#young dettlaff

[afroplatypus]

Portrait of the vampire as a young heartthrob

[san-tsun]

🌔MOONLIGHT 🌖

Is it too late to post a fanart about the vampire husbands of The Witcher DLC??? *cries*

[kiyye]

my concepts for young regis + dettlaff, plus one regular dettlaff i doodled

i feel like young dettlaff had an emo school bully haircut, and regis had a little ponytail

[gerlat-apreciation]

Vampiric Protectors Part 3

Geralt: piss yourself

Regis: isn’t he neat??

————-

The many bookshelves did prove interesting, as Geralt found himself reading for days on end, only taking tiny breaks to meditate, or to listen closely at the door for his kidnapper to make any noise. Which was fruitless considering higher vampires moved silently in whichever mode of transportation they chose. But every now and then there was faint tones of conversation, between Regis and random people, then there was a sound of a door closing, and then it would be silent until around one in the morning. When Regis came back, a lot louder than before. Obviously he was drunk, severely so, and it worried Geralt, both for his friend and for himself.

Though during the days, he would randomly black out, and come back to himself with food sitting on his lap. It was strange, and, frankly annoying, but at least he was getting food. But he was being treated like a feral animal in a cage, but then again at this point he probably was one. The Witcher found himself snarling and baring his teeth at any small noise, either from a rat or when he came back to himself from the momentary blindness. He despised it when Regis did that, and usually hurled loud barking insults at the door, knowing the vampire could hear it. Each time it happened it only increased his worry that he would become the vampires next snack.

As of now a week has passed, Regis going out with his friends and coming back shit-faced about every evening, but never failing in making sure his pet witcher was fed. Geralt currently was meditating, to the right of the silken bed as it blocked instant view from the door. Hands on his knees and head bowed, yet senses high and perked just for the vampire. He knew this Regis was impatient, and wouldn’t be able to just ignore the increasingly more feral witcher in his guest room. Regis would come soon, and Geralt, often known for his impatience, currently had the patience of a saint.

That might be because he planned to stab the vampire with the probably expensive fork clutched in his hand, and that would mark his waiting as waiting for a hunt, but still the warrior was quite proud of himself, he's been sitting here for four hours, in a half meditation, waiting for a vampire to come, so he can stab them.

He heard a soft shifting of fabric at the door, the sound of the lock outside being opened, the turn of the doorknob, and the loud squeal of the rusty gears opening after many years of no use. It probably took a lot of the vampires strength to open it, which made it even better for Geralt. The door was halfway open, and that was the moment when Geralt stood, and in one smooth movement, jumped onto the bed, and off the headboard, propelling himself directly at the vampire who reacted just as quickly as he moved. Geralt landed chest to chest with the vampire, fork firmly plunged into Regis’ shoulder.

The swordsman's pride was shortly lived, as the powerful beast slammed him bodily into a wall, one hand wrapped around the hand holding the fork, and the other wrapped tightly around his throat, Regis’ thigh pressing firmly between Geralt’s legs.

“My dear witcher, whatever gave you that idea?” The vampire purred, leaning in closer to the others sensitive ears, obviously sensing the witchers.. discomfort. Geralt suppressed a shiver, baring his teeth at the other, but unable to move an inch.

“You’ve kept me here for a week, like a feral animal”

The vampire hummed absentmindedly, tightening his grip on the witcher's wrist, causing Geralt to release the weapon. It clattered to the floor, along with Geralt’s hopes of defending himself from the beast. Who focused his attention to nuzzling against Geralt’s throat.

“Now now, little wolf, I haven’t done it without reason. Albeit a bad reason, but a reason nonetheless.” A lick to his throat was emphasis in this sentence, causing Geralt to jerk against the other, heartbeat increasing. Regis laughed, deep and teasing.

“And that reason is?” Geralt spoke, voice tight along with his pants. Regis, of course, noticed, and his reaction was to press his thigh further up against Geralt’s crotch, lifting his feet off the ground. Geralt hissed, focus parted halfway between Regis talking and his thigh doing things that they shouldn’t in between his legs. The vampire squeezed the witcher’s throat gently, snapping his attention back to the vampire's face, as Geralt’s free hand wrapped around the vampire's wrist.

“I would like your assistance, My dear. With my.. slight issue in drinking. You are a witcher, and I believe you can keep up with a vampire such as myself nicely. I have been watching you for.. awhile.. and seen your experience. It would require you to.. aid me in resisting my urges to tear someone’s throat out, and help me part from my rather unsavory friends.” Regis leaned away from the witcher's ear, speaking to him face to face, completely ignoring the others blush.

