#soft!geralt

[viking-raider]

Soothing A Wolf

Summary: Geralt recalls the memories of a troubled time in his life, while visiting a place that always brought him peace.

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia/Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warning: PG - Fluff, Language, Loss, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Memories, Soft!Geralt, Character Death, Projecting, Farm Life, Light Domestic Bliss, Anxiety

Inspiration: This scene from Season Three of the Witcher! 😭

Author’s Note: I know I've already written this subject, with A Witcher's Soul, but I've become unhappy with it and decided to give it another try. I'm by far happier with this one. Hope you enjoy!

Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

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I do remember bits of my life with her.

You had curled up for a late morning nap, after completing all of your morning chores. The sun filtering through the large window above your headboard. It was warm and pleasant, as you drew to the surface of the waking world. You tried fighting it, wishing for a few more moments of rest, before you had to rise and begin the task of the afternoon chores around your quiet, little farm. However, you were drawn out of your slumber, at the sound of someone's approach into your dooryard.

Sighing, you sat up, taking a moment to fix your hair and smooth your skirts, before standing and going out to find who had decided to visit you. You froze on the porch, watching a huge, black Friesian horse come charging up the well-worn path to your cottage. A muscular, broad shouldered man clad in all black clothing in its saddle, his silvery-white hair tied back in a Rivian style flowing in the breeze created by his haste.

“Geralt!” You called out, as the Witcher dismounted from the horse, Roach. “What are you doing here?” You asked, as he stamped through the drying mud towards you, his pale face pinched and set in an expression more agitated than usual, with a tint of something more you couldn't quite put your finger on yet.

The two of you had met nearly fifteen years prior, when you had heard of the White Wolf being in the area and enlisted his help to rid your property of a Graveir that had been threatening it. Not wishing for the alternative, which was moving off the property. You had little to pay him with, offering him the small amount of gold you had. Instead, Geralt had simply asked for a hot meal and permission to camp on your land for the night and use the water from your well, to bathe with after the bloody business of killing the monster.

Naturally, you agreed.

However, after he had killed the creature and washed up to join you for supper, a tension grew between you that popped before the meal ended. Leading to the pair of you being intimate. Ever since, when Geralt was in the area or was taking time off the Trail, he would come to spend time with you. But, you were surprised to see him now, knowing that he should be with Ciri, keeping her safe from Nilfgaard and the Wild Hunt that dogged their heels at every turn.

Instead, he mounted the porch steps towards you, catching you up into his arms.

She smelled like embers.

Geralt buried his face into your neck, taking a deep breath of your skin as he did, drawing in your scent. Your skin had a natural earthiness to it, accompanied by the fresh and calming, citrus-y snap of lemon balm and sweetness of licorice root. He wished many times on many occasions that he could bottle it and take it with him. Always finding comfort, calm and desire in your scent.

Like he had in almost no one else.

“What are you doing here, Geralt? I thought you were with Ciri.” You asked, breaking the silence as you embraced him, pressing yourself against his solid body, feeling the dampness of his clothing, from the sparse rains that had been occurring off and on all week.

“She's safe enough for now.” He mumbled into your neck, his strong arms wrapped tightly around you. “But, I needed to see you.” He said, pulling away from you, his hands grasping your shoulders.

“Well, here I am, my wolf.” You cooed at him, resting your hands on his sides and staring up into his face. “I didn't know seeing me was such an urgent thing.” You teased, pushing up on your toes to kiss him, knowing there was something deeper bothering him, but knew better than to press the Witcher for information.

Especially in the matter of his thoughts and emotions. He would tell you in his own time.

“Are you staying or are you riding back off again?” You inquired, looking towards Roach, who was grazing in the damp grass of your dooryard.

“I want to stay the night.” He told you, squeezing your shoulders. “If that's all right with you?” He added, softly.

“Nonsense!” You chuckled, slapping him on the chest. “You know you don't have to ask, Geralt.” You assured him, clicking your tongue. “Are you hungry? I was just about to make lunch for myself. I can add a plate for you.” You said, moving away from him, to go back inside.

She used her magic to create elaborate meals that we couldn't afford.

“I could eat.” Geralt replied, following you inside the cozy home, that always brought him peace. “Especially if it comes with a slice of one of your home-made sweets.” He added, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched you move towards the kitchen.

You looked at him over your shoulder, an impish sparkle in your eye. “I don't have any made.” You told him, coyly. “But, if you behave yourself, perhaps there'll be something after dinner.” You teased with a wink, before rounding the corner into the kitchen.

