GERALT OF RIVIA

❝ 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔, 𝒚𝒆𝒕 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒄𝒍𝒂𝒊𝒎 𝒐𝒏𝒆. ❞ — 𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐀 a detailed portrayal for the witcher verse, brought to you by #libertine. mv. bi. mature. interactions very welcome. trigger warnings. (↺ + ♡)

He is. He couldn't bring it over himself to never look back again. For someone, made looking back quite enjoyable. His path lead him here. He felt drawn to this village. Now he has a clue why.

Not hiding, rather surviving. He has had his reasons not to return until now. Much has happened.

Hard to believe something that seemed close to impossible. But it is, indeed, him.

A scent she doesn't loathe, he hopes.

A cloaked figure came riding into town, hood deeply pulled into his face, with only a few single strands being visible. Nobody had seen him in months, most thought of him being dead.

He slumps down on a seat, a sigh passing his lips.

He's feeling quite tense. Someone should change that.

Brooding Witcher.

Thinking about moments like this.

Clenched fingers slowly loosen, allowing the bloodied silver sword to drop to the ground with a faint thud.

"And what would that be; Singing me to sleep?" The mere thought brought a quiet chuckle to emit while he pushed himself off the wooden doorframe. His feet carrying him closer to the other.

Geralt will show Jaskier what grumpy means. He caught that certain stare. One which dipped his head to the side while golden pools studied him. "More like something that is always there."

"And I you", he breathed out with a sigh while embracing the slender female in order to pull her warm body closer against his.

He isn't grumpy. Just his usual self. What's he waiting for, then? He's leaning against the doorframe, arms folded in front of his upper torso. 𝘞𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨.

He wasn't 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 to what was going on. Actually he wished a portal was leading him somewhere else, though he didn't like them. He can try.

With a very good reason.

He could hear it once or twice. Thanks to his great sense of hearing. He has never really been a bottom.