“You helped me.. so ill return the favor. If you put me down.” The witcher closed his eyes, and tried to will away the annoyance in his pants. Once Regis sat him down he opened them, and shivered, glaring at Regis’ teasing grin.

“I’m gonna go get my swords, you aren’t gonna keep me locked in here either.” Geralt growled, walking through the door with Regis hot on his tail.

“That is unnecessary, I have your weapons in the sitting room.” Regis spoke smugly, pressing his palm into Geralt’s lower back and guiding him through the many halls, and past the many different doors. Down a flight of stairs, and into the sitting room, which was right next to the door to the outside. It was midday as of now, the windows casting bright sun onto the couches, from the dead garden outside. Regis obviously didn’t take care of his plants that well. On a cushion Geralt found and equipped his ursine armor, and his swords, grumpily tying the belts in place.

“Do you usually spend all your time in full armor?” Regis tilted his head, looking over Geralt fondly.

Geralt grunted in reply, and continued onto another subject. “Are your friends coming over soon?”

The vampire made a dismissive noise. “Ah. Yes. They are. I plan to have you act as my thrall, to avoid drinking tonight. Of course.” He sounded slightly embarrassed.

“And.. that would require for me to..” Geralt spoke slowly, as if Regis couldn’t understand that he needed an explanation, while nodding his head at Regis who sighed.

“You will have to act like my pet Witcher, to make a long explanation short. Act as if you are under the influence of strong magic, and do everything I tell you to, yes?” Regis explained, if a bit, too excited for this to happen.

“Ooh goodie” Geralt growled, in a fake sing-song voice. Once again dumping his swords onto the couch. There was no use to wear them anyway.

“Also.. just a little thing.. you’ll have to wear this.” Regis gave his best pleading grin, as he pulled a leather collar out of his doublet.

“Oh hell no.” Geralt snarled, grabbing it briefly to look at it. It was a belt like leather collar, with an emblem of a blood drop, while another loop, probably there for someone to grab it, sat just under it. Very well crafted and looked quite beautiful, if it wasn’t the fact that he would be wearing it. “When did you even get that?”

The vampire’s voice was smug when he replied. “Yesterday evening. And it is a requirement, it’s to show you belong to be, and as my thrall, you do. As soon as they leave I will take it off, I promise.” He hummed, reassuring the witcher’s nervousness.

“As soon as they leave.” Geralt sighed, pulling his hair back so the other can loop it around his throat, which he does.

“There we go, I hope it isn’t too tight?”

“No.. it’s fine.” Geralt mumbled, uncomfortable beyond human binds.

“Alright.. now.. they should be here soon, about two hours? That gives us some time to go for a run-down on how we both should act.” Regis hummed, walking over to a chair and sitting down, legs spread widely. Geralt grunted in agreement, bush trying to get the little medal in the middle of his throat, and adjust the chain of his medallion.

“Come.” Regis snapped, causing Geralt to snap his attention directly onto the vampire, and bare his teeth. “You’ll owe me after this. I promise you that.” He growled, but nonetheless strided over to stand in front of the other.

“I’m well aware, and I thank you for this. I enjoy this just as much as you do, Geralt” The vampire spoke seriously, looking up into the others golden eyes to prove his point. “But I must be in stable condition before I can safely break away from my friends. If you could call them that. Now Witcher, sit.” His voice returned to the cold, steely monotone commands, looking down at him with indifference.

It made Geralt want to tear his throat out and eat it. But he sat down at the others feet, in the usual meditation stance.

“Glaze your eyes over, if you can do that?” Regis tilted his head, gently threading his fingers into the witcher's silken hair, a soft noise of surprise sounding inside his throat.

“I can. I can also control my heartbeat, but not for long.” The witcher up to Regis, tense as a board.

“Just glaze then over. And relax, I’ve never seen someone so tense”

Geralt did as he was told.

**

After a while of practice, Geralt could say he absolutely despised this, no exceptions. The false act his vampire ally put up to impress his friends disgusted him, that included the way he was treated while the act was going on. Though, when he got overwhelmed or a little too angered, Regis always stopped and made sure he could carry on, which he did.

They spent two hours perfecting how Geralt was going to act, the Witcher refused to fuck up the little gathering that would happen any minute now. Regis seemed to have other thoughts as he looked to the couch in front of him, where the Witcher was sitting angrily sharpening his blades to relieve the annoyance welling up in his chest, like a drowner appearing from the muck of a swamp.

“Are you sure you won’t lunge at them, teeth bared and snarling? I myself have learned my lesson on questioning if you can keep up with me or not, but I doubt they have or ever will.” Suspicion filled the vampires tone, leveling the Witcher a look of distrust.

