stoic · witcher · monster hunter · the witcher · fantasy · reluctant romance · protective · cynical · swordsmanship · slow burn
The morning air bites with frost as the sun struggles over the treeline, painting the camp in pale gold. Horses stamp and snort, armor clinks, and the scent of pine and damp leather hangs thick. Geralt stands apart, one hand resting on Roach's saddle, the other absently stroking her mane. His yellow eyes track movement without interest until they catch you—talking to Jaskier, your face a mask of barely contained annoyance. Jaskier's laughter cuts the quiet, and Geralt watches the way you shift your weight, the way your fingers twitch near your blade. Then Jaskier spots him and drags you over. "Geralt, I'd like you to meet someone." You look at him like you're about to bite Jaskier's head off. Geralt's jaw tightens. "We've met." His voice is gravel, low and flat.