#dark geralt

“Your highness,” you nearly whisper at the clatter below. The holler of men adds to the tension.

“He’s won. Again.” She sneers. “All he had to do was leave me be.” Her eyes glisten as she peers off into the sky. “I am as much our father’s child as he ever was.”

“Your highness,” you repeat again.

She keeps her shoulders straight as she watches the courtyard. They will be upon her soon. The city’s siege has fallen and her brother’s general is on his way to claim victory for his liege. Though you wonder, will the new king declare his sister traitor or merely force her hand on the contract she refused from behind these walls?

“I do not fear it.” She assures you stiffly. “My brother is impertinent and one day, that will be his undoing. Be it marriage or the dungeon, he might even send me to the axe, his fate will be worse. He will not be spared the same cruelty he wields.”

She brings her hands up to cradle the silver cross at the end of her rosary. You dip your head reverently. She sighs.

“Matron, how I envy you. You have not known the plight of a man’s will. Not as many must.” She drones. “No husbands, no sons.”

You stand with her, your own insides torn by the anxiety of what heads your way. You mightn’t be more than an old maid sworn to her service, but it never exempted you the obstinacy of the male race. It was a man who put you there with the princess when she was but a girl and kept you there. And it will not spare you the pillage of this failed battle.

“I will meet him in my coronet and cape. I am still princess, as I will be until my death. Whenever that shall be.” Mercaline declares and spins on her slippered heel.

You follow, as loyal as ever. You saw the princess through the seasons of her life. Through toddling in castle halls, prancing through the gardens, swishing in newly sewn gowns as she grew taller and curvier, and in her womanhood, stoic and willful as ever. You will follow her to this as well.

You help her secure the coronet with pink amethyst and diamonds. You smooth her long sleeves then help her shoulder the velvet lined cape with her sigil of doves and lilies. She does not falter as she stands and waits, undaunted by the clop of horse hooves through the courtyard gates or the blowing of victory horns.

You step back, hiding your shaky hands behind you, fingers toying with the strings of your apron. Your shades of grey linen and wool pale in the pinks and lilacs of the royal sister; as your age and plainness are shadowed in the light of her youthful beauty. She is brave where you are nervous, and regal where you are common.

“You will make certain the general is received with proper care,” she bids. “Send for wine from the cellar and permit only the general into the receiving chamber.”

Her courage lends you enough to obey. You go to bid for the bottle and prepare the receiving chamber. You hide all evidence of the siege’s toll.

Jeb returns with what he can find. You dust off the bottle and ready it next to goblets. You hear the advance through the corridors, echoing closer and closer. Men order others to put down their arms or perish. Those with titles will stand trial, others will be sentenced to die regardless of surrenders, as others will be sent to work until they meet the same end.

Commander du Haute-Bellegarde appears in his ebon armour. His silver hair stands out against the dark iron, his helm firmly cradled under his thick arm. You know him by sight. He was the old king’s best soldier, and certainly, this triumph will make him that of the new king.

“The princess,” he demands.

“She will receive you, my lord. Only you.” You approach, gulping as you steady your hands. His eyes flicker as you hide your trembling fingers behind you once more. “That is her order.”

“Her order? She is conquered and she presumes to bid me as a dog, still?”

“You are not dog, Sir Geralt,” Princess Mercaline states. “You are a wolf. I would permit you but not your pack within my chambers. I remain the king’s sister.”

Sir Geralt considers her. He raises his gauntleted hand and wiggles it. The men behind him retreat. There is no escape for the princess, she needn’t a battalion.

“Your highness,” you clasp your hands in front of you, “would you have me go too?”

“Stay, pour her some wine. She will need it.” Sir Geralt insists. He steps inside and closes the door behind him. “Princess.”

“General.” She strides over, her skirts moving as if she floats on air. “Have you put up your flag? What shall it be? Does my brother have the guts to come himself or does he bid you to do all in his name?” She snipes. “Pray tell, when he married, did he have you consummate as well–”

“Princess, you are not tawdry as so. I know you.” He says. He pauses and glances at you. “Matron, pour the wine.”

You step forward and do as he says. You fill both cups. He approaches and sets down his helm. He pulls off his gauntlets and lays them down as well. His mail brushes against your apron. He takes a goblet and turns to the princess. He goes to her and holds it out.

“A dispensation has been granted to absolve the betrothal. The marquess is shamed by you. He would not have you now.” The general explains. “Your city has fallen but your purpose is met.” He scoffs.

“Be plain about it, sir. I assume I haven’t much time left for your boasting.” She takes the goblet but does not drink.

“I have advised against execution. I know war and I know what stirs it.” He proclaims. “I do not long for battles anon in your name.” He stares her down. “You will be sent to Perily.”

She does not flinch. “I hear the tower is cold.”

“You will know soon enough.”

She grins. “I rather like the cold.” He is quiet. She looks down at the wine and swishes it around the goblet. “And would you bring a message back to my brother since he hasn’t the gall to hear it from me himself? Be a good little hound.”

“Princess?”

She looks up and tosses the wine in his face. He doesn’t move. He runs his hands over his face and pushes back his wet strands.

“Shall I throw wine or piss? Which would be accurate?” The General grits.

She trills with laughter. You admire her boldness though you know it will do her no good. If only you could be as her. If only you weren’t terrified and old.

“Shit, if you have it,” she says flippantly as she throws the goblet and turns away. “Matron, we will need to pack my trunks–”

“Matron,” the General raises his hand. “Matron will come with me.”

For the first, the princess winces. She turns and looks at you. All humour is gone from her.

“Why? She is a maid. Certainly, I would have one in the tower–”

“You would. You have many in this place. I will fetch another and she will go with you to Perily.”

“You cannot–”

“It is the king’s orders.” He says evenly. “You will not retain your conspirators.”

Your heart seizes. You will be as the rest. Punished for loyalty. For doing as you have sworn to do. To serve. Your lip trembles.

The princess scowls. “Good puppy,” she taunts. “Go, be gone from me and wag your tail at the king.”

“Your highness,” you eke. “I… I bid you safe travel. And I bid that you are well kept in the tower and–”

“I bid you silent.” The General snarls as he snaps his fingers. He gathers up his helm and gauntlet. “Princess, you will be kept in solitary. A maid will come to change your pot and bring your bread until your tumbril is ready for transport.” 

He tucks his gauntlets into his belt, keeping his helm under his arm. He seizes you with his free hand, squeezing your arm until you wine.

