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.
how about a sorceress, elf, or healer!reader and geralt brings her to kaer morhen for the first time (before the whole child surprise happens) and vesemir dislikes reader for whatever reason, to a point that the idea of staying all throughout winter makes her uncomfortable. would geralt choose his father figure or the established romance with reader? 👀
(ps. im also the same anon who requested the geralt reader with yennefer angst and i loved it 😙. if u see a 👀 on a request, it's probably me!!)
“I don’t like her.”
Geralt turned to Vesemir, an unreadable expression on his face. The statement wasn’t a surprise; he saw the way the older Witcher treated you the last few days. He got a warmer reception in Blaviken than you did to Kaer Morhen.
“May I ask why.” Geralt spoke, not sure he really cared for the answer.
Vesemir sighed, shaking his head. “I try to teach you boys how to survive, that’s all I did. Years and years spent drilling it into your thick skulls that Witchers are solitary creatures. We work alone because that is the only way to ensure our survival. And here you found yourself a woman to distract—“
“I worked alone for long enough,” Geralt interrupted, giving Vesemir a look. “She’s saved my life more time that I can count since I’ve met her. She is the reason for my survival, when your training has fallen short.”
That hit a cord— Vesemir stood suddenly, his eyes hard as he sized up Geralt. “Then you don’t need me anymore. You don’t need your family, your brothers. Take your precious wife and winter somewhere else.”
He left in a huff, leaving Geralt alone in the alchemy room to his own thoughts. Geralt sighed, shutting his eyes. He wasn’t sure what Vesemir’s problem was— maybe he was jealous, or resentful, or thought Geralt was breaking some Witcher law by finding love with someone who loved him back. Maybe he really was just concerned about his survival. Either way, he wasn’t going to let anyone make you feel uncomfortable here.
He found you in the room he’d arranged for you both, reading from an old book on ancient sigils. You looked up at him with a small smile before going back to your book.
“Found something of interest, I hope,” Geralt commented, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms.
You hummed, turning a page. “Vesemir almost ripped it out of my hands, but it might have some useful information.”
Geralt’s jaw clenched, watching you carefully. “He called you my wife.”
You laughed at that, glancing up at him through your lashes. “I’m not your wife, did you tell him that?”
“I don’t need to explain anything to him,” Geralt answered, pushing off from the wall and moving closer to you. He reached down and ran his fingers through your hair, tucking some behind your ear. “We don’t need to stay here, if he is making you feel unwelcome, my love.”
You glanced up at him, seeing a softness in his face he reserved only for you. “I don’t want to create tension between you and a man who is essentially your father, Geralt. If he… if he doesn’t like me, I can leave. We can meet up later.”
Geralt frowned, the idea of being apart from you for any amount of time unsettling. “If he cared about me at all, he would at the very least accept the one I care about.”
You nodded, shutting the book and setting it aside. You stood and rested a hand on Geralt’s chest, the other cupping his face as you sighed. He did that thing he always does when he’s trying to read you, brows furrowed and eyes tense.
“I won’t make you choose between me or your family,” you murmured, leaning up to kiss him softly. “I love you, but until I’m family, I come second, okay?”
Geralt growled, scooping you up in arms. You yelped, holding on to his shoulders and laughing as he deposited you into the bed, nuzzling into your neck as he settled above you. “I’ll just have to make you my wife, then,” he whispered, nipping at your skin.
You smacked his shoulder, biting your lip. “I’m sure that will make Vesemir just adore me, stealing his Golden Boy away.”
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.
Summary: Jaskier has been travelling with Geralt for many years now, even up to Kaer Morhen some winters when he feels he can make the trip. Geralt always sleeps easily and frequently for the first few weeks, surrounded by his brothers and his bard. It's how he notices that Jaskier hasn't been sleeping, and he's going to find out why.
Or
5 times Geralt notices Jaskier is in a bad way and the 1 time he does something about it.
Note: Just some Kaer Moron fluff and comfort for our favourite bard. Set after The Mountain fight and reunion, Ciri’s there too.
Do not repost or rewrite any of my work. Minors and ageless blogs get blocked.
Masterlist Request something
1. A sour smell in the wind.
Geralt was stumped. Jaskier had agreed to come to Kaer Morhen again this year so they started the trip up a few days earlier than normal, not only to avoid most of the cold but there were no contracts for Geralt to take along the way.