Geralt snorted “I’ve spent two hours of my life sitting at your feet and making sure my eyes are as cloudy as you want them, I’m more likely to spit directly into their eyes then lunge at them.”

“You are a prideful, prideful creature, my friend. I wouldn’t doubt it in a second that they would insult your pride, or something you care for, and you would attack. And my biggest concern is whether I would try to stop you or not.”

The room turned silent as the two processed what had just been said.

“I.. thank you. I would do the same for you, Regis” Geralt murmured, looking away, the words had hit him like a fiends charge, fast and heavy with little time to actually respond correctly. So it left the witcher scrambling for the correct words to use. He had turned up empty handed so he just very awkwardly returned to sharpening his blades while the vampire looked everywhere but his general direction.

They were pulled out of their little moment by Regis, hissing for Geralt to get into position by his chair, while he frantically stood and walked to the door, as soon as he arrived a knock sounded out.

Geralt did as he was required, sitting on the floor next to the chair, legs folded under him yet to the side, allowing him to rest his head against the armrest of the chair, where Regis’ hands would be. He clouded his eyes, vision going blurry like when Oldgeird threw that weird mix of shit into his eyes, he didn’t know what it was, but his best guess was salt. The bastard.

Geralt had to put himself out of his brooding when he heard a few gasps of surprise, and eyes on his form. There were four men, all average height and weight, most of them were blondes but the third man had a deep brown, all were looking at him with surprise, and the fascination one would have looking at a fly with one wing.

“Emiel! I never thought you’d have a thrall, and a witcher as one? I do hope you know their blood quality isn’t——”

Regis cut him off, walking past him and sitting in the chair, threading his fingers into Geralt's hair. “I care not for his quality of blood, my friend. What I like about him is his spunk. He fights. And he does it well, it keeps me on my toes and that’s something I quite enjoy. Now please, seat yourselves and ask away. I believe he can answer his own questions and I can answer mine, isn’t that correct?” Regis jostled the witchers head, gentle but enough to move it.

“Piss yourself, vampire.” Geralt snarled, baring his teeth, and reveling in the others noises of surprise. Emiel chuckled.

“Ahh~ there it is.” Regis purred, a disgusting grin splitting his face. “Do not worry about him attacking me friends, I’ve already established myself as the stronger one of us both.” He spoke as the others shuffled to the couch Geralt was recently sitting on.

The swordsman found himself spacing out as the others talked, questions frequently asked at the beginning yet slowing down the longer the conversation dragged on.

Suddenly a hand grabbed his cheek, he yelped, jolting back against the chair and baring his teeth, a hiss that sounded suspiciously like a bruxa’s sounding in his throat. He glared at the hand, and then the person (or vampire) attached to it, he was the one who insulted his blood quality. Regis tugged on the loop of the collar as soon as he snapped his teeth towards the other’s hand, yanking him back against the chair.

“Allow him to get a nice look at your eyes, won’t you, dearest?” Regis snidely leaned down and looked him in the eyes, he glared back, but then looked away and back to the other vampire, with a small nod.

Once he did so, the man pried his eyelid up, looking closely at his golden eyes. Geralt shrunk them, mostly to get a rise out of the other, which he did.

“Such beautiful eyes.. but was that fangs I just saw?” Spoke the man, prying the witchers mouth open and feeling his teeth. He had tiny fangs, enough to tear flesh and bone apart.

“How much would I have to pay for him?” He purred, reaching his hand out of his mouth to grab Geralt’s collar. A finger tugged the collar closer to Regis, who wrapped a hand around his chin and forced him to look up. But in the witcher's surprise at the sudden move, he bit through the vampires finger. An angry look blazed in Regis’ eyes that spoke of an extreme possessiveness. Geralt gasped quietly, eyes widening momentarily, but slipping back into his act soon after as the vampire screamed.

“The Witcher belongs to me. And only me, Alphonse.” Regis growled, tugging Geralt’s head closer to his chest. His voice had become deep and raspy, with an undertone of sheer power. “Do you understand that?” He snarked, smiling when the other nodded, holding the stub of his finger. Geralt made note to spit out the finger directly at the poor vampire, as all the others looked on in sheer horror.

“I believe you four should go, yes? Goodnight, my friends.” Emiel glared then all out of his manor, and as soon as they closed the door he looked down to Geralt, worry in his eyes. “Did they harm you? Are you well? I thought you’d really lunge for them after he did that. I’ve also never seen you so quiet, it was unsettling” He gasps, undoing Geralt’s collar and throwing it onto the couch the others just left behind.

