i am shit at titles please forgive me i know its tacky lol. the Goob Squad gave me like an ounce of positive reinforcement for purring Geralt and tbh this was v good for the wack ass day i had so this is what yall are stuck with.
Warnings: overwhelmed potion geralt, description of said overwhelming sensation, kinda anxiety attack adjacent but theres some BIG comfort, purring witcher.
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Geralt marched through the halls in a huff, Jaskier keeping pace but lagging behind just a bit as they made their way to the quarters that this particularly obtuse lord had not so graciously assigned them for the duration of the hunt. Geralt had prepared for a menacing beast, potions and all, only to find some delinquents faking a mauling because they’d had too much to drink and got bored. They’d probably never drink again after the scare Geralt gave them, but the lord wasn't satisfied. Geralt assumed he never was.
The only reason Geralt didn’t slam the door when they made it through the maze was that Jaskier was behind him. He was shaking, all that adrenaline with nowhere to go made his hands curl into tight fists and he could hear too many people. The floor above them was relatively empty but below must have been the kitchen or laundry and it was starting to drive him insane after only a few moments in the room.
He ripped his armor off, hoping that removing the tight bands of leather keeping it in place might make him feel like he fit within his skin again. It only made him cold.
Jaskier picked up the pieces he’d chucked and laid them in a pile before carefully stacking logs in the ridiculously sized hearth. Geralt barely registered him hauling blankets and furs out of a chest at the foot of the bed, too distracted by the noises and every single one of his hairs shifting as he moved. It felt like he was covered in spiders and wading through water all at once. Everything was too slow and too detailed and he just wanted to charge back into the dining hall and beat the lord with his ham bone.
“Geralt?” Jaskier’s voice couldn’t even be called a whisper; it was so faint, “Can you come light this please?”
Geralt cracked his neck as he turned and stalked over to the hearth. He didnt need to cast such a dramatic sign, but fuck he needed to do something. Jaskier was already standing back, seemingly prepared for his outburst.
“Can you sit down so I can unlace your boots?”
Could he? For that velvet soft voice he could do anything. His boots were rather soaked too, and he could feel the beginnings of a blister forming where the new leather had yet to soften. He let Jaskier lead him to a specific pillow and settled onto it, extending his legs and glaring into the fire. The pops and hisses of bubbling sap was helping to mask the sounds from below, but it didn't feel like nearly enough. Jaskier slowly tugged off his boots, keeping his touches deliberate but soft as he replaced the waterlogged woolen socks with a warm fresh pair. Geralt wiggled his toes a bit, happy with the feeling of something soft against the tops of his toes.
Jaskier settled in behind him and raked his fingers through Geralt’s hair, “How does this feel?”
Geralt hummed, honestly not sure of his answer, and continued to stare into the fire.
The bard quickly braided his waves off to the side, very practical compared to his usual work, and wrapped his arms around Geralt’s waist, resting his chin on his shoulder, “What’s too much?”
Geralt only snarled. It was a stupid question. Everything was too much.
“Is it the noise?”
A nod.
“What about your skin?”
Geralt swallowed hard and forced his words out, “Little hairs.”
Jaskier shimmied back to lean against a heavy leather chair, pulling Geralt with him before draping blanket after blanket after blanket over them; finishing the stack with a bearskin. They were cocooned in soft, but not sticky fabric that kept all Geralt’s hair pressed to his skin and a weight that made his legs feel hollow and filled with lead. He could finally take a slow deep breath, feeling his back press into Jaskier’s stomach as his lungs expanded.
“Better?” Jaskier breathed, placing a gentle kiss to Geralt’s temple.
He nodded, turning his head into Jaskier’s chest to breathe in his scent.
“What else do you need, love?”
Geralt’s hands resting on Jaskier’s thighs beneath the blankets involuntarily squeezed when someone dropped what sounded like a dragon sized cauldron on the level below, “Hum for me?”
Jaskier immediately started humming one of Geralt’s favorite songs, pressing a kiss to his hair as he did. The soft rumbles of the bard’s voice and his heartbeat gave Geralt something to focus on other than the cacophony from below. As Jaskier’s voice grew gradually stronger there were gradually less and less distractions, only the pleasant, comforting sound of his lover’s voice and the gentle vibrations emanating from his chest. Geralt shifted slightly and pressed his ear to Jaskier’s sternum, sighing at the warmth of his bard’s skin against the side of his face and the loud, reassuring thrum of his heartbeat. Jaskier clasped his hands together over Geralt’s stomach and the little bit of added pressure did wonders.
