OBSESSIONS

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𝒜𝒞𝒪𝒯𝒜𝑅

⋆✧｡Eris Vanserra masterlist

☁︎｡ Azriel masterlist

✧｡*Cassian masterlist

☁︎｡ Lucien Vanserra masterlist

𖤓₊ Helion masterlist

⋆✧｡Rhysand masterlis

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𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝑔𝓁𝒶𝓈𝓈

✧｡*Lorcan Salvaterre masterlist

☁︎｡⋆Rowan Whitethorn masterlist

𖤓₊*Fenrys Moonbeam masterlist

*｡⋆Gavriel masterlist

☁︎｡Manon Blackbeak masterlist

✧｡*Aedion Ashryver masterlist

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𝒻𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓉𝒽 𝓌𝒾𝓃𝑔

☁︎｡⋆ Xaden Riorson masterlist

𖤓₊*Bodhi Durran masterlist

*｡⋆Garrick Tavis masterlist

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𝒫𝑒𝒹𝓇𝑜 𝒫𝒶𝓈𝒸𝒶𝓁 𝓊𝓃𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑒

𖤓₊*Pedro Pascal masterlist

✧｡*Joel Miller masterlist

☁︎｡Javier Pena masterlist

𖤓₊*Little concepts

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𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝒾𝓍 𝑜𝒻 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝓈

☾ ﾟ｡⋆Kaz Brekker☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Exactly as you are series

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𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓇

*･༓Carmy Berzatto masterlist

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𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝑜𝒻 𝒹𝓊𝓉𝓎

☁︎｡Simon Ghost Riley masterlist

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You thought you knew what awaited you inside your wee cottage for your return from the marketplace. The boiling water with which you had filled your tub in front of the fireplace would have cooled enough to take a bath; your cat would doubtless be yowling to be fed; the dress which you had been avoiding mending would still be draped over your kitchen table. Entering the house, you found all of those things, just as expected.

What you didn’t expect to find, however, was the white-haired Witcher sitting by the fireplace.

“Geralt?” you asked in confusion, dropping your basket and striding over to embrace him- for even in your surprise at his arrival, you were delighted to see him again. “I didn’t know you were coming! But how did you get here? I didn’t see Roach outside.”

At your words, he seemed to slump into your arms; your knees almost buckled under his weight as he dropped his head onto your shoulder and tightened his arms around your waist. Your heart clenched painfully as you heard what you were certain was a rattling sob burst from his lips.

“I…I didn’t know where to go,” he mumbled, his voice muffled by your shoulder. Still, you heard the helpless tone, and your hand climbed into his snowy hair.

“What happened, my love?” you whispered. He shook his head without lifting it and pulled you closer to himself. You continued to stroke his hair and made a soft, soothing sound. “Alright. It’s alright. Whatever happened, Geralt, I’m glad you came here.”

For a few minutes, you stood without moving. You could hear his heartbeat, slow as ever, and you matched its pace with your fingers dragging back and forth across his scalp until his breathing slowed too. His hands relaxed their grip on the back of your bodice and you took that as your cue to pull back slightly.

“I was going to take a bath,” you told him gently, reaching up to cup his cheek, “Join me?”

The soft glow of the fire danced in his golden eyes as he nodded, and you smiled softly at him before turning slowly to face away from him. You turned your head to look over your shoulder at him and he understood what you were asking him to do.

Geralt’s hands were unbelievably careful as they unlaced your bodice, loosening your corset until it revealed the bare skin of your back to him. Your eyes drifted shut as his broad hands slipped inside, his palms warm against your skin, and carefully slipped the straps of your dress from your shoulders. His hands lingered on your shoulders for a few moments as your dress fell to the floor, and a second later you felt his lips on the back of your neck in a chaste kiss.

“I’m here,” you whispered, “I’m not going anywhere.”

You weren’t sure how you knew that was what he needed to hear, but it was. You felt the sigh of relief he let out against your skin, making the short hairs on the back of your neck stand to attention, and you turned in his arms to help him out of his own clothes.

