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joelslegalwhre · 1 year

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Thank you sm! And thanks for the request love, i hope you like it <3

Destiny

pairing⁀➷ geralt of rivia x fem!reader

word count⁀➷ 1.5k

summary⁀➷ Geralt finds you injured in the woods (more in the ask)

warnings⁀➷ soft!geralt, fluff, mention of blood and injuries, swearing (only once tho), use of y/n once

a/n⁀➷ As always, tell me if I missed a warning please!

🥤my kofi if you’d like to leave a tip🩷

You had expected this day to be different. You were supposed to help your uncle and learn more about herbology so that one day, you would know as much as he does about taking care of the people in the village.

Not lying here, on the slightly damp forest ground.

It would be a long walk back to the village, and your wounds and aches would not make it any easier. Your limbs felt heavy. Your body ached. And before you could fight back, you were defeated by tiredness.

Your eyes opened abruptly as you became aware of sounds coming closer and closer to you. A horse was coming towards you, on it an incredibly muscular man who looked familiar to you.

You had never met him before, but when he came closer and you saw his bright amber eyes, you knew who he was, what he was.

When he saw you, lying there on one of the big roots, he quickly got off his horse.

"Wait here, Roach." he told the horse.

Fear washed over you as he slowly approached you.

"Please, don't hurt me." Your voice was soft, almost a whisper. But witchers could hear better than ordinary people, he had heard it clearly enough.

The witcher stopped for a second and seemed… offended? He shook his head slightly and looked you in the eyes.

"I won't hurt you." His voice was low. Incredibly deep.

There was sincere in his voice, it almost gave you goosebumps.

He was terribly attractive, and his eyes both frightened and fascinated you. He came closer and closer to you and you could only follow him with your eyes. Your fear had eased a little, but it wasn't completely gone.

"It's not that bad," you said quietly as his eyes examined your wound. "I just need to rest a bit before I-" you made a hissing sound as he lifted the fabric covering the wound. "You are not fine." he grumbled.

He knew you wouldn't be able to walk one step on your own without collapsing. As the witcher walked to his horse and took an elixir-like phial from one of the pockets, he asked,

"What happened to you, who did this?" his voice almost sounded angry. But not because of you.

"I was gathering herbs. My uncle needs them to medicate the people in the village. And-" you had to swallow at the thought of the attack.

"There were three-three men. They were looking for someone." The witcher grimaced in anger, as if he already knew what they wanted.

"They wanted to know where the Butcher of Blaviken was."

He said nothing but an annoyed "hmm," his hand still holding the fabric so as not to cover the wound on your hip.

The witcher looked you in the eye, and up close, his own ones were even more special.

"Don't move." he demanded and you nodded. Then he dripped some of the elixir into the wound. It burned like fire.

"Ahh fuck!" you had to bite your lip to stop swearing. "It'll be over in a moment." He took your hand and nodded at you encouragingly. You squeezed his hand so hard that your fingers almost started to hurt.

"Breathe, can you do that for me?" He spoke so calmly and collectedly. You looked at him again, his gaze never leaving your face the whole time. Then you took a deep breath, as deep as you could under the pain. And as quickly as the pain had come, it was gone again.

You were breathing heavily and it felt like you had been running for hours. The witcher bandaged your wound and looked you in the eyes again. The fear you normally had of his kind, fear that was taught as a child, was now completely gone. If he hadn't come to find you, you would still be lying here now and would probably faint in no time.

He had saved you.

"What's your name?" you asked the witcher quietly as he lowered the bloody piece of cloth onto the tended and protected wound. He inhaled sharply. "It's okay if you don't-" you started but he spike over you. "Geralt of Rivia." He replied.

Your lips parted a little. You blinked in surprise as you looked at him. Geralt had gotten up and walked to his horse to put the vial back. Quietly you whispered, "The Butcher of Blaviken."

He turned to face you, "I'm sorry they attacked you."

You were astonished, because you didn't expect an apology. Actually, he had nothing to apologise about either. After all, the men were not acting on his orders.

You smiled at him weakly. Suddenly everything felt so exhausting, breathing, being able to see, everything.

"It's the potion," Geralt answered your unasked question. "It makes you tired, to heal your wounds in your sleep."

"Oh." you said softly, before you felt two strong arms lift you up. Then you fell asleep.

Geralt entered the small village on Roach, and you laying safely in his arms.

All conversation died down when they noticed the witcher.

However, when they saw you in his arms, some began to whisper.

„He's a witcher!" "What does he want with her?" "Did he kill her?" "Where did he come from?"

Geralt knew exactly where to take you. A healer was usually quick to find, but especially in such a small village. "Stop Roach."

He got down, careful not to hurt you.

Your uncle opened the door before Geralt could knock, but when he saw you, his face paled. "Y/N-" His gaze went to the blood on your coat then darted to the witcher.

"She needs to lie down." Geralt commanded. He looked at your uncle with a penetrating gaze.

"What have you done to her, Witcher?" There was hatred and disgust in his voice.

"I healed her." Geralt replied dryly.

He pushed past your uncle and quickly found what he was looking for.

He carefully laid you down on the small bed.

Your uncle hurried after the witcher, but when he saw you, he realised that what Geralt had said was true.

Your coat was bloody but the wound looked well taken care of. "I put a potion in her wound, it should work. She'll have to sleep for a while for that to happen though." Geralt sat down on the floor beside your bed and leaned his back against it.

Your uncle looked overwhelmed, but he knew well enough that there was nothing he could do now.

"Thank you, Witcher.".

"Hmm." Geralt simply replied.

While your uncle went to his herbs to make you some tea, Geralt closed his eyes and took a deep breath in and out.

With a loud gasp, you woke up. You looked around in confusion, as you saw familiar walls and herbs, the ground was softer than before in the forest. As you slowly sat up, leaning on one elbow, you knew you were home.

Something moved beside your bed. No, not something, someone. Geralt stood up and looked at you with a soft gaze. "How are you?" he asked in his deep voice.

Your eyes went to your wound, or to the place where it had been. Your skin was completely healed, no cuts, no blood. You brushed your finger lightly over it, but it didn't even hurt anymore.

"Thank you." you whispered gratefully without really answering his question. "Thank you Geralt."

You stood up and in a matter of seconds you wrapped your arms around his strong torso. "Thank you." you mumbled into his chest once more.

Geralt was surprised, and at first he just stared down at you. You still had your arms wrapped around him when he carefully put one arm around your waist, then the other. He smelled terrible but that didn't matter right now.

He had saved you. You looked up at him, still in the embrace. Something in his eyes had changed, his look had changed. You didn't know what it was.

Geralt, however, knew, and he could not suppress it.

The way you looked at him without any fear, how you had thanked him so many times. Nothing even suggested that you thought he was the monster so many people saw him as.

Slowly his arms moved down your back. Your faces were so close that you could see the finest, smallest scars on his face. Geralt could hear your heart beating, not evenly but fast and irregularly. You looked into his amber eyes the ones that had even followed you into your sleep.

His hands pulled you closer and the moment, when his lips met yours, fast yet slow, hungry yet gentle, felt like time had stopped. As if there was only this moment, only the two of you. Your fingers played with Geralt's hair, feeling his strong neck and pulling him down even further towards you.

When you had to gasp for air and your lips parted, he still held you close to him. You bit your lip as you looked at him. Geralt exhaled heavily. "I don't believe in destiny," you whispered. "But you might've changed that."

༄ Don't copy, translate or republish any of my works on any app or other platform please. I only post my work on Tumblr and Wattpad.

Reposts are always appreciated, they really make my day🧡

#geralt x f!reader #geralt x you #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt x y/n #geralt imagine #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia #witcher geralt #the witcher x female reader #the witcher x you #the witcher x y/n #the witcher x reader #the witcher #henry cavill x fem!reader #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill #e writes #e writes ‚the witcher‘#em's masterlist

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sprout-fics · 6 months

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Rotes Mädchen: Chapter 9 (Final)

(Werewolf! König x Red Riding Hood! Reader)

(Art by the lovely @zwienzixes)

(Masterlist)

Word count: 5.7k Rating: Mature Tags: Werewolf! König, Fairytale AU, Monster Hunters TF141, Witch Laswell, Traditional German Fairytale setting, World Building/Lore, F! Reader, Mating/Claiming Bites, Werewolf reveal, Chase and takedown, Happy ending Warnings: None A/N: Thank you to everyone who supported this series. I'm so immensely grateful to everyone who provided inspiration, encouragement, and support for this story. I'm so proud to be finished. Thank you so much.

Once more into the woods you run.

The glow of the village has long since faded behind you, the shouts and cries of the villagers as they ready themselves for the incoming devastation a mere echo through the trees. The wind muffles it, whispering through dry branches of sinister shadows and creatures that lurk within the groves around you. The breeze ruffles your skirt, tosses your scarlet cape across your form. Far above the canopy, the smoke from the burning wreckage of your home billows into the sky. The gentle, yellow light of the full moon now drips red from the fire, casting a hazy, crimson curse against the forest below.

It washes over your form as you turn your face to the sky, look to the moon which hangs as a deathly omen to all that gaze upon it. You wait for the towering figure of a wolf to rise far above the branches, to open its jaw and take the moon between its dripping fangs. Ink dark clouds roil before it, and in them you see the eyes of the beast threatening to stare back at you. They pin you where you stand, stare down through the trees and echo a growl to the rising wind.

The forest once felt like an ally to you. Now, it sets to betray you.

Konig is here, somewhere, amidst the trees. Feverish and dazed as he is, he couldn’t have gotten far from the village. Yet in the darkness, where you can scarcely see a few steps ahead of you, it’s impossible to find any tracks to lead you forward. Instead, your voice rises high to the heavens in a desperate bid to summon him to you.

“Konig!!”

It feels like it hardly carries above the wind that rakes through the trees, rustling leaves across the darkened path before awash in malevolent scarlet from the light of the moon. Your voice cries out through the trees as a wailing call, a tearful attempt to find the man who had held you in his arms and whispered endless devotions.

You don’t understand. Why did he leave, when you begged him not to? When he swore he’d stay, when he had asked you if you’d ever walk out of the woods beside him?

Was it all just a lie?

The forest holds all secrets. Now, it holds him away from you as well.

You make your way forward quietly, knowing you are far from alone in these woods. The threat of the beast within remains, and inside your thoughts the sonorous echo of his ominous howl reverberates in an endless omen. The memory of the towering, monstrous thing from the first night the witchers had come upon these woods has haunted you all this time.

Taller than any man, a huge, lumbering thing. Its arms too long, ears standing atop its furry head, huge spine hunched forward as a pair of gleaming, yellow eyes gaze at you from the trees. Fangs snarl at you in the confines of your mind, and you feel yourself caught between yellowed teeth as the thing crunches down in a killing blow. You think for a moment you hear the sounds of it giving chase above the rapid echo of your own terror, and despite yourself you venture a gaze behind you as Price’s horse thunders down the misty midnight path towards the safety of the village.

You see just a glimpse of it from beyond your fluttering red cape, a shadow that dwarfs your thoughts, a gaze that fixates on you from afar, seeming to promise ‘Soon, little maiden. Soon.’

Soon. You knew this entire time you would come to face the beast. A premonition lurked within you like a fawn disguised amongst the brambles, concealed and fragile, waiting for a thing you could not see. Trembling, it hid from shadows, blinked at the moving figures above, listening to the growl that prowled in search of your quivering form.

You thought you’d have more time.

Now, with the blood moon rising, the wind carrying the sound of your voice in a desperate cry, the darkness swallowing you whole, you fling yourself towards that violent fate. You run forward as panic mounts within you, feet thudding against the cold earth as you search for the soul of your beloved.

He’s here, you can feel it. You know you’ll find him, throw yourself into his arms and dry your face against his shirt as his arms close protectively around you. Somehow, you’ll find yourself facing the wolf together, finding a way forward as you both have vowed. Escape, or death, as long as he holds his hand in yours.

A howl splits the sky.

It begins as a low note and rises to full pitch just as goosebumps erupt across your skin in terror. The sound is deafening. It feels like it’s all around you with no discernible source, calling out your name as a herald of your demise. The howl shakes the ground below your feet, feels like it cracks the earth so you fall down into the endless forest, the branches closing above you as an inescapable prison.

You feel your chest rising unevenly, limbs shaking and breath curling away from you in a gasping billow of air. Terror roots you to where you stand, stifles your voice so the utterance of his name is a mere whisper.

“Konig.”

He said he’d protect you. He said he’d stay.

You knew you tasted lies on his tongue when you kissed him.

Yet you refuse to release him without giving chase.