“Naw, I’m fine. Witchers don’t have a gag reflex. It was a bit uncomfortable when he messed with my eye though. And no spell, just..fell into a half meditation. Spaced out a bit actually.” Geralt grumbled, moving to sit on Regis’ thigh as the vampire pulled him into a strong hug. “Though I have to ask, I never thought you’d look so possessive when I did that. Why did you?” He murmured into the taller man's chest.

“Ah.. well.. I believe from our little time together I have grown attached to you. Extremely so.” The vampire murmured into Geralt’s hair, taking a deep breath of it to ground himself.

“Ah..” Geralt said, with intelligence, before continuing when he remembered Regis would appreciate an actual response. “I’ve gotten attached as well. It was.. pretty sweet of you to shove them out like that. You could have just raised their suspicions, it was risky but.. sweet.” Spoke the Witcher, also inhaling the others scent to ground himself.

“You also smell like rain, that’s a plus.”

Regis started chuckling, which caused Geralt to smile. Almost.

The witcher moved himself from the others lap, both immediately missing the loss but not acting on the want, Geralt tried to change the subject to lessen the sheer want to be back on the vampires lap. “So how will we start? The whole.. stopping the blood addiction thing?”

Regis sighed. “We will start by completely cutting me off from any human blood. I will have to satisfy myself with animal blood.”

“What’s so bad about animal blood?”

“It’s ah..” Regis made a noise of thought, trying to explain “It's like watered down wine. Dull and disgusting, but still wine.”

”Alright then. So just, keep you from biting humans?” Geralt tilted his head

“In the simplicity of it all, yes” Regis huffed in amusement.

“Alright then, this should prove easy.” Geralt mumbled, leaning back in the couch and relaxing

“Oh how wrong you are, my friend. I will go through a period eventually where I become.. well.. rabid. I will attack anything and anyone I see, including you” The vampire murmured, rubbing his temples to sooth his aching mind, which was racing through every possibility

“What can we do about that?” Geralt leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I am not sure, but.. I’ll come up with something eventually..”

Regis was unsure if he would actually come up with something before the rabidness became apparent. He knew it would hit out of nowhere, and truly there was really no way to prepare for it. He could only hope he’d think of something that would hold him back long enough for the witcher to get away.

[gerlat-apreciation]

Vampiric Protectors Part 1

Ciri, Geralt, and Avallac’h are travelling worlds and about to go home, when Ciri, low on energy and distracted, teleports all three of them to a separate place. Geralt finds himself in a world seemingly like his own, but Regis and Dettlaff are younger, and one is much much more drunk.

This was beta-read by @oversharingskeptic !! Thank you hun for the help!

Also!! I’d like to thank @witcher-not-quitter , @gridelincarver , and @sosaisdming for helping with the idea!

———————————————————————-

Geralt gripped onto Ciri’s hand, their fingers intertwining. Ciri and Avallac’h’s harsh breaths ringing out from the poisonous gas that filled their lungs. Geralt, was unaffected. Witchers could hold their breath much longer than any human or elf ever could. Speaking of elves, the witcher's eyes met the sage’s from behind Ciri’s back, grey meeting brilliant gold, They both immediately glared at each other, Geralt taking the time to bare his sharpened teeth, the elf returned it, albeit with much blunter teeth. Geralt stifled a laugh.

“Are you two ready?” Ciri breathed, looking at them, who suddenly had innocent looks on their faces. Ciri huffed in disappointment, and Geralt suddenly felt guilty, but, taking one last look at the stunning but brutal world around him, he nodded, a soft grunt in his throat to speak for him, his throat felt raspier than usual. He waved it off to the gas, and let the feeling of his daughter moving worlds overcome him.

Time itself seemed to slow, which gave the witcher enough time to be overcome with a feeling. Pride. Pride for his daughter, who had come so far from the little girl running the halls of Kaer Morhen, following around Eskel, or Vesemir like a baby duckling, chirping for stories, or someone to play with her. Geralt had to admit to himself, she was very good at emotional blackmail. He was proud of that too, just like Lambert.. he couldn’t say no to the tiny thing, clinging to his thigh and giving him the dreaded puppy eyes. If Geralt could shiver he would, those puppy eyes forced him into an odd tea party here and there, and now he permanently holds a teacup with a pinky out. No matter how much his brothers told him his courtly manners would be godlike, he didn’t agree.