And the bard was quiet. Not even a faint humming coming from him as he composed into the snow flurry. Geralt had made sure he’d picked up the essentials for the fragile human; fur lined boots, a heavy cloak, leather gloves and woollen scarf. The Pass was just as difficult to navigate now as it was each year, and the bard was falling behind again as Geralt pushed on next to Roach.
He stopped and turned around, taking in Jaskier’s purple complexion and shivers despite the layering. “Come on Jaskier, we’re almost there.”
When he recieved no response other than the chattering of Jaskier’s teeth, Geralt decided the bard was going to freeze unless he started warming up, and fast.
“Come here, Bard.”
The sour spike that scourned the wind almost burnt out the witcher’s nostril hairs. It was as brief as it was intense, and Geralt couldn’t stop the frown even as Jaskier tried to disguise the scent with suggestive comments and a slightly frozen eyebrow wiggle.
Geralt tilted his head as he tried to source the smell, but could find no obvious injuries on the bard other than the cold.
“Well come on Mr ‘Speed is essential’. We don’t have all day.”
And just like that, the conversation that should’ve happened, was wiled away with the wind of The Killer.
~~
The penny dropped after they arrived and were embraced by the wolves.
Ciri jumped on Geralt as soon as he was in sight and Lambert roughly tugged the bard into him, holding the human as close as possible as if he could tell how much the cold was eating away at him. Geralt did just the same with Ciri, and didn’t let her go until Vesemir was threatening him to be on stall cleaning duty for the next week and tugged him close to scent his pup again.
They switched and Ciri buried her head in Jaskier’s neck, securing themselves together much like Geralt knocking his and Lambert’s heads together. They were safe, home for another year.
As it turns out, Eskel arrived a few hours after them, making his appearance known as he always does. There was a rough embrace of arms and hearty shoulder pats with Geralt and Vesemir, a watered down version of the rough welcome for Jaskier (who still couldn’t feel his hands by the way he could barely grip Eskel’s tunic) and a one-armed hug and kiss on the head for Ciri; and if anyone noticed how he lingered a little longer to breath in her scent, they didn’t say anything.
It was the greeting with Lambert that made a lightbulb go off for Geralt. For whatever reason they were always the roughest with each other, and this was no different.
Eskel had taunted Lambert with a crouch and beckoned “come here” to which the fiery witcher slammed into him and they went sprawling across the floor. Whilst the others watched almost contently at the usual display of oddly presented relief at them all being alive, Geralt couldn’t help but pick up on the acrid stench of fear that permeated the air again.
When he turned to look for the source, he found Jaskier with a twisted expression as he watched the two wrestle on the floor; and the wince that came at Lambert landing a blow in Eskel’s stomach.
That was it. The punch. Fuck, Geralt was so stupid sometimes. It was the same phrase followed by the same violence that he used on Jaskier when they had first started on the path together, when Jaskier had complete trust that Geralt wouldn’t hurt him, then sucker punched him so hard he thought he was going to vomit out his intestines.
And then the mountain. More hurt caused by Geralt. Nilfgaard and whatever they managed to do to him there before Geralt reached him.
Fuck! If Jaskier couldn’t feel safe in the one place that was literally designed to be a safe haven for them, then Geralt had fucked up more than he thought.
So no violence for a while. At least no punching while Jaskier was around. Fine, easy as pie. Though looking at how Eskel currently had Lambert in a headlock, maybe it wasn’t going to be quite so easy as Geralt hoped.
2. No singing fills the room. Nothing at all, actually.
They’re a couple of weeks in and thankfully, Eskel and Lambert have toned it down with the bouts of aggression. If Geralt had to watch Jaskier sink into himself anymore whenever Lambert tackled Eskel over the table or Eskel tried putting horse shit in Lambert’s hair again, he was going to lock his brothers out in the snow.
At the minute, Jaskier is sat quietly by the fire in the main sitting room. His lute sits idly beside him as he works and Vesemir keeps a steadying hand in his hair as he reads in his favourite chair.
Geralt is in the library with Ciri. They had been going over what she’d learnt while Geralt was gone but the child grew tired as she got warmer from the fireplace and was now just dozing with her head in Geralt’s lap and his hand in her hair. The Witcher himself was almost to the state of meditation when he heard Vesemir speak, tuning his ears to hear the soft words shared between his leader and bard.