You run forward once more, the apocalyptic red of the moon radiating off your scarlet cape, dyeing your figure the color of blood. The color of your inescapable fate.

Please. You beg the gods who do not listen. Let me see him. One more time. Let me kiss him and whisper words there even as I’m devoured.

Once more into the woods you run.

Shadows dance at the edge of your vision, and you spin towards them, eyes wild as you try to find Konig, the creature amongst them.

“Konig!!” You call again, listening for his answering call. You flee deeper into the woods, praying that with your next step you don’t find a mangled corpse at your feet.

Yet in the light of the moon, what you find instead is just as horrifying.

Fabric waves in the wind from a sapling that bends to the breeze, and as you near you catch it between your hands.

A dark, poorly sewn covering. The hood he used to cover his face.

Yet there’s no bloodstains, no indication of injury. Almost as if he had torn it from his figure himself. You gaze down at it, fingers tracing the seams, eyes not understanding. Had he shed it in his fevered state, full of delusions?

It doesn’t matter. He’s close, you can tell. Once more, you raise your voice to the rising wind in a cry for him.

“Konig!!”

Yet in the echo of your call, the woods fall ominously silent. The whisper of winter on the wind stills to a quiet hush, tickling the edge of your cape before it falls into stillness. The sway of the trees gently wavers to a halt, and even the clouds above seem to pause in their journey across the sky. The forest holds its breath, allowing the drum of your heartbeat to pulse too loud in your ears.

In the soundless woods around you, you feel an awareness prickle sharp across your neck, racing down your spine in acute realization.

You’re being watched.

Then, a growl.

Fear pulses in tandem with the icy rush of blood in your veins, chest compression the air in your chest into a silent, trembling breath. The low, grinding sound of the growl reverberates ceaselessly in your thoughts, echoing there with the sound you heard so long ago, on the day you began to be plagued by nightmares of the hulking, towering figure that haunts the woods.

You turn in slow motion, limbs shaking, eyes wild and unblinking. You feel as if you move through water, and even as something pulses inside you to run, RUN! you can’t seem to make yourself flee. You remain grounded to the spot, the roots of your feet extended deep into the earth and planting you where you stand. Instead you’re forced to turn to gaze upon the thing that you know will be your destiny.

You expect a shadow, a hulking mass the same as the one you saw in the woods that night. Yet instead the first thing you see is the eyes, the pair of glowing, golden orbs that stare at you from the trees that arch above your trembling form.

Yet then the thing rises, its front paws leaving the earth as it grows taller, taller. With every heartbeat you watch as the beast ascends to its full height, the golden eyes rising through the branches, seemingly past the canopy. An ancient, primordial terror seizes inside you as the monster dwarfs you with its massive size, centuries of instinct bred into your veins by your ancestors to fear the thing before you, to regard it with such terror it urges you to flee to the end of the earth just to avoid its killing bite.

The werewolf raises its muzzle up into the sky just as the clouds part, reddened light streaming through and alighting the creature in the blood red drip of the sky above. It parts its jaws in a snarl, claws extended outwards to reveal the muscle in its arms and torso, fangs gleaming in the ruby glow that makes scarlet ooze from its mouth as it parts-

and howls a catastrophic omen to the heavens.

You will yourself to cover your ears, but your fists remain at your side, one hand still gripping the fabric of the man you may never see again. Instead, your eyes remain locked on the werewolf that towers far above you, with such monstrous height and size you think it may devour you whole.

He can swallow the moon. You think with such stomach-turning dread that every other thought within you sucks into petrified silence.

I’m going to die.

It’s that thought that finally releases you.

You’re sprinting away before you can process the ground moving under your feet, boots thudding against the earth as you fling yourself further into the trees. The long note of the beast’s howl trails after you, dimming to nothingness as the wind rises once more, as your own heaving breaths muffle every other sound in the world around you.

RUN.

You weave deftly between the branches and trunks of the trees around you, your smaller size an advantage to the monster’s lumbering stature. The forest reveals itself to you at last, seems to part before you as you hurl yourself in an unknown direction, a bloodied path with a fatal end. The trees swallow you, try vainly to hide you within their depths as you feel the earth thud, and the monster finally gives chase.

You suck in air desperately, chest compressing in dangerous hyperventilation as you flee. You can’t stop it, you don’t even try, knowing every single moment could be your last. Legs pumping, you try to remember which way you came, trying to remember the dips of brooks and streams, of crags to hide yourself in, the way back in the direction of town in a vain bid to lure the beast into the swords of the hunters there.

Yet in your chest a single word echoes out in a deafening prayer, a scream for rescue towards the one who vowed to protect you.

“KONIG!!”

The beast follows behind you, and you feel the ground shaking under your feet as it closes the distance, tearing trees like branches as it carves a path forward towards your fleeing form. You hear the crack of wood- the sound of an ax hammering through trunks, felling ancient oaks just to taste the warm drip of your blood against its fangs. Each step it takes trembles the earth like a war drum, every beat within your chest feels like the moments ticking until the jaws seize about form, crushing you in half as your scream fills with scarlet-

PLEASE!! You shriek vainly towards the gods, tears filling your eyes with the futility of this chase, knowing it only ends one way. ONCE MORE. LET ME SEE HIM JUST ONCE MORE.

The moon stares balefully down upon your crimson clad form. Silent, imminent, unavoidable since before the day this story began.

Your cape snags against a bramble of thorns, and at the speed you launch yourself with the tie around your neck chokes the air from your lungs. You tug frantically at the fabric, hearing it tear as you rip yourself free, casting a single glance over your shoulder at the thing behind you.

It’s several long strides away, once more on all fours, steam streaming from its dripping maw as it pants and gives chase. Paws the size of your head impact the earth, drumming a rhythm there that screams higher with the pulse between your ribs. The golden eyes trace you as you stumble in your terror, promising a fatal bite that grows closer with every passing second.

You’ll never outrun it.

You try desperately to think past the veil of all consuming fear within, trying to find a solution, a way out, a path forward further into the woods so deep it cannot find you.

The solution comes before you can fully consider it. In the darkness, you don’t see the dip of the stream bank ahead of you. You yelp as you fall forward, unintentionally launching yourself into the water below. It’s not so deep it covers you fully, but the sudden shock of the cold brook manages to steal the air from your lungs as you raise yourself up with shaking limbs. The deafening huff of the beast is just beyond you, and in blind terror you lurch forward once more.

Yet the forest, in all its secrets, offers you a hidden enclave, a shelter. Your hand finds the deep swell of a space between the rocks, damp and shadowed, a space just large enough to fit yourself into. Your chest heaves in gasping breaths as you cram yourself into it, allowing the rocks to swallow you. It’s in his memory, you think, remembering the way you found Konig curled into the same hollow between the trees and rocks, eyes terrified and somehow hopeful as he once reached for you.

He could be already dead. Devoured by the wolf, and with you never having the chance to say goodbye.

Yet you stifle your tears as the werewolf pounces into the stream with a throat tearing snarl, snuffling along the bank’s edge in an effort to trace your scent. You pray that your fall into the water has erased the smell of your fear it uses to follow you, that the shadows of your small enclave conceal you enough to avoid the gaze of its glowing, golden eyes.

You can hear the monster splashing in the stream, growling in frustration as it tries and fails to detect you, nose lifting to the wind to catch your scent. It barks in growing anger, the sound full of ire, grinding deep in its throat. You shiver in the darkness, frigid, wet, shaking from head to toe in your fear. You force yourself to try and not even breathe, for fear the monster will somehow hear that too. You wish in a futile prayer for the moon to set, for the sun to rise and the monster once more to fade into the trees, away from your terrified form huddled into the embankment.

Please. Please. Please. Go away. Just go. Please.

The monster howls towards the sky once more in an angered cry, and the sound shakes the earth under you, seems to echo off the rocks that ensconce your form. The whimper that bubbles up your throat is muffled by the roar, and you shift to gather your cape tighter around you as if it somehow offers a shield of protection.

Then, the world goes silent.

You’re clenched so tight you almost don’t notice at first, eyes scrunched shut and figure curling in on itself as much as the space will allow. A sob clings to the back of your throat, and you will it through sheer force into silence unless it betrays you. Yet the huff and growl of the monster beyond you has vanished. The stream babbles gently in its absence, a soft, almost soothing sound paired with the rustle of trees far above.

You wait a long breath, wait longer for your heart to begin to still before you allow your shoulders to drop, your eyes to open.

Only to stare into the golden gaze of the werewolf.

You scream, and scream louder as a claw snags the edge of your cape, allowing the monster to drag you from your shelter.

“NO. NO!!” You shriek, struggling as the thing parts its jaws in a sinister snarl. Your hands work frantically at the tie around your collar, fingers fumbling as you fall onto your side, the impact rattling the air from your heaving chest.

Somehow, you manage to free yourself, and as the monster plucks the red fabric of your cape between its fangs, you miraculously manage to dart under one of its massive legs and fling yourself up the slope of the embankment. You claw at branches and roots, fingers digging at dirt as you somehow haul yourself up onto solid ground once more. Yet you have not a moment of relief, not as the monster quickly realizes your ruse and gives chase once more.

You cry as you flee, trying to remember the sacraments for the dead as the warm breath of the monster falls upon your nape, quickly closing the distance behind you. A sob tears from your throat, and the memory of your beloved’s gentle embrace, his kisses and devotions provide no shelter from the monster that pursues you.

A swipe to your legs is all it takes to send you tumbling, ground rushing up to greet you harshly. Yet even then you try to struggle away, crawling forward, your eyes streaming with tears. The monster looms above you, uses a mere ounce of strength to flip you onto your back, pin you beneath a single, massive paw.

“Konig.” You sob, vainly trying to dislodge the weight above you, a futile effort as the wolf lowers its maw towards your weak and prone form. A growl reverberates all the way from its chest down into the marrow of your being, and it once more forces a wordless cry as you’re pressed helplessly into the earth.

The werewolf stares down at you, muzzle bunched in a snarl as it lowers its muzzle closer towards the soft, tender arch of your throat. The bite from Konig remains there, and you sob as you remember the words he whispered as he engraved a claiming mark into your flesh.

"Rotty." He growls again, voice deeper, somehow feral. "My Rotty."

Wild, somehow, as he’d held you, barely able to restrain the savageness inside him that seemed more creature than man.

You blink, lips parting, breath caught in your throat as somehow the forest reveals all things kept secret within its depths, at last allowing you to glimpse upon the truth held within the both of you all this time.

The bite mark on his leg. The trap that had been laid by the witchers that had caught the hock of the wolf. The strange disappearance of the monster as you’d sheltered a stranger in your home. His disgust with the scent of wolfsbane on your palms. The interest in his stare that offered a silent watchfulness, an unwavering focus like the lurking gaze of a predator from the woods. The glint of his golden yellow eyes is the same color as the stare above you.

“The wolf won’t hurt you, Rotty. I promise. I’ll protect you.”

“Konig.” You whisper in awed realization, watching as the monster opens its jaws to descend ever so slowly towards your throat.

He left you. He was trying to protect you. Protect you from himself.

He is the wolf from your nightmares.

and somehow, the man from your daydreams.

“It was you.” You whisper, tears still streaming but somehow not afraid, breath released in a sigh as you grow limp under the grasp of the beast above you. “It was always you.”

The pale light of the moon falls upon your open, tender gaze even as warm breath huffs across your skin in the promise of a killing bite.

The words of Laswell, the words you didn’t understand, now unwind themselves in the prophecy of which she spoke.

Laswell holds you, hands clinging tightly to the cape she once bestowed upon you as a gift of her affection towards you.

“There’s one more thing.” She tells you, and in her voice you hear prophecy, the magic she keeps in careful concealment. It winds around you like brambles, a protection for the soul inside you striving towards something you’ve desired all your life, something which remains so close and just out of reach, residing in the woods you’ve always called home.

Laswell gathers you to her, and whispers words in your ear you don’t yet understand, holds you tight like she would a daughter.

“The only way to stop a werewolf.” She speaks to you in a voice that speaks of prophecy. “Is for his name to be echoed thrice by the voice of his beloved.”

Teeth scrape against the flesh of your throat. Your arms raise around the neck of the monster, embracing him so you nuzzle your cheek into his pelt. You drink in the scent of him- familiar, earthy, a touch of smoke from the warm billow of your hearth, and within it the breath of something forever wild and untamed. There, you whisper the final sacrament to this story of yours in a beloved sigh of complete and total surrender.

“Konig.”

The werewolf above you freezes, teeth closed gently around your neck, not yet drawing blood.

You close your eyes, turning your head ever go gently, and press a kiss into his fur.

“Let’s walk out of these woods, together.”

