroked Roach’s neck. A few moments passed, nothing but the quiet crunching of Roach to disturb the peaceful night.

“She likes you.” Geralt’s deep voice wafted out from the doorway a little while later. “But I think she’s been spoiled enough today. Come back inside.”

You laughed and turned back towards the bare chested man waiting for you. He leant just inside the door, the moonlight rippling across the planes of his muscled torso, dipping into scars you kissed only hours ago. You clenched at the mere thought.

“And I suppose you think that’s going to convince me?” You retorted, stepping towards Geralt.

“Mmm. Maybe not.” He took a step forward too, meeting you on the doorstep of the cottage. “But this might…”

No further warning was spared as he lifted you into his arms, your hands clutching at the shifting blanket. He strode back into the cottage, kicking the door shut behind him to make sure you were thoroughly convinced. He’d go all night if he had to.

Sinful!Henry waking you up with an orgasm.

Summary: Ever so in love with you, he can’t hold back and decides to please you even in your sleep.

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Reader (2nd person POV)

Words: 650

Warnings: 18+, RPF, smut, somnophilia, fingering, female orgasm, male erection, hinted sexual intercourse, savouring on bodily fluids, body worship, male POV, Freya’s use of poetic sex metaphors.  

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own

N/A: Decided to try something different, told from a male pov while it’s still reader inserted. Not beta’d; we die with our typos like August getting hit with a hook, falling off a cliff and crashing into an explosion. Divider by @firefly-graphics 

Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed my work. 🖤

Midnight Glow.

The shades of a midnight glow veiled you, slumber an unjust kiss that kept you away from my bewildered gaze. Leaning on my forearm to watch you sleep, I was in awe, but of course, forever will I be taken by your deity.  

My dear love. My definition of beauty. 

Not wishing to wake you from your sleep, I carefully reached a knuckle to brush upon your cheek - the surface of your skin so supple it felt like silk. The faintest flutter waved through your lashes, and a dark crease parted your lips though you did not wake.

"Are you dreaming?" I whispered while carefully, my hand glided below the blanket shielding your perfect body. God, your flesh simmered below my palm as if my trail left a path of blazing flames behind it. I took your left breast and gave it a light squeeze, my thumb massaging your hardening nipple, making the beat of your heart quicken, and a shudder of breath left your quivering lips.

"Are you dreaming about us?"

A part of me wanted to wake you, to sink between your parted legs and make slow love to you, but I couldn't resist the temptation of bringing you to ecstasy within the tendrils of a delirium. 

My hand continued to survey down the valley of your torso, following the warmth calling me from between your thighs. I leaned closer with my upper body, almost hovering from above while two long fingers parted your soft petals, and my thumb found the jewel hidden at your apex. I wanted to breathe in the silent moans that escaped your lips as slowly my thumb began to draw languid circles over your clit. 

The moan that cracked from your throat thrummed through my lungs, and just then, I felt dew pooling at the honeyed crease that longed for my penetration. 

"I love you," I uttered and kissed below your eyes. The pillowy pads of my digits traced the seams of your dripping slit, raking the smooth wetness on and on before entering your succulent cove.

Little wrinkles formed in your brow. You moaned even harder, your entire body writhing and coiling, spine rising from the matters with the invasion of my fingers into your heavenly cunt. It almost seemed as if you would levitate, possessed by the spirits of pleasure I provoked within you. In and out, I continued to tease your clit by my thumb and pumped in you, my cock stirring in unfulfilled desire to conquer while your hot canal milked around my fingers.     

Hanging between fantasy and consciousness, you bucked your hips into my hand and called by my name. 

"Henry..."

Enamoured, I entered you knuckles-deep, pressing into the sensitive spot that made you quake with rapture. Finally, your beautiful eyes flared open, your mouth did too as your pussy clamped around me. I could feel you spasming against my hand, the tidal convulsion of your ecstasy spurring before you fell back to pillow gasping with astonishment. 

"Good morning...?" you panted, looking at me semi-amused and semi-stunned.

Leaning in, I drank the mead of your lips and brushed my nose over yours. 

"Actually, it's the middle of the night..." I retorted with a sheepish grin and then slowly slid my fingers out and brought your elixir to my mouth. 

Your sharp fangs grazed the pillow of your bottom lip as I savoured on your taste. Impressed by my devotion, you ran your hands down my abdomen, weaving through the hair of my body. 

"Then why did you wake me?" 

"Couldn't sleep again," I shrugged and groaned as I felt your nails scratching below my navel.

"Well, it seems like someone else is up. Should I... fuck you to sleep?"

I smiled groggily and flipped onto my back, letting you climb onto my body and take the reins.

The last thing we were going to do tonight was sleep.