“You’re quiet this year bard, don’t think I’ve heard you play once.” He said as a starting point, trying to encourage him to get talking on his own. It was a weird occurance in itself, usually all they were trying to do was shut him up for five minutes.
Jaskier shocked the older wolf even more when it took him a minute to answer, trying to fight the feeling that his tongue felt too big for his mouth. Vesemir closed his book and gave the pup his full attention, he felt there was more going on here than just a commotion ontop of a mountain.
“Jaskier?” The hand in his fluffy brown hair tightened only the littlest bit to drag the bard out of his own head.
Once he was ready, Jaskier let out a sigh that said more than words could, and Vesemir sat straighter, tension growing in his shoulders at how lost the young boy’s voice sounded compared to how he was used to it. “I simply have nothing to play.” He shrugged, picking at the calluses on his fingers.
Jaskier could feel Vesemir staring at him, trying to piece together a puzzle that he didn’t even know was missing the corner.
“It isn’t just that pup. You’ve barely said a word to anyone since you got here other than pleasantries.”
Jaskier sighed again and looked straight into the fire so he could use the light as an excuse for the sheen across his eyes. “Geralt likes the quiet.”
The mentioned man frowned. He doesn’t understand. When did he ever- oh. The Djinn.
I just want some damn peace!
Geralt thumped his head back and tried to release his frustration without waking the child asleep on his lap. Of course when he actually said something it had to be that.
Fuck.
“That doesn’t mean we want you to be radio silent, bard. The reason we all enjoy you coming here in the winter is because of your talking, the easiness of it. The wolves are often treated and spoken to with fear, and then you came up here and there wasn’t a trace of it. It’s the only time of year where they relax and we do so love to hear your voice, lark. Don’t make us beg for it.”
Jaskier blinked the wetness away and nodded his head, sniffing aggressively when Vesemir patted his head in farewell and retired to bed.
3. The Witcher lost the lark.
It was that damn sitting room again. Geralt was put on dinner duty with Vesemir and Ciri was out ‘training’ with Lambert, which mostly consisted of him teaching her how to hide Eskel’s things without being noticed.
This left said Witcher in the sitting room with Jaskier, relaxing on the sofa behind where the bard was scribbling notes down only to cross them out again, humming indistinct tunes to himself to try and get the sound he yearned for.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I’ve missed your singing this year bard.”
Jaskier huffed through his nose but didn’t turn to face the scarred Witcher to rise to the bait. “Don’t hear that very often.” He mumbled. Well, as much as you can mumble in a castle full of witchers with enhanced hearing.
“Well you’re hearing it now.”
“I suppose I am, dear Eskel, yes.”
He managed to wait a few more minutes before starting up again. “So why the wait? Usually by now we’d be-”
“Yelling at me to shut up? Yes, I remember it well.” Jaskier finished for him. When Eskel didn’t continue the bard knew he was waiting for him to expand.
Jask turned his head just enough to see the Witcher’s face in the side of his vision, yellow eyes glowing as he stared at him in the dark. “I’ve been informed that my singing has had the odd tendency to run people off. S’pose I didn’t want anyone to run anymore.”
The Witcher frowned and tilted his head as he tried to figure out what the bard was saying. Yes they might berate him for being a bit too loud, but he thought Jaskier knew they were only playing around. Eskel took his feet off the sofa from where he was lounged and sat up, reaching in front of him to grip Jaskier’s shoulder tight enough to get his attention.
“We only kid with you Jaskier, about playing too much. We love to hear you through the castle, it gives us something to focus on other than what happened here.”
Jaskier met his eyes from where they had fallen to the floor and nodded. “I know. That’s not what I’m talking about.”
Eskel hadn’t the foggiest. For Geralt, it couldn’t be clearer. The fucking Djinn.
“Did you sing to her before she left?”
“I did actually. Why, what are you implying?”
“I won’t run away, if you want to sing.” Was all Eskel could offer.
Jaskier turned back to his spider’s web of lyrics and picked up his lute, turning back to Eskel. “Want to hear something I’ve been toying with?”
~~
Jaskier’s lute is right there. Right fucking there and he hasn’t so much as looked at it while he and Geralt were in the library after dinner.
