warnings: tokophobia. ftm pregnancy scare. abortions. hurt / comfort. vent fic. 600 follower special out of spite
A/N: you thought i was joking when i said i’d write m-abortion?
it wasn’t supposed to be possible. everything you’ve heard about witchers- everything geralt has told you- pointed to the idea that this wasn’t possible.
as soon as even a whiff of you feeling ill crossed geralt’s nose, he practically dragged you by the ear to the nearest apothecary; glaring at the poor woman the entire time she checked you over. muttering under her breath and sighing as she leans back in her wicker chair.
“girl,” she hisses, venom lacing her voice in a way that makes geralt bare his teeth. she visibly flinches under the weight of his glare. “i’m not the most informed on how witcher.. bits work,” she explains, opening her palms outward and taking your shaking hands in hers. “if my knowledge serves me right,” her lips upturn into a smile with a little too much lip to keep from turning into a sneer, “you’re going to be a mother-”
you turn away from the woman as geralt’s sword cleaves through her neck, blood spraying across your face as the head falls, now detached, from her neck. everything feels.. numb, and far away; you don’t even register geralt’s calloused hands wrapping under your knees and shoulders, carrying you away from the apothecary’s shop.
he takes you to a stream that runs behind the apothecary, gently placing you on a stone long flattened by rushing water. your teeth chatter and hands shake as he splashes cold water on your face and neck, gently scrubbing away the tackied blood.
you stare at nothing as geralt’s hands wrap around your waist, pulling you close enough you can hear his inhumanly slow heartbeat. with his own shirt discarded somewhere nearby, the unnatural heat of geralt’s skin is a gentle brand and tether to the present.
geralt presses his nose to your scalp, breathing in deeply to inhale as much of your scent as possible. “you don’t..” he pauses, picking his words carefully, “smell different.”
“what if she’s right.” you can’t bring yourself to phrase it as anything more than a statement. a question would feel too real and set in stone. “what if i am-”
“then we’ll get rid of it.” geralt states, blunt and simple. “i’ll find silphium so it can’t develop any further.”
tears catch at your waterline, your breath hitching in fear and anticipation both. you pray to whatever god lends an ear to witchers that it’s that simple. “..please.”
“consider it done.” geralt hums, pressing a quick kiss to the crown of your head. “i might have some in the saddlebags.” he stands, wrapping his cloak around you as you shiver in the early evening breeze. you stand as well, following behind him to the campfire he had set up earlier.
roach whinnies as geralt digs through her saddlebags, clearly not impressed at being bothered so late into the day. he huffs alongside her, face drawn tight in concentration. anticipation and fear make your blood thrum under your skin; only letting up when geralt turns with silphium held triumphantly in his grasp.
“from what i remember, you eat the seed pods raw or cook them into a tea.” geralt says, leading you back to the fire and settling down next to you. your head rests at the crux of his neck, his breath fanning over your nose as his deft fingers coax the seed pods out of the flower. “eat.”
not wanting to waste another minute in the hellish limbo state you’ve been plunged into, you swallow the bitter seeds whole; trying not to grimace at the taste. geralt hums, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you closer to his chest, close enough you can feel his heartbeat against your ear.
silence fills the void of conversation comfortably for a few minutes while your brain runs a mile a minute. gods you hope this works, or this whole ordeal is just an overreaction-
“i love you, you know.” geralt says into the night, and tears burn hot against your waterline again. “we’ll get through this.”
and the way he says it, so surely, so matter of fact, you can’t help but believe him.