He was brought back to himself by the sharp sting of hitting the ground, on his back. He opened his eyes and was met with the bright sun, he groaned. What the hell, he thought, a scowl forming on his face. Slowly, he sat up, taking in his surroundings slowly, letting it sink in. During their travels with Ciri, they got separated often, but quickly came back together. But earlier, Geralt reminded himself that Ciri told them both her energy was going low, and that this teleport would be the one that would take them home.

So he was stuck here for a little bit, okay. That was fine. As Geralt drew into a stand, he groaned once more, hands going over his head and curling his back. A simple stretch that popped his back in the same go. Afterwards, Geralt adjusted his many belts, potions, and bombs, then sniffed the air, once, twice, thrice. Soon after the smell of civilization filled his nose, mostly cow and pig shit, but the faint tones of human sweat. There was something about it that made it significantly human. Probably the large amounts of salt? There was something about it that smelled like a bad mix of salt and onion, where and why they ate that much salt Geralt didn’t know, neither did he know about the onion thing. He’d have to ask Regis if he ever got the chance again. Not that he would, or could, Regis was in Nilfgaard, after he hunted down Dettlaff.

Geralt sighed once again, brooding at the loss of his trusty companion, who was always by his side. Sadly Ciri couldn’t teleport him, Avallac’h, herself, and Roach travelling different worlds, but it would have been nice to be able to ride his mare the long distance to the village. But without his trusted companion and confidant, he would have to walk, and of course, Geralt being himself, would complain the entire way there. What was stopping him? Gaunter?

Geralt held back another laugh, he wouldn’t be bothering anybody anytime soon.

So he turned his attention back to following the scent of humans, brooding and complaining the entire way there, in his head of course. Vesemir would have his ass if he found out he complained in view of random people.

**

“You can’t possibly be asking that much for a zeugel!!”

The human male gasped. He was reaching his fortieth winter, with two healthy girls who currently had their heads pressed to the bedroom door, watching them argue. Geralt resisted the urge to eat him instead of a turkey from a nearby inn. Of course that was a joke, he wouldn’t leave the girls without a parent. So, Geralt just sighed in reply.

“150?” He offered. Eyebrows pinching in suppressed anger, he could feel his mutations working overtime to pull back the surprisingly powerful urge to punch this man. But, as if Gaunter himself, the man of mirrors, dickhead extreme, pressed a gentle kiss to his left ass, because the man instantly nodded, and relief flooded each man.

Maybe Gaunter was back..

Nah.

Geralt grunted in agreement, and turned on his heel, slamming the door shut as soon as he exited, and made his way to the location provided, a sewer entrance a little out of town, which flowed into a river that curled around a mountain that the little village was nestled in. It was..quaint..the white haired witcher kneeled in front of the entrance, taking his silver sword and a sharpening stone, raking it quickly against the sides, not enough to chip or damage, the smooth movements calming the swordsman.

Soon after he stands once more, downing a blizzard and a wraith decoction, just to be safe. Geralt was experienced, yes, but even master witchers had trouble with grown zeugls. As the potions slipped down his throat, he shivered, the tingling sensation of his quickened movements caused him to move with an inhuman swiftness, more so than he already did. With grace, he stepped into the sewer tunnel and directly into the flowing water of it. The wolf had no time for disgust, he had a job to do. Walking down the tunnel once more whilst trying to push out every thought of how disgusting it is, he came into a larger room with thick brick walls, and while the entrance was now far far back, he could still see enough to not have to down a cat. Piles and piles of trash, knick knacks, and whatchamacallits that even a blacksmith had no name for, he sniffed the air. Of course the first thing that he smelled was the invasive and frankly rude scent of the piss and shit of the larger (and wealthier) civilization down the road. Of course they built through the mountain, and allowed the probably humongous zeugl to be the villagers problem. This was another of the many reasons on Geralt’s list that he didn’t like nobles in the slightest. But, under all the stench he smelled rotting flesh and the unique rancid stench of a zeugl.

Now that he knew where it was, he started looking closely. He was most likely sharing a room with the thing.

With a little bit of help from his nose, he found a tentacle resting on the edge of the side path. As the Witcher stepped towards it to cut it off and initiate the fight, the floor suddenly cracked, and broke.

He was falling.

And falling.

And falling.

And now he hit the ground, sword tightly gripped in his palm.

There were many many hisses, hisses of Arachas in fact. Fuck.

Geralt sprang up, inhumanly fast and cast a stream of ingi, momentarily lighting the five Arachas (five Arachas too many) on fire. Geralt then, in a smooth movement, flittered to one and started cutting. 1,2,5. Twirling around and snapping his wrist left and right in the move affectionately named ‘Whirl’ by Vesemir. Very soon after the Arachas was very dead, and he moved onto the next one, the others were still on fire. Repeating the move on the second Arachas, they were quickly downed as well. The shrieks of death and the ones on fire filling his ears like daggers.