Going into the pantry, you grabbed a large, earthenware jug, carrying it out and set it on your counter, removing the cork. Taking a whiff of the contents that were inside, your nose was greeted by the sweet aroma of honey and blood-orange mead. You had brewed it yourself. You took down a cup and filled it, taking a wee nip for yourself, before taking it out to Geralt, who had made himself at home. He'd taken his shoes off, but stood before the fire, tossing a log into it.

“You don't need to do that, Geralt.” You frowned, holding the cup out to him. “I could have done it.”

“I know.” He answered, watching the strong flames catch the edges of the wood, before he took the cup from you, taking a deep gulp. “You really should sell your own spirits.” He commented, licking his lips and looking into golden liquid.

“Ha.” You chuckled, shaking your head at him. “I have enough to do around the farm, Witcher.” You quipped, going back into the kitchen.

Geralt chuckled at you, taking a seat before the fire, flexing his sore toes in the glowing warmth with a soft and tired sigh, while sipping his mead. He listened to you bump about in the kitchen. The opening and closing of the pantry, the thud of cabinet doors shutting, after you searched through their contents. He finished off his mead and set it on the table beside him, before standing and going to the threshold of the kitchen, knowing better than to go into your kitchen, while you were active in it.

You'd chased the Witcher out more than once, with either the rolling pin or a dish towel.

I would have done anything to make her smile.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” He asked, cocking his head around the corner to look at you, seeing you wielding a large knife to cut into a small wheel of cheese. “Do you need anything?”

“I need you to sit your butt down.” You answered, turning to look back at him. “You rode, god knows how far, to here. So, you need to relax.” You told him, adamantly.

And yet, the day she left me, she was sick. She needed water, so I went to get her some.

“But, I want to help.” Geralt insisted, crossing his arms over his chest.

You sighed softly, giving him a gentle smile. “All right, Geralt.” You conceded, nodding. “My other big brute needs to be fed. So, why don't you go out and do that for me, while I finish getting our lunch done.”

“I can do that.” He nodded, daring to step into the kitchen to kiss you on the cheek, chuckling as you popped him on the bum on his way out.

“That, man.” You giggled, smiling to yourself as you turned back to your task.

Geralt tugged his boots back on and went out, heading towards the small fenced off area to the right of your property, where the few farm animals you had lived. He found the bucket beside one of the fence posts and snagged it up by the rope handle, heading towards the grain storage that was around the other side, filling the bucket.

“Hey, Martigan.” He called out to the brown and white dairy cow, standing in the center of the pen, nibbling on a bale of hay with an expression of no care on his face, but twitched his ears to the sound of Geralt's voice. “And you.” Geralt huffed at the animal you had dubbed your other brute, a solid white goat with horns that nearly curved in on themselves, they were so long. “I see you, Goat-Bert.”

The Witcher called to the Goat, who stood clear on the other side of the pen, as he opened the latch to the gate. But that meant nothing, and Geralt knew it. He had dealt with this Goat-Devil before on your behalf. He had even considered taking one of his potions to increase his odds in dodging that swift, easy to anger, creature. Not even Little Bleater was a match for this fiend. So, keeping one golden eye on the Goat, Geralt moved towards the feeding trough and dumped the bucket of grain into it. It wasn't a split second later that Martigan let out a loud, agitated moo and Goat-Bert bleated with his evil intent, setting his head downward as he charged across the muddy pen towards Geralt's shins.

“Fuck!” Geralt barked under his breath, tossing the bucket over the fence and himself with it. “You damned Goat!” He cursed at him, fuming at Goat-Bert rammed his head into the trough, at full steam. But it was your howls of laughter from the porch that drew Geralt out of his choice words for the farm animal. “You find that funny?” He asked, picking up the bucket and moving towards you, as you grinned and giggled.

“I find it hilarious!” You wheezed, wiping tears from your face. “Watching a Witcher jump a fence to get away from a little goat!”

“Now, you know damn well, what mischief that demon can cause.” Geralt told you, but smirked at your amusement. “I don't need Lambert or Eskel busting my ribs, because I got a broken leg because of a wee goat.”

“Well, no harm done.” You said, catching your breath. “And lunch is ready and waiting for us on the table.” You told him, turning to go back inside.

Following you, Geralt was greeted by a laid out table, containing a round and fluffy loaf of bread with a blossom score on the top of its beautiful, caramel-brown crust. Beside the loaf, was a glass decanter of the mead you'd served him earlier, half a roasted and glazed ham hock, that glistened in the light of the fireplace, and a plate of the cheese slices you'd cut. There were other tidbits, to make lunch more pleasant and filling, as well.