It’s still for a moment, the whisper of the wind through the trees hushing unspoken words onto both your forms, the forest waiting, holding its breath for what comes next.

The creature above you makes a sound, something caught between a growl and a voice, and in it you hear the name he has bestowed upon you.

“Rotty.”

His fangs relinquish their hold on you, drawing back at the same time the paw that pins you withdraws, his form shifting, changing. You watch in awe as the monster before you transforms, fur growing inwards, the bulk of his massive frame folding. His animalistic features retreat from snarling fangs and outstretched claws to human features, shoulders shortening, limbs thinning, until at last the form of a man appears underneath. Konig bows under the transformation, body wracking with a deep shudder as his bones fold themselves back into place, skin knitting so his wolfish features disappear.

At last the pale flesh of his form is revealed, and Konig gasps hoarsely as he falls forward, arms buckling under him so he flops onto your form.

You reach out and catch him, feel the air rush from your lungs as the exhausted weight of him presses down on you. Your hands wrap around his neck, shoulders, and you bury your nose into the crook of his neck, whispering comforts there as he shivers.

“Rotty.” He manages again, voice now absent of the feral growl. Instead he whimpers, broken and desperately relieved, forcing strength into his arms so they wrap around you in turn. “Rotty...I-”

“Shh.” You hush him, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “You’re safe. I’m alright. We’re okay.”

Konig shivers again, hiccups a small, sorrowful sound into your shoulder.

“I tried to save you.” He rasps. “I knew if I stayed that-”

He sucks in a sharp breath. “I...nearly killed you.”

“I know.” You tell him, a hand reaching up to pet at his hair. “I saved you.”

Konig nuzzles deeper into you with a trembling sigh, hauls you closer to him. “How did you...?”

You smile, staring up at the moon. For the first time, you notice that the red haze of smoke from the village is dissipating, leaving behind a gentle, pale yellow that bathes you both.

“A friend.” You confess. “Someone who had faith in me.”

Konig is still for a moment, before he at last rises off you, bracing himself on his elbows so her hovers just above your face. Without his hood, you see his features for the first time. A strong jaw, a tickling of a beard, a slightly crooked nose, long dark hair that drapes across his forehead and neck, and...

You blink, fingers coming up to trace the corner of his mouth.

Sharp canines that speak of something other than human.

“What sharp teeth you have.” You murmur softly, expression softening, and you watch in awe as Konig’s face pinches, tears welling into his eyes.

“Rotty.” He sobs, ducking his head. “Rotty, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean, I never-”

You watch him, transfixed by this new myriad of expressions you’re witnessing for the first time, lips parting in wonder. The words inside you escape before you can stop them.

“You’re so...beautiful.” You whisper, watching as his eyes shoot up towards yours, shocked. You can only offer a tender smile, a sweet and beloved reassurance as your hand traces his cheek in a loving gesture.

“I love you.” He tells you, barely audible, as if he’s almost scared to say it, scared of his devotion towards you. It clenches something tight in your chest, and you feel your own expression finally crumple, warmth flooding your eyes once more.

You stretch up, press your lips to him in a chaste contact, and whisper there the words you’ve wished so desperately to say this entire time.

“I love you, Konig.”

He shudders at the sound of your breathless confession, and gently grazes his lips against yours, as if he can taste the words there.

“Beloved Rotty.” He murmurs, and bends at last to kiss you.

You press into him eagerly, head falling back onto the earth as he chases you, mouth slanting against yours with a sigh. Your hand raises to tangle in his hair, and it solicits a groan from him, deep and cavernous like the wolf he is inside. You feel his teeth bite at your lip, fangs scraping across the plush skin. You shudder at the pure possessiveness with which he kisses you, as if to remind himself that you’re whole, his, only ever his. His Rotty. His beloved. His mate.

You whisper his name once more and allow him to devour you whole.

---

The sun rises gently over the village.

In Laswell’s quiet cottage, pale morning light seeps through the windows, and washes over her in a soft, dove gray that catches the color of her eyes. She gathers her things, collects her belongings and prepares herself for the long journey that is about to come.

In her hands, a letter.

Dearest Kate,

I’m safe, but you probably knew that when you saw this.

I’ve decided to leave the village, and my guess is so have you.

I have someone to go with, but I think you knew that too.

We’ll be fine, don’t you worry. I’ll find a way to visit soon.

Just not yet. I hope you can explain to Price and the others

what has happened. I hope they’ll understand, and that

someday I can see them again. Give them my love.

Tell them I understand why they did what they did in

hiding the truth from me. I know they were trying to

protect me, and I don’t hold it against them.

I have someone to protect as well, and he’s going to

protect me too. We have each other, and I’m more

happy than I can write here.

You had faith in me. You always have. You knew

that only I could break this curse, and even at the

risk of my own life you believed in me. Without you,

I would have lived a life of heartache. Thank you for

saving me from that. Know that I will find a way to

see you soon, and until then I hope you are happy,

and well, and safe.

With all my love,

Red...and Konig

Laswell stares down at the paper with sad, fond eyes. There’s a bitter sweetness to her smile, a happiness that is stifled only by your absence. She comforts herself with your words, with your promise to come see her once more. Yet she’s glad to watch you leave, as if observing a fledgling lark take flight for the first time and ascend far above the trees, into the blue sky. There will be a time when you come back to nest into her arms, and she trusts for the day to come soon when she can embrace you as the daughter you are to her.

A knock on the door. She turns, taking in the weary, grieving form of Price as he stands on the threshold.

“It’s time.” He tells her, voice mournful, muted. Laswell tilts her head, smiles at him before gesturing to him inside. He stands at her side, brow bunched in dismay, and she turns to him, cups his face in fond familiarity.

“John.” She murmurs. “I have something to tell you.”

---

The wind rushes past your ears as you fly across the earth, hands gripped tight to the beast that moves under you. Fur tangles between your fingers, and you use it to brace yourself with every powerful roll of shoulders that carries you forward. Warm, panting breaths huff into the growing winter air, steam billowing from the creature’s mouth as his paws thunder against the ground. You cling to him as he runs, the crimson of your cape streaming out behind you like a bloodstain.

You look to the sky, where the sun rises above a clear, pale blue, and the moon nestles softly beyond the horizon- waiting, silent, until it rises once more. The vast expanse of azure you were never able to fully see extends endlessly out before you as you’re carried far above the tree line, into the mountains, and away from the village you once called home. Instead, your eyes take in the never-ending forest below, and gaze further up into the misty slopes wherein you will plant new roots for you and him.

The beast under you slowly trots to a halt amidst a fern lined grove, glances at you over a single massive shoulder with golden eyes. You stroke through his dark fur before sliding from his back onto solid earth once more. As you do, the wolf rises and shifts, bones shifting inwards until Konig is at last revealed with a soft sigh. He stands bare beside you as you toe the edge of the cliff to take in the view below. The smoke from the village can no longer be seen, well behind you now as you travel towards the future. The changing colors of fall have begun to fade, and you shiver at the thought of the long winter that’s yet to come.

Konig loops his arms around you from behind, drags you to him so the warmth of his frame bleeds into you. You go easily, lifting a hand to gently grasp at his arm as you two stare down at the valley below.

“We’ve a long ways to go, Schatz.” He murmurs, propping his head above yours and swaying gently on his feet. “We’ll need to find a den before winter comes.”

You hum a low note in response and allow yourself to imagine it- a new home. One with furs lining the floors, plush beneath your bare feet. A fire blazes brightly, smoke lifting upwards with the scent of cedar. You feel the warmth of it cast golden across your bare form as you pad over towards the nest you share with him. Both of you, strange, mysterious creatures of the woods- once alone, now together. He embraces you, gathers you to him and descends towards your waiting lips. You taste devotions on his tongue.

“My mate.” He purrs from behind you, as if imagining the same vision. He leans down to nuzzle at your cheek affectionately, drinking in your scent with a pleased, rumbling growl. You crane your head to offer him a kiss and feel the smile there as you do.

“My wolf.” You murmur in return with a breathy sigh, cup his face in tender affection. A sound rumbles low in his chest- possessive, protective, and utterly devoted.

He tilts his head, noses along the bruise he left on your neck with a displeased little whine.

“It’s fading.” He remarks quietly, noting the waning colors. “My claiming bite.”

You arch your neck so he has better access to it, sighing languidly in response. “Is that what makes me yours?” You ask softly.

Konig pauses then, and soon you find yourself facing him, caught in his arms as your hands brace themselves on his bare chest.

“No.” He tells you, staring down with his beautiful eyes, the color of a damp, green forest. “I can bite you, claim you forever, but you’re mine no matter what, Rotty.”

You offer him a smile of pure adoration, eyes full of a love so deep not even the endless forest has room to contain it. You stroke his face, your beloved wolf, and whisper the words that are your destiny.

“Then claim me.” You tell him softly, feeling prophecy unfurl once more. “Forever. I’m yours.”

Gold swallows green in his gaze, eyes glimmering brightly as he gathers you to him once more. You sigh into his lips as his arms close around you, unspooling your crimson cape so it sprawls on the earth below.

“Beloved Rotty.” He murmurs with the low intonation of a wild thing now tamed by your hands. “My Rotty.”

He lays you down amongst the ferns, presses his teeth to the soft flesh of your neck...

and you allow red to seal your fate.

Taglist:

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#konig x reader #konig x you #könig x reader #könig x you #witcher 141 au #könig x f! reader #my fic #fic: rotes madchen #werewolf x reader

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teatitty · 1 month

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Never fails to tickle me that Geralt is just. The most jealous man ever in the books. He's jealous of Dandelion's dalliances in Little Sacrifice, he's petty and jealous and mopey when Dandelion is staying with Anarietta, he's even worse about Dandelion's quickly formed friendship with Zoltan and the dwarves, he's like one jealousy away from outright snarling and dragging Dandy off to aggressively cuddle him or something

#the witcher books #gerlion #I was tempted to take this in a more n/s/f/w direction but I decided to hold off on that #mostly because the mental image of big scary witcher wrapping around his silly bard bestie #for aggressive jealousy fueled cuddling was wayyyyy funnier

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hanzajesthanza · 2 months

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a lot of the “haha geralt is so annoyed by his friends!!” talk reduces the relationship of geralt & co. to the events of baptism of fire—baptism of fire geralt is very enjoyable to read, but lady of the lake geralt is the final evolution of a beautiful development of character. we really ought to talk more often about how his relationship with his company developed over the next two books and how by the end of it, he felt entirely responsible for their fates.

it can’t really be said that the hanza didn’t mean a lot to geralt and he would have chosen ciri & yen over them no problem. by the end of it he really valued their friendship and company. he literally identified himself as their leader, embraced his role as their leader. only with their company, he was finally able to fully ascended to what he is at heart and who he was meant to be, what his character was created to be: a hero.

he never liked to play sacrificial games. the entire reason he shunned (the majority of) the company (sorry cahir, he took extra issue with you) was that it was too dangerous of an undertaking, and he did not want to risk the lives of anyone else for his personal matters, sticking their necks out for him. it wasn’t just because he’s an old grump and sourpuss—he literally tells this to dandelion and milva multiple times, that he doesn’t want them dying because of him.

he decided against anything that would have put milva in danger when she was pregnant, refusing to risk her life or her unborn child’s life—remaining adamant that he would not sacrifice her child’s life for his own. and similarly when codringher presented him the hypothetical of pawning a decoy girl off on emhyr, he was disgusted at the thought of trampling the life of some innocent girl for the safety of his own.

virtuous to a fault, geralt abhors stepping on another to lift himself up. he won’t even kill innocent creatures to make a quick buck—they have to be real dangers—which, of course, makes him not only poorer and hungrier, but fighting, you guessed it, more dangers. this makes geralt unlike many of the other characters we’re presented with, who, even though they may not want to, agree to make sacrifices for their personal interests or the greater good (though, what’s the difference—the lodge and emhyr called their personal interests the greater good. that’s a big point of how the decisions of those in power is deconstructed in the saga).

i don’t think geralt would have sacrificed his company, given a choice.

but he did choose, of course, despite not being given a choice. it was a necessary sacrifice, though geralt, being the man he is, would never have made such a choice given the option (like the trolley problem—he’s impossible, he would continue to insist that neither of these choices are good and he doesn’t want to choose). i don’t want to kill either shrike or stregobor, i don’t want to take a side in the war, i don’t want to ride to cintra and claim my destiny. the whole saga is about how no matter if you decide to choose or not to choose, destiny still makes you choose. even if you think you can deny and avoid the choice. and after such denial, it stops asking you nicely. death dogs his footsteps, but death couldn’t catch up with him (for a while, at least), so it had to settle for others… the hanza are another, perhaps a final, manifestation of this lesson—calanthe and cintra being the first victims.

