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.
Hi! Can I request Yennefer of Vengerberg + Yellow Flicker Beat by Lorde? Thank you!!
Summary: When Yennefer meets you at the tavern after years, she's surprised to see how much you've changed.
A/N: This was pretty hard because I fought with making up a good plot for like half a day, but I think it turned out fine in the end :) Not my best work, but I followed the song pretty good.
NOT THE SAME KINDS
You had changed. Yennefer saw it long before she met your eyes — the loving and kind spark that was once there was now cold and made of stone.
She hadn’t seen you for years, even though you had some kind of a romance back when you both were in Aretuza. She had heard you had since gone through loss and grief, but she still didn’t expect you to look like this. It was a complete opposite from how she remembered you as.
She still smiled as you saw her, but your expression didn’t change, which made Yennefer’s smile die out. Even her, you looked at like you didn’t care. You hadn’t parted in a fight, it was a hug and you wishing her good luck with a kiss to the corner of her mouth.
She had missed you, but it was clear that you didn’t care about seeing her.
She tried to tell herself it didn’t matter. People changed, she had too, but somehow she didn’t think you would change.
Still, she made herself sit down at your table, making people quiet down for a second, as if everyone was surprised she sat with you. You didn’t lift your gaze to her, didn’t greet her, paid no mind to her.
“Hello,” she greeted you.
You didn’t reply, just took a gulp from your tankard.
"I heard things had been hard," she said.
"Mm."
"But you don’t have to talk about it."
You glanced at her. "Okay."
She looked at your hands. Full of scratches and old scars, the hands of a monster hunter. You seemed to notice her staring at them, and huffed.
“Someone has to take care of villages when Witchers are not around.”
Yennefer knew something about the rumours, a pack of werewolves attacking the village you grew up in, slaughtering everyone. She didn’t know the full story, but it told a story of its own of how you ended up like you were right now.
“You’re good at it?” she asked after a moment. “The hunting.”
You grunted. “I have enough motivation to keep fighting them and to stay alive.”
Yennefer dipped her head slightly. “I’m sorry, about the village.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“It still eats you.”
Silence again. Your thumb stroked the wood of the tankard, before you took another gulp, and put the tankard back down, the hollow sound upon hitting the table signalling it was now empty. You called the barmaid over and slipped a few coins to her, before putting your back over your shoulder again.
“Are you staying in town for long?” Yennefer asked, and you sighed.
“Until I get the next job.”
She spoke before she could stop herself. “Can I join you?”
You paused for a moment, before narrowing your eyes. “Don’t you have your master to serve?”
She shook her head. “He’s dead.”
Your eyes wandered over her body slowly, before took in a deep breath. “Fine. But you have to keep up.”
“That’s not a problem.”
You left the tavern together, and Yennefer hoped that your relationship would grow again. Maybe not to romance, but at least friendship — get you to talk, have that kind, joyful spirit of yours emerge again, have the joyful flickers of light dancing on your face. Gods how she missed your smile, and would do a lot to see it again. And maybe you would one day grant her that.
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Do you have a favorite witcher character to write for that isn’t Geralt or Eskel (since they are already the most popular characters I see written for on here)
Outside of Geralt and Eskel i write for:
Lambert
Yennefer of Vengerberg
Triss Merigold
Keira Metz
Ciri
Jaskier
Emiel Regis
The 9 of them will always be featured in mulit character HC
I can also include Coën, Vesemir, Zoltan, Veron and others if requested (∗˃̵ ᵕ ˂̵∗)
➤ A/N back on my self aware bullshit!!!! hope you all like this one. just an excuse to use the cat divider.
divider credits: @decomposedmaw
the video game distro annual summer sale has left you with a pretty sizable haul- red dead redemption 2, detroit become human, signalis, and of course, the witcher 3. you’ve been wanting to play through it for quite a while, probably years: but you could never justify the 60$ price tag on something you might not enjoy. seeing it on sale for 4 dollars lifted that fear, and you now own it, safe and sound in your library.