“It looks delicious.” He commented, pulling a chair out and sat down.

You looked at him with soft surprise, cocking a brow as you sat beside him. “Ciri and Jaskier must really be leaning hard on your lessons.” You chuckled, picking up a knife and cut a slice out of the bread, laying it on Geralt's plate, before cutting another and putting it on your own. “Would you like a second piece?” You asked him, knife hovering above the loaf.

“Yes.” Geralt nodded, popping a cherry tomato into his mouth, before reaching for the decanter, pouring you both a tankard. “I appreciate this.” He said, watching you cut thick slices of juicy ham from the hock and set them on the edge of his plate, allowing him to build his own sandwich.

“Of course.” You answered, brow creasing as you placed the ham and cheese on your bread, closing it with the second piece, using your knife to cut it in half. “I can't let you starve, now can I? Silly Witcher.” You chuckled, taking a bite.

Geralt hummed, putting together his own meal and allowing the table to fall into a comfortable silence as the two of you ate. Nothing, but the pop and crackle of the fire with the occasional moo or baa of the farm animals outside filled the space. Neither of you moved, once you had your fill, but you watched Geralt, smirking as you saw his lids struggle to stay open and his chin from falling against his chest. You stood, causing Geralt to start and look up at you with wide molten-gold orbs, but you just offered him a sweet smile, as you started to clear away the table, putting things in the pantry, sink or scrap barrel.

Once you were finished, you moved to your bedroom, fluffing your pillows, fixing and folding back the blankets, then pulled shut the curtains, plunging the room into darkness. Satisfied, you returned to Geralt, smirking as you found he had lost the battle with his sleepiness. His breathing was slow, coming out in gentle huffs, arms crossed and chin resting on his chest. He looked so peaceful and relaxed, the muscles under the loose black material of his tunic were slack, making the various scars pull taut. Biting your lip, you moved around him and knelt, taking one of his booted feet in your hands, eyes still trained on his face. In case you startled him, knowing it could cause him to burst into defending himself, when startled awake.

But Geralt didn't stir, as you carefully pulled his muddy boots off, setting them in front of the fireplace. You stood, moving around him to open the knot of the string that held his silvery-white hair tied back out of his face.

“Geralt.” You whispered into his ear, resting your hands lightly on his shoulders. “Geralt.” You said, a little bit louder.

“Hm?” He hummed back, taking a deep breath and shaking his head, causing his loose hair to fall forward.

“Why don't you come lay down?” You suggested, patting his shoulders and kissing the back of his head. “You'll be so much more comfortable in bed.” You persuaded him, gently.

Geralt sighed, licking his lips and stretching his legs for a moment, before standing up and allowing you to guide him to your bed. He pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it into a chair in the corner and dropped into the bed, looking up at you, as you stood before him.

“Lay with me.” He cooed, resting his hands on your hips.

“I have chores to do, Wolf.” You smirked at him, cupping his neck and caressing his stubbly jawline with your thumbs.

“They can wait until tomorrow.” Geralt said, pulling you between his legs. “I'll do them for you.” He smiled, making you sit in his lap as he wrapped his arms around your waist. “Before, I go.” He promised, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss.

“Very well.” You conceded, breaking the kiss and rubbing noses with him.

“Good.” He rasped, laying down and pulling you against his chest.

And when I came back... she was gone.

Geralt woke up sometime later, feeling refreshed. He hadn't slept well or very long in the weeks since he and Ciri left Kaer Morhen, with the Wild Hunt and Nilfgaard after them, worried that every moment his eyes were shut, was a moment they'd come and take Cirilla from him. He reached out for you, wanting to feel you against him, but you weren't in bed any longer.

I called for her.

He got out of bed, calling your name, as he searched the house for you. The fireplace was still roaring, telling him you hadn't been gone long. But where could you be, that you wouldn't hear him calling. He yanked the front door open and stormed into the yard, uncaring that he had no boots on, yelling your name even louder, as he turned in circles. His only answer was the breeze through the trees, Goat-Bert, Martigan and Roach.

Not a peep or appearance from you.

But she was gone.

Geralt felt his chest grow tight and his slow heart skip a beat, then another. The dooryard started to spin and blur, a rock-like lump formed in his throat. He flexed his hands and shook his head, trying to get a handle on himself. He wasn't supposed to act like this. He wasn't supposed to show his emotions, let alone allow them to take control over him.

“Geralt!” You frowned, coming out of the treeline, a basket resting on your hip as you found him standing barefoot in the muddy dooryard. “What's going on?” You asked, setting the basket down and hurrying over to him, as you watched tears drip from his sharp jaw. “What's happened? Are you hurt?” You asked, looking him over, searching for a wound you felt you had failed to notice before.