Before he knew it, his eyes were fluttering closed and there was a deep rumble accompanying the rise and fall of his chest. He stayed pleasantly pinned to his lover as they waited for the potions to leave his system, purring in accompaniment to Jaskier’s soft singing. Geralt’s purrs started to fade as he drifted closer and closer to sleep, still not entirely feeling clean, but clean enough.
“How are you feeling?” Jaskier’s whisper, coaxed him back from the edge of consciousness just before he was about to fall.
He purred louder in response, something that always made Jaskier smile.
“Alright, let’s get you into the bed, yeah?”
Geralt let himself be propped up on his feet while Jaskier peeled his breaches off and tucked him under the covers before laying the heavy bearskin over him yet again.
“Jask?” Geralt’s voice was more of a croak as he lifted his head off the pillow to search for his bard, “C’m to bed.”
“Already here, love.” Jaskier shuffled over under the covers, pressing himself to Geralt’s back and tucking his thighs up under Geralt’s.
Geralt started purring again as Jaskier pressed a kiss to the base of his neck and snaked an arm around his waist, “I love you,” he sighed, making sure Jaskier could feel just how happy he was through the vibrations in his chest.
“And I you,” Jaskier hummed, giving Geralt a light squeeze, “Now sleep, darling.”
He fought sleep as long as he could, wishing he could stay in this moment forever, but eventually Geralt stopped purring and fell into a deep, restful sleep.
Babe. Brain cell bae. Bestie. Would you bestow upon us some ever so soft "post-potions" geraskier goodness? Pretty please?
I included purring for you, boo. Cause ily and you’re my bff and all that jazz.
---
“Loud,” Geralt complains, curling even further in on himself. “The fire is loud.”
His eyes are still pitch black, the veins curling outward and around his temples in little black tendrils of pulsing, toxic blood. The Witcher lies curled around himself, nestled deeply in his bedroll. He’s wrapped himself tightly with a blanket and even covered up most of his head. Only his eyes are visible to the bard, dark and narrow to filter some of the overwhelming light.
Jaskier sits nearby, as close as he can without touching his hypersensitive companion, and whispers: “Do you want me to hum again?”
The bundle of blankets nods in affirmation and the bard smiles. He begins to hum as quietly as possible, one of Geralt’s favorite lullabies. Eventually one scarred hand finds its way out of the mound and grips tightly at the soft blue silk of Jaskier’s pants. He starts to rub a bit of the material between his fingers and hums along to the familiar tune, settling himself back into his body.
“Feeling better, love?” the bard whispers again. The bundle nods a second time.
“Hmm.”
“Would you like it if I played with your hair?”
“Hmm.”
“Alright. I’m going to lift your head into my lap now,” he narrates the movements he makes as he makes them. Geralt could be flinchy and flighty in this state and Jaskier doesn’t ever want to frighten him. He starts weaving his fingers through the long white strands, delicately and carefully pulling any knots or tangles free. “Is this still okay?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Jaskier plays with it for awhile, braiding and unbraiding it as Geralt slowly comes down from his post-hunt potion high. Slowly but surely the bard listens as his breathing evens out and watches as his body stops making frantic little twitching movements from within his cocoon.
“Shall we sleep now, dear heart?”
“Hmm. Get in,” the Witcher scoots over, making room for Jaskier to slip easily into the circle of his arms. It’s a smooth, practiced series of movements and soon they’re pressed together within the confines of Geralt’s shared bedroll.
Jaskier’s lips find the Witcher’s even in the pitch dark (he’d let the fire fade to nothing in the warm embrace of summer) and latched them together. It gave him a point of connection. Geralt could anchor himself to the world with Jaskier’s warmth alone; sometimes he thought it might be the only thing keeping him from going absolutely mad with the darkness of his life.
Jaskier, the man who was now winding his hands into the front of the Witcher’s worn black shirt like it was his favorite childhood blanket, was the Witcher’s personal sun. His arms dart out and wrap around the bard with sudden intensity, crushing the smaller man against his chest.
A deep and thunderous rumbling erupts from his very core. Jaskier’s hands are still clasped against his chest and his head is resting safely in the crook of Geralt’s neck. Soft puffs of air breeze across the skin of his Adam’s apple every few seconds, marking the bard’s breathing and further strengthening the Witcher’s happy purring.
“I’m glad to hear that you’re happy, darling.”