the heat swelters outside your tiny apartment, the air shimmering against steel and glass in the hazy city sunset. you thank every god you can think of for your foresight; the only thing that you truly needed for apartment living was AC, and you were willing to pay a little more for it than live without. living on the middle floor of a high rise, the city common and train station within view of your crummy studio was enough to justify the high price.
even though the AC helps considerably, running your computer at all heats up the apartment by a few degrees, so much that you can’t bare to play it during the day. now, with the sun finally set and the game installed, you sit down with a drink and a snack, launching the game excitedly.
the nearly 40 gigs of game had taken so long to install you had almost forgotten to play- almost. the game loads with little issue, and you sit through the opening cutscene with baited breath, tapping the keys rhythmically as you load in.
“oh, shit..” you were not prepared for the opening cutscene to be geralt naked, limbs splayed lazily in a large wooden tub. steam rises above his prone body, skin reddened from the heat of the water. as much as you try, you can’t make out if you can see his dick or not with the limited time he’s on screen. unfortunate, yes, but when he rises out of the tub you get a full-frontal of his glutes, and that just barely makes up for it.
the cutscene goes on and on, with geralt talking to yen and running with ciri, their interactions making your heart melt. that’s literally his daughter, you coo internally, a wide grin on your face at the heartfelt sight. the smile doesn’t last long, however, for soon you reach the combat tutorial; the greatswords that geralt uses are clunky and unfamiliar, and it takes you nearly 5 minutes to get through the counterattack tutorial.
when it finishes you rise up in your chair and pump your fist, too caught up in your pop-off to notice the encroaching fog in the distance of geralt and ciri. your eyes snap back to the computer as the cutscene plays out, heart in your chest alongside geralt, sitting helplessly as ciri get taken from right under his nose.
finally, the cutscene ends with geralt and vesemir interacting quietly in the woods, with geralt confiding liberally his fears about ciri and yennifer. it only takes a few more minutes to fight the griffin (though with more than one failed attempt,) as well as get through the guards picking on the barkeep; until finally you’re left to your own devices.
you make your way to the notice board in town, stumbling through a few tutorials and picking up a few quests that’re frustratingly too high-level for your current state. shrugging, you decide to take a hearty ride with roach through the nearby forest. she trots at a comfortable pace through the forest, hooves against packed-down dirt a relaxing background sound compared to the weird shrieking from the forest.
over the next few days, something.. shifts the further you progress. monsters become easier despite your lower level and frankly abysmal combat skills, npc’s are easier to persuade, your signs are more effective and last longer. it feels like you’re not playing as geralt the character anymore, more taking control of geralt the witcher. all things that should be hallmarks of early game clumsiness are nonexistent- multiple tries on bosses, long-winded quests, low level bandits that kill you despite being higher leveled. it feels off in a way you can’t place.
what you don’t know, however, is that something truly did change within your game. somehow, geralt gained sentience. when you first booted up the game, he felt the spark of thought and feeling. although still controlled like a puppet (which is disorienting within itself) the control never felt.. malicious. detached, of course, but… warm. alive in a way he wasn’t.
every time you log off, geralt gains control of himself. it’s a mindfuck the first time it happens; his limbs loosen like cut strings of a marionette, a tension in his body eases that he wasn’t even aware of. he can move unimpeded, no longer restricted to your control.
yet, he can’t find it in himself to view your control as a bad thing. in fact, every time he feels the reigns tighten around himself, marking your return, he feels his dick throb despite himself. the feeling of helplessness makes him unbearably hard, so much so that everytime your presence disappears, the first thing he does is jerk off.
nearly a week passes in this rhythm. geralt is in control for weeks on his end, then you arrive and take control of himself for only a few short days; mere hours for you. it makes something like jealousy burn in his veins- you give him life, then disappear for days on end? at some points, it makes him mad enough to scream, and others, it makes him tremble from helplessness.