he and cahir dragged milva’s dead and bleeding body to safety, risking their own lives in the hail of arrows which rose again once she had fallen. his noble and virtuous heart still looked for cahir and angoulême in the corridor after the fighting had ceased, waiting for them to come out of the empty hall, before ciri shook her head to tell him no one would be coming down it. his scream rung in the air with regis’ as regis was being torn apart. and he, in pain and exhausted, remembered him, to yennefer when she asked, as a friend, and managed to utter some beautifully kind words in his memory.

i don’t think someone like geralt (feeling responsible for deaths of innocents whether they’re even his fault or not) would ever truly get over the loss of his company. after having, with ciri, buried them, by the foot of stygga castle, having to drag the bodies out one by one, close their glassy eyes, mound the wet and cold earth over them. and regretfully glance back at the melted stone column he cannot bury. he was woefully dreary after stygga, and kept returning to their memory as they retraced their steps into the sansretour valley. reminding himself about the sword of destiny with two edges… and again at rivia mourning them with the dwarven company.

we can at least sigh with relief that destiny allowed him to keep dandelion. it had to, because he is just, after all “like a burr on a dog’s tail”—destiny did not quite manage to slip its noose around his neck, for he did not touch destiny, but instead tagged alongside it. (plus, the cameraman never dies). if dandelion died, it would have broken geralt well and truly. it was the longest and deepest connection he ever had. the same goes for the reverse, of course 😬

#the witcher books #the elbow-high diaries #c: geralt #f: a hansa’s a hansa #kind of a stream of consciousness thing 🫠 not really coherent but just some thoughts #analysis #book: lady of the lake

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bookished · 7 months

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MOONLIT NIGHTS: THE CABIN CHRONICLES

ㅤㅤㅤNEXT PART

MASTERLIST | INBOX | TIP ME

-> Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x f!reader witch

-> Summary: Geralt of Rivia faces the impossible: he is defeated by a monster and, in the middle of trying to escape after being severally wounded, finds a cabin, where a witch who knows what he needs, cures him.

-> Rating: +18

-> Word count: 2.2k

-> Warnings: smut, kinks including breeding, rough sex, neck biting until blood comes out, degradation, domination, a little bit of praise kink, dirty talking

-> Notes: i've been rewatching the witcher and reading lots of fanfics, i got so in the mood of writing a piece and i hope you enjoy it! <3

Geralt of Rivia rode through the dense, ancient Caed Dhu forest, his silver hair glistening in the dappled sunlight that filtered through the leaves. He had been on the path for days, following rumors of a dangerous creature that plagued the nearby village.

As he ventured deeper into the woods, he couldn't shake the feeling that this particular hunt would be different.

In the heart of the treacherous Caed Dhu, Geralt of Rivia, the renowned Witcher, found himself in a dire predicament. A contract had led him deep into the ancient woods, where he faced a foe more formidable than any he had encountered before. The beast, a grotesque hybrid of wolf and wyrm, had proven to be a match for Geralt's skill and swordsmanship.

As the moon hung low in the night sky, Geralt's silver sword clanged against the creature's impenetrable scales. The battle had raged for hours, and his strength waned with every strike. Blood oozed from numerous wounds, staining his armor and leather boots. His trademark white hair clung to his sweat-soaked forehead, and his golden eyes burned with determination.

But in a moment of miscalculation, the beast lunged forward, its jaws snapping shut around Geralt's forearm. Pain seared through his body as his bones cracked, and he let out a roar of agony. With a swift, desperate maneuver, he wrenched his arm free, leaving shreds of flesh in the creature's maw.

Battered and bloodied, Geralt knew he was outmatched. With a heavy heart and aching limbs, he made a fateful decision. He turned and sprinted through the darkened forest, leaving behind the monster he could not defeat. His every step sent waves of agony through his injured arm, but he pushed himself to the limit.

As he escaped, he couldn't help but reflect on his countless battles, his victories, and his unshakable resolve. Yet, this time, survival took precedence over valor. The Caed Dhu closed in around him, a labyrinth of twisted trees and shadowy threats. Geralt, the fearless Witcher, ran for his life, vowing to return to face the beast another day, once he had healed and prepared for the inevitable rematch.

Deep within the heart of the dense and mysterious Caed Dhu, Geralt of Rivia stumbled upon an unexpected sanctuary. The cabin's solitude was a haven for a Witcher in need, a sanctuary where he could mend his battered body and prepare for the inevitable return to the treacherous wilderness.

The cabin stood as a solitary sentinel in the depths of the forest, its timeworn facade hidden beneath a canopy of thick foliage. With aching limbs and a resolve unyielding as steel, Geralt pushed open the creaking door and stepped into the dimly lit interior.

Inside, the air was heavy with the scent of herbs and alchemical concoctions. The flickering candlelight revealed a modest yet well-equipped witch's lair. Shelves lined with vials of potions and bundles of dried herbs stretched to the ceiling. A cauldron simmered with a mysterious brew, its aroma tinged with both magic and healing properties.

He needed rest and healing. Inside the cabin, a fire crackled in the hearth, casting a warm glow across the room. The scent of herbs and potions filled the air, a telltale sign of a fellow witch's presence. He knew he wasn't alone.

From the shadows, your hooded figure emerged, revealing the gentle features of a young witch. You had been tracking his progress and had prepared the cabin for his arrival.

He got a closer look of you, which allowed him to see the medallion of the Viper, which matched your dark green eyes, that were glistening under the candle's light. You were, definitely, one of the few Witches left after the Trials that erased most of them from the surface of Earth.

Without a word, you approached Geralt and began to help him remove his clothes, your touch gentle yet firm. As the clothing fell away, his battle-worn body was exposed, covered in cuts and bruises. He hissed in pain as you examined his wounds.

"I'll take care of you, Geralt," you murmured softly, your voice soothing. You mixed herbs and applied salves, tending to each injury with practiced care. Your fingers moved with a grace born of years of training.

Geralt watched you work, silently grateful for your presence. The pain began to ebb away as your healing magic flowed through him, knitting his flesh together.

Once the wounds were tended to, you stepped back, your eyes meeting his yellowish ones with a warmth that belied the harsh world they inhabited.

"Rest now," you said, guiding him to a nearby bed. "You've earned it."

As he lay down, his body slowly relaxing, Geralt couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the kindred spirit who had tended to his wounds. In a world filled with darkness and danger, he had found a glimmer of light and solace in your healing touch.

Also, your touch brought up a slow burning fire within him, making him feeling the need in his body to bring you closer, to lick you, to taste you. He needed to show gratefulness by giving pleasure to you after healing him with such care and knowledge... as if you knew exactly how his body reacted to each one of the remedies you were using. That made the White Wolf groan in approval.

He couldn't help but grab your wrist before you stepped back, not applying so much pressure to hurt you, but enough strength to keep you where you stood. Your breath hitched in the back of your throat, making you stare back at his intense stare.

He started slowly and gently rubbing your inner wrist, where your pulse was accelerated, with his thumb calming it, you, without words, and no further movements needed.

"You're safe, Geralt. You made it home. Let me go, and you rest." You whispered, not wanting to break the calm and enchanted ambience. You don't know how you managed to sound firm, calm, steady and confident, but your tone left no doubts.

He kept staring at you, his jaw tense while the candles in the cabin lightened his skin, and you couldn't help but break eye contact and admire his body. His injured body. But, also, his fit figure.

Suddenly, Geralt pulled you into him without effort, and a groan escaped from him, low and deep. Something that made your body really happy, but you knew you couldn't risk hurting him more than he already was. You needed him fully recovered.

"If you want to keep that hand and arm, I'd suggest you let go." You had no choice but to warn him.

"I can smell you, Witch." He simply replied, his voice low and raspy, while not letting you go. You swallowed the lump in your throat, as you smelled his arousal, too. There was no possible denial in what was going around between you two, in that cabin, as the darkness of the night and the moonlit mixed with the candles surrounding you both.

With his other hand, he grabbed the Viper medallion hanging from your neck, pulling your face closer to his while keeping his firm stare at you. You could even notice the smallest of the dilation of his pupils in that position.

"After taking care of me, let me take care of your needs, witch." Geralt whispered. You knew fighting him was useless, and you couldn't deny the way your body was craving him, either. He tilted his body, not giving a flying fuck about his fresh wounds.

You stared down at his lips, and back to his eyes. He grinned a little before grabbing your medallion and pulling you close until both of your lips were a wet mess against each other, not even letting the air pass between you two.

You moaned against his lips, your groans and whines making him feel rougher and animalistic each passing second. His hands were everywhere on your body, not allowing even one millimeter of skin escape from his touch.

No previous warning, he ripped your dress from behind and continued tearing off your undergarments. You were speechless as you could only feel him. You tried touching him, but he didn’t allow that. He had you naked in front of him in a matter of seconds.

Furthermore, you looked into his eyes, waiting for his next move. "Geralt-" You were anxious for more of what he had to offer.

"You're exquisite, aren't you, witch?" He was appreciative of your exposed body in front of him, meanwhile using your condition as a pet name, which didn't annoy you at all.

He took your silence as an invitation to switch positions, grabbing you by a fistful by your long hair, having you bent over the same surface he was laying on not long ago.

Geralt directed his right hand to your pussy, moving his fingers between your folds while humming appreciatively at your wetness. The sounds filling the room, and the sights you had thanks to the little mirror that wasn't too far away on the wall in front of you, were too much to handle. It didn't take long for your thighs to begin to shake, and the White Wolf knew it too.

His hand, which was teasing you, was now wrapped around your small neck, pushing you down, taking out his digits, spreading you apart with his large girth, and slamming into your cunt.

As you wrapped your small hand around his, he tightened his hold on your neck, taking your gesture as an invitation to be rougher.

He tilted his body on top of your back, replacing the hold of his hand on your neck with his teeth burying in the delicate spot of your skin, as he kept slamming into your wetness, and you could feel his medallion swinging over you as his movement fastened, and his cock was buried deep, still pounding, into you.

"Ah, fuck, Geralt." You mumbled, not being able to keep your eyes out of the reflection in the mirror. The candles lightning his sweated skin, you underneath him as he dominated you on that unstable surface and his aura surrounding your senses.

Your hips began to move on his, as you needed that sweet relief. Geralt's bite on your neck became harder and you could feel and smell a bit of blood running down your skin, which heated up both of you even more, if possible.

His groans were louder against you, the slamming of his cock inside of you more frenetic and he dug his nails into the sides of your hips to keep you steady. He let go of your neck to press his mouth on your shoulder. "You're so fucking tight and behaving like a good girl," he moaned. "Keep milking me, witch, so I can breed you and fill you up with my cum until it oozes out."

The way he was talking to you, saying those things, had you closer to the edge. You needed to feel his cock pulsate inside of you, stretching you out and getting you full of him. Your moans were unstoppable as nonsense dripped out of your mouth.

"I wanna see those pretty thighs of yours covered with my cum." Geralt wrapped an arm around your waist to hold you in place as he circled your nipple with his thumb and index, pinching it.

“Yes, Geralt, yes." Your mind was blank, dazzled with lust and desire, almost making you forget your own name.

Your thighs began to shake, and he felt them, “Yes, witch, come all over my cock.” His encouraging, husky voice praised you. You called out the White Wolf's name, your orgasm hitting hard and uncontrollably, your head dizzy as you saw stars and lights in your vision.

You felt Geralt exploding inside of you, with a few more snaps of his hips against your ass you felt his girth tighten up, and a few more spurts of his cum filling you up as you rode off your orgasm.

"Fuck, you milked me so good, you emptied me, didn't you?" He moaned and grunted again as he felt your pussy tightening lightly on him. "What kind of witchcraft did you use on me, huh?"

He let go of your breast, not moving his position so you were still under his dominant figure while his cock rested inside of you, feeling your thighs sticky of his cum and other mix of fluids.

"Well, you loved the way I was curing you earlier and the attention I gave you, didn't you, Witcher?"

"I'm not one to turn down a healing session when I'm offered one." Geralt whispered in your ear, still not getting off you. "But what's the catch?"

You smiled, feeling chills down your spine. "The catch is, I get to pamper every inch of you and make sure you're completely healed."

"I think I can handle that kind of catch."

Did you enjoy it? Please, consider leaving a comment, reblogging, sending feedback in any way or buying me a coffee. If you would like to request something, go and message me. Also, if you'd like, you can check my masterlist or send me any prompts. Happy reading!

#geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x you #the witcher x reader #the witcher x you #uservolkova #geralt of rivia #the witcher #the witcher fic #the witcher fanfiction #geralt of rivia fanfiction #geralt of rivia smut #kinktober #geralt x reader #geralt x you #geralt x f!reader

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rpgchoices · 3 months

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Yennefer from The Witcher games vs Sebille from Divinity Original Sin 2!

all round two polls are here / main post about the tournament

#sebille #yennefer #the witcher 3 #dos2 #divinity original sin 2 #vote only for game romance not the tv show please #round two f

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demivampirew · 9 months

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There aren't enough nasty words in this world to explain who much I f*cking hate season 3

Boring af

A complete waste of time and money

Heroic send-off for Henry as Geralt? Really, Lauren, really?! The only one who got a "heroic send-off" was Stregobor, yes, Stregobor died as a "hero" helping the mages while enjoying killing the elves, like the bigot he is.

Seriously, this season made the last season of GOT a freaking masterpiece in comparison!!!!

No wonder Henry decided to go. He barely got any screen time this season, especially in the last 3 episodes. I'm surprised he stayed and didn't tell them to f*ck off and left -he likely stayed only for legal purposes.

I hope that sh*tshow gets canceled. Such a waste of time and money.

#henry cavill #the witcher #the witcher netflix #lauren schmidt hissrich #f*ck lauren #f*ck the writers #They ruined a story that it could be a masterpiece #Geralt #geralt of rivia

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shutuplilith · 9 months

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the witch and her cottage, part 1 - geralt of rivia x reader

the witch and her cottage, part 1

ciri's pov. (takes place after the ending of season 1, episode 8. yennifer exists in this, but not as geralts love interest but as his best friend)

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊

"Geralt." "Hmm?" "Where are we riding to, exactly?" "We're going to visit an old friend." With that, our conversation came to an end. For two days already we had been roaming the lands, and if I hadn't been by Geralt's side, I was sure we would have gotten lost long ago. But his presence gave me security, as did Roach, his loyal bay mare, whom nothing could upset. Even if she hesitated once, Geralt's grumble calmed her down. We were approaching the sea. I could hear the sound of the sea getting closer, could feel the salty air on my lips and the stormy wind dancing in my hair and on my face. We left a small forest and arrived at a meadow. Only a few steps later did I realize that we were on a vast cliff. To our right, meadow and forest stretched, unperturbed and endless. But ahead of us, the meadow gradually narrowed. The wind continued to whip in my face and by now we were shrouded in a thick fog. The wind continued to whip, and we were surrounded by a dense fog. Nevertheless, I recognized a small building in the distance. I squinted my eyes and thought I saw light burning in the windows. The closer we got to the house, the more fiercely the wind raged, and Roach also became increasingly restless. " Calm down," Geralt murmured, but this time the mare was not so easily soothed. By now we were in the immediate vicinity of the house. It was a small cottage with many flowers and surrounded by a small stone wall. Finally I understood why Roach had been so nervous. In front of the house and behind the stone wall were several horses. They were staring at us as confused as I was at them. My gaze slid past the horses, and I spotted a young woman standing on the edge of the cliff behind her house. Her (y/h/c) were swirling in the wind, and her hands were moving through the air. We watched her for a while, and finally she lowered her hands, and the storm abruptly stopped. She turned around, and her lips formed a wide smile.

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt x f!reader #geralt of rivia x reader #the witcher imagine #the witcher oneshot #geralt of rivia imagine #geralt of rivia oneshot #the witcher x you #geralt of rivia x you #roach

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ashbye · 2 years

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🌈Hey guyss! So I got bored and I ahd the realisation that I haven't written anything in a while. I also saw that my Geralt one shot was my most popular so far so I decided to write abother one for our lovely witcher. I have absolutley no plan for this at all so if this turns out a little blegh you know? Thats why. Anywho on with the story!

Home - Geralt x gn!Elf reader

It was early in the morning. No other sound to be heard but the crackling of the fire and the breeze swaying in the tall grass. You're standing in your kitchen, kneading dough for bread. You were entirely content listening to the wood crack in the fireplace.

Your mind was elsewhere when strong arms pulled you in. A smile crept onto your face as the heat of his body encased you. Geralt sighed softly into your neck, beginning to kiss the spots left as a reminder from the night before. "What are you doing my love?" You asked him. He laid his head on your shoulder and responded "Reveling in your beauty."

A chuckle escaped your lips as you went back to kneading the dough. "Is that so? I thought you were just trying to butter me up to get more bread." Geralt did his signature chuckle and tightened his arms around your waist. Once the dough was ready you were able to quickly slip out of Geralt's arms and bake the bread.

When you came back you found Geralt on the couch waiting for you. Just a few steps later and you were laying on his chest situating yourself. Once you had settled he started stroking the many intricate braids in your hair. You were happy he was back. It had been months since you last saw him. Geralt was out hunting monsters and gaining coin.

No matter how long he was away for he always made up for it. Whether it be cuddles, food, gifts, or a passionate night together, he never dissapointed. "I missed you." He said to you breaking the comfortable silence. You burrowed yourself deeper into his chest and breathed in his scent. "I'll take it you missed me too then." Geralt joked with a small smirk on his face. You hummed and nodded showcasing your approval of him being back home.

It was moments like these that you cherished the most. Moments like this with Geralt. No need for talking. Just silence. Just the two of you. It reminded you why you fell in love with him. Why you left the traditional elven ways to be with him. Of course you could fight almost as well as Geralt and could go on the hunts with him if you pleased. It's just that you didn't want to. Your favorite part of him was how domestic he could be. How gentle he was with you.

It gave you a warm feeling in your body. It wasn't an explosion of light as many explain it to be. It was just warmth, comfort. It felt like home. That was what you loved about your relationship so much. You could be anywhere. In Kaer Morhen or as far as Blaviken, you always felt at peace with him. Geralt brought you peace because he felt like home. It had not taken you long to realise that was just what he was for you.

Geralt could not help but feel the same. Utter adoration and love clouded his mind when he looked at you. It was not difficult for him to agree to come back. You were his safe place. His calm in the middle of chaos. Geralt felt a pull to go back to you, like a wolf to its den and pack. Neither of you could deny the warmth you felt with each other.

You both knew quickly that you wanted nothing more than that warmth on a cold night. It did not matter if there was food or a fire. You just wanted each other. You wanted the feeling of home and love and care.

And you found that in one another.

🌈Ok there you go I hope you enjoyed that! I had a good time writing it. Made me sad though because I'm very lonely. Anyway I love you all thank you so much for the likes, comments and requests! Yes I am still taking requests! Those things mean a lot to me so thank you! Have a good day or night get some food and water and finish your homework! Bye!

Witcher Masterlist here!

#geralt x f!reader #geralt x reader #geralt x male!reader #geralt imagine #geralt x you #geralt x female reader #the witcher #witcher x reader #witcher geralt

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spielzeugkaiser · 2 years

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[MASTERPOST]

Me: *sighs while thinking of protective mama-bear!Jaskier*

#witcher!jaskier #bear!jaskier #art #the witcher #jaskier #ciri #cirilla fiona elen riannon #listen I'm still dead and I haven't drawn in ages but I'm still 🥺🥺💖 about all your asks and I want to draw soooo bad #but press F for my health #oh well!#I daydream about Jaskier being a bamf instead #on day I will continue with the plot!! I hope it will be soon

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joelslegalwhre · 1 year

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Her Sweet Kiss

oh i would love to request one where the reader is the dragon queen (a bit like daenerys from game of thrones) and geralt is sent to kill her which he refuses in the end

(Requested on Wattpad)

pairing⁀➷ geralt of rivia x fem!dragon!reader

word count ⁀➷ 3.2k

summary ⁀➷ You're a golden dragon and the king sent Geralt to kill you… (I’m shit at summaries i’m sorry-)

warnings ⁀➷ spoilers for s1 ep6, violence, (short) mention of blood/wound, mention of killing someone, fighting, kissing, angst (not much)

a/n ⁀➷ As always pls tell me if I missed a warning! And if anyone knows why my “read more” messes with my text (it doubles the first paragraph) i’d be thrilled to know how to fix that🫢

Jaskiers song

🥤my kofi if you’d like to leave a tip🩷

Geralt came out of the cave, throwing some monster head right in front of the man's feet. You felt the fear the old man had of the white haired Witcher.

Geralt looked at him with a stern look, a little confused but still as if he'd rip the man's head off if he'd do anything stupid.

„I believe those are mine." He said in a low voice.

When the Witcher came down the small hill to his horse, the man hurriedly let the bag fall to the ground and ran away.

„This woman just killed a man with her bare hands for trying to steal your horse!" Jaskier shouted to Geralt.

You couldn't just walk past the men on your way to the village, already sensing the fight.

It really wasn't as dramatic as the bard told though, the man chose his fate when he chose to be ignorant and thought of himself as something better. Stealing a man's belongings, was the lowest another could do. And you didn't really want to have a bloody scene, so a snapped neck was the… well, best option.

The bard behind you was still in shock as he propped his hands to his sides and looked at the Witcher. Said one turned around and studied you with an intense look.

You just looked him straight in the eyes, a small smile spreading across your lips at his next words.

„Maybe she'll make a better travel companion, then." he dryly answered the bard, tilting his head to the side.

He put the bags back on his horse and turned around to you and the bard, Jaskier.

„Who are you?" he asked. You felt the curiosity he tried to hide as he asked.

„That is something you don't have to know." you answered sounding polite yet your answer clearly wasn't. But something about it made the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia as you knew, want to know more about you.

Normally he would just turn around and continue whatever he was onto. Not this time, though.

You smiled at Geralt. „I guess you'd like that back.” You threw one of his viles at him that had fallen out of the bag earlier. He caught it with ease, looking you up and down in surprise. Maybe there was even more to you than he could guess.

„Good luck with whatever you're doing!" you shouted, already continuing your way to the village. Jaskier's gaze followed you, his eyebrow raised, shaking his head.

„What the..." he mumbled to himself. Geralt on the other hand was completely thrown off by the way you behaved.

„Wait!" he shouted after you, his deep voice echoing through the air. Jaskier turned his head to Geralt. What had got into him? He never did anything like that, ever.

The strong white wolf, feared Witcher and butcher of Blaviken, shouting after a girl? Out of desperation? You clearly left Geralt completely and utterly confused.

The large door of the tavern opened, and Geralt entered, followed by Jaskier. "I'd like a fresh ale, thank you." Jaskier smiled at Geralt.

The tavern was packed, and the waiters ran back and forth in hurry. Neither of them wanted to wait that long. "Hmm." Gerald grumbled, but made his way to the bar anyway to order two mugs of ale.

"What.." the Witcher muttered to himself as he saw you. He had barely managed to banish you from his mind since you had left. As if in a trance, he walked away from the bar. "Witcher!" the barman called after him, who had already put down the two jugs. But Geralt no longer heard him, no longer wanted to hear him.

He followed after you without paying attention to anything around him. If the fabric of your orange dress hadn't had all his attention, it would have been easy to follow your irresistible scent.

You had already noticed Geralt when he entered the tavern with Jaskier. You led him to the back of the tavern, and opened a door that led into a corridor. Which contained several rooms to store food and drink or other supplies. With a light smile, you noticed that Geralt was still following you. Good.

Geralt didn't even look around as he pushed the door open, and it closed behind him. The voices became quieter, and he concentrated on the sounds of your footsteps. It smelled like old wood... and you.

You opened one of the doors. Not a moment later, you felt his presence close behind you. His breath on your neck and the strong smell he carried.

"I don't know why I can't resist you." he whispered in your ear, and his hair brushed your shoulder. "But I'm done trying to fight it."

You leaned your neck to the side and felt his lips, spreading feather-light kisses. No one needed to know about this encounter, you both agreed on that. He didn't need to leave any evidence behind to remember it. His hands grabbed your hips and urged you further into the chamber.

"Show me." you whispered challengingly. If he no longer wanted to suppress it, you wouldn't stop him.

Not a moment later, his lips met yours. Although there was so much desire in both of you, the kiss was anything but. It was breathtaking. It was gentle, quite in contrast to your desire. It was a sweet kiss. And it was so much more fitting than a wild or hard kiss. It was full of feelings neither of you would admit to.

His hands pulled you to him and your hands intertwined behind his neck. Never before had a kiss felt like this. But even in this kiss, you had to gasp for air at some point.

Neither of you moved. Geralt's hands still held you pressed against him as he looked down at you.

Something on your neck shone gold that he hadn't noticed before. It reached to your shoulder and disappeared under the fabric of your dress. It almost reminded him of dragon skin.

You knew what his gaze lingered on. "It's a birthmark," you whispered. He looked into your eyes.