“Where is it? Show me!”

“I'm not--” He rasped, swallowing at the lump and shaking his head. “You were gone.” He said, pressing his lips together and pushing his jaw forward, trying to bring up his walls against the raw feelings he was being crushed under. “I woke up and you were gone. I called for you.” He said, failing miserably. “But you didn't answer. I thought--” He choked, looking away from you.

You blinked up at him, confused and afraid, never seeing this side of Geralt before. “You thought what?”

He chewed on his lip, his face hardening as he slowly started to gain control of himself again. “I thought you left me.” He admitted, deciding not to shut you out.

“Left you?” You echoed softly, blinking up at him with surprise. “No, Geralt. I'd never leave you. I didn't leave you.” You told him, taking his hand in both of yours. “I just woke up from our nap before you did, and you seemed so tired that I didn't have the heart to wake you. So, I went out to pick some blueberries.” You explained to him, half turning back to where you'd set your basket, full of plump, indigo orbs. “I plan on using them to bake you a pie.” You said quietly, looking back up at him.

Neither of you said anything for a long while, before Geralt looked down at you, a sad look in his eyes.

���I'm sorry.” He whispered, bending his head to rest his forehead against yours.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” You assured him, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles.

Nodding, Geralt pressed his lips to your forehead and sighed, looking down at his muddy feet. “I'll rinse my feet off.” He said, moving away from you and towards the well.

Watching him go and drop the bucket into the well, you knew the Witcher didn't have the easiest of lives, that he had a lot of trauma in it. But, he would tell you what was bothering him, when he was ready. It seemed too raw, at the moment. So, you went back for your blueberries and carried them inside to the sink, so you could rinse them off, prepping them for the pie.

Deciding to be there for Geralt, when he was ready.

[mandos-things]

Cold - Geralt of Rivia

Relationship: Geralt x gn!reader

Warnings: mild swearing, nothing but fluff

Gif by @kh-ael

~~~~~

"You're chattering."

"Am not."

Jaskiers snores ripped through the silence of the forest.

You, Geralt and Jaskier made camp not far from the main road. The night air was light, relentless. Despite the crackling of the fire, the air tore right through your covers and into your very bones.

"Mm. Suppose its a squirrel then. Must be dearly regretting not buying the extra skins their wise friend had suggested they buy only two towns over."

"F-fuck off," you shivered. You would've laughed at his Geralt-like attempt at a joke if you weren't so fucking freezing...

"Come here," the gruffness of his voice slices through your regret-riddled thoughts.

"Wh-what?"

He deeply sighs, and moves to hold open his thick fur coat. An invitation. One that any other day you would've had the sense to question.

But you would sacrifice your dignity for warmth tonight.

So you shuffled, albeit clumsily to where he sat, just next to a fallen log. You pretend you don't see the little smirk he makes as you trip and shake your way over to him.

"A-Asshat," you huff as you move to lay down, his arm moving to rest over your waist once you've settled.

You breathe a relieved sigh at the heat. His warmth hugged you tightly, shivers dying down with every stroke of his hand along your spine.

"Mmmthankyou," you sleepily murmur. He kisses the top of your head in response.

"We'll stock up again tomorrow."

His other hand rests lovingly along the side of your face.

"Rest now, little one. I've got you."

~~~~~

[fandom-junk-drawer]

The Witcher Headcanon - Purring Bonus Scene - Part 4

Jaskier thought he knew all of Geralt's purrs. He purred when he was happy, when he was anxious, and when he was hurt or sick. And Jaskier had learned that each one had its own unique sound. Now he could read Geralt's moods by his purrs as easily as he could by his 'Hmm's.

It kind of irritated Geralt because he couldn't hide much from him now. Jaskier had always been very talented at reading people, and had very quickly learned to read all Geralt's subtle expressions, grunts, and body language. Geralt sometimes wondered if the bard didn't have some Fae blood in his family line because it sure seemed as if he could read his f***ing mind sometimes.

Geralt was just waiting for the day that Jaskier would predict, probably down to the minute, when Geralt would have to take a sh*t. And he would probably do it in the middle of one of his sets. In a crowded tavern. Or at a banquet.

Yeah, it would be at a banquet. And he would stop right in the middle of his song and yell in full bardic voice, "You might want to go find the privy, Geralt! I can tell by the way your left eyebrow just twitched that you are going to need to take a truly massive sh*t. You better squeeze those cheeks together and get moving. You've got maybe five minutes before that Food Baby gets born!"