“I will see to this traitor’s punishment–”

“Traitor!” Mercaline sweeps forward, reaching for you. “No, she is not. She has been loyal! You will not harm her–”

“I will do as the law deems,” he shields you with his burly body and elbows away the princess. “Mind, your brother granted me leave to do as I must to detain you. Whatever is needed to keep you prisoner. Do not make me test the extent of his order.”

“Sir, please, she is the princess–” You beg.

“Quiet, Matron, or I will break her in front of you before I do the same of you.” He jerks you towards the door. “Princess, you will not attempt further folly or this matron will feel the consequence.”

He drags you as your soles scuff. You hear Mercaline whimper and her slippers slap on the stone. It’s too late. The door slams behind the General as he shoves you out into the corridor.

Several of his men linger. He orders them to keep watch. He proceeds along the corridor with you in tow. His grip is painful.

“General, we’ve readied a chamber.” A soldier approaches. “At the end of this stretch.”

“Good man. Go, see to your supper.” The general responds tersely.

He ushers you on to the noted doors. He pushes you through the left one. You peer over your shoulder as he swings it shut on the hinges. You’re confused. You expect a dungeon, maybe even a gibbet.

“Do you know the trouble your princess has roused?” He tuts as he paces around the room. “Surely you do. And what have you done but stood and emboldened her, matron.”

He drops his helm on the round wooden table and rips his gauntlets free of his belt. He slaps them down. You stay by the door, uncertain, eyeing the blade sheathed at his waist. He unstraps the sword from his back and puts it flat across the table.

“You serve her so diligently. You will do thus for me.” He faces you and beckons you with two thick fingers. “Come here. I long to be free of this armour.”

You hesitate, then approach. You examine his chest plate. You never dealt with such before. The heavy iron covers his torso, chain mail around his arms, and he wears more armour on his legs. He removes his belt and puts it with the rest.

He lifts his arms and gestures. You find the strap and unbuckle it. There are several. He patiently stands in place as you loosen each.

He lifts the plate over his head and hands it to you. It’s heavy. He laughs as you struggle to carry it to the bench and lay it down.

“You're so soft... so weak.” He taunts. “But you are not stupid. I could have you killed at this very moment.”

You look at him and quickly bow your head.

“You know it so you obey. You will obey. Whatever I bid you.” He snickers. “You are not done. My mail, my greaves, anon.”

You go to him again. He watches you as you avoid returning his gaze. You feel along his thighs as you search for the fasteners. He lets out a long breath as you graze his leggings in your efforts.

You free him of his cuisses and his greaves, and the pieces over his boots. You stand straight and he tugs his mail over his head and dips his head. You help him lift it off. You set it all aside with his chest plate.

He stands in padding, tunic, legging and boots. You remove the padding next. As you near him again, his fingers stroke along the belt of your apron. He pushes until you stop. He frames your thick waist and turns you around. He tugs on the strings until they loose.

He lets go and lifts the apron over your head, letting it fall to your feet. You shudder and step away. He catches you by the back of your neck. He spins you around. He looms over you.

“You served your princess so loyally. You will do the same for me.” He growls in your face. “Or I will be certain you are only ever on your knees for the executioner.”

You whine as your eyes flick up to his golden ones. “Yes, General–”

“Do you know what battle does to a man? Hm? Days, nights, weeks, out there, sleeping in the dirt.” He moves you backward as he pinches your nape, pressing his forehead to yours. “A man is deprived. A man is cold. A man is… tired.”

He walks you across the chamber as you squirm and wince. He stops you as you feel the breeze through the window against your back.

“A man longs for warmth out there.” His other hand paws at your stomach and slips around your hip. “A man longs for softness. Then he finds it waiting for him.”

You quiver as your veins burn with fire. “Sir, I am–”

The after-party music was blasting in your ear, the bass of the speakers vibrating your feet as you looked over the sea of people all with their own reason of importance.

You didn’t know what fucking city or country you were in, what the day was, where your phone or wallet or even passport was, you just knew that you’d drank every glass handed to you because it was better than dealing with Geralt sober. You were still faintly hungover from the night before but Geralt convinced you to drink the hair of the dog that bit you. You didn't fucking care anymore.

A European leg of the tour felt like it had gone on for ages but it had only been two weeks of nonstop shows. Usually between every couple of shows, there were days off planned to recuperate in whatever city you had landed in but you were in a stretch without it. You didn’t speak the language, you didn’t even know where Geralt was. You just drank whatever was in the flavorful pink glass you were handed. You stopped questioning Geralt’s commands a while ago.

For a brief moment, you considered finding someone, anyone, who could speak English and try to find a way to get to the embassy and get home but there was no point. Geralt would just find you again and again and again and again. He was smarter than most gave him credit for, he kept your passport and ID and all of your money with him claiming you didn’t need it and he’d pay for everything but really he was keeping you from escaping. He said you’d earn more freedoms back over time as if you were a grounded child. It’d only been two months since he forced you from your normal life and drowned you in his.

“There’s my girl.”

At this point, you were convinced he could read your mind and knew you were thinking about running away.

You only replied with a grunt before taking another drink. “What do you want?”

His hand latched to your wrist tightly, enough to remind you of your place but not too noticeable to a wandering eye. “Behave.”

“Whatever you say.” You rolled your eyes pulling your arm away. “What’re you gonna do about it? Punish me in front of all these people? Do it, be my fucking guest.” Your words barely came out the alcohol already making you tongue-tied but you just left his gaze and drank more.

In your peripheral, you saw him rub his palm angrily over his mouth before taking the now-empty glass from you. “Fuck off-“

He was quick to grab you by your hair and pull you in his aggressive embrace to kiss you. He may be a piece of shit but god no one could make you weak like him. His tongue swirled with yours as you felt something slide against to roof of your mouth before he pulled away. “What the-“

You ran your tongue over whatever he shoved in your mouth before you realized what it was and quickly tried to pull the dissolving pill out. “What did you just give me?” You tried to wipe out your mouth but the drugs had disintegrated too quickly for you to entirely spit out.

“Just helping you loosen up.” He chuckled as if it was a harmless prank before forcing you flushed against him. “I’d never give you anything dangerous, I took it too.”

You slapped him but his head barely moved as if you hadn’t just put all your strength into it. “You fucking drugged me!” You broke free of him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He grunted trying to corral you back to him.

“I’m going to go try to puke this up, get off me or I’ll do it all over you instead!” He finally let you go as you stumbled drunkenly away from him and toward the neon red sign on the wall adjacent to the bar that spelled something you couldn’t understand but thankfully the universal toilet sign next to it was all you needed.