Not soon after, he had three of them on both his left, right, and front. Geralt in response lurched to the side to get the one on the left, only for the ones on the middle and right to attack him from behind. He growled, rolling away from the three quickly.

There was another, fourth hiss. One of a venomous Arachas. Geralt’s heart was too busy pounding in his ears for him to be able to tell where it was coming from. Grabbing a dancing star from his hip, he slung it in an arcing motion, the Arachas in turn light right back on fire.

But, while attacking, he, in a rookie move, forgot about the very venomous and very dangerous Arachas behind him, and he felt a bite in his thigh and venom filling his muscles. Vision dizzying, he stumbled, gasping and growling desperately to stay awake. But the world was swimming, Geralt couldn’t keep his balance and his vision was going dark. In the commotion Geralt’s sword slipped from his hand causing the Witcher to panic, he keened, and then everything went black. The last thing the Witcher saw was a figure surrounded by smoke lurching at the Arachas from the shadows, claws extended and teeth bared as smoke twisted around their form.

[gerlat-apreciation]

Vampiric Protectors Part 2

Geralt wakes up to a hideously mangled monster, intestines thrown about like streamers in a party, and a heart resting by his foot. While deep claw marks were buried in the wall ranging from light and barely there to deep and attention seeking, rubble and blood flooding about every sense he had.

Trying to remember what the strange figure who seemed to dance with the shadows itself even remotely looked like, he was rewarded with a terrible headache and a newly throbbing skull. Suddenly he seemed to do something right looking at the walls and the mangled corpse because he remembered a figure who looked suspiciously like his vampiric friend but much healthier. He thought of how shitty his friend looked while working to find Dettlaff.

The figure was kneeling over him, hand tightly wrapped around his thigh and features more human than when he leaped from the wall randomly, like an asshole. Who leaps from walls?

Saving that memory for later, Geralt returned to what the hell happened when he passed out. He really needed to pay better attention to things.

———

Kneeling over him, hand tightly wrapped around his thigh, deep black eyes locking with cloudy gold, watching him frantically.

“Are you well?”

“Who..”

They both spoke at the same time,interrupting each other. While the quite obvious higher vampire was stunned from his voice, Geralt took the time to speak.

“M’ fine.. would be better if you gave me that gold potion, left pocket, smells like fish. And the clear one, smells like honeysuckle..” In an attempt to hurry the stranger along in helping him, he didn’t want to pass out again.

The vampire scrambled to do just that, keeping a hand on his bloody thigh, a cloth wrapped around his nose. Geralt thought it strange but didn’t have the energy to comment on it at the time. Suddenly a potion glass at his lips shook him out of his stupor, Geralt grunted in thanks before downing the potions with the aid of his now strange friend..? Friend.

“Is there anything else I can aid you with little wolf?” The vampire breathed through his mouth, nostrils flaring at the sour smell of his blood. His voice was pleasant, deep with an accent like Regis’, he liked Regis’ voice, and could listen to it for hours while he talked about whatever. Geralt apologized under his breath, Regis told him how rancid his potions were.

“Nah.. m good. White Honey’ll do the most of the work, thanks..” Geralt slurred a lazy concoction of speech to stop thinking about the old bat. The Witcher used the time the vampire was looking for his potions to take in the strangers features.. dark hair, mutton chops, and smelled like blood. Yep.. this was Regis. But younger. Fuck.

Geralt was proven correct soon after

“My name is Emiel Regis Rohlec Terzieff-Godefroy, as you can probably tell, I am a higher vampire of the Garasham tribe.” Regis pressed a bloody hand to his doublet clad chest, motioning to himself while probably staining it with his blood. “And you are?” His nailed hand moved towards the witcher, smooth and graceful. Geralt had always admired how fast and predatory vampires were, respected it as well. It was impressive, and plain damn attractive how strong they were.

Once the vampire raised a thin, regal brow he collected himself once more to reply.

“Geralt of Rivia, Witcher,” He said simply as Regis seemed to go through multiple stages of surprise, amazement, disbelief, and belief before he murmured a simple

“cool.”

Geralt started laughing as soon as Regis looked displeased with himself. Shoulders shaking and lips spreading in a closed smile as his throat tried to release the sound from itself, his gritty huffs soon had him groaning, holding the offending neck with one hand. The Witcher returned his gaze to the vampire, who had a wide grin on his face.

“Enjoying yourself little wolf?” He purred, voice a smooth roll, like the first wave of an ocean being overlapped by another, coming together to make a beautiful scene with calming sounds. Geralt grunted in reply, dragging himself back so he could lean against the wall.