And then Yennefer, from where ever she would be lurking in the hall, would add "And don't forget to wipe your a**!"

If that day ever came, Geralt would be the first Witcher in history to die of embarrassment.

Geralt's sardonic thoughts were interrupted by Jaskier's coughing. The bard had picked up a cold in the last town. It didn't sound like it was anything serious, but they were still going to stop in Vengerberg to let him rest before they continued on to Kaer Morhen. Hunting had been bad this year, so Geralt decided there was no reason why he couldn't go home early.

The bard was sitting by the campfire where he had been restringing his lute and was now trying to tune it. Geralt saw him slowly flex the fingers of one hand, and noticed the slight tremor in the digits. He watched him then squeeze the opposite forearm.

Geralt frowned to himself as Jaskier surreptitiously shook his arms and hands out, and forced them back to attending to his lute. He smelled like sickness, and...pain.

Jaskier had broken both his forearms two winters ago at Kaer Morhen, and Geralt knew what this Autumn chill was doing to the old injuries. He rose, rubbing at his own knee for a moment before hobbling over to the fire.

Jaskier blinked in surprise as his lute was lifted away. A hot stone wrapped in rags was placed in his hands, and he was then pulled face first against a warm chest that was vibrating with a rumbly purr.

Jaskier was going to protest, but the heat from the stone was chasing the ache from his forearms, and he suddenly realized that he was a little bit cold. And pretty tired. And his body ached. They had been traveling most of the morning. Oooh, that purring was...niiiice. The vibration felt good in his hands and arms... Wait, was that Geralt's Hurt purr? No, no, this one was different. It was quieter, steadier...

Geralt didn't know how the purr happened. He'd been trying to Hurt purr, because that was what always helped him when he was in pain, but somehow, it came out different. He felt the second when it hit a rhythm and frequency that...felt right. This was how he needed to purr to make Jaskier feel better.

Geralt purred until he heard Jaskier's heartbeat find a steady rhythm that told him the pain was gone, or at least diminished to where it was tolerable.

"Let's get to Vengerberg so you can rest."

They rode the rest of the day until they reached Vengerberg, and they went straight to Yennefer's house. The mage was waiting, looking as usual, as if their presence were an inconvenience. It wavered for a split second as she watched a pale, tired-looking Jaskier slither down from the saddle.

She grumbled as she led them inside and showed them to their rooms.

"Ugh! Now I have to look at you for the next few days!" Yennefer commented as she strode into Jaskier's room a few minutes later with Geralt at her heels.

"Look on the bright side. It's a nice change from looking at the ugly you see in the mirror every day!" Jaskier replied in a half-hearted, nasally grumble from where he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. Yennefer could hear him wheezing slightly with each exhale.

"Ha! Like you look any better right now!" Yennefer quipped as Jaskier started coughing. She made a face as he gagged up a blob of phlegm and leaned over the edge of the bed.

"Don't you dare spit that on my floor, you uncouth savage!"

Jaskier glared at her, then spat the greenish gob into his hand and wiped it on his shirt.

"That's disgust-! You're disgusting!" She snapped. Her tone was sharp, but Geralt saw that her hands were gentle as she pressed them to Jaskier's cheeks, and then the sides of his neck, before slipping her hand down the back of his shirt.

Yennefer ignored Geralt's knowing 'Hm'. She could feel a little bit of fever in the bard's skin and she could tell by the way he kept wincing that his head hurt. At least his breathing wasn't too bad.

"Yeah? Well...your mother." Jaskier mumbled in one last attempt to keep up the Mortal Enemies act as the witch ran a hand tenderly through his hair.

Yennefer saw him cringe.

"Sorry, Yen... I'm not exactly at my best right now."That had definitely not been one of his wittiest comebacks.

Yennefer leaned in and placed a soft kiss to his temple.

"It's alright, dear heart," She said sympathetically as she slipped under his other arm as Geralt helped him up. "Let's get you into the bath and then put you to bed."

Jaskier heaved a wheezy sigh. He was too tired and light-headed to reply, so he let them slowly lead him to the washroom, where a tub of steaming hot water and a roaring fire waited.

Jaskier drank the potion Yennefer handed him after he'd finished with his bath, then curled up in the bed, tucked up against his personal heater, smelling of the herbs Yennefer had dumped into the bath water to help his breathing. He lay there, listening to the rumble of Geralt's purr.

The vibration of it felt nice. It helped take his attention away from the discomfort in his arms. Or was it easing the pain? Is this why Geralt would purr when he was hurt? Is this what it felt like to him? Was it like a painkiller? Was this some kind of, of Healing purr?