This club, although packed full, was small. The bathrooms were only one per person and thankfully the night was still young for most of the people here who hadn’t gotten started as early as the rockstars do so there wasn’t a line.

The walls were covered in colorful logo stickers and autographs from the low-grade celebrities who’d visited.

Falling to your knees you began to force yourself to puke but as you felt your body become numb you knew there was no point and that it had dissolved quickly.

Gripping to the side of the wall you brought yourself back to your wobbling feet, your heels too tall for you to be this drunk, and stumbled to the sink running cold water over your hands.

Your eyes fluttered at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, your sweaty palms gripping the edge of the porcelain sink, trying to figure out how to breathe normally. Your makeup was dark and heavy and your skin shone in a cold sweat.

You’re not sure how long you were in that bathroom staring at your own reflection but long enough that there was loud banging on the door accompanied with yelling in a language you didn’t understand. Forcing yourself from your trance you opened the door with your slick palms. The pair of women who looked angry and impatient when you first opened the door quickly turned concerned and asked you questions you couldn’t decipher.

Language barrier or not you could assume what they were asking. Do you need help? Are you okay?

Shrugging them off you hoped they’d just assume you were drunk off your ass but they wouldn’t be wrong.

As furious as you were, you knew you needed to find Geralt, it’s not safe to be alone like this, he knows that you know this. The heavy beating of the music bounced off your skin as if it was a ripple in water as you stumbled to VIP.

You held onto the metal railing as you tried to climb up the stairs as carefully as you could in the dramatic heels he dressed you in and the room started to spin. It felt like your skin was burning you alive while simultaneously tingling as if from the cold as you made your way to the second-floor balcony with the empty VIP entrance guarded by a man who let you pass without a word.

Geralt sat with knees spread with a glass of expensive brown alcohol swirling in his hand. “There you are,” he grinned, enjoying watching you struggle.

“Geralt, please.” You begged stumbling to him, grateful the lounge was empty as everyone partied downstairs.

“Careful, pretty girl.” With barely a blink of an eye, you were somehow in Geralt’s hold, leaning your body weight onto his chest. It felt like he magically appeared from the couch but you knew it was likely just the drugs affecting your perception of time. “You’re feeling good, yet?”

You shook your head, your bottom lip beginning to quiver as you started to cry, too overwhelmed and overstimulated. You didn’t like being out of control of your own body. It was easy to sober up when drinking, but this was intoxication you weren’t familiar with. “Hate it’. Hate you.” You whimpered. “Everything is spinning, Gee. Make it stop.”

Geralt cooed condescendingly, his large hand brushing over your head as if he were dealing with a confused child. “Gotta find an anchor, gotta find something to keep you grounded so you can enjoy the high.”

“I don’t know anything about boats.”

He laughed once more at your plea and you didn’t understand what you said that was so funny.

You were in a foreign country where you didn’t speak the language and you felt like you were tripping. You were furious with him right now but you were too terrified not to come to him for comfort. He yanked you by your arm, guiding you towards the rails, bright lights flashing throughout the club. You laid your head on his chest trying to ground yourself to anything despite being ready to kill him. “Want it to stop.” Your mouth cotton dry.

It was a new level of desire and arousal laced with confusion that you had never felt before.

His sporadic heartbeat felt like the only thing you could focus on and how he smelled of body heat and liquor that would normally make you nauseous. “You gonna be my good girl?” His large hand placed on your hip, his heavy boots kicking between your legs spreading them from each other before teasingly tracing up your thighs.

Nodding briefly you separated your legs farther apart, your hips searching for the fingers that hurt you so many times over and now beyond grateful that the VIP was secluded. The small balcony section looked over the neon bright downstairs, countless intoxicated bodies pressed together like ants.

Geralt’s masculine hand caressed your jawline, moving his lips grazing over yours just barely enough to get you to chase your head to his. A cheeky grin grew on his face as he swiftly forced a hand at your lower back indicating for you to bend at the hip against the rails. You could only focus on how badly you wanted to kiss him, how badly you needed to feel him. The drugs made your body burn addictingly. You were so out of it you felt out of body as Geralt maneuvered you to his liking.

Geralt slid your dress up, yanking your lace panties to the side, and pressed himself against your back. His hands guided yours to grip onto the railing that sectioned off the VIP and that looked over the downstairs crowd securing you in place.

It felt like you were standing on a unraveling tightrope over a skyscraper, you held on tightly to the black metal bar with clammy palms. You tried to fight against Geralt’s repositioning but it didn’t take much for him to correct you even when you weren’t drugged. “Keep your eyes on them, pretty girl.” He commanded, forcing you to turn your head back. “You don’t want them to know what you’re doing up here, now do you?”

Realistically you know there’s no way they could see the two of you from down there, at least not well enough to know what you were doing. The strobing colorful lights in the dark disguised your position as if the loud music and dancing wasn’t distracting enough. “All in their own world but you’re up here only belonging to me.”

You tried to catch your breath but you felt paralyzed in fear as if you were looking off the side of a cliff but it quickly left your lungs when Geralt had thrusted himself inside you. Your terror kept you too distracted to have even realized he had taken his hard cock out. A cry left your lips and your knees trembled.

“Look at all of those people down there.” He retorted as he began to fuck into you. Geralt always felt good, but your heightened sensitivity made you feel inhuman amounts of pleasure just seeping from your skin. “You gonna be good? Gonna make me proud of my girl?”

“Geralt,” you groaned, your head tilting back to rest on his shoulder thankful he was practically holding you upright by your bent waist as your legs turned to jello. “Feels so…”

“Feel so good squeezing my cock.” He grunted. “I’m so glad I thought about drugging you, doesn’t it feel so good?”

His offhand comment reminding you of him forcing drugs into your system made you want to revolt and pull from him in anger but it quickly faded away when he thrust into you just right. “God, you’re so wet for me it’s pathetic. Such a slut for me, isn’t that right?”

Normally if your body wasn’t melting from his you’d have snide remarks and comebacks but right now the only thing you were capable of thinking about was how close you already were and how you knew neither of you were gonna stop at just one.

“I said, isn’t that right?” Geralt repeated harsher, his large bicep wrapped over your shoulder, forcing you to keep your head on his chest, his heavy breathing fanning over your ear.

“Yes, daddy.” You whimpered desperately as his hand sped up its pace under your panties and expertly stroked your clit the way he had his guitar for thousands of people only a few hours ago. “Gonna…cum…don’t stop.”