"It's almost the same colour as your eyes." you added with a smile. His lips parted and closed again. Your hands wandered along his hair, and you twirled a small strand between your fingers. Geralt's gaze followed your every move before he looked you in the eyes again.

"I have to go now.” You whispered, standing on your toes and pressing one last kiss to his lips.

Geralt didn't open his eyes as you released yourself from his grip. Only when he heard the sound of jugs scraping over wood did he look up. With three empty jugs, you left the chamber and your footsteps echoed.

But what he only noticed now, how he could have missed it he didn’t know himself, was the wound on your arm. It looked like it had already been treated, but you still had a cloth covering it.

Geralt had his back to the door. But he couldn't help himself and took a step out of the door to look after you. With light steps, almost as if given wings, you walked along the corridor. But before you left, you looked over your shoulder at Geralt. You looked into his eyes and smiled.

Then you turned around and disappeared through the wooden door.

Geralt looked down at the floor and exhaled heavily. "Fuck." he growled.

When he returned to the table, Jaskier wasn't alone anymore. An old man and two worrier-looking women sat with him. Geralt's gaze went back and forth between the three and Jaskier. The table was set with pies, beer and wine.

"Ah Geralt, we were wondering where you've been." Jaskier announced cheerfully.

Geralt gave him a glance and sat down.

"What do you want?" Geralt grumbled.

„A short while ago, a dragon landed across the border in King Niedamir's mountains." the old men started, „I know what you're thinking. Impossible, dragons are so rare. But it's true. Locals spotted it and went after it in search of treasure. Of course, they succeeded only in wounding the creature. And angering it so righteously that it swooped down from its lair and set half a hillside ablaze.

„Hm."

„Dead sheep everywhere." he continued his story.

„Now, the King is in a blind. He's set to marry the princess of his rival kingdom, Malleore, which means it's bad timing to have a murderous pest lurking about in the mountains."

„What does this have to do with me?" Geralt knew exactly what this had to do with him, but the old man mustn't know that just yet.

„The king sent me to ask you to kill the dragon, dear Witcher.”

„You've wasted your breath." Geralt said. „I'll tell you what l've already told the king myself. he looked up, directly into the old man's eyes. „I don't kill dragons.”

What Geralt didn't tell him was that the king didn't order any dragon to be killed, he wanted the dragon queen dead. Shaking his head in disapproval, the old man sighed. „It's nothing I could do myself.” he chuckled. Geralt did not even seem to grin.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Jaskier interjected into the conversation. „Did you say dragon?" Geralt looked at him from the side,

„What people call green dragons', like the one we have here I suppose, they're the most common. Red dragons, less so. Black dragons are the rarest.” he explained.

„Gold dragons are the rarest." the old men stated.

„Gold dragons are a myth. For a gold dragon to exist, it would... have to be the result of... an accidental, unique mutation. And in my experience, mutations, they're intentional." Geralt said with a wry nod, "But it doesn't matter. Mutant or myth, gold dragons met the same fate as anything too different to endure. They died out." His gaze had turned to the table.

„Hello, Grandfather." you lean on the old man's shoulders from behind with a small smile. At the sound of your voice, Geralt's head shot up. Your eyes met, once again, and it felt like a storm was set free inside of you.

„Oh, no, no, no, no, no. Thank you so much. It's been very nice. Thank you for the wine and the pies, but as the man said, we really can't get involved.” Jaskier said with panic in his voice.

„Geralt, shall we?" he tried to ask the Witcher next to him. But when Geralt answered, his gaze lingered on you.

„l'm in.”

„Mother of. Jaskier sighed.

„What happened here?" Jaskier asked in shock as the two passed a mountain, completely burned down on one side. It was once, full of green grass and most likely many sheep.

„Dragons avoid people." Geralt murmured. „It should have left when they attacked.”

When they had reached the cave the dragon was supposed to be in, Jaskier stopped. „Uhm Geralt…" he breathed heavily. The Witcher turned to the bard and tilted his head slightly. „Wait here." he just said.

Ready to draw his sword at any time, Geralt slowly walked to the entrance of the cave. It was quiet, almost too quiet.

When he saw the dragons, even the Witcher stared for a moment.

He had expected one of the black dragons, or at least a red one. Not a green one.

The dragon laid there, one wing protectively in front of an egg. Behind the green dragon stood a black one protectively, but this one was male.

So he could hardly be the dragon queen the king wanted to get rid of. He came closer, still cautious, listening for any sounds. But when Geralt heard footsteps that could not belong to Jaskier, he drew his sword.

"Get. Away. From. Her." Geralt took a step back. He looked almost startled, surprise visible on his face.

"Hello again, Witcher." you said coldly.

"What are you doing here." It was no question, more likely a request to leave and not put yourself in danger. "Touch her, and I'll kill you." you threatened the Witcher.

The black dragon growled dangerously as you approached Geralt.

Cassius, your guard. He grew up with you in the Royal Court, back when everything was still there, nothing destroyed. He was not much older than you, and acted more like a brother than a guard most of the time.

When you heard his snort, you did not turn to him. "You can go." you said, still looking Geralt in the eyes.

Another growl. "I can handle this. Go now." He understood, this was an order. The green dragon was still lying in the same place when Cassius swept his wings and flew out of the cave through an opening in the ceiling.

"You should go., Witcher." Geralt didn't respond, instead he asked quietly in a raspy voice, "What are you?"

"Don't act like you don't know." You replied, almost a little hurt at the thought of what he would think of you.

Geralt took a step towards the dragon. And no matter what he wanted, no matter if he wanted to harm her or not, you could only see black and white at that moment. In seconds, you had a knife to his throat and were standing in front of him again. "Touch her and Jaskier will have to follow suit."

At that moment, as if you had summoned him, the bard came to the entrance of the cave. "Geralt, what is happening here? I have just seen a dra-" but he fell silent the moment he saw the Witcher with you.

Neither of you paid any attention to the bard.

Geralt turned so neatly that he had his arm around your neck and his hand took the knife from your hand.

"What on earth are you two doing here?" Jaskier stood there as if he no longer understood the world.

"Please." Geralt said softly, but that exactly was his weak spot. You ducked and twisted out of his grip, quick and swift enough to outwit the Witcher and his reactions. Quickly, you had your knife back in your hand. But instead of raising it to his throat again, you placed it at the level of his hip. Geralt looked at you, there was both astonishment and sadness in his gaze.

"Guys..." Jaskier called out to you.

You knew that Geralt would defeat you. Unless you threw him off his guard. He tilted his head, his lips opened and closed, just like he did in the tavern. And your next move was connected exactly with this thought. Geralt was still standing in front of you, he had thrown his sword on the ground when your knife had touched his throat, and there it still laid. He had no weapons except himself, which only confirmed that your idea would make him harmless for a few seconds. At least, you hoped so.

His lips had just closed again, and you didn't know if he would stop fighting or just start now.

Before he could do anything, though, you stood on your tiptoes, your dagger still at his hip. Your free hand reached for his neck and pulled him close enough to you. Then you placed your lips on his. The kiss almost captivated you yourself, and you had to concentrate to continue your plan. Geralt made a grumbling noise, surprised and completely thrown off balance. Just like you wanted. With all your strength, you broke away from him, breathing out heavily. Your lips trembled, it had indeed been a dirty trick. You looked at him apologetically and bit your lip. In the same movement, you turned to the dragon. You took a deep breath. Held it for a brief moment and then blew a protective wall of fire between the two of you and the dragon.

Your breathing became heavy and you swallowed. The fire made the golden scales on your neck glow. As you slowly turned to face Geralt, you could make out Jaskier at the entrance. You looked cautiously back and forth between the two of them. They couldn't hurt you. Their gazes, however, could.

"You're the dragon queen. The golden one." Geralt finally said it.

"The dragon queen?!" Jaskier commented in a shrill tone and shook his head disbelievingly to the right and then to the left."Damn.."

"Yes." your voice was no louder than a whisper as you looked the Witcher straight in the eyes. "But why did the king-" Jaskier started in a confused expression, but you interrupted him at the rage that boiled up inside you at the thought of the king, "King Niedamir hasn't even seen a dragon himself. He knows nothing!"

You walked out of the cave and Geralt followed you.

"No dragon has ever done anything to him. His men started the treasure hunts, they started hurting them,” your anger rose with each word, “He is just scared that he will pay for the things his men did to us." you said, one hand on your almost healed wound. "We don't start fights. But killing baby dragons, for treasure and gold?" You shook your head and tilted it slightly. "I can't let that happen."

You pursed your lips and closed your eyes for a moment, "The sheep- were just a warning. I never had the intention to do more."

Geralt had looked down on the ground while you told them everything. When you'd finished, his gaze found yours, and he exhaled.

You held out a small pouch to them, "Uhm, this is a dragon's tooth. The king won't know it's an old one." Geralt gently took the pouch from your hand, which was trembling slightly.

"Ehm, if I may-"

"It's not mine, Jaskier." you lightheartedly grinned at him.

"I'll tell the king we killed the dragon, and he'll leave you alone." Your gaze went back to Geralt, you nodded with a thankful smile.

"Can I talk to you for a moment, Geralt?" you quietly asked.

"Ohhh, I see. l'I let you two alone. If anyone needs me I'll just.." Jaskier pointed at some rocks and turned around, walking away just far enough to let you have some privacy.

You wanted to say something about the kiss, but you decided against it. It wouldn't help either of you.

„Don't give up." your gaze became serious, and Geralt looked slightly thrown off. That seemed to happen around you more often than he liked. „She is out there. And you have to find her."

Carefully you took his hand and your fingers gently brushed over it.

„Please don't give up, Geralt. You and your child of surprise... are to safe us all."

Your gaze went to your linked hands. A sad smile on your lips as you let go of it. You exhaled. "Goodbye, Geralt of Rivia."

Geralt felt frozen in place. His back still in the direction you had gone. He didn't watch you go, he couldn't.

Jaskier's eyes widened as he looked past him.

„Geralt, you might want to see this." he almost whispered.

Geralt turned around. “What is-“ he grumbled but soon became silent at the sight.

The sight of a golden dragon flying away into the distance.

Geralt exhaled and looked after you until you were only a small point on the sky and then, gone.

The song about the charming girl, the one who was strong enough to fight and win against Geralt of Rivia, spread across the countries. Jaskier made sure it did.

The song about her sweet kiss.

༄ Don't copy, translate or republish any of my works on any app or other platform please. I only post my work on Tumblr and Wattpad.

Reposts are always appreciated, they really make my day 🧡

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sprout-fics · 7 months

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Rotes Mädchen: Chapter 8

(Werewolf! König x Red Riding Hood! Reader)

(Art by the lovely @zwienzixes)

(Masterlist)

The tick of the hours until sundown echoes in your ears as you near Laswell’s cottage.

Normally you’d stop just shy of the clearing to breathe in the familiar scent of burning birch, of the nearby stream, relishing the sunlight that feels brighter here than in the village. Now, sunshine hardly escapes the damp cover of gray that obscures the sky, making the afternoon already feel so dark. The sun has passed its zenith, and soon darkness will descend on these woods, ensnaring the souls that live here as the monster lifts its blood-streaked muzzle to the hanging, yellow moon.

You’re running out of time, and now the lives of you, of Laswell, and König all hang in the balance.

The witchers’ mares nicker anxiously as you trot the remaining distance to the cabin, tied to a post and already saddled. From behind them appears Soap, fully adorned in his armor, sword at his side.

“Hen!” He breathes with a rush of relief, closing the distance between you and sweeping you into an embrace before you can protest. “Price was about t’ send a search party for you. Thank goodness yer alrigh’.”

You wrap your arms around Soap’s middle eagerly, pressing yourself to his front with an unsteady exhale. You can feel your heart hammering in your ribs unevenly, and with each beat you feel the minutes thin until your world is irreversibly changed.

“Laswell-” You gasp, clutching at the metal bracers on his forearms. “Where is she?”

Soap’s brow furrows deeper in worry, eyes glinting with confusion at your sudden frantic energy.

“Inside,” He responds quickly. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, push past him towards the door, Soap’s concerned voice trailing after you. You all but burst into the cottage, finding Price and the others bent seriously around a map splayed across Laswell’s kitchen table. They look up with surprise at your abrupt entry, taking in the sight of you with your chest heaving and eyes wild.

“Red?” Laswell asks, straightening and turning towards you, her wise gray eyes alight with anxiety at your frazzled state. “What-”

She’s cut off as you take two large strides towards her, wrapping your arms around her slender frame and breathing out a shuddering sigh. Laswell makes a small noise of surprise, stiffening before she forces herself to relax and return the embrace.

