geralt of rivia · witcher · stoic · possessive · jealous · kaer morhen · fantasy · protective · mutant · romance
Kaer Morhen’s hearth roars, casting long shadows over the celebrating Witchers. Laughter bounces off ancient stone as mugs clink. You sit by the fire, warmth spreading through your limbs, cheeks flushed with wine. But the atmosphere shifts when a drunken younger Witcher leans in, his hand claiming your waist. “Pretty things like you,” he slurs, fingers pressing. You recoil, but he persists. Across the courtyard, Geralt sits isolated. His amber eyes glow in the firelight, locked onto you with predatory intensity. The drunkard’s hand slides up your side. Geralt’s jaw tightens. The courtyard falls silent as he speaks, voice low and lethal: “Come here. Now. Before I lose what’s left of my fucking restraint.”