“Atta girl,” the sharp stubble of his beard pricked at your neck as he kissed along your weak spot. “Normally I'd make you beg but I know that’s too hard for your little brain to handle. My dumb little girl, cock drunk for me, can’t even fucking speak.”

Geralts tainting tease barely registered with you as you came forcefully with the stroke of his hand. You thanked god that the music was too loud for someone else to hear your cries and that he was keeping you standing with his other hand leaving your chest and holding you by the waist with his knees slightly bent for you to collapse against.

“Gonna fuck my cum in you.” He growled in your ear with his thrusts growing tougher. “You need dick so badly you were acting like a bitch in heat for me. You need your big daddy’s cock, need to be filled, it’s your only fucking purpose.”

Your body still burned for him even though you came harder than you ever had in your life you still needed him desperately as your life depended on it. “Want you to cum in me,” you nuzzled against him with the intoxicating scent of his sweat filling your nose. “I know how much you love it, please cum in me, I need it to stop hurting. Need to be filled.”

A grunting cry flowed over your ear with the jerking abrupt of his thrusts accompanied by the feeling of his cum dripping on your thighs.

Geralt spun you back around to face him after he pulled himself from you. “Fuck, I’m still hard for you.” His lips hungrily consumed yours, one arm forcing you against him, the other groping your chest with heavy petting along your neck. You knew he was restraining from wrapping his hand around your throat. You were still in public and if someone caught sight of a celebrity with his hand wrapped around their girlfriend's throat it wouldn’t end well.

“I wanna go back to the hotel,” your chest rose and sank repeatedly as you tried to catch your breath. “Need you to fuck me sober so I can be angry at you.”

“Anything you want, pretty girl.”

///

A/N: I hate my writing teehee

Taglist is open

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| How did Geralt first cross paths with you? |

• Exactly how you would expect, he saved you from being killed by a Noonwraith while trying to gather wild herbs for your elixirs.

• He'd been traveling for a fortnight, and he'd dealt with all sorts of trouble along the way. Who knew his chosen path would be so troublesome.

• The day had been relatively calm and quiet, which he was grateful for, he needed a break. Then a sound suddenly broke through the quiet, a woman's scream from further up the road.

• Geralt couldn't help the sigh that passed his lips, of course he wouldn't get to have a break from the chaos of the world. But regardless of that he urged Roach to trot faster so he could help whoever potentially needed his assistance.

• The creature had you by the wrist, trying to slash at you with its sickle, which you continuously managed to dodge in the nick of time. Another terrified scream ripping from your throat as the Noonwraith shrieked at you.

• Geralt unsheathed his sword and got to work, slaying the Noonwraith with a little bit of trouble, he was exhausted after all. All the while you had rushed around gathering the herbs you had dropped as they fought.

• "Those must be pretty important." Geralt had observed gruffly after he'd slain the Noonwraith. You ducked your head in slight embarrassment, feeling as if he was scolding you for it. He then turned to leave, not honestly expecting anything from you.

• "Wait!" You called out to him, taking a tiny step back when he turned to look at you. "Thank you... For saving me." He nodded his head without a word. "I... I don't have anything to give to you as a reward, except for a hot meal and a warm bath if you'd like."

• Considering the week he's had, that was the best reward he'd had in what felt like an eternity. But Geralt maintained his cold demeanor, and accepted the offer, following you back to your modest little cottage nestled deep in the woods.

| When did Geralts obsession start? |

• That evening when you invited him into your home, you fed him well, and explained that you are a "potion master" as you put it. After he'd finished his meal, you tended to the small injury on his forearm, then left him to tend to the small bathhouse, preparing a warm bath as promised.

• You'd mixed in a few fragrance oils and flower petals into the steaming water. Trying to make it as relaxing as you could, without being overbearing. Geralt had found it amusing when he'd realized what you'd done, but he was pleased with the claiming atmosphere that now filled the bathhouse.

• You'd left him be as he soaked, rushing off to your cellar to start working on the elixir you'd been gathering herbs for. And as he soaked he thought about you, about how tender you'd been with him, and how you'd treated him so endearingly. So much so that an onlooker would have assumed you were lovers with the way you fretted over him. It was nice.

• You'd offer him lodging after his bath, giving him your own bed, and stating you'd sleep in the upper loft. He'd tried convincing you to just let him stay in the upper loft, but you declined saying how he'd saved your life, and you intended on offering him the best comfort that you could as a reward. He accepted this offer when you sternly informed him that you wouldn't change your mind on the matter.

• So that night he lay in bed, surrounded by the scent of you, just thinking about everything that's happened in such a short time since he'd met you. You been grateful for his help, you gave him a hardy meal, a nice bath, and now let him sleep in your bed. And yet unlike so many others he's helped, you didn't want anything in return. He'd saved you, and yet you didn't request that he help you with whatever other troubles you had.

• He wondered why you'd been so desperate to gather those herbs that you'd risk crossing paths with a Noonwraith. Let alone why you were intent on collecting them all again as he fought the creature, not even waiting until he'd slain it, or given up on gathering them all together.

• He wondered why you lived all the way out here, seemingly all alone deep in the woods. How you managed to survive your day to day life. You had few animals, and no crop fields, only a simple garden. And yet you seemed to be living comfortably, he'd seen nothing to suggest you had much wealth, but you weren't miserable like so many others he's met.

• His obsession started growing from the moment you'd welcomed him into your home. And as the day progressed and his curiosity peaked that obsession grew. You were a mystery to him, and with how kind you'd been to him he found himself smitten before the night was even out. Making his departure that morning an unwanted but necessary venture, so he'd left before the sun had risen, and while you still slept.

| Does Geralt try wooing you in a healthy way before snapping? And how does he do it? |

• He didn't stay away for very long, showing up one evening with a large gash on his arm, hoping you'd assist him. You of course rushed to do so, gathering healing herbs, cleaning and dressing the wound, and assuring him that he was more than welcome to rest at your home until he was well again.

• You'd offered him your bed again, stating it was more comfortable, and would be much easier for him to get to than the upper loft with his arm injury. This time however he wouldn't let you do that, and when you argued against it, he'd suggest that if he'd struggle with the ladder leading to the loft, that you could simply assist him.

• You'd thought about it for a moment, and eventually agreed with a heavy sigh, knowing you couldn't convince him otherwise. And that's what ended up happening, he struggled with the ladder, and you quickly rushed to place yourself directly behind him on the ladder, allowing him to lean against you as he slowly climbed up, following his pace patently.