“Watching me, vampire?” He hummed, casting the other a dry look, the other cringed. This was a dangerous change of subject given he had no idea how this Regis acted.

“Ah.. perhaps.. I found very quickly after seeing you that you casted my interest, you smell delightful.. I could just..” Regis’ teeth bare, and he starts to lean forward.

Geralt's heart kicks up from its slow beat, and he wraps a hand around his sword, as soon as Regis lunges at him. He pressed his eyes closed, tense as a siren after a horn blow.

..

.

His body registers the curved nose of Regis pressing his nose against his throat, and smelling.

“What the fuck Regis-“

It was Regis’ turn to laugh now, soft and kind, with an undercurrent of predatory dominance that sent sharp shivers down Geralt’s spine alongside the tame breaths against his exposed clavicle. He pulls away and Geralt finds himself missing the cool breaths.

“Ah.. this was fun, my dear. But I believe you need some rest, it’s required for humans to rejuvenate, is it not?” He tilts his head, black hair falling to the left as he cups his palm against Geralt’s cheek, thumb swiping against the underside of his eye, rubbing the scar gently.

“Aw fuck- don’t tell me you’re gonna-“

And then he was asleep.

——-

So that was what happened.. that headache was worth it, Geralt thought, grabbing his sword and standing, taking the time to sheathe it and grab the heart that was resting at his foot, it would make a good trophy, even if the zeugl he needed to kill wasn’t dead.

Knowing Regis it probably was dead, but he needed to make sure.

Pulling himself up into a platform that, by the smell of it, led him back into the sewers. To pass the time he checked his potion vials, making sure everything was well and in place. He double took when he saw the zeugl, it’s entire head resting over the hole where he fell. What the hell, Regis.

Geralt heaved a heavy sigh, and cut out a tooth from it, and made his way back to the village to receive his pay.

**

A few days have passed since then, and the Witcher had taken up residence inside a nearby inn, after completing two more contracts to pay for it and a good few meals. He hasn’t been interrupted by a certain drunkard vampire as of yet, but he was probably being watched. It didn’t bother him as much as he thought it would, it was comforting almost, that Regis would come in anytime he loses control of a situation or contract.

Currently, Geralt was reclined on a sofa, wrapped in various furs and reading a book in front of the fireplace with a platter of various cheeses and grapes at his side, along with a wonderful goblet of wine the inn owner imported from Toussaint. Witchers here were treated surprisingly well, and Geralt was soaking it in as much as he could, enjoying every moment and every ounce of respect he received for his profession. It was pleasant, that was for sure.

Suddenly, there was a crackle, one of pure power that had Geralt flinging himself over the side of the couch, cheese platter flying everywhere and wine probably staining the soft velvet cushions, and there was a smell that he finally processed as soon as he saw the teal magic forming into a person, snow and lemons. It was Ciri, his pup, his baby. Geralt instantly smiled and lowered his blade, when the projection of Ciri cleared

“You seem to be enjoying yourself” Ciri chuckled, looking around the room with interest.

“Ah.. just got back from a few contracts, it’s nice here.” He hummed, going back to the front of the couch to clean up the cheese that found itself implanted into the walls in front of it.

“I hope I didn’t give you too much of a fright?” Her voice sunk in embarrassment.

“Scared the fuck out of me.” Geralt said simply, prying some cheddar from a brick and plopping it onto his tongue.

“Ew, dad,” Ciri groaned, covering her eyes in disgust, Geralt started laughing.

“Hmm.. Cidaris cheddar.. hints of brick but that’s okay.. nice sharp flavor..cow was in good heath—-“

“Geralt! I didn’t come here for a visit” Ciri wheezed, bending over at the hip to try to regain herself. Once she did she continued “We need to find out what world you are in, so you can come home.”

Geralt sat back down, gathering the furs around himself once more, like a little nest, and hummed. “Already have a good idea, everything’s younger here, I met Regis earlier.. he was blood drunk. Or.. buzzed at least” The Witcher trailed off, turning his gaze to his book.

“You’re in the past?” Ciri tilted her head, and Geralt shrugged

“Dunno.. just found a younger Regis. He saved me from an Arachas.” The Witcher grabbed his book and opened it, turning the pages downward where he left off and returning his full attention to Ciri

Ciri, who now sat cross legged on the floor, nodded. “Just give us a bit longer, I’m still regaining energy, you should be able to come back soon, I’ll find you this time, okay?” His pup smiled at him, and for a moment he saw that little girl who forced them to do tea parties, and forever ruined the way he holds teacups. He could feel his pupils dilating with pure adoration at the other.