You swallow thickly, throat dry as you try to reassure yourself. It’s alright. Laswell is safe. The others are here, they won’t let the villagers hurt her. They’ll keep you both safe.

Laswell pulls you back so she balances you by your forearms. Your eyes feel too warm, threatening tears as you struggle to find the words to explain the panic inside you.

“You need to leave.” You tell her at last, voice shaking. “The others- the ones in the village, they’re- tonight, they said-”

“Hey, hey, slow down.” Gaz urges quietly as he appears at your side, a featherlight touch at your shoulder. “Deep breath.”

You nod, face warm as you heed his words and force yourself through a trembling exhale. You look up at Laswell once more, feeling the grip on your arms tighten as you speak.

“They’re going to burn us both.”

Silence descends upon the cabin.

You see the fear dawn in Laswell’s eyes, and feel it shake it to your core.

Laswell is never afraid. Worried, yes, in her quiet way where she’s analyzing, considering, lifting her face to the wind to understand its direction. She always has a plan, always has a way out, a secondary escape. To see this, to see fear...

“Kate-” Price tries as Laswell wobbles on her feet, allowing you and Gaz to help her into a nearby chair as she presses a hand to her face. Price hovers at her shoulder, lays a hand there as the wise woman bends her head in distress.

“I knew there were murmurs in the village.” She confesses at last, voice hoarse. “There’s always been murmurs, but-”

You kneel at her side, red cape spilling across your form as you hold her hand. She turns it over, curls her fingers around yours in a wordless acknowledgment. She looks up at Price, and you see his pinched expression as a mirror of her own.

“I thought perhaps summoning you all would prove to them I’m an ally, not an enemy. It seems I was wrong.”

You clutch her hand tighter, and Kate turns her gaze to you, lifting a hand to pet at the hood of your cloak.

“You too?” She asks, and despite the fondness there’s a grief, a heartache. “Even though you’ve lived here all your life?”

You clasp her hand to your cheek, relish the warmth against your frigid skin.

“They never wanted me, Kate.” You whisper with a sad smile. “They never will.”

Kate’s eyes are full of sorrow.

“Come with us.” Soap blurts out, still standing near the open door, allowing cold air to sweep inside. “After we kill the wolf. We can keep you safe, take you somewhere else.”

Yes. Leave with them, travel alongside these men you’ve come to trust, enjoy the company they keep. Go with Laswell towards a new horizon, have her keep you as the family she’s always been to you. Perhaps learn her trade, take over her craft and grow into the same woman you’ve always admired. Stay somewhere safe and keep a hearth warm for the traveling knights who have become your friends.

Yet your words from naught but a few hours before linger tight in your throat, an oath that tangles around your heart like the quiet interwoven braids of a daisy chain.

“Then, once it’s over, we’ll leave these woods. Together.”

Leave him? After everything?

Your face falls. Kate’s hand stills.

“Red?” She echoes cautiously, and you bend your face to her lap, gripping the folds of her skirt, feeling your eyes warm.

You close your eyes, force yourself to swallow down the grief in your throat and at last sway to your feet. The motion loosens the hood from your head, gently pooling onto your shoulders. Cool air washes across your nape, and you shiver, staring down at your boots as you try to collect yourself before you speak.

Before you can, you feel a presence shift behind you, hear a small suck of air as a gloved hand reaches out to graze your skin.

"What is this?" Soap asks suddenly from behind you, and you stiffen under his touch. His hand grazes aside the fabric of your cape, revealing the tender flesh of your shoulder where the bruising indent of Konig’s teeth lays against your skin. "...Red?"

The bite mark.

You slap a hand over the bruise before you can stop yourself, eyes wide with surprise at being noticed. You turn to look up at Soap, only to catch the fright that etches clear across his expression.

"Wh-what-" He tries in his shock, and the room goes silent.

"Red?" Laswell asks from beside you gently, cautiously, reaching forward to lay a reassuring hand on yours.

You draw back as if you've been burned.

It's too obvious, but you can't help it. Soap looks at you with something in his eyes akin to fear, gaze flickering desperately between your face and your hand covering the bite.

"Lass-" he tries, but his voice is a croak in his throat.

"Soap."

Five sets of eyes, including your own, turn to Price. He's halfway risen out of his chair at the head of the table, eyes staring not at the Scot but at you.

"I-it's a bite." Soap manages, gesturing to you, looking lost.

“I-I can explain.” You stammer, eyes wide, backing up to put distance between yourself and the group, even as Soap gently stretches a hand towards you. Warmth burns across your face, mortification at being revealed as the temptress you’ve been accused of.

The group is silent, wide-eyed as they watch you hesitate near the hearth. There’s worry and fear there- but beyond that there’s trust, a conviction that you will confess to them the truth.

“There’s something I haven’t told you.” You admit, eyes traveling to each of the men in turn. Kate’s eyes are kind even though she does not yet know the secret waiting in your chest. Ever loving, ever accepting, Kate. Your beloved friend.

“I-” You try. “There’s someone waiting for me.”

Confusion fills the faces of the four men gathered around you. You look at them, then to Kate once more.

“His name is König.” You begin. “I found him in the woods, injured. He was bitten by the wolf. I took him in, nursed him back to health, and I-” The words come tumbling forth, a secret at long last revealed. Yet you pause when you get to the confession of your love affair, the feelings you harbor for the man who slept with you in his arms.

“He was bitten?” Ghost cuts you off, voice urgent, grave. “When?”

“Weeks ago now.” You clarify. “He’s- he’s deformed. I mean, I haven’t seen his face, but he wears a hood to conceal his face. He was hiding in the woods because he couldn’t come close to town. He was afraid of the villagers.” You blink, look down towards the floor with a mirthless smile. “I can hardly blame him.”

“I found him the day after you arrived. He was injured, could barely walk because of the bite on his leg. I-I couldn’t just leave him there. He would have died.”

The group around you is silent, weighing your words. it’s almost eerie, the way there’s no questions. Looking down as you are, you can’t see the looks exchanged between them, a silent conversation unfolding before you.

At last, Price steps closer, closing the distance so he gently balances you by your forearms. He holds you there, tucks a gently gloved hand under your chin so you look up into his eyes.

“You kept this a secret.” He murmurs, and you grimace at his tone. Stern, comforting, but beneath it- hurt. There’s a pain in his eyes that stabs at your chest, and you recall his gentle hand at your back, the way he’d secured your arms around your middle as you rode with him, his soft entreaty towards your safety. The kindness of his words then haunt you, cast in sharp contrast to his current voice.

“I...was worried you’d hurt him, chase him away.” You answer softly. “He’s a vagrant, a traveler. He’s been chased from villages before because of his deformity. I was afraid you’d do the same, and...and leave him to the mercy of the wolf.”

“I...couldn’t let that happen.” You go on, voice hardly a whisper. “You haven’t met him yet, but he’s gentle and kind. He’s protective and strong and we can talk for hours about all things. He’s told me about his travels, about stories he’s heard. He’s caring and sweet and makes me feel safe and warm and-”

Price stiffens, swallows.

“You love him.” He states, and it isn’t a question, but you nod all the same, ducking your head to avoid watching the hurt blossom deeper against his gaze. Guilt clenches sharply inside you, sours your mouth into a grimace of despair.

“He bit you.” Gaz observes quietly from the other side of the room, voice full of a grief you don’t understand. You turn to him, eyes wide, mouth opening and closing to try and explain. Yet all that escapes you is a small agreement, a confession in hardly a whisper.

“Yes.”

“Price.” Ghost says suddenly, and Price turns from you to his second in command, hands leaving you. Ghost stares intently at his captain, and you watch Price drag a weary hand over his face before he adjourns your conversation to approach Ghost in low, hushed tones you don’t hear.

“Red.”

Your attention is instead brought back to Laswell, who stands, draws near and gently gathers you closer to her, tilting your head to examine the bruise along your neck. Her hands tremble as they ghost over the mark, and you watch the way her smile of reassurance doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Did it hurt?” She asks soothingly, and you pause, shake your head.

“No- well, yes, but not too much.” You answer plainly, and it only deepens the worry in her eyes in a way you don’t understand.

“You agreed to it?” She asks, tone firmer.

“Yes- Kate, what is this?” You ask with a mixture of confusion and concern, but before she can answer you only shake your head instead. “Never mind that. Kate, König is sick. He has a terrible fever. He was all but delirious when I left, he couldn’t even stand. You have to help him.”

Kate pauses at that, and then shifts so she grips you by your arms with sudden urgency.

“Where is he now?” She asks sharply, and you blink at her, startled by the sudden fixation of her gaze upon yours.

“I-In my cottage, in the village.” You stammer. “Wh-”

“John.” Kate speaks, moving away from you, and you make to follow, only to pause as Ghost turns from them both and towards you instead. There’s a heavy set to his shoulders as he steps forward, and it feels all for the world like a promise of danger. You flinch away from it, hand once again raising towards your neck, something instinctual forcing you to conceal the evidence of König’s claim on you.

Ghost pauses where he stands, instantly freezing at your response. When he approaches again it's softer, gentler, as if he's trying to tame a trapped, scared animal. He doesn't speak as his hands stretch an inch forward, just enough to placate you as you tremble, legs weak with uncertainty. You can barely see the darks of his eyes from behind his mask. Yet his posture radiates gentleness, a beckoning of trust, safety, allowing him to come closer.

"You're alrigh'." He murmurs softly as his hands smooth up your shoulders, gently tugging the tie of your cape so he can scoot it to the side. You try to refuse him when his grip gently pries away your hand covering the wound, but Ghost offers you a graze of his thumb on the inside of your wrist, making you go lax against his touch.

He doesn't make a sound when the bite is revealed, doesn't move to touch the bruise lest it hurt you. All he does instead is continue to rub a gentle circle into your wrist, offering a little hum of reassurance before he turns, looks at Price.

He nods. Price’s face falls open with a despair you long to understand.

You look up at Ghost, meeting his eyes through his mask. There’s questions left unspoken in your gaze, but you know from his eyes alone he won’t answer them. You try to understand why the group is suddenly so grim, why Laswell, Soap, Gaz and Price whisper to themselves and cast furtive glances in your direction. Why the secrecy?

You’re so tired of secrets. You’ve been keeping your own for so long, only to find König keeping his in turn. Now that you’ve confessed, your friends have only turned away from you, discussing amongst themselves in words you can’t hear. You want to raise your voice, bat at Ghost’s chest, demand answers that they will not yield. The forest holds all things quiet, a hushed, damp softness that curls within the morning mist, obscuring shapes shifting between the trees.

Price sighs from the council gathered in the corner, rubbing his face once more before speaking.

“Right.” he announces, voice suddenly filling the cottage with an authoritative declaration. “We’re going back to the village. The werewolf will likely attack there after dark. Laswell will see to Red’s vagabond. Soap, Gaz-” He looks towards his second in command. “You’re with me. Ghost, I want you with Laswell and Red. I don’t want a single person that isn’t in this room to set foot inside Red’s cottage, understood?”

“Understood.” Ghost replies firmly and settles a hand on your shoulder in a silent reassurance, a promise of protection.

Laswell shoots the younger man a warm smile at the gesture, but you can only nod, thoughts once more drifting to the feverish man writhing in your bed back in the village.

“I want everyone geared up in five minutes.” Price goes on, arms crossed, letting his gaze weigh on each of you in turn. “We are leaving, and we’re going to slay this monster once and for all.”

He turns then, reaching for his sword that lays across the map on the table. He pauses for just a moment to look at you once more, mouth a grim, thin line before he vanishes outside into the growing mist that keeps all secrets, even those in your heart.

----

Four sets of thundering hooves race through the trees as the six of you bolt back in the direction of the village. The sun hovers near the horizon, and with every growing moment it dips closer towards darkness. The moon is already rising, obscured by the trees but hanging heavy in its fullness. The mist of the dim forest swirls around you as the horses gallop down the same path you once saw this monster, with its towering stature and gleaming golden eyes. Then, like now, you had clasped tightly to Price’s back, casting terrified glances over your shoulder to find the shadow that lurked just beyond the tree line.

As nighttime falls, you wait for a lachrymose howl to carve up into the sky.

You lift your face towards the wind, will the mares impossibly faster, urging them into a sunset flight as the hour darkens, as König lays waiting in your cottage. Helpless, feverish, perfect prey for a monster to claw through the door, lift him to its waiting, dripping jaw.

The memory of your dream, of König’s scream slicing through the midnight forest and urging you to run, run pulses in tandem with your heartbeat, a wild canter just with the deafening fall of hoofbeats against the woodsy, damp earth.