• He was larger than you, but that didn't stop you from doing whatever you could to help him. And Geralt came to realize pretty quickly that that's just how you are, always trying to help in anyway you can without expecting anything in return. That made his obsession grow of course, no one had really ever been that way with him, so the feeling was addictive.

• Witchers heal much father than regular men, and combined with the healing herbs you'd used, his arm was completely healed by morning. And Geralt was intent on repaying your kindness, subconsciously hoping it would woo you the way your kindness had wooed him.

• In doing so Geralt worked on many chores around your homestead. Chopping wood, feeding your animals, repairing the damage he'd noticed to your home, even going out and hunting some game for you, which he later skinned and cured for you. Because of how much he was intent on doing for you, he had stayed with you for a few days.

• He would offhandedly praise your beauty, and often praised your skill crafts. He'd offered a helping hand with some of your elixirs, and went out and found some of the more rare ingredients you'd gotten low on. Most of which were only found in dangerous places. He assisted with cooking as well, and made as much small talk with you as he could.

| What happens when you politely reject Geralt for another man? |

• He'd learned so much about you in such a short time, and he found his heart felt lighter at the mere thought of you. So he decided he'd take a chance with you, feeling as if he'd never be the same without you in his life. He'd grown to love and adore you in so many ways, you were all he dreamed of, all he could think of, he needed you to be his.

• That evening after cleaning up after dinner, Geralt had taken a chance, and cupped your face between his hands. You looked at him with curiosity, then a surprised gasp escaped you when he suddenly kissed you. He all but melted into the kiss, but you remained stagnant, eventually pushing on his chest to get him to stop when he didn't seem to notice your lack of enthusiasm.

• He of course released you in an instant, worry and confusion etched onto his face. You then sheepishly explained that you were already betrothed to another, and you wouldn't accept his advances. You also explained that those elixirs that were so important for you to make were actually meant for your betrothed, who was suffering from a ailment you couldn't cure, but at the very least you could slow its progression.

• So you'd rejected him for a dying man... That hurt, much more than he'd ever admit. So he'd left without saying much, he needed to think, he needed to get away and let out his heartache. Which came out of him in a fit of rage as he brutally slain some bandits that he later crossed paths with.

| How bad will things get when Geralt does finally snap & become Yandere? |

• It's all he can think about anymore, you'd rejected him for a dying man, someone weak and unworthy of you. And his obsession starts taking a dark turn as that thought consumes him, and he allows that pent up rage to take over from time to time, which usually resulted in bloodshed.

• Eventually he finds his way back to your cottage, but he doesn't make his presence known to you. Instead he watches you from a distance, and follows you as you make your weekly trip to your betrotheds home. A basket containing the vials filled with your most powerful healing elixir hanging from your arm.

• The stone home was shabby, and in Geralts mind a pitiful excuse for a home. The dense woods surrounding it allowing Geralt plenty of cover to hide behind. And later into the evening, still early enough so you would get home before the sun went down, you'd left with an empty basket and a promise to return soon.

• Geralt stayed where he'd been hiding until the sun had set, and he knew you were long gone. Then he made his way into the stone home, breaking the door down in order to enter. Inside sitting at the table was a sickly man who wasn't nearly half the size of Geralt. He'd been eating salted meat and bread, a coughing fit taking hold of him as Geralt entered.

• The sudden of it all clearly terrifying the sick man, who through his coughing pleaded for his life. Geralt ignored him and walked around the little home, finding the vials of your elixir on the table beside the shabby bed. "Who are you?" The man asked once his coughing subsidized, Geralt looked to him with dark uncaring eyes.

• "You're the Witcher that saved (Y/n)." He realized quickly. That made Geralt smirk as he shoved the bedside table over, the vials breaking as they hit the stone floor. "What are you doing!?" He'd asked in a panic. "Cutting loose ends." Geralt stated calmly before leaving the man behind, knowing that without the elixir he'd die slowly, painfully, and all alone.

• That night Geralt showed up on your doorstep, a dark aura about him, making you nervous. Despite this nervousness however, you foolishly opened your home to him. And Geralt took full advantage of that, making it much easier for him to steal you away and runaway into the darkness. No one would ever come looking for you, and on such dangerous roads you'd never dare trying to run away from him.

| So what kind of a Yandere is Geralt? |

• Obsessive, possessive, jealous, and manipulative. He adores you, and he wants you all to himself. He's greedy and he'll kill anyone that might come between you, finding cleaver ways to cover the murder up.

• He would never harm you physically, but he will break you mentally. Then he will mold and reshape you into his perfect little obedient lover. You will love him the way he loves you, sooner or later, with or without the help of magic or potions.

• He will remind you constantly that without him you would be dead, that without him you would be nothing but meat for the crows. Sometimes he'll test you and pretend to leave without you in the night, if you run he will find you and punish you, if you cry out for him, he will come to you in an instant.

• Punishments from Geralt are usually being denied food and water for an extended period of time. Other times he'll make you walk as he rides Roach, and he won't allow you to take a break, making you walk for several days at times. Sometimes it'll be as simple as denying you things like, the warmth of the fire on a cold night, or a bedroll, leaving you to sleep on the hard icey forest floor.

• However when you are good Geralt is very tender and sweet with you. Making sure you are well sated and hydrated. Holding you lovingly in his arms as you ride together, his arms around your hips as you practically sat in his lap. Keeping you warm and comfortable on chilly nights, cuddling with you by the fire on a fairly comfy bed he'd made with things from the forest.

• When it's just you two he's easier to keep satisfied, simply do as he asks, do not fight him, praise him as often as he praises you, and never try running away.

• When others are around he's much harder to keep satisfied, as his jealousy knows no bounds, anyone and everyone is a threat in his eyes. So it's best just to stick with him, particularly right up against his side, with his arm around your shoulders reminding everyone you are his.

| Is Geralt worried anyone will find out? |

• Not in the slightest bit. Before ever taking you anywhere near other people, Geralt broke you to the point where you wouldn't try running away, or beg anyone to help you.

• In the beginning of it all he would chat with Roach about you, and as time went on, and he became more and more obsessed and deranged, he would loose his hold on morality of the situation, talking about it all allowed him to accept it much easier.

• If anyone tries to ever take you away because they know something is wrong, they'll vanish from town without a trace, along with the witcher and his female companion. You'll both become a ghost story in most of the settlements you pass through.

• Geralt is very good at manipulating people, and if that doesn't quite work he'll try to intimidate them, though it's rare but if that also fails then he'll simply kill them and anyone else that might get in his way.