The wolves had split off after the stew had been demolished and Geralt sought out Jaskier in the library, hoping to talk to him about this cloud of dullness that had overtaken him since he got here. Although that required words, not a forte of Geralt’s.
They had been sat peacefully for an hour and Geralt was loosing his mind. Why wasn’t Jaskier humming or singing or talking or moving or anything.
“You can play if you want.” Subtle.
Jaskier turned to face Geralt with a smirk on his face. “Why is it that the one year I tone it down is the one year everyone wants to hear me?”
“It’s not that.” Geralt rushed to deny. “Just makes for good whitenoise to meditate.”
“I don’t think you enjoy it that much.” Jaskier said, turning back around to face the fire. But there was no playfulness in the sentence, only a sort of crushing honesty that came from criticism.
Geralt resisted the urge to drop his head into his hands and scream.
“How’s my singing?”
“Like ordering a pie and finding it has no filling.”
Geralt stood from his chair and walked over to drop himself next to Jaskier on the sofa. The latter raised his eyebrows in question but Geralt just ignored it.
“Sing to me. Please?”
And then Geralt saw a piece of Jaskier that had been missing for the last few weeks, that untamed side of him that knew not of self-preservation or doubt, but only knew the power of his work.
For the next few hours Jaskier played his lute and sang his songs, and the inhabitants of Kaer Morhen released one big sigh of relief and settled in to relish in the sound.
4. Nightmares.
“What are you up to bard?”
Jask spinned almost straight into the redhaired witcher that had been following him for the last five minutes.
“I-I’m thirsty. Was just going to get some water.”
“Horseshit.” The Witcher proclaimed.
The bard was a shit liar. He’d nearly snapped his neck retracting so fast from Lambert. He couldn’t look the Witcher in the eye as his fingers rubbed nervously along his wrists.
Lambert knew the feeling of being a deer in headlights. He also knew what caused the feeling. Nightmares. A consciousness that refuses to let itself be forgotten.
Lambert sighed away the remains of his annoyance and softened himself for the bard’s sake. He stepped forward and placed an arm around the skittish human to lead him to the kitchen.
“Come on, little lark. Let’s get a drink.”
~~
“What do you usually do, when you have a nightmare?”
Jaskier had been drawing shapes into the bench while he sipped his drink, keeping his eyes down and not speaking a word.
“I sleep with Geralt.” He admitted quietly, lifting a hand to cover the back of his neck. “But I know Ciri sleeps in there with him sometimes, when she has nightmares.”
“Let’s go have a look, if she’s there you can sleep in my room.” The witcher told him. Jaskier finally looked up and nodded, straightening from his position and taking his cup with him.
Upstairs Geralt heard the shuffling about and looked over to check that Ciri was still next to him; the girl tended to get jittery if she woke and found him sleeping, not wanting to disturb his rest. He breathed in relief at seeing her back rising and falling steadily, reaching a hand around to brush the hair that had fallen from her braid away from her face and curving it briefly around her nape.
So who else was awake?
The answer soon came when a mop of brown hair peeked through his door and smiled tightly at seeing them cuddled up together, retreating before Geralt could even think of whispering “what’s wrong?”
His bard didn’t get far, pulled back by the collar of his shirt making him release an indignant squawk by Lambert, who copied Jaskier by sticking his head around Geralt’s door and muttered in a voice only Geralt could hear, “I’ll take him.”
Geralt nodded his thanks as Lambert closed the door quietly. When he rose the next day at the sign of light and found Jaskier coddled in his brother’s arms, sleeping like a babe, an odd feeling of fondness filled him. That feeling grew when a familiar yellow eye cracked open and winked at him before closing again.
5. He’ll be going down the mountain, when he comes.
For a few weeks, Jaskier seemed okay. Like he was on track for getting back to normal. He was whining and complaining about the cold, burying against Geralt for his warmth (he secretly enjoyed the cuddle sessions with Jask and Ciri very much, but would rather use himself as bruxa bait than admit that out loud) and somehow managed to wrestle Eskel into washing his hair for him in the hot springs.
And then the pass closed up. And so did Jaskier.
He became jumpy, startled easily and didn’t fall into touches as he normally did. Sometimes it was almost painful for the other Witchers to watch him figure out what to do with himself, walking past the window four times before he chose to pick up his notebook and write something down.