finally, after a long week of work, you’re able to relax for an extended weekend thanks to some PTO. work has been more hectic than ever with the absence of your supervisor, your department scrambling to pick up slack. your computer only stutters a little bit when you boot it up, but the game loads with no issue.
immediately, you’re thrown off balance as you enter the game. you’d left off just as you were leaving white orchard, standing by a signpost, ready to continue on in your next session. but now, you’re stranded in a cabin the the middle of nowhere, nothing but forest and the croak of frogs in every direction. the map doesn’t even work- in fact. none of your hotkeys work- worst and weirdest of all, geralt is across the room, grinding his swords on the whetstone.
that’s.. not supposed to happen.
dread pools like lead in your gut as you twist the mouse to look around. the cabin is dimly lit by the fire burning behind you, casting shadows across geralt’s chiseled face. his burning, catlike eyes burn holes into you- staring through the screen and into your soul.
when he speaks, your stomach does a flip; from fear or anticipation you’re unsure.
“look who finally shows up,” he acknowledges, voice gravelly and vaguely unconcerned. but beneath the gruff exterior, geralt is burning with the need for your attention. his eyes struggle to stay glued to his swords, moving to sheathe them with clammy hands. his length throbs in his pants the more he can feel your gaze on his body.
he had… chosen to forgo clothes for the occasion. his chest marred with puckered scars, pecs red and visible in the firelight. the thing that makes your heart thud, however, is his dick perfectly visible and unimpeded by his bottoms normally present in the game. it’s long, thick and big; so big you can feel your own cock pulse with heat. it’s pale against the stark shadows of the room and leaking precome at the flushed tip.
“cat got your tongue?” he teases, raising an eyebrow at you from the screen. you could laugh at the irony of the statement were it not for the undercurrent of fear that turns your blood to ice. swallowing, you respond through a strained voice- “course not. just what the fuck.”
geralt laughs, the sound nearly jolting you from your seat. he throws his head back, hair cascading down his neck like a sheet of ice covering a waterfall. “didn’t expect you to be so blunt.”
you gawk. “have you met me?” nearly everyone you’ve met has been put off by your bluntness, calling it rude and untoward. geralt raises an eyebrow, cocking his lips up in a knowing smile. “not officially.”
damn him and his suave demeanor, you curse, fighting desperately at the flush rising to your face. he props a leg up on his thigh, the toned muscles rippling and pose revealing enough to unabashedly show off his well-endowed core. he clears his throat, tilting his head in question. “you come here often?”
the question, absurd in its normality, is enough to throw you off. this can’t be real. this can’t be happening. your head spins, vision swimming as panic rises like bile in your throat. your stomach lurches despite yourself, nausea burning a hole in your stomach. “n-no..”
he laughs again, like everything is normal, like there’s nothing weird about him talking to you so freely. “that’s a shame. you seem like decent company.”
more than decent, he thinks, trying not to let his fascination slip through the cracks of his composed demeanor, you’re the only company he wants.
sweat beads at your forehead the longer you sit and chat with geralt. you swallow the bile down that rises at your throat, acrid fear that makes your eyes sting and blood run cold. “i guess so.”
“i know so,” geralt presses, and he rises so quickly your eyes barely catch the movement. he’s practically in your face- well, in direct sight of the camera acting as your eyesight- and it makes you freeze with fear. “i know better than anyone.”
it’s all to much for you, his forthright words of possessiveness making your head spin and vision blur with black spots at the edges. your breath comes in strained gasps, panic swelling in a crescendo that makes your limbs turn to jelly. this isn’t real, your mind reasons, straining for an explanation, it’s just a dream.
a nightmare so real you can feel your body giving out from panic. your body hits the desk with a sudden thud, and geralt curses his eagerness, pacing with anger. he was too fast with his approach; now you’ll never want to see him again.
