CORVUS

“yknow why werewolves only show up during the full moon?” vesimer asked, the sound of swords against whetstones pausing to consider his inquiry. “it’s said that those who bleed every month are more likely to be turned, but have a higher chance at keeping their faculties.” he taps the side of his head with his index finger pointedly. “but witcher’s experience their own cycle.”

you shift uncomfortably at vesemir’s words. only two years prior you had learned about the bleedings when geralt had hidden himself away in his room, refusing to come out for days. you had been the one to bring him food and water, often laying next to him so your body heat could soothe his fever.

“what, like bleeding every month is a witcher-only thing?” you scoff, returning to grinding the silver blade against the whetstones. “i can’t help but be jealous of regular folk, then.”

“no, no,” vesemir chides, clicking his tongue. “it’s something different, that only witcher’s can go through.” his eyes flick between you and geralt, a knowing smile on his face.

“every few winters or so, witchers go through heat.” he grins, spreading his arms. “it’s when-”

“that’s quite enough, vesemir. you’ll scare the poor kids outta their minds.”

fortunately, you learn what vesemir meant pretty early on into your adventures with geralt. one evening, when you’re already stopped at an inn and midway through haggling for a bath when geralt sneaks up from behind you and presses his face into your hair. his nose pushes into your temple, and you can feel his beard scratching at the sensitive skin of your crown.

“stop that,” you tease, absently, an embarrassed flush on your face as you retreat from the innkeeper, defeated. geralt follows not two steps behind you, a hand slung around your shoulder and chest heaving. you worry he might be sick, moving to check his forehead as you approach your shared room-

the door barely closes and geralt is on you, nosing his way into your neck and growling into the skin. you gasp, shutting the door fully with your foot. geralt hums, the sound raspier than usual as he leads you to the bed.

“need you,” he purrs through gritted teeth. his pupils are wide and blown, eyes raking up and down your body as he presses you bodily down to the bed under you. his face is flushed with not-quite-feverish warmth, chest heaving from heavy, unsteady breaths.

“geralt-” his fingers are quick to undo the hooks on your trousers, pulling them down and off your thighs easily. you can see how he struggles not to tear them off you, still flustered despite his own burning need.

the heat from his skin sinks into yours, and you feel your own body warming in tandem. geralt’s pulse is wild against your hypersensitive ears, his muscles rippling as he removes his own shirt. you grin, baring your teeth as he pulls you by the flat of your back onto his legs, gripping your thighs and throwing your arms over your shoulders so you can properly straddle his hips.

he dives into the crook of your neck, breath hot and heavy as he licks a stripe to your jugular. you groan as he nibbles the thin skin at your pulse point, pressing your body closer to his as he sucks the tender skin until it blooms purple-yellow in bruises.

“fuck, i need you,” geralt’s breath is hoarse, hips rutting into yours as his sensitive cockhead brushes your own. you both hiss in unison, spurring geralt to grip you by the fat of your ass and pull you flush to his chest.

you moan, low and throaty as his fingers press against your heat, cupping you with his palm and gently rubbing his knuckles on the underside of your length. the movement brings pure pleasure to your brain, molten and all consuming.

the next movement of yours is feral, pushing geralt off of your body and throwing him to the bed. he grins, baring his teeth as you plant your heads above his head. “don’t be smart.”

he laughs, deep in the way that makes your skin thrum from lust. “from my perspective, you’re the one being smart.” he says it with a cocky grin on his face, practically begging you to fuck him.

your eyes flare, purposefully rutting into him slowly, too shallow for him to feel anything. he glares, frustrated and hazy from pleasure, hands gripping your waist to pull you closer. “just get inside me already, fuck.” he breathes, and it works; you enter inside him fully, and geralt’s breath catches in his throat as you bottom out.

finally hilted in side of him, heat floods from both your bodies in a feedback loop that makes your brain spin. he clenches around you, you rut into him, gods it feels too good to be true.

you lower your body, lithe and feline in motion as you lick a stripe against his pulse point, and geralt nearly whines as your teeth dig into the muscles of his shoulder. sharp canines and unforgiving incisors rip gashes into his skin, so much so that when you pull away, blood stains your teeth and runs down your lips.