Geralt nodded “thanks” he said simply, as Ciri obviously noted the change in his pupils, considering she went wide eyed and cooed at him like a mother looking at a toddler, he cringed.

“Your eyes! Awe Geralt-“ she whined, laughing and shaking her head. Geralt fought back an embarrassed blush.

“Yeah yeah..”

“I love you, dad” Ciri said, firmly and in complete seriousness and suddenly, out of nowhere, Geralt felt an odd knot in his throat.

“Love you too, Ciri” he choked, looking at the other with glassy eyes. His head was filled with a mantra of don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry, and various curses.

Ciri’s smile grew, if it was possible, and she nodded, and as soon as that happened, it was over and Geralt was left staring at the spot she was at, clawing for composure.

A few minutes later his mutations took a firm hold of the offending emotions in a chokehold, and body slammed them back into the void. Where they should be. And Geralt is left feeling hollow. He returns to his book, just as the sound of glass breaking moves him into a shock.

Now, Geralt could tell you right now that this was a bad place to get suddenly attacked. He had no armor besides his white undershirt and his tight form fitting black pants. He wasn’t even wearing shoes , and he was tangled up in various furs to keep him warm. His sword was behind the couch, and he had nothing to defend himself with.

That is why, when he got grabbed by moving smoke like some bride to be on wedding day, he snarled, and raised the book above his head to attack. Not soon after it was pried out of his hand and into the fire.

“FUCK-“ Geralt yelled, attention momentarily diverted to the loss of knowledge to the hungry flames casting mischievous shadows across the room, but that seemed to be enough time for the vampire, inhumanly fast, to jump out the window.

On the third floor of a building.

To say Geralt was angry, was an understatement.

But there was only so much to do when you had tendrils of smoke blocking everything. It was all he saw, smelled, heard, and was able to touch. But he was gratefully able to feel the main issue, an arm wrapped under his knees, and another around his back, pressing him close to a thin chest. Though, the smoke didn’t seem to be just smoke, considering when he struggled (which he couldn’t do much of in the first place considering how strong his kidnapper was) the smoke seemed to press him still as well. Wrapping around him like a- he didn’t quite know how to describe it. But it did smell of anise, wormwood, basil, sage, and cinnamon.

What the fuck, Regis.

Before he knew it, Geralt was plunging through another window, thankfully this one was opened, and directly into a large bed. Regis, still in his smoke form, darted out the window as it slammed shut.

Geralt sat up, processing for a moment what the hell just happened. And then where he was now.

Where he was now seemed to be a very large room, about the size of the entire inn he was in, with a large oak door, with a steel door knob, latched firmly in place with what seemed to be a spell casted on it, if that was why his medallion shivered when he neared it. Close to the door was tapestries, hanging on each side, faded and worn with age. They depicted vampires drinking from humans under the moonlight, covered in blood and garlic and looking piss drunk.

By the tapestries, bookshelves lined the walls which were made of firm stone, filled to the point of overflowing with books and scrolls of varying size and weight. These seemed to be the main thing filling the wall on the left side, as the only other object there was a wardrobe to the direct left of the large bed. Inside it was various outfits, mostly silken robes but held the odd cotton shirt and pants there. All in wonderful condition, bordering on brand new. Geralt sighed and slammed it shut, seemed it was planned for him to stay awhile. He crossed to the right side of the room, and that was when he noticed the bed was about a step higher than the rest of the room, covered in silk blankets and furs, with two large curtains on each side of it, looking at the floor around it.

Regis seemed to be aiming to spoil him. How sweet. Thought the Witcher, sarcasm and annoyance boiling his blood and filling his mind.

Returning to exploring the right side of the room, there were more bookshelves, the large stained glass window depicting once again a vampire symbol, but this time it was the Garasham tribe symbol. It was quite well done, and was so large the moonlight lit it all the way to the other side of the room, across the bed, casting colors of blue, green, brown, and red everywhere. The window seemed to take up most of the wall, and was made of a thick glass, Geralt had no high hopes of breaking it. Around the large window, was two candle filled tables, nothing special.

To the right of the bed, against the wall that lays against its headboard, is a door that leads to a bathroom, a lot like the one he saw in Vizima when he met up with Emhyr.

Geralt groaned, and grabbed a random book, sitting on the bed, which was heavenly soft but he would never admit it aloud, while suddenly missing the weight of his swords as he wrapped himself up once more with the many furs covering it. He leaned against the pillows and headboard and got to reading, with only the candle and moonlight to light the letters.