Jaskier wanted to ponder that line of thought more, but the rhythmic sound and vibration of Geralt's purring was making it hard to think of much of anything. The thoughts came sluggishly, then flitted away leaving his mind pleasantly empty. There was just the purring and the warmth.

He shifted, summoning the energy to roll over and clumsily resituate himself. He put his arm over Geralt's stomach and rested his head on his chest. That was better...

Geralt continued purring until he felt Jaskier completely relax. His breathing was deep and even, if a little congested. Geralt slowly eased his sleeping friend off him, settling him on his back so he could breathe easier.

He shushed him when he stirred, snuffling and clumsily rubbing the back of his hand over his eyes as he muttered groggily. Geralt pulled the blankets up over him, and laid his hand on his chest so he could feel that he was there. Jaskier settled back down after a few moments, falling back asleep.

Geralt made sure there was enough wood on the fire, then went to help Yennefer.

He spent the following days helping out around the house when he wasn't cuddled up to Jaskier, purring.

Jaskier improved quickly over the next three days. He was recovering from the cold faster than Yennefer expected. His fever had broken the first night, and the congestion was all but gone now. The cough lingered, but Yennefer was not concerned about it. Coughs sometimes didn't clear up for a week or two.

Jaskier had entertained himself while he recovered by discussing his theory about Geralt's purring with Yennefer. The sorceress hadn't dismissed his thoughts as he'd expected her to. Instead, she seemed quite interested in hearing them, and the two of them would discuss and compare theories and observations until Jaskier started drifting off. Geralt was often dragged into their discussions for his personal perspective and experiences.

When Jaskier was finally fit to travel, he left with a thick, warm jacket, a bag full of potions for when his arms ached, and a brand new notebook to start recording his thoughts, ideas, and observations. He promised that when they next saw each other, Yennefer could help him organize his notes.

Geralt had rolled his eyes and braced himself for a long winter.

[spielzeugkaiser]

They have sleepy cuddles! Geralt is probably drooling. Ciri under the cut!

[whumpypepsigal]

#besties

[fenrir-flamekeeper]

would you look at that

[ID: fully rendered digital comic style drawing of Geralt and Jaskier from Witcher Netflix. They are standing facing each other, kissing. Jaskier is wearing a loose red robe with a green belt, showing his cleavage. His head is tipped slightly up, his hair is open. Geralt is bent down, holding Jaskier by the waist. He is shirtless and his hair is in a half ponytail. There are two windows in the background with brown glass, a candleholder on the wall, and two candles on the side. End ID.]

[annmarcus63]

The thing is that nothing is the same, not after Lambert pointed out, in a deeply impolite manner, that Jaskier, despite his best efforts, is Geralt's whore. But no, it couldn't be, could it? They have been together for over eight years now. Yes, they sort of broke up on the mountain but they're back together now, aren't they? 

But the real problem here is not the years but the way Geralt treats their relationship. In fact, Lambert has helped him to open his eyes. 

How he treats Yen and how he treats him.

The truth is that Jaskier has made peace with the fact that he'll always be second best. That Geralt lo... cares for him but not as he cares for her. 

They say that the evil is in the details.

Geralt shows no affection to him outside the bedroom. Geralt is distant, and this has never bothered him, because he always thought that Geralt was like that with everyone else. 

He never touches him, not a pat on the arm, not a caress on the cheek, just like he's doing it now with Yen. Geralt never looks at him like that, with so much fervor and devotion. 

He doesn't even look at him like that in the bedroom, not even when the witcher is fucking into him and whispering how good he feels.

So Jaskier starts an experiment. He won't look for Geralt, he'll just wait and see. 

And oh, how he observes the unspoken words of love that Geralt holds back everytime Yen is nearby. How he'll reach out to her, only to feel her, and the way he leans closer to smell her perfume, lilacs and gooseberries. 

He wonders if Jaskies smells good to him. 

Geralt catches him looking at them, a longing expression on his face surely, and sends him a quizzical look but Jaskier shrugs it off, as if his entire heart wasn't weeping. 

And Jaskier is afraid to ask, first of all, Geralt has never reacted well to Jaskier's serious talks, so... yeah, he's afraid. 

But of course, how could he be anything more than a bed warmer when it took him twelve years to get the witcher's attention. It only took Yen an hour for Geralt to fall head over heels in love with her. 

Days passed and Jaskier stood staring at the ceiling of his bedroom waiting for Geralt, tears trickled down his pillow as he heard him pass towards Yen's room.