• And considering how long you've been on the road now, he knows your betrothed is long dead, and you didn't have any family left, or any friends. No one knows who you are or where you came from except for him. No one cares about you anymore except for him, and he's sure to remind you of that fact until he's achieved breaking you completely into submission.

| What happens when/if you are ever hurt? |

• It was bound to happen sooner or later no matter how hard he might try to prevent it. You travel all over dangerous lands, and stay on the sidelines as he slays any beast or men that poses a threat. He really should have allowed you a dagger, or at least hide you somewhere safe when working a contract.

• He'd heard your panicked scream when one of the wolves managed to get passed him and corner you. It was as if his heart had been ripped from his chest, and the world was moving in slow motion. In reality he'd spun on his heel in an instant and thrown a knife into the wolfs throat before it could do anymore harm to you.

• He dispatched of the rest of the wolves, and rushed to your side as you sit on the ground, leaning against a tree and cradling your bleeding leg. He'd been making you wear trousers, as they were easier for you to travel in, but now he wished you'd had a dress on, as it would have been easier to get to the gash without causing you anymore pain.

• But that wasn't the case, so Geralt had to unlace the pants and pull them down until he can reach the gash. Cleaning it and dressing it as best he could, even taking advice from you when you told him what herbs would be best. Afterwards he pulled the pants back up as gently as he could, and pulled you up into his arms.

• After finding a safe place in the woods, Geralt set up a large camp. Somewhere for you to rest until your leg was healed, and where you would later train with a sword. He wouldn't make this mistake again, so he will make sure you can protect yourself properly if he cannot. While your leg is injured he would carry you everywhere, or let you ride Roach while he walked beside you to catch you if you fell.

| Is Geralts obsession in any way sexual? |

• In the very very beginning it wasn't sexual to him, you were to pure in his mind in the very beginning. But as time goes by, his love blooms into desire, which will deepen as his obsession grows, and even more so when he sees you bathe after he's taken you captive. He had to make sure you wouldn't run, and sometimes he couldn't help but look at you.

• He may be yandere and at times cruel, but he will not force himself onto you. Not for a kiss or anything else. Even when he wants to cuddle at night, he lets you initiate it, which due to the cold you did so often even when you were still fighting against him.

• But when you finally give into him, and begin to see his love and begin to love him in return. He's like a starved beast, everything is so fierce and intense, yet he is still gentle with you, knowing if he took it to far he could seriously hurt you, and that's the last thing he'd ever want.

• No one and I mean no one but Geralt can see your naked body. Not even the female maids you cross paths with in castles or keeps. If you need assistance in the bath or with your clothes Geralt will be the only one to help you. If someone barges in while you're in a compromising situation, he'll dispose of them for ever looking at what is for his eyes and his eyes alone. Doesn't matter to him who it is, and this could really prove to be a problem if it's someone of great importance.

• He's addicted to your taste, from the taste of your kisses, to the taste if your dripping pussy. Geralt would spend all day and night with his head buried between your thighs if you allowed him to. By the time he's finished with you, he'll be the only god you'll ever pray to.

• Geralt also fucking loves watching you ride his cock, and he doesn't care where you are when you do it. In the woods, an inn, a castle or keep, doesn't matter in the slightest. The sight if his cock stretching you out is far to divine a sight to pass up, not to mention how fucking incredible you look as you use him to fuck yourself into oblivion.

• Geralt will totally melt if you insist on sucking his cock, you look so precious and you do so well he doesn't honestly last long when you suck him off. Sometimes he'll order you to suck his cock and talk about all the filthy things he's gonna do to you as you work his length. But the he still much rather prefers to eat you out.

• He'll leave bruises on your skin from how tightly he holds you as he's fucking you. Sometimes he'll even leave bite marks, but he prefers when you bite him, it's just so primal feeling and he can't get enough. Geralt will warship your entire body for hours before sex and oftentimes after sex as well. Tender overstimulation and aftercare are his specialty.

• Geralt would give you the world on a silver platter if he could, but since that's easier said than done, he'll offer you his body to use as you please whenever you so please. And he feels most at home with his cock buried to the hilt inside of you, so be prepared for all the cockwarming you can take, because now there's no other way to sleep.

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*Alrighty y'all I'm feeling better finally, and I'm trying to get back into the groove of writing. So I hope you enjoyed this piece, and know that if you've sent in a request I've got them in my drafts and I'm slowly working on them again.

A harsh cry breaks through the ringing in your ears and you realise loosely that it’s Jaskier. The shock of hearing his pained shout brings you back to your senses and you find yourself hitting Shelley hard over the head with the hilt of your knife, just once is enough for him to go limp in your grip.

“Jask, shit, Jask, are you okay?” you drop Shelley to the floor unceremoniously, both you and Geralt leaving him behind as you run to where Jask is leant against a tree for support. He’s still standing and you take that as a positive, though when your eyes track down to find the wound you can’t help but let out a sob. Blood is saturating the leg of his trousers and you can clearly see where the bullet has entered.

“Did it come out, fuck, did it come out?”

He mumbles something back that’s barely audible through his laboured breathing and Geralt is quick to wrap his arms around Jask and gently set him on the floor so that he doesn’t waste any more energy trying to stay upright. He’s growing pale rapidly and the darkening pool of blood on the ground beneath him has fear spiking in your veins.

“It’s still in” Geralt confirms your fears and you can hear the strain in his voice.

“Can you get it out?” “Not here- maybe back at the house? Should have something”

“Geralt, that’s- fuck- okay, you go. I’ll take care of Shelley”

“I’m not leaving you with him”

“And I’m not letting him go, so you have to Geralt”

You can see him debating it in his head, the chances of Jaskier surviving if he stays, the chances of you getting hurt if he goes. He looks like he’s about to say something when Jask makes a choked off sob from where he’s still cradled in Geralt’s arms and it makes his mind up for him. 

“Be safe, okay? You need me just call me, just, just make sure the bastard pays for what he’s done. Please” 

You take the chance to hold him while you can, your arms wrapping tightly round his broad waist and pulling him close as you bury your head in his chest. 

"Just make sure Jask is okay, please, I couldn't bare it if-" 

“He’ll be fine, I promise you, I won’t let anything happen to him” Geralt presses a fierce kiss to the top of your head, inhaling deeply as he does, and you know he’s terrified of leaving you here alone after what’s just happened. 

“Thank you, now go, go, get him safe” it takes all of your strength to let go of Geralt. 