This went on for about a week when Geralt woke up to a churning in his stomach. Something was wrong.
He got out of bed and looked around the keep. Everything seemed the same, everyone was there, but something was missing. Jaskier.
Geralt pelted up to the bard’s room and slammed the door open, almost falling over with how fast he was to try and dispel the growing feeling of dread in his gut.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Eskel appeared behind him, straightening up when he saw the cloak, lute and bard attached to those things missing. “Where’s the bard?”
Geralt steeled himself before answering. “He’s gone down the mountain.”
“Sorry?”
The wolf jumped into action and spun around, nearly knocking Eskel over as he ran out the room and down the stairs, layering up with his cloak and swords, just in case. The Bard was known to get into all types of trouble. The thought made Geralt’s heart clench.
“What’s going on?” Vesemir demanded, watching as his pups wrapped up as if leaving in the midst of a blizzard.
“Jaskier’s gone down the mountain.” Eskel explained, promptly following Geralt out the door and into the snow.
The seconds felt like hours while the keep waited for them to return. Lambert had to go and chop wood to drain his nervous energy, Vesemir was darning every item of clothing with a suggestion of a hole and Ciri viciously chopped meat, potatoes, vegetables and anything she could get her hands on to stop them from shaking.
An unforgiving wind blew through the halls as the front door burst open, Eskel skidding inside and straight to the sitting room, casting an igni to stoke the already burning fire even more. Geralt followed at a more controlled pace with a covered lump over his shoulder, holding it close and whispering words of comfort. He made it to the room and carefully lowered the fur covered body, who Vesemir could now see was Jaskier; blue lipped with a disturbingly grey pallor onto a pile of furs Eskel had gathered in front of the fire.
The two wolves quickly stripped off and did the same to Jaskier, rolling the bard on his side so he was sandwiched between their body heat. Lambert had heard the commotion and came in carrying more blankets, covering his brothers with them and sitting down by the bard’s head, covering it with his hands in hopes to rid his lips of the pale blue tinge they had acquired.
The were silent as Jaskier moaned and groaned and shivered in pain. They reminded themselves that this was necessary, he had to warm up to stay alive and so pressed in closer to try and comfort him as real wolves would. Vesemir kept Ciri out of the room, not wanting her to see the usually buoyant lark in such a state, but also to avoid any accidental exposing when the furs jerked from Jaskier’s spasms.
The night continued much in the same way. Jaskier eventually woke all the way and went straight back to sleep again, Lambert left for a few minutes to grab a bowl of stew and shovel it down, soon joined by Eskel who was getting too hot and needed a few minutes.
Which left the wolf and the bard alone. Jaskier snuffled himself awake, looking around blearily before recognising Geralt led in front of him. The Witcher gave him the softest smile he’d ever seen and loosened his arms to let Jaskier stretch, feeling the muscles burn from exertion and warmth.
“Jask?”
“Hmm?” He lifted an eyebrow to encourage the stoic wolf to speak.
“Why did you go down that mountain?”
Jaskier sighed. “To take myself off your hands.”
If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.
“Jaskier.” Geralt sounded wounded. “I don’t want you off my hands.”
The lark looked away to hide the tears in his eyes, but couldn’t hide the tremble in his voice. “I just felt like you didn’t want me here.”
Geralt reached out and hauled the bard closer to him again, pressing their foreheads together and curling a hand around the other man’s nape for good measure. “I’ll always want you here. I always want you on my hands.” He promised, eyes locked with Jaskier’s.
The man chuckled wetly and wiped his nose. “What a poet.” He jested playfully, a good sign he was feeling better. Geralt used the hand around Jaskier’s neck to scratch at the short hairs there, revelling in the eye fluttering it caused.
“Jaskier.” He called once more.
“Geralt.”
“If you ever get the urge to do something as dangerous or stupid as go down the mountain mid-blizzard again, wake me up first.”
“I was 8% sure it would be fine! Wait-”
“Exactly, and we’ve done things on less than that. So you’re not allowed to do anything without me, got it?”
A cheeky smile rose to the bard’s face. “Yes dear.”
Geralt didn’t comment on the obvious sarcasm but pressed his lips to Jaskier’s forehead. “Good.”