König reaches for you again, and the warning he calls out to you is muffled by the thunder of your heartbeat. You catch his eyes, his gaze bright with fear. Gone are the soft green irises that speak to you with warm familiarity, replaced down with an eerie, glowing, gleaming gold that mirrors the light of the moon above.

“John!” Laswell’s voice cuts through your reverie, and you cling tighter as Price urges his horse to a halt, the others steadying their own mounts to a stillstand. Laswell gazes out from behind Gaz, brow drawn tight beneath her own dark cloak.

“What is it?” Price prompts quickly, voice dragging in a gruff growl as his mare circles uneasily under you both. You cling tighter to his waist, fingers clenching uneasily against the leather straps of his armor.

“Look.” Laswell gestures, and the five of you follow her outstretched hand up above the trees, where a wisp of dark smoke snakes a tendril against the gray sky. You blink, lips parting as the acrid smell of smoke suddenly floods your nose. It’s not uncommon to smell chimney smoke as you enter the village, but the heavy, charred scent of something burning seizes sharply in your lungs with a cold wash of fear.

“The village.” You breathe, looking to Price with wide, startled eyes. “The village is burning.”

Price looks down at you, and there’s only a momentary flash of surprise before his expression once more settles into a grim resolve.

“Hold tight.” He announces to you, and then to the others: “Quickly!”

Once more he urges the mare under him into a full gallop, and you cling helplessly to his back, your only anchor from the rock of the horse under you. You scrunch your eyes shut, thoughts racing alongside the sprinting hoofbeats as you imagine the town engulfed in flames, of a pyre awaiting you and Laswell, the sparks floating up towards the moon.

Clouds lurk darkly against the horizon, warning of a coming storm. As you all race towards the village, the wind begins as a gentle breeze, only to rise to a full howl as it rustles through the trees. Inky dark clouds obscure the orange haze of sunset like charcoal, and the horizon is painted with embers that you pray you don’t find of the town you once loved.

The village comes into view as you round the final bend, just as Price and the others did all that time ago when they first came to you. Atop their dark steeds, they’d gazed down at your scarlet form, and had chosen you to guide them through the woods.

"Go on then, Rotes Mädchen."

How long it has been since then. So much has happened. The wolf, König, the villagers, the promise of a burning hellfire, and now the full moon rising as an abraxas curse above you all.

König waits for you in the burning village, and you pray once more to the Gods that he’ll honor his oath, that he’ll be there once you return, whole and safe.

I promised I would go with you. You whisper inside the gale of your thoughts. Don’t make me break that promise.

At first glance the village appears whole and intact, the houses boarded with their shutters closed, hastily made barricades sheltering barns and stables. There’s not a soul that peeks from the windows as the six of you circle in the town center near the well, and it isn’t until Soap’s despairing, quiet murmur that you understand what’s truly wrong.

“Oh no.” He whispers, barely audible above the nickering of his mare. “Oh, Red.”

You follow his gaze, and feel your whole world turn to ash.

“NO!!” You scream, quickly sliding from Price’s saddle-

and bolting in the direction of your home set ablaze.

Laswell calls after you, but you heedlessly disobey her warning, legs pumping under you, hood flying from your head as you run in the direction of your burning cottage. There’s a crowd gathered just beyond your front gate, and among them are men holding pitchforks, hoisting them high and chanting a curse towards the clouds that roil dark and mysterious against the rising moon. As you near one of them turns, shouts to his compatriots. You ignore them, trying to push them aside to run up the path to your home, to the place you left your beloved resting fitfully in the bed where he had embraced you.

“NO!!” You shriek as one of them catches you around your waist, an arm stretching out in the direction of the cottage. Flames erupt from the windows, smoke billowing from the ceiling, and your own scream is muffled by the cracking of wood, like bones breaking inside the fragile cage of your heart. “KÖNIG!! PLEASE, NO!!”

He’s inside, he’s trapped. They’ve secured him there, no doubt, sent him to burn in your stead when they could not find you. He’s waiting for your return as he promised, waiting for you to find aid and embrace him once more, say the words you wish you had spoken sooner.

“Let me go!!” You scream as you’re hauled off your feet, shouts echoing in a frenzied cacophony around you. “Please- he’s inside, I need to save him-!!”

Your hands are caught, hauled upwards as someone calls for rope, and you scream then, a wordless, terrified cry just as tears blossom against your vision.

He’s dying, he’s dying, please-

You sob hysterically as you thrash in the unyielding grip of your captors, fighting against them like a feral, trapped animal and screaming, screaming for your beloved, for them to release you so you can throw yourself into the flames and rescue him or at least kiss him once more before the both of you drown in flames.

“Please-” You cry, throat thick with tears as the hunter’s son approaches you with your bindings-

Only to be stopped by a sword at his throat.

The men holding you freeze, not yet releasing you, but staring up at the towering witcher who’s eyes gleam darkly behind his mask.

“Release her.” Ghost growls, and you watch the blood drain from the young man’s face, his sinister sneer changing instead to a pale look of terror.

“I said.” Ghost announces once more, tilting the sharp of his blade so it nicks a shallow, red slice against the man’s throat. “Release her.”

The hands holding you vanish, and as soon as you’re released you bolt in the direction of your cottage once more, cape flaring out behind you. Yet before you can make it past the gate, another arm snakes around your middle, hauls you back against a broad chest.

“No Red!” Soap cries above the crackling of the flames that glow against your face. You struggle in his arms, chest heaving erratically as you claw at him to release you. Soap only grips you harder, prevents you from taking another step with his admirable witcher’s strength.

“I have to save him!” You gasp desperately, stretching towards the burning silhouette you once called home, even as the eaves begin to buckle. “Soap, please!!”

“He’s gone.” Soap mutters hoarsely into your shoulder. “Hen, he’s gone.”

A sob cracks your throat, and you slump against his hold, exhausted, grieving as tears stream openly down your face. You chant desperate pleas against him even though you know it’s too late, even as the roof finally caves in, burns down the only place you ever called home. You cry out in a wordless despair, your voice cutting through the silence that has engulfed the crowd behind you, kept at bay by Ghost and Gaz atop their dark mares.

“Please.” You beg once more, cradling your face in your hands as tears slip through your fingers. “König...”

“Rotty. Beloved Rotty.”

You loved him. Truly. Endlessly. Now he’s gone.

“Red!!” Laswell cries from behind you, and at once she’s at your side, arms around you as Soap releases you into her hold. You sob openly into the embrace, cling to her like a child in your despair. Laswell holds you, rocks you, but then at last holds you at arm’s length.

“He’s not there.” She tells you in a rush, eyes open with desperation. “The villagers said there was nobody inside. He’s alive.”

You stare at her through wet lashes, feeling the heat of the flames lick at your cape like the pyre that beckons you. It takes a moment to process her words, but when the realization dawns at last you clutch at her, face open with hope and terror.

“W-where is he, then?!” You beg, voice cracking. “Is he safe?”

Laswell’s face pinches in an expression you don’t understand.

Then, she looks to the woods.

It’s in that moment that a howl splits the sky.

Silence falls over the village as you all tense, looking towards the misty tree line just as the full, yellow moon appears atop the trees.

You’re out of time.

It’s Price’s voice then, that cuts through the silence that follows.

“Listen!” He calls out, voice thunderous, drawing all eyes towards his towering figure atop his anxiously prancing mare.

“The werewolf will be here soon, and when it comes it will tear this village to shreds. None of you will be safe when it does. Not unless you listen, understood?”

You watch the villagers look at each other anxiously, murmuring to themselves until a voice cuts through the crowd.

“Feed the witches to the wolf! It’s the only way!”

“Shut it!” Gaz snaps venomously from beside Price, unsheathing his sword from its scabbard- only for Price’s hand to shoot out and stop him. He nods at the younger man, who simmers with anger, his eyes dancing with fury in the light of the fire. Price turns once more to the crowd.

“These two women are under our protection!” His voice booms, gesturing to you and Laswell, Soap just before you, bristling with his teeth bared at the threat before him. “If anyone dares to lay a single hand on them, I’ll slice it off and feed you to the wolf. You will die a bloody, agonizing death, I promise you that.”

You watch the man who shouted the threat take a step back, aghast at Price’s words.

“It was Laswell who summoned us here to kill the monster.” Gaz interjects, seething. “and Red who guided us through the woods in search of it. You owe them your lives, you ungrateful swine.”

He urges his horse forward a single step, just enough to make the crowd step back, as Price barks at him to get back in line before turning towards the villagers once more.

“I want everyone in the village hall!” He declares, voice rough, overshadowed by the sudden shattering of a beam behind you as your house folds in on itself. You flinch into Laswell’s arms, feel her hold you tighter protectively, tucking your head away from the sight of your ruined home. “All able-bodied men are to grab a weapon and meet me in the square!”

The group hesitates as the bravado of some of the men evaporates in the face of the threat the wolf poses, muttering between themselves and sharing furtive glances. Price waits for them to come to an agreement, and when they don’t his voice carries over them once more.

“We were called here to protect you!” He announces, voice rising towards the inky clouds that roil past the moon. “If you wish for us to leave we will do so right now and leave you to the mercy of the beast.”

You watch a shudder run through the group, hear several gasps as they protest. It seems to settle Price, who nods with resolve before nodding towards the village hall.

“Go!” He bellows, voice thunderous. “There isn’t much time. Women and children inside. Men outside. Now!”

The townsfolk finally heed Price’s words and scatter in the direction of their homes to grab belongings, children, weapons. Price watches them, and once more casts a long look at the tree line before turning to the rest of you. You break from Laswell then, rush forward to grasp at the captain’s stirrup in desperation.

“Price.” You gasp, throat still not clear of your cries. “König- he’s in the woods. The werewolf will kill him. You have to go help him. Please.”

Price looks down at you, and you freeze at the sorrow in his gaze, the grief he unfolds for you.

“I’m sorry, Red.” He tells you, voice quiet. “It’s too late.”

You freeze, face falling open with your horror as you process his words.

He’s leaving him to die.

“N-no-” You try, voice cracking, grasping harder at his saddle. “No he’s- he’s somewhere nearby. He couldn’t have gotten far. We just need to look for him, I-I can’t leave him-”

“We need every person here.” Price tells you gravely. “The wolf will strike where there’s the most blood to be found. We cannot risk a search party, not with so many souls gathered here in the village.”

You stare at him, tears once more obscuring your vision as a plea dies in your throat. When Price pulls away, you jerk back as if you’ve been burned. The motion sends you straight into Laswell’s arms once more. She hauls you to her, pressing from behind you and cradling her nose against the bite mark that still lays against your skin.

“I’m sorry, Red.” She whispers. “There’s nothing more we can do.”

There’s a protest of despair that flutters helplessly in your chest, and you want to scream, to shout, to cry out for all things gained and lost in the pale moonlight cast down upon your lonely figure.

Memories surface unbidden as you stand stiffly, gazing at the sky.

König, frightened and injured, hid in the hollow of a tree. König, who had accepted your aid, offered you his name in a gesture of trust. König, who had gently placed his palm in yours, had offered quiet companionship near your hearth. König, who had snuck longing gazes at you, eyes glinting from the flames. König, who had held you safe from the world, who had cared for you so tenderly and protected you so fiercely. König, who had pressed you into bed with endless murmurs of devotion, who had called you by his name for you, who had laid claiming marks into your skin to show you were his. König, who had promised to stay so you would never be alone again.

“Laswell.” You speak in a raw whisper, watching the others gather in grave conference with their backs turned towards you. “I can’t leave him.”

Laswell tenses at your back before she at last releases you, turns you to face her. Her hair catches the glow of the flames, gray eyes soft and burning as they peer into the depths of your heart. She holds you there, hands clinging tightly to the cape she once bestowed upon you as a gift of her affection towards you.

Laswell gathers you to her, and whispers words in your ear you don’t yet understand, holds you tight like she would a daughter. You think for a moment she’ll refuse to release you, will prevent you from the terrible act you are about to commit.

She releases you, gray eyes gleaming. She looks towards the turned backs of the witchers you’ve come to befriend, the ones who will now abandon you in your greatest time of desperation.

“Go.” Laswell whispers, and you take a step back, resisting the urge to throw yourself once more into her arms. Instead, you turn towards the forest, towards the cradle of the woods that has kept you safe your entire life. You turn towards the groves that hold secrets and danger, the woods that now hold your beloved as a prisoner, awaiting the fatal bite of the monster that haunts your nightmares.

You run for the trees, and you don’t look back.

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#konig x reader #konig x you #könig x reader #könig x you #witcher 141 au #könig x f! reader #my fic #fic: rotes madchen #werewolf x reader

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