[ghostcupdraws]

Witchers need taking care of too

[artistsfuneral]

Geralt is imprisoned, waiting to be trialed by the local Duchess, when the cell door opens and Jaskier appears, teasing him for getting into trouble again. Geralt, who certainly wasn't expecting to see his friend, asks why it's him and not the Duchess, to which Jaskier replies something like "Goodness Geralt, that woman is 64 years old, you can't really expect her to travel to town every time a prisoner needs to be judged!" Which no, of course not, most of the time it wouldn't even fall into a aristocrats responsibilities at all, but given the fact that Jaskier is currently leading him out of his cell, Geralt is hardly in a position to argue. But Jaskier is here now, no matter how unexpected the situation is, and there is a carriage waiting for them and Geralt blindly follows his friend into it. Surely Jaskier knows what he's doing.

The bard is babbling as always, when he complains that Geralt rudely interrupted tea time with the Duchess and naturally the witcher assumes that Jaskier is having an affair with her. When he tries to tease Jaskier about it (Jaskier that poor woman is 64!) the bard stops, stares and breaks into loud laughter. Turns out Jaskier was spending some quality time with his Grandmother.

When they arrive at the estate and tea time can resume, including Geralt, he discovers that she's teaching Jaskier how to knit and crochet. At the end of the day, the witcher knows how to as well. :)

[finleycannotdraw]

this post from @0dde11eth inspired me lmao

go through the notes on that post to find some of the continued inspiration :)

tl;dr sleep-cuddly geralt is a headcanon you can pry from my cold dead hands!

[seance]

Dear friend, you asked at Belleteyn if I left after all those good nights because I was scared. Perhaps I was. Perhaps that is what led me to this very moment. Now, for the first time, I understand real fear. Never seeing you and Ciri again. Much is uncertain on this Continent. The dangers we've seen foretell an even more menacing future. But, Yen, please know I will learn to trust you again. You, Ciri, and I, we belong together. Your friend, Geralt.

[heschrafn]

Buttercups for Jaskier 🌼

[fandom-junk-drawer]

The Witcher Headcanon - Purring Bonus Scene - Part 1

Just a quick note. I've had a few friends politely point out that I don’t need to censor cuss words. I'm glad that y'all are being helpful and looking out for everyone! Good for you for being kind and thoughtful!

I am aware that censoring is unnecessary, but I have a few reasons why I do:

1. I know there are minors on this site, and they might not be comfortable with cuss words, or maybe someone sees cuss words as NSFW.

2. It's a personal preference. I don't use that type of language IRL. I don't have a problem with other people using it, I just never really liked the way those words "tasted"(It's hard to explain 😅 ), but I want the characters to sound like themselves as much as possible, so censoring is a compromise.

3. It's...funny. For some reason reading a censored word makes it funny to me. Maybe because I hear a "beep", or the dolphin noise from that one SpongeBob episode. I don't know. There's just something about asterisks that makes it funny. I know, I'm weird!

Anyway, enjoy the bonus scene!

Jaskier had fancied himself somewhat of an expert on Witchers after those first few years of travelling with Geralt. He had learned so much about them and had used his power as a bard to change things for them. Thanks to his songs, his stories, and his poetry, people were starting to see Witchers as they really were: Friend Shaped.

He thought he knew everything there was to know about Witchers, but he made an interesting discovery one evening. Something about Witchers that had never been mentioned in the lore, and that no one had ever spoken of.

Geralt had been exhausted when he returned to the inn after dealing with a local monster problem. He had come through with only a few minor scrapes and bruises this time.

The innkeeper had happily given him a tankard of ale and a hot meal while Jaskier entertained the other guests with songs, news, and the latest court gossip. When Geralt was finished with his meal, the innkeeper's wife had a bath sent up to his room, along with fresh linens and extra firewood.

Geralt had been boiling himself in the bath, letting the heat draw out the achces and pains of sore muscles and old injuries, when it happened.

The fire was crackling quietly infront of him. Jaskier was scribbling down ideas for a new song and quietly filling Geralt in on the town gossip. He felt so warm and relaxed. He leaned his head back and...

Jaskier looked up from his writing as he heard Geralt start making a noise. At first he thought it was a 'hmm', or an irritated growl. Geralt was tired, after all, and not very social. He was probably getting tired of the chatter.

But the sound didn't stop like he expected a growl or 'hmm' to. It kept going. It was a soft, undulating sound. Like a gentle bubbling hum. It sounded like a...

Holy f**k! Geralt was purring!