“You’re here. You’re safe. I’m happy.”
“Does it make you happy, you know, keeping me safe?”
Geralt can see the unease in Jaskier’s eyes; it’s not so dark that he can’t make out the bard’s face with his Witchery enhancements.
“I don’t want to get in your way.”
The Witcher curls around Jaskier entirely, building a nest with his arms and chest and some of the blankets. He nestles his darling against him and purrs even deeper, vibrating the bard with the force of the sound. “Very happy.”
“I love you, Geralt.”
Geralt kisses his way across Jaskier’s face, from his cheek to his nose to his other cheek. He marks a slow path to the bard’s lips and presses a final, soft kiss to his mouth. “I love you, Jaskier. Thank you.”
Hi! May I pretty please have some purring Geralt? Or Geralt with Wolf ears and a tail? Or both! And Jaskier is absolutely smitten! (Aren't we all?)
ohoho you very much may! love me some purring geralt
Geralt still wasn’t used to the whole touch thing. Sure, he’d had plenty of physical contact when he visited brothels but it meant nothing. It was a transaction of services, nothing more. Apart from his brothers, Yen, and a small number of women over his long life, people didn’t generally willingly touch him.
With his head tucked in to Jaskier’s side, bodies pressed together, limbs entangled, he knew this was different. Rather than just hear the bard’s heartbeat, a sound he’d long gotten used to falling asleep to, he could feel it now. It was slow, steady, pounding against his palm. The rhythm caused a sense of calm to fall over him and his eyes slipped closed. Not sleeping, not even dosing off; something entirely different that he’d only experienced a few times in his life.
In this subdued, pleasant state, he started rumbling. He barely realized he was doing it.
“Geralt?” Jaskier’s voice was soft and ghosted over his forehead. Geralt pulled Jaskier closer but otherwise didn’t respond. He body vibrated heavily against the bard.
“Oh my god...are you purring?”
Geralt’s body stopped instantly and he peaked up at Jaskier, worry pulling at his eyebrows.
“...No.”
“Yes you were!” Jaskier grinned brightly. “Geralt, that’s...that’s adorable!”
Geralt grumbled but shoved his face back into the bard’s side. He smiled softly as Jaskier peppered kisses over his forehead, his eyes slipping closed again. Before long, the warmth of Jaskier’s body and the closeness of them, not just physically but emotionally, had Geralt purring once more.
Jaskier stared down at him, eyes wide, taking in this beautiful man. He’d wanted him for so long, but now that he had him it felt like too much. More than he deserved, more than any man deserved. And yet, as he stroked Geralt’s hair, bliss washing over him from the purring, he knew he was the luckiest men of them all.
Know what would be super cute? Grabby hands. Preferably pouty bards doing grabby hands. I leave the rest to you, Comfy. (Love, Bouncey)
Oh boy. You get me.
Warnings: none. this is fluff central
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Geralt sat by the fire, slowly and methodically sharpening his swords as dusk turned to inky night. Jaskier had ‘gone to sleep’ about an hour ago, though really all he’d been doing was tossing and turning.
The bard rolled over, watching Geralt through the flames of the fire with a pout.
Geralt felt a tug of amusement at his lips but fought it, waiting for Jaskier to give him the excuse he needed.
“Geralt?”
“Hmm.”
“M’cold.”
He raised an eyebrow, not looking up from his sword, “Summer solstice was yesterday.”
Jaskier whined and held his arms out, opening and closing his fists at Geralt like a cat kneading.
Geralt couldn't stop the fond smile this time, setting the sword and whet aside before kicking off his boots, “Only because you’re cold.”
Jaskier shuffled around to make room for the witcher, still making grabby hands at him with his eyes only barely open. When Geralt was situated Jaskier snuggled up to his chest, one hand gripping the fabric of the witcher’s shirt and one wrapped around his own waist, tucked out of the way. Geralt’s arm kept him tucked to his side and his hand found Jaskier’s, lacing their fingers together. The bard sighed as he shifted just a bit more to rest his leg over Geralt’s thighs.
“Must’ve been extra cold tonight?” Geralt teased, brushing the bard’s hair out of his eyes.
Jaskier shook his head, which was more like nuzzling deeper into Geralt’s chest with the way they were laying, “Missed you.”
Geralt huffed, almost laughing, “We haven’t spent a night apart in two months.”
“I always miss you,” Jaskier spoke through a yawn as he scooted closer still.