his body huffs, laughing and breathless from pleasure. “you’re so beautiful covered in blood.” geralt’s eyes soften, his calloused hands moving to cup your cheek.

something low and throaty escapes your lips, and you’re only able to recognize it as purring when your thrusting grows to a crescendo. geralt’s body freezes, throwing his head back and closing his eyes as he erupts around you. spend drips down his thighs and around your cock; the sensation of him pulsing around you enough for your own orgasm to follow.

your teeth dig into his shoulder again as you thrust once, twice into him, muscles locking in place as your spend makes its way inside of him. white-hot pleasure than turns your blood molten and blinds you to anything other than geralt, disheveled and beautiful under you.

chest heaving as you pull out, geralt’s skin is no longer flushed, and he looks noticeably more healthy. the sweat-sheen on his forehead remains, and his breathing is a still a little raggedy, but the pallor has faded from his complexion noticeably.

although, his cock still drips pre, and his eyes are still cloudy as he stares at you.

more than likely, you’d be going all night.

“at least let me lock the door.”

dividers: @pixopix

the sight of tengen- the sound hashira, and what you picture when you think of the word masculine- being so easy and gentle with his wives threw you for a loop the first time you met him.

the way he killed demons effortlessly, the way he held his wives closer afterwards. the way he took up space in every room and made space for his wives in every way.

it made you angry. confused. but most of all, ashamed.

ashamed at wanting that sort of effortless intimacy, the gentleness that followed. ashamed at wanting to be safe for everyone around you- even if every part of your brain screamed how weak that sounded. how vulnerability gets you nowhere except abused and hurt by everyone you love.

it had gotten to a simmer before you truly got angry. a creeping jealousy that overtook your every thought and twisted every act of kindness.

tengen had taken time to bandage an especially bad wound from your earlier mission, applying bandages and salves while your mind fixated in malice. why was he so gentle? shouldn’t he be scolding you for getting hurt?

you felt your hands ball i go fists, teeth digging into your lip and drawing blood. anger and fury and shame roiling in your veins that coalesced into a scream of helplessness.

“why are you so fucking gentle?!”

the words came out harsher than you wanted them to, bringing the easy murmurings of tengen’s wives to a standstill. hinatsuru and suma had fallen silent, eyes wide and startled, while makio stared with something similar to pity.

tengen was the first to speak; inhaling deeply and clapping his hands together. “everyone out.”

uncharacteristically, all three women left without a single word, leaving you and tengen alone. the door closes behind them, and tengen draws closer, sitting himself next to you with a grunt.

you avert your eyes, shame making you feel weak and scared under tengen’s intense gaze. he takes in your tense body and shaking breath, moving to clasp your hands in his. you don’t object, so he grips them firmly with a squeeze that makes your fingers ache.

“i know you aren’t accustomed to this level of open affection,” he starts, eyes meeting yours. his mouth is downturned, a serious and thoughtful expression replacing his usual carefree tone. “and i know it’s been an adjustment.”

you scoff. an adjustment was an understatement. being constantly surrounded with random acts of love that were reciprocated by all parties, affection and doting handed out by the dozen. it was dizzying in its stark contrast to your upbringing; full of violence and repression.

“in this marriage, you are wanted. you’re not just another partner for me, or for my women. you’re welcomed and loved. you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t,” the last sentence comes with a huff of a laugh. “it’s not weak to be gentle.”

shame rises to your throat. because of course he knew what this was about. you feel sick with guilt, the pressure of you’re stupid emotions weighing like a tangible force in your stomach. “but it is,” you push, desperately fighting the tears that gather in your eyes, “it’s weak to ask for help-"

tengen moves swiftly, pulling you into an embrace so unlike him it nearly sends the wind from your chest. here, flush against his chest with your head resting on his shoulder, the reassuring pound of his heartbeat under your skin making you shake. “we’ll be having none of that kinda talk.”

you feel your composure breaking, despite your effort; tears gather and fall from your waterline freely, body shaking from long-suppressed sobs. tengen holds you through all of it, firm fingers rubbing circles on the small of your back.

somehow, impossibly, you believe him. that being vulnerable is not weak. that being loved is not danger, and showing love is not a flaw.