Geralt heard Jaskier's heart suddenly start beating a little faster, and smelled the change in his scent. Surprise/interest/curiosity

Geralt realized he was purring, and immediately stopped, sitting up with an irritated grumble to hide his embarrassment. He hoped like h*ll that the bard somehow hadn't heard.

"Geralt, were you...purring?"

Geralt froze. F**k. He'd heard. He was never going to live it down. Geralt growled at him out of reflex.

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. I won't bring it up again."

"I was. What of it, bard?"

"Nothing," Jaskier said almost gently, as if he might scare Geralt away, "I just didn't know you could do that. I didn't mean anything by it. I was just curious if it was a Geralt Thing, or a Witcher Thing."

Geralt side-eyed him suspiciously for a moment, trying to determine if there was any sinister movitves behind the questions. All he could sense was genuine curiosity.

Jaskier knew that Geralt was special. That he had extra mutations that other Witchers didn't have. If he wasn't sure that a behavior, attribute, ability, etc was something all Witchers had, or if it was unique to Geralt, he always asked if it was a Geralt Thing, or a Witcher Thing.

Geralt had sighed quielty and answered that it was a Witcher Thing. All Witchers did it, just not around humans. He could see the bard mentally file the information away. "No songs! I will kill you and dump your carcass in the nearest field!"

"I would never! How dare you even suggest! You wound me, sir! My poor heart is broken! Broken!"

Geralt had rolled his eyes at the drama.

"Listen, I promise I will never, ever write a song about you or any other Witchers purring. Ever."

Geralt didn't seem terribly convinced. Jaskier knew it was going to take something more binding than words to convince Geralt. He was going to have to invoke the most ancient, absolute, and unbreakable ritual of deal-making.

"Geralt, I Pinky Swear!"

The Witcher regarded him silently for a moment, then nodded solemnly. Pinkies were clasped and the deal was made.

Months later, Geralt had long gotten comfortable around Jaskier, and felt safe enough with him that he could allow himself to show his vulnerable side.

Jaskier regularly found himself sitting by their campfire, working on his songs, or falling asleep to the sound of Geralt's purring. He noted that like a cat, when Geralt got comfortable or relaxed enough, he would start to Happy Purr. He'd purr as Jaskier helped work the stiffness out of a sore muscle, or a knot out of his back, or when he'd get all warm and toasty under his blankets when they stayed at an inn.

And when he scratched his chin or cheeks.

Finding out that Witchers loved chin and cheek skritches had been the highlight of Jaskier's day.

Geralt had been grumbling about something or other, like he usually did when he was over-tired and couldn't sleep. Jaskier had sat next to him, and as a joke, started scratching his cheeks.

Geralt had stopped talking, mid-grumble, and his pupils had dilated. He'd visibly relaxed, eyes glazing over, and he'd started purring loudly as Jaskier's fingers scratched through the short stubble on his cheeks. "B**tard..." he'd mumbled almost drunkenly.

Jaskier's fingers faltered in their scratching, He was suddenly worried he'd gone too far with the joke. But Geralt had only leaned into his hands and slurred "I didn' say to stop..." Jaskier smiled to himself and resumed the skritches.

Geralt's eyes had closed and he started purring louder. He started leaning a little harder on Jaskier, starting to fall asleep when the bard started scratching his chin.

Jaskier stopped after a few more moments, not wanting to push his luck, and Geralt had glared at him sleepily. The Witcher looked p*ssed, but Jaskier could tell that he was actually embarrassed that he had almost been put down for a nap by cheek scritches.

"If you ever do that to me in public, or where anyone might see it, I will beat your a**!"

Jaskier had nodded to show that he'd understood. He smiled to himself as Geralt had rolled himself up in his blanket like an angry toddler to hide from Jaskier's knowing smile.

Geralt got a certain amount of smug satisfaction that winter, when Jaskier made it his personal mission to scratch the cheeks and chins of every Witcher at Kaer Morhen. The feral bard somehow survived, and by the end of the first month, Geralt's brothers were arguing over whose turn it was to get cheek or chin scritches.

And once Jaskier started really paying attention to Geralt's purring, he started to notice that he had other types of purrs...

[spielzeugkaiser]

Kind of a second part to this - inspired by a convo I had with @panur in the replies! Ciri comes to them for cuddles and at this point Geralt is 100% awake, but Jaskier handles it all rather well.

[whumpypepsigal]

“We didn’t come this far just to abandon each other.” — “Then don’t abandon me.”

[jaskier-more-like-saskier]

can we talk about Geralt breaking Riences hands. Was it because he burned Jaskiers hand probably not but i live in my delusions and think yes.