At this point the fire had dwindled making the room a more tolerable temperature so Geralt stood to collect their smallclothes and slid back under the furs, both him and Jaskier pulling on their respective underwear.
A soft knock came from the door and Ciri poked her head in with Eskel.
“How’s the bard?” He asked, thinking Jaskier was still napping.
“Fighting fit as always dear Eskel, I thank you for your concern.” Jaskier pressed his head back into the floor so he could smile at the scarred witcher. He shook his head and opened the door further, guiding the young girl in with a hand on her back as she balanced two bowls of soup in her hands.
“I thought you might be hungry?” She suggested.
“Hi little cub.” The bard welcomed her in, sitting up stifly with the help of Geralt who sat up himself.
Ciri passed a bowl to Jaskier which Eskel helped him hold and then gave the other to Geralt, who pulled her in with an unoccupied hand and held her face to his, rubbing their noses together.
He had to release her when Eskel lifted the cub away to rest for the night, leaving the two alone to eat and sleep in peace.
.
1. Stuck like glue.
The bard never felt unwanted again. Everyday he was surrounded by the wolves.
Lambert chased him around the keep, hiding around doors and secret hideyhoes he didn’t know existed, Ciri showed him all the magic and special abilities she was gaining, Vesemir read with him in the library and taught him how to cheat his pups at Gwent and Eskel showed him some basic sword moves in the courtyard between cooking lessons.
But his time with Geralt, that was his favourite. Mainly because it was either filled with cuddles, his music or some great sex.
With the other witchers having taken Ciri on as their own, Geralt wasn’t worried about them being disturbed so Jaskier often found himself being whisked off to one of their bedrooms for a few hours before returning slightly bedraggled and reeking of Geralt even after a bath. But of course, he couldn’t smell that and the others were forbidden to tell him.
That didn’t mean there weren’t days when he still felt off, too tired to talk or small to leave the keep. But he was never alone. One of the wolves (usually Lambert since his room was closest) would come and pick him up, all swaddled in furs, and take him to the sitting room in front of the fire. They didn’t expect the bard to talk on these days, didn’t force him to either. Lambert would pull his head to rest on his shoulder while Eskel fed him some porridge and berries for breakfast; Ciri led across Jaskier’s lap as a weighted blanket with her head resting on Geralt’s thigh as the man moulded himself around his lark’s body.
No matter how much Vesemir loved his pups dearly, he was still too old to contort himself into a position that fit him into the wolf pile so took a seat on one of the chairs, casting a protective look over the vulnerable pack and guarding to make sure no harm touched them.
These days were always easy. No chores or training or rush to fix something in the keep. Just as much calm and relaxation as possible.
Later when the lark felt better and had moved up to Geralt’s room after a much too big bowl of stew and successful game of Gwent (and some slow, euphoric sex) he cuddled in closer to his witcher’s warm body and sighed contently.
“I’ll always want you on my hands little lark, for as long as you’ll have me.”
And they drifted off to sleep easily, wrapped in each other’s arms.
For @herostag ‘s challenge: ugly sweaters. As always with any sort of prompt I get, you gotta squint really hard to be able to see it, but it is in there, I promise.
No CWs, just some Geraskier-fluff and a sappy Geralt. Enjoy <3
wc: around 1.1k
The ground crunches underneath Geralt's feet as he walks along the narrow path, heavy boots causing a tiny thud to echo through the forest with each step he takes. He knows that he is being loud, but he doesn't care. The monster — a Leshen — is slain, its head slung over Geralt's shoulder. Blood is dripping down his back, but for once it isn't his own, and that is all that counts.
It is pitch-black, the Witcher only able to see because he downed a vial of Cat a few hours earlier. The hunt had taken longer than expected, the Leshen hidden deeper in the forest than the Alderman had described. By the time Geralt had found its hiding spot, night had already fallen, and even though the kill itself was quick, the way back into town isn't.
He lets out a sigh and stops for a second to take in his surroundings.
There is a chill in the air, and as Geralt looks at the leafy ground, he notices a silver shimmer coating everything, Cat making it shine as brightly as the moon. It is the first frost of the year, a messenger that the seasons are changing, that winter will soon be upon them.