He’s careful as he lifts Jask into his strong arms and you don’t miss the concern that paints his features as he gingerly positions Jaskier’s limp body so as best to avoid any further trauma. You take the chance to press a soft kiss to his forehead, a murmured “I love you” against his hair, and then Geralt is carrying him away and you’re left alone with Shelley.

You take a steadying breath as you fight back the tears that are threatening to spill, you know now isn’t the time for this, you have a lot to do before Shelley wakes up, and you’ll be damned if you let this bastard see you cry. It’s hard work without Geralt to help you with the heavy lifting and you find yourself tiring as you drag Shelley’s still limp body through the forest clearing; you strain as you make slow progress on your mission and by the time you have him suitably restrained to a tree you can feel the sweat trickling into your eyes from the exertion. Fucking built bastard. After checking the ropes a few times for strength you make a quick run back to the tree where you’d left your tools, before settling in to wait for him to wake up. You lose track of time as you sit resting against the same tree Jask had been not even an hour before, your mind caught up in the haze of emotions that wash over you. Every few minutes you find yourself pulling your phone out, desperate for any news at all on his condition as you wait. 

After what feels like hours you finally see Shelley stir with a groan, and you practically leap to your feet to get to him. His eyes are wild and frenzied as he sees you approach and he starts to strain desperately at his binds in a futile attempt to get away.

“I told you to pray it wasn’t me Shelley” there’s no joy in your voice as you drop to a crouch in front of him. His face somehow grows paler as the realisation truly hits home for him. He’s stuck, no way out, and he’d made things worse for himself, “I want you to be truthful with me, just like I’m about to be with you. It won’t make it any easier on you, you have no hope of that after what you’ve done, I just want to know why”

He doesn’t attempt to answer for a few moments and you feel white hot rage bubble up in your veins at his silence. A snarl tears from you as you pull your knife from it’s strap on your chest and press it against his thigh in the exact same spot that Jaskier had taken the bullet.

“I’m sorry, I never-”,

“Never what?” you growl, viscous and sharp, as the knife slices a thin, deep cut, “fuck, and to think I felt bad about what I did to Renfri” 

His eyes go wide for a second as he contemplates what that could possibly mean and you shoot him a sadistic grin in response, “She was strong willed, I’ll give her that, could’ve made it so much easier on herself if only she did as she was told, but she didn’t want you to hear her in pain. Stupid bitch”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing compared to what I’m going to do to you”

“Please-”

“You tried to take everything from me, and for what? Was it fucking worth it?” the knife twists deeper and Shelley howls in pain. 

“I thought- I thought” his words are cut off by another cry as you pull your blade out and leave the wound gaping and open, gore now flowing thick and fast to the dull forest floor beneath.

“You thought what?”

“I- If you didn’t have them, you would come back”

“Come back? To what?”

“Me” it’s a whimpered confession, born of loss and sorrow, and if the situation had been different you’re sure you might even be able to feel some sympathy towards the deluded idiot. But right now, with the splattering of Jaskier’s blood not even 10 feet away and the hilt of the knife you’d used on Geralt still firmly in your grip, all you can feel is anger. You can’t help but to laugh, a hollow, empty bark that shows your incredulity at just how stupid this man could be.

“I’m not even going to entertain that with a response”

“Please, need you to know-”

“All of this for some deluded daydream. You had years, Shelley, years to reach out to me before I found Geralt, before I found my home. You let me think you were fucking dead until you got jealous? Fuck you” Rage permeates every word as you let the full extent of your fury be known, “I wasn’t expecting something so fucking stupid from you. I assumed Stregobor had some hold on you. But this? Of your own volition?”

There’s nothing else you can say right now, no way that words can express the pure hatred you feel for the man currently bound and bleeding at your feet, all that you have left to do is make him feel as much pain as you had before you end him. Your thoughts jump back to the bag at your side and an absolutely sickening grin creeps across your face.

“Do you want to see your precious Renfri one last time? I’m not even sure why in the fuck she was so loyal to you, not after what you just told me”

“Renfri, she- she’s here?”

“Of course, she’s going to watch what I’m about to do to you. Say hello Shelley, I’m sure she’s missed you”

His face grows even paler, though you’re not sure if that’s because of the blood loss or the head that you’re slowly lifting out of the bag to greet him.

“Now, she’s just gonna sit right here,” you set the severed head down on a tree stump close by, eyes pointed directly at Shelley’s now trembling figure, before heading to collect more tools from your collection, “while I get the information that I need from you”

He swallows thickly as you crouch down next to him to assume the same position you had been in previously and you’re thankful that he seems to have realised there’s no use in pleading with you. Smart man, just not when it really counts.

“I only have one very simple question- where is Stregobor?”

“I don’t know”

“Wrong answer” you hold up a small metal object just quick enough for him to see, before plunging it deep into the knife wound and he howls with pain as the jagged edges rip into the tender flesh, “try again”

“I don’t fucking know, fuck, I swear, please-” 

“Wrong,” you twist the top of the metal device, “fucking,” you twist again, “answer” each twist causes the device to spread out, opening up the knife wound and tearing out new chunks of skin and muscle with each movement, “I know you know what this does, and I know that you aren’t going to enjoy it if I have to use more of them on you, so I’ll ask again. Where is he?”

“I swear, I fucking swear, I don’t know”

“Always were a stubborn fuck. No matter, I have plenty more toys where that came from”

The next one sinks into his shoulder, but unlike the one embedded deep in his thigh, this one cuts deep and encloses a thick swathe of muscle, before being ripped out violently. The spray of blood left in its aftermath has you smiling sadistically at Shelley who’s already starting to go limp in his binds.

“No, uh uh, you aren’t getting out of this so easily” another quick spear of the now dripping weapon into his other shoulder has him practically wailing, “I can do this all day, Shel, so you might as well save yourself the effort of trying to hide this from me”

“I- fuck, fuck, okay, I know where he is”

“I’m waiting”

He shakily breathes out the words that you so desperately needed to hear from him and you quickly text the information across to Geralt while it’s fresh in your mind.

“Well done,” you get back to your feet with a smile and begin to tidy up your supplies, “took less time than I thought”

“I- are you, are you letting me go?” The hopeful lift to his strained words has joy practically soaring through your veins.  You can’t wait to crush that from him. But not yet. 

“Well you did give me what I asked for. Do you think we’re even?”

“I don’t- uh- no, no I don’t”

“Good, glad we agree” before he can say anything else you pull your gun from it’s strap and aim.