“Hmm.” Geralt let his eyes close as he rested his free hand over the bard’s, brushing his thumb over his knuckles. A low rumble echoed in his chest as he soaked in the feeling of home these little moments brought him.
“Missed the purring too,” Jaskier whispered.
He purred louder and pressed a kiss to the top of his bard’s head.
Title from “Maybe Sprout Wings” by The Mountain Goats, which is definitely the vibe for this story.
tw: nightmare
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“No!” Jaskier’s shrill cries echoed down the long stone hallway and into Geralt’s room, waking the Witcher instantly from his deep sleep. He jumped into action when he heard the sheer terror in his consort’s ragged, sleep-addled voice. “Stop, please! That will hurt him! Enough!”
The Beast raced through the winding halls of the keep, turning sharply around the few corners that separated his suite from Jaskier’s own set of chambers. He didn’t pause to knock this time, bursting straight into his consort’s bedroom and racing to examine him. “Little bird?!”
Jaskier lay on the bed, his legs and arms tangled tightly in the sheets, restraining his movements to little shuffles and squirms. His night shirt had gotten rucked up around his ribcage and what skin had been exposed was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. His chestnut hair was plastered to his forehead and his face had contorted with an expression of abject horror. “No! Not him, it wasn’t him. My Geralt, stop! Stop, please! No!”
The Beast sat at the edge of his consort’s four-poster and braced his hands against Jaskier’s shoulders, shaking him gently in an effort to rouse him. “Jask, my love. Darling, please wake up.”
The young man’s startlingly blue eyes burst open but remained unseeing; the sheets tightened around him as he tried to sit up and pulled him forcibly back down. The more restrained he felt, the more he struggled. Geralt began to try and unwind his legs, listening as his wriggling consort called out in terror, “Don’t! Enough! Don’t hurt…” his limbs moved slower and his eyelids fluttered. “Don’t hurt Geralt.”
The Beast inhaled sharply and finished unwinding the silk sheets from around Jaskier’s limbs and torso. He pulled his consort’s nightshirt back into place and laid him atop the (still dry) duvet, crossing his hands over his stomach like the princesses he’d seen drawn in books of fairytales. He pressed a tender kiss to the younger man’s forehead and ran the backs of his knuckles across Jaskier’s cheek. “My love. My consort. My heart, wake up. Wake up and see that everything will be alright.”
Jaskier muttered nonsense words and his brow remained furrowed. He sighed and whined and tilted his head back, baring his neck. Geralt truly panicked when he heard the boy whisper urgently, “No, not my Beast. Take me instead.”
He leaned down and pressed a firm kiss to Jaskier’s slightly parted lips. This time when those blue eyes flew open, they did so with panicked determination, scanning the room until they landed on Geralt’s hunched form.
“Thank the gods, my love!”
The younger man launched his torso off the mattress and clung to Geralt with all his weary strength. The Beast gathered his little bird into the comforting cage of his arms and situated the smaller man in his lap. He scooted up the mattress, laying them back against the headboard and pillowing Jaskier’s head against his chest. The peasant’s nimble fingers threaded their way through the ties of Geralt’s night-shirt and held on for dear life. “Don’t leave me tonight, Geralt. I don’t think I could bear losing sight of you.”
“Was it bad?”
“Terrible. The worst nightmare I’ve ever had in my life.”
“Because they were hurting me?”
“Yes. They were hurting you and they were threatening to take you away.”
Geralt marveled at the shudder that ran through his little bird with that admission. He’d never felt so utterly wanted in all his life. The smaller man’s face burrowed into his Beast’s neck and snuffled there for a moment, gathering up the safety of his tangy leather-and-metal scent. The Beast held his fragile consort tightly and began to purr, settling Jaskier’s bones more firmly against his skin as the rumbling went on.
“Thank you, my love,” the boy murmured into his skin. “I never want to lose you, either.”
“May I lay next to you tonight and keep the nightmares away?”
“That would be lovely.”
Jaskier allowed himself to be carried in Geralt’s arms from his rooms to the Beast’s. He gave no resistance as his darling Witcher tucked him against his warm, scarred side beneath the heavy covers. He tangled his legs with Geralt’s and rested his head atop his Beast’s left pectoral.
He fell asleep with Geralt’s soft purring and steady heartbeat reverberating in his ears.