Geralt knows what that means: time to head North, to find his way to Kaer Morhen and be reunited with his family. Vesemir is probably already there, preparing the keep, stocking up on wood and food.
Winter may be cold, but Kaer Morhen is warm.
The faintest smile finds his way onto Geralt's face as he marches on, the world around him slowly becoming darker as the effects of Cat start to wear off. It can't be much longer now, maybe another half hour until he reaches the town. Until he reaches Jaskier.
And suddenly, Geralt no longer wants to go to Kaer Morhen.
Because that would mean leaving the bard behind and spending 4 long months without him. 4 months without his constant talking, his singing, and, as of recently, his kisses.
The mere thought of that causes his cheek to flush red with colour, this development still so new that his stomach starts fluttering every time Jaskier so much as looks at him. 'Get yourself together, Geralt, you're not a child anymore,' he scolds himself, but it is of no use. He is absolutely smitten, and having his feelings reciprocated after years of pining for his best friend makes the impending separation even more bittersweet.
Kaer Morhen means warmth and comfort, but Jaskier is all that and so much more. He is Geralt's fire in the dark, and the Witcher fears he may freeze to death without it.
He barely registers that he has entered the town walls, an eerie silence in the air that makes every step of Geralt's echo in his ears. Everyone is sleeping, and he relishes the fact that he can walk through the streets without the fear of insults (or something worse) being thrown at him.
It has improved significantly since Jaskier has made it his personal mission to change Geralt's reputation for the better, but the years of abuse will probably never leave the Witcher - always looking over his shoulder, always having a weapon within reach.
And so he enjoys the peace whilst it lasts, dropping the Leshen's head in front of the Alderman's door (nothing says "Contract fulfilled" more clearly than that) before heading back to the inn where Jaskier is waiting for him.
He can collect the coin tomorrow. For now, all he wants is to get back to his love.
There's a lightness in his steps as he approaches the inn and makes his way inside, quietly walking up the stairs before standing in front of the door that leads to their room.
He pauses for a second and focuses on his surroundings. There is snoring coming from below him, probably the innkeeper himself. There is the faint rustling of straw coming from the stable next to the house. There are even the tiniest steps of a little mouse in between the floorboards, scattering away into hiding as Geralt shifts his weight and the wood creaks.
But the only sound Geralt cares about is Jaskier's heartbeat. It is slow and steady, the bard already asleep for a few hours. It calls to him, each thud making him ache more until he can no longer wait and opens the door.
The room is dark, only a slight glimmer of light coming from the fireplace where a few pieces of wood are still glowing with a warm orange. It is small, barely big enough for a bed and a wooden table with two chairs crammed into the corner, but it is free, and a Witcher can't afford to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Geralt closes the door behind him, careful not to make a sound as not to wake the other man. He puts his swords next to Jaskier's lute that is leaning on the wall and smiles - what an odd pair they make.
Finally, he allows himself to approach the bed and just stare. Jaskier is sleeping on his back, his head turned away from Geralt and his neck exposed. His mouth is slightly open and his hair is an absolute mess, strands poking in every direction.
He looks so vulnerable and fragile that Geralt is afraid that he may break the other man if he wakes him up, wishing once more that Jaskier had chosen a less dangerous life to lead. One without constant travelling and sleeping outside, and without a Witcher who hunts monsters for a living, death always on his toes.
But Jaskier has made it very clear that Geralt can't get rid of him even if he tried, and a selfish part of Geralt is thankful that the bard made that decision for him.
As he takes another look at the man before him, his heart skips a beat as he realizes what Jaskier is wearing. Dark, scratchy and old, made by Vesemir many winters ago, Jaskier is nearly drowning in Geralt's only wool sweater.
It is a hideous thing, the arms at different lengths and the hem uneven, but Geralt has kept it in his possession, treasuring and mending it whenever needed, and only ever wearing it once the first frost has turned the ground solid and the world cold. It is a reminder of where he comes from and seeing Jaskier wear it is like two worlds colliding.
As he strips out of his armour and climbs into bed, muscles aching and his limbs tired, Geralt makes a promise to himself.
Tomorrow, he is going to ask Jaskier to come with him this winter.
Hair tickles his nose as he presses a kiss to Jaskier's forehead. Warm hands find their way around Geralt's waist and a leg is thrown over his thighs as the bard lets out a small sigh, not quite awake, but conscious enough to be aware of the Witcher's presence.