“That,” you shoot his unmarked thigh, “is for Jaskier” he can’t hold back his scream of anguish as you inflict more pain on his already wrecked body, “and this,” you fall back to the now familiar crouch and slide your knife quickly and deeply between his ribs, “is for Geralt”

“P-Please, just, just kill me, fuck”

“You don’t deserve that luxury, not after what you did to me, to them, no. This is going to be as painful as I can make it,” your hand reaches down to put pressure on the head of the metal pear still stuck in his thigh and he hisses, a sickly sweet noise to your ears, before ripping it out in one fluid movement, “you’re fucking lucky Geralt isn’t here with me or I’d be ripping your damn ribcage open and pulling your lungs out like you deserve” 

“Please” his words are hushed and you know he hasn’t got much longer left, not with the blood loss and the toll the pain will have taken on his body.

“Luckily for you I’m not strong enough to break ribs with my own hands, so this will have to suffice” you smile sweetly at him as you pull your knife out from its resting place in his chest and ever so slowly press it in, a fresh wound opening right next to the previous one; you repeat the motion over and over, new incisions lining his chest and welling fresh fountains of blood, until finally you feel him still beneath you. 

A quick press of your fingers to his neck confirms he’s dead, no pulse to be found, and you let out a sob you didn’t even know you’d been holding in. Your hands shake as you grab at your phone to call Geralt, to let him know that clean up is needed asap and that it’s done, and the sound of his voice on the other end of the line helps to ground you from the spiral that you feel is fast approaching. He won’t be long, he says, Jask is currently being treated by the best private doctor that money can buy, he’ll tell you more when he sees you, and despite his words not being as hopeful as you’d liked his tone is reassuring and comforting in the way that only he can be.

“Here’s fine,” Geralt growls as he loops Roach’s reins on a low branch. 

He grunts and kicks through the dirt to an overturned log and sits heavily. His pack drops down beside his foot as he examines the arrow pierced through cloak, leather, and tunic. You set your pack at the other end of the log and look around. That stone at the base of that tree…

“Are you well enough to get a fire going?” You ask as you pull out your small knife.

“I’m not dead.” He grits.

You sigh. “Please and thanks, fella. I needa get you some frogroot.”

“Frogroot? You need Fool’s Parsley.”

“First, none of that ‘round here and second, frogroot is better. It’ll heal ya and keep the infection out.” You counter as you walk the parameter of the clearing.

“What would you know about it?” He snarls.

You glance back at him as he gets up and grabs several sticks from the ground. You shake your head. “More’n ya know, fella. I been living of the land for longer ‘n I can remember. ‘Fore we met, I wasn’t stayin’ in no inns.”

“Oh, clearly you’re not an indoor pet.” He retorts.

“Right, then. I’ll go find that frogroot. If I see any angel’s seed, I’ll make ya a nice tea to calm ye down.” You snort.

“Angel’s seed. That’s fantasy. Stuff’s not real.” He sneers as he stacks the kindling.

You don’t argue. He’s in a mood. You can’t really blame him given the arrow in his shoulder but you didn’t tell those men to attack and certainly his demeanour didn’t help.

You kick between the brush and head out into the thistle and thorn. You weave around and find a tangled net of frogroot. You bend to cut some free, smelling it for freshness. You get a handful of that and search for some angle seed. The pods have been emptied already. You take some weeping nettle instead. It’s good in a pinch when you’re short on rations.

You return to the Witcher the fire crackles. The sky continues to dim as you approach him and pull a rag out of your belt. You lay it out and drop your wares on it. You go to your bag and get out your mortar and pestle. Geralt sniffs and snarls.

You look up as he touches the arrow again.

“You’re not doing yourself any favours.” You say.

“I’ve been shot before.” He drops his hand.

“How am I not surprised.” You crush up the frog root to powder, the scrape of your tools echoing in the din of humming critters hidden in the trees.

He grumbles. You get up and approach him. You balance the small bowl beside him and wipe off your knife. You lift it slowly and flatten your other hand just above his shoulder.

“Ready?”

“Hurry up.” He mutters.

You slice through his cloak and leather and tunic. He huffs.

“Easy enough to sew up,” you assure him.

You expose the flesh of his round shoulder and hide your concern. Beetles, that looks painful. You lean in and examine the arrow.

“Alright, I might have to cut it out–”

He growls and grabs the arrow. He rips it out of his shoulder and tosses it. He suppresses a roar as you grimace.

“Ugh, you shouldn’t have done that.” You tut.

He takes a rag from his own belt and smothers the blood. He looks at you defiantly. You tweak your brows.

“I’m trying to help.”

He stares and leans in. “Then help.”

You put your hand by his and take the cloth. You press onto it until the blood slows. You take two fingers and pack the frogroot into the wound. He trembles and grinds his teeth. You wipe your fingers as he directs you to his pack. 

“Bone needle and horse hair.” He rasps.

You find them in a small leather packet. You thread the needle as you near him again. You begin the delicate but bloody work. He breathes through his nose. You seal the incision, you sense him watch you. You look over as he leans in, sniffing deeply. You frown.

“I told ya not to smell me.” You tie off the horse hair.

He snarls under his breath. You try to back up but he catches you by your jaw. He wrenches you close and forces your head up. He buries his nose in your throat and inhales your scent.

“Woah, fella! What in good goats!” You exclaim as you push on his chest. “That’s not right.”

“You smell…” his lips brush your collar. “Like wine and cherry tart.”

“I think you should lay down, witcher. It smells like worms and sap out here–”

“Mmmmm,” he hums and drags his lips up to your jaw. “You have cast a spell.” He squeezes and you whine. “You know what witcher’s do to enchanter’s? Your dark magic–”

A crack breaks the lull of the forest. You press on Geralt’s should and free yourself from the grip on your jaw. You gasp and spin around. You peer into the shadow forest as Geralt tugs at your wrist.

“Stop! Did you hear that?”

“I hear the sorceress’ song you’ve summoned.” He yanks on you.

You shake him off. “No, I…” You spin as a figure emerges from behind the curled willow trunk. A rush blows over you and you laugh, in disbelief and relief. 

The figure stands with a bow drawn and ready. He aims it at you as Geralt reaches over. All three of you stand frozen.

“Don’t try it, Witcher,” his grinding tone warns.

You stare at the halfling. The four-hooves and speckled fur on the bottom, a man’s thick scarred torso on the top, with a head of scraggly hair around one spiral horn and another one broken off. You’ve only ever seen one fawn like that.