The Beast fell asleep a little later, after he’d finished reassuring himself of Jaskier’s safety and comfort. Only when the peasant lad was truly sleeping sweetly, his chamomile-honey scent drifting up into Geralt’s twitching Witcher nose, did Geralt allow himself to close his eyes and drift away. His consort stayed safe and happy in his arms all night, tucked against his Witcher’s side, the Beast’s warm breath blowing gently and rhythmically against the top of his head.
“G-Geralt?” Jaskier murmurs, poking at the Witcher’s cheek. Geralt giggles and lets his head loll against his bard’s shoulder comfortably. He likes this. He could stay tucked up against Jaskier’s side forever. He nuzzles even closer and starts to purr.
Jaskier basks in the Witcher’s warm, rumbling sounds for a moment before pulling back to look at him. “My love, have you gotten into catmint again?”
“N..No?”
“Are you sure?”
Geralt makes grabby hands for the tankard of water on their bedside table and Jaskier carefully hands it to him. The Witcher sniffs it, recoils, and hands it back. “It’s in the water.”
“Added or naturally?”
“Naturally. Probably a patch in or near the well.”
“Sorry, darling. Anything we can do to fix it?”
“Nah,” Geralt giggles again. “It’s nice.”
“Yeah,” Jaskier smiles softly, carding his the fingers of his right hand into Geralt’s soft, snowy tresses. “It is.”
---
Geralt is exceedingly tactile when he’s under the influence of catmint. Jaskier has learned this over several long and confusion years. Now, it seems, the Witcher is eager to lay hands on every possible inch of Jaskier’s lavender-scented skin. The white-haired man snuffles softly into the crook of Jaskier’s hip and the bard jerks at the tickling sensation. “Geralt!”
“Yes, my lark?”
“That tickles, love!”
“Good,” the Witcher grumbles, doing it again and again until Jaskier is writhing and giggling. Tears are gathering in the corners of his eyes by the time Geralt finally pulls away. “You can get me back later, bard.”
“You know I’m going to,” the younger man threatens. “You terrible brute.”
“Delicate flower,” the Witcher retorts. “Let me feel your skin, my love. You’re so soft.”
“Hmm,” Jaskier hums contently. Geralt’s hands are roaming over his chest and arms, feeling him for any bruising or breaking. He can tell that he remains uninjured by the happy little huffs that his Witcher releases. “I need to invest in some catmint.”
I’m sorry we got sad with that last one, have a soft, slightly goofy songfic to make up for it? this is another Hozi Boi, i love that swamp fae bastard and this song FUCKS i highly recommend.
Jaskier laid on his back, head resting on a rolled up shirt in a field of tall grass and honeysuckle and various wildflowers. The sun was high and there was a gentle breeze, keeping him cool enough that when Geralt laid his head on his chest and draped an arm over his waist he was perfectly comfortable. Jaskier hummed whatever tune popped in his head one after the other, eyes closed as he ran his fingers through his lover’s hair, basking in the warmth of the sunlight and Geralt’s affection.
“Julek?”
Jaskier smiled, the gentle sound of Geralt’s voice rolling through him, making the nickname so much sweeter, “Yes, love?”
“When did you know? That you loved me?” He didn’t lift his head, most likely didn’t even open his eyes as he asked, a soft purr filling the silence as Jaskier thought.
The bard twirled a piece of Geralt’s hair as he spoke, “I think part of me knew when I first saw you,” there was a contented hum from his witcher before he continued, “But I realized it not too long after.”
The purring stopped and Geralt propped his chin on Jaskier’s breastbone, “Do you still? After all I’ve been stripped of?”
Jaskier frowned, “It doesn’t matter to me what you’ve lost or gained or forgotten. The best of you is mine and given freely. Nothing that happens to us can ever taint that.”
Geralt’s sheepish smile didn’t look convincing, so Jaskier continued, his voice low and his enunciation slow to make sure every word carried it’s full weight, “I would do anything you’d let me to keep you safe and whole. Curse anyone who hurts you with my dying breath if I have to. Burn the continent to the ground to keep you warm... Of course I still love you. I always will. I may not be a witcher or warrior, but I will do everything in my power to make sure nothing hurts you in my arms. You are safe, and loved, and irreplaceable.”
Geralt laid his head back down, the deep rumbling from his chest spreading warmth through Jaskier’s whole body for a moment before he spoke, “I love you too,” he sighed, “Even when you ramble.”
Jaskier laughed softly as he laced the fingers of his free hand through Geralt’s laying on his hip, “You goad me into it.”
“Sometimes it’s nice.” Geralt admitted, the edge of teasing lost in the summer breeze as they settled back into content silence, save for a