Geralt closes his eyes and leans into the touch, the gentle rhythm of Jaskier's heartbeat his favourite lullaby.
'It's good to be home,' he thinks before he falls asleep.
Hello there, Can I request a Geralt x reader where she’s just in a super cuddly mood and he just chuckles and contently lays there with her. Kissing her forehead and stroking her hair whilst she snuggles against him drawing circles on his skin. Thank you!
author’s note || hi babes!! thank you for sending in this request! i love soft geralt
warnings || soft!geralt, cuddles, fluff
masterlist
Tonight has been particularly lucky for the three of you. Jaskier had found a very nice inn with lots of space and freshly stuffed feathered pillows. Not to mention that since Geralt had killed a monster for the town, they had given you two rooms for free.
Instead of hitting the nearby pub like you normally would, you decided to go ahead and stay in for the night. Jaskier went into his room singing a song down the hallway, while you and Geralt go to yours.
The room was quite larger than the ones you were used to. There would always be a small bed that could barely fit Geralt’s large frame and a small table that wasn’t as long as his sword. However, this room had even a separate area for bathing and was lavished with candles all around that illuminated its surroundings.
You turn a page of your old ratted book and softly smile at the sound of Geralt moving around in the bath. His muscles were slowly loosening from the steam and warmth of the water. He always liked to end the nights with a bath, especially after today. A kikimora had made it’s home near the village and had attacked many of the people in this town.
You hear even more sloshing of water and you look up confused but slowly relax at Geralt drying off and putting on some shorts for bed. His face showed no emotions like always but you could tell that he seemed much more relaxed than before.
When he was finished with drying off, he trotted over towards the bed. He lifted the covers and laid next to you, a smile now curling upon his face. You could feel the warmth radiating off of him which only made you want to gravitate towards him even more.
He looked over at you, watching as you continued to read your book. He decided to let you be and grabbed his sword that was leaning against his bedside table. You arched your brow as you hear large swipes of a sharpening rock clash against the sword. Instead of your nightly cuddles, he was giving all his attention to the sharp metal.
Sure, you were reading a book but normally he’d pluck it right out of your hands, throw it somewhere around the room, and ignore your protests as he snuggled into you.
You huffed and placed the book that you were currently reading on the table next to you. Your lips puffed into a put and you made a grabby gesture towards his chest.
“You’re in a needy mood, aren’t you?” The breathy chuckle that left his lungs made your heart beat rapidly. He moved his sword to rest back onto the bedside table and shifted his body, so he was now lying beside you.
You blow out the candle that rested near the bed and you practically jumped onto him with giggles. You breathed in to smell the nice scent of his soap and the musk smell of his own. Geralt had always said you were the missing piece to his puzzle which you would groan at the cheesy gesture but you believed it too. His broad chest had engulfed your small head that rested just above his heart.
His heartbeat was achingly slow, the mutations that he had endured made it so. Your eyes watered slightly from thinking about all the pain he had gone through. Your fingers absentmindedly went to draw around the scars that dented upon his chest.
However, what you couldn’t see was Geralt’s large smile. He wasn’t used to smiling this wide where his teeth became bright in glee but you have always had that effect on him. He hummed in content and placed soft kisses on your hair.
A small blush caressed his cheeks at the feeling of your body being pressed up against his. You could hear his heart ever so slowly beat more rapidly as he pressed more kisses on your forehead.
You felt it palpitate at the sound of your giggles. Your stomach then clenched with delight when his lips came in contact with the tip of your nose. You couldn’t believe that Geralt had chosen you sometimes. You knew he thought the same as he would express it occasionally but you can’t help the sheer love that you have for the man below you.
Your legs are now fully intertwined with each other, your bodies as close as possible. You move your fingers to trace another scar, looking at it as if you knew the story. Geralt watched you intently, the smile never leaving his lips.
“I love you, dove.”
You now lifted your head to get a good look at his face. His eyes were completely closed, letting the sweetness of sleep take over his body. His arms were still securely wrapped around your lower back, and his snow-white hair framing his cheeks. You rested your head back onto his chest, the covers lay upon your content form.
“I love you more.”
~~
Geralt of Rivia taglist: @harrysthiccthighss @borkingbarnes