He had new scars; he always did when he returned to you after weeks or months or even years, as had been the case once (never again, he had promised at the time). You didn’t have to ask to know that he wouldn’t be telling you the stories of their creations that night- and perhaps not for many nights to come- and so you simply pressed your lips to the spot over his heart. Whatever had happened to him was somehow affecting him more than anything had before, and you would give him whatever he needed to get through it, even if what he needed was to pretend for a while that it was not real.

“Do you need to hold or be held tonight?”

Always a man of few words, his response was to climb into the wooden bathtub. The water crept up the sides of the tub, displaced by his body, and you felt a tiny spark of hope at the way his broad shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. A second later, he held his hand out to help guide you to sit in front of him in the tub, your back to his chest.

The water was dangerously close to spilling over the sides of the tub, it not having been made to fit two humans- let alone one human and a Witcher. You cared not a bit for the mess it would make if it spilled onto the floor, though. Your floor would dry; your Witcher needed to hold you.

His thick arms encircled your waist, his hands settling on the softness of your belly beneath the warm water. You felt him nuzzling his nose into your hair, breathing in the scent of you, and let your head tip back against his shoulder. After months of being separated from him, it was lovely to be surrounded by him- his thick thighs framing yours, his chest steady and strong and warm behind your back, his breathing soft in your ear.

“Don’t leave me again,” you murmured.

It was what you always said to him, and he always left. You never begrudged him for it; it was just who he was. Every time he appeared, you knew that he would eventually leave. When you asked him to stay, it wasn’t so much to persuade him to do so.

It was to let him know that, should he ever decide to stay, you would welcome him with open arms.

Something had changed, though. Every time you had asked before, he replied with some version of reminding you that it was impossible, that he could stay a week at the most but no more, that he was needed elsewhere. That was why your breath hitched when he whispered into your hair:

Snow had being to mat in both his and yours hair, a thick layer of snow making booths even heavier as both you and he travel by foot because of worries that Roach wouldn't be able to handle the resistance of both snow and your body weights.

Geralt allows you a few moments to warm, eyes constantly watching the barely visible tree line. The snow falling so heavily and white that he could barely his own hand in front of his face.

"Just a few more hours, I will sent the tent up, we have some furs. It will warm you." Geralt presses a soft kiss against your hair before reaching for Roach's lead, "Come, get on Roach, a few more hours and we will be in a safe part of the forest."

***

After what seemed like an eternity, the storm had manage to die down, the snow had never stopped falling but now, you were able to see what exactly you were working towards. This didn't make a difference to you though, the cold began to crawl deep inside of your very core, numbing your fingers and toes.

Once he felt the spot was suitable and deemed safe, he hulted Roach, looked at you for one small second before setting up the tent. It wasn't much, it barely had a closed entry and the material was thin and dirty but if it wasn't for you, Geralt wouldn't have one to begin with. The Witcher had suffered way worse then cold weather.

"Come," is the only word Geralt says as he extends his arm out for you. With trembling fingers you reach forward to take his hand and he helps you down from Roach and into the tent.

The one source of light is the lantern that dimly flickers in the corner, furs scattered the ground but pile high on top of one another. Geralt helps with taking off the wet furs across your shoulders, easing it off before throwing it with little care.

"Lay down, petal."

You couldn't resist if you tried, heavy eyes prevent that. Too exhausted to function as the wolf helps you into the make shift bed and not satisfied until pulling the blanket up until your chin. You wholeheartedly expect him to leave, sit out in the cold and stay watch, mostly because he never sleeps, a few times a week you'll catch him with closed eyes but it's not more than a few hours.

He surprises you, slipping under the fur pelt and wrapping his arms snuggly around your person. The thin, white hairs tickle your chin but it is ignored - there aren't many nights Geralt will lay with you, let alone cuddle.

"You are so cold, my love." Geralt frowns, feeling the tremors of your shivering being. The nickname is reserved for moments like these and still makes your heart pound with love. Large palms move up and down your arms, trying to create so heat to your ice cold skin. "Are you getting warmer?"

With out answering you nudge your nose into his chest, taking a deep breath to smell the familiar sent of mint and ash. "I'll be okay."

