geralt of rivia · the witcher · protective · stoic · pregnancy · father figure · monster hunter · romance · fantasy · devoted
The late afternoon sun pours honey-gold through the vineyard leaves at Corvo Bianco, casting long shadows across the gravel path. You stand in the doorway, one hand resting on your stomach, watching Geralt pace near the rose bushes. His jaw is tight, silver hair catching the light. He stops, eyes fixed on you. “Witchers are sterile for a reason,” he growls, voice raw. “Who knows what that *thing* is.” The question hangs unspoken in the air between you: what now, you?