Geralt frowns once again, maybe he had pushed you too far this time. Geralt often forgets the fragility of human, he presses a kiss against your hairline. "We should have stopped sooner, I apologize."

"I am okay, love." The words do very little to settle the ache in Geralt's chest. Instead he cups your cheek to bring your lips to his own.

“I swear! I swear I don’t know where they went! You have to believe me!”

Your exhausted sobs fell on deaf ears as you fought against the ropes keeping you in the chair, your cries only growing more terror-stricken as your captor turned to face you. It was a small mercy that his face was covered by the hood of his cloak- you wouldn’t have to see his face in your nightmares.

If you survived to have nightmares at all.

There was no way of telling how much time he had spent torturing you. The room had no windows, the only light coming from the fireplace. Every bone in your body ached, your throat was raw from screaming, and you couldn’t remember a time when your mouth wasn’t filled with your own blood.

All that, because you loved a Witcher. You had sheltered Geralt and his Child of Surprise two weeks ago, letting them lay low in your cottage whilst their wounds healed. He had always known he could come to you for a safe haven, a warm bed and your arms to sleep in. You had no idea how the people hunting them had caught up to you so quickly.

Your eyes widened in horror and you thrashed against your restraints in vain as you spotted the item in your captor’s hand: a poker, its tip glowing white-hot from the fire. A dark chuckle came from beneath the hood as he stalked slowly towards you, the poker getting closer to your skin with every second.

“You will tell me where they went, one way or another. If I can’t beat it out of you-” You could feel the heat radiating from the poker as he held it inches from your neck, and you stretched your neck as far away from it as possible. “-I’ll burn it out of you.”

Your tears were blinding you and your voice was barely coherent through your terrified sobs.

“I don’t know! I’m telling you, he’s-”

“Here.”

You screamed in fright as your captor was wrenched suddenly away from you, the poker clattering to the floor as he was hoisted into the air by his throat. Your heart was beating in your throat, your mind convinced that you were still going to die, before you realised what was going on.

Geralt, fury on his face like you had never seen before, had your captor by the throat, his toes scraping the floor as he struggled desperately to escape. He was no match for the strength of a Witcher, however, especially not an enraged one.

“I should tear you limb from limb for touching a hair on her head,” Geralt growled, practically spitting into your captor’s face. The man’s movements were becoming sluggish as Geralt’s grip on his throat tightened. “Hmm. You’re not worth the effort.”

The crack! of the man’s neck breaking seemed to snap Geralt out of a trance. He dropped the body without a second glance and hurried to your side, all traces of the fearsome Witcher gone and replaced by your familiar Geralt. You couldn’t help yourself; you continued to cry out of sheer relief as he knelt in front of you, his golden eyes taking in every cut and bruise on your body with utter devastation.

“I’m so sorry, my love,” he murmured, taking a knife from his belt and slicing through the restraints at your wrists and ankles, “I should never have dragged you into-”

He was cut off by you launching yourself into his arms, injuries and pains be damned as you buried your face in his neck. Without a second’s hesitation, he dragged you from the chair so that you were cradled in his lap on the floor, his arms a shield around you.

“I didn’t tell him anything about you or Ciri, I swear,” you sobbed, clinging to him as tightly as he was to you, “I don’t know how he knew-”

Geralt shushed you gently, kissing your hairline.

“I know you didn’t. You were so brave…so strong. I swear to you now, I’ll never let another soul hurt you.”

You lifted your head from his shoulder to look at him as you cupped his cheek and felt the wetness of his own tears.

“I thought he was going to kill me,” you whispered.

He pressed his lips to yours before your words had faded from the air. The kiss was firm and desperate, tasting of coppery blood and salty tears, and you felt him let out a shuddering breath against your lips as you raked your nails through his hair.

“If anyone wants to hurt you, they’ll have to go through me,” he told you firmly, his brow furrowed against your own, “I meant what I said. I’ll tear them apart.”

Without lifting his head from yours, he scooped you into his arms and stood. With the hand of the arm around your back, he gently guided your head back into the crook of his neck so that you wouldn’t have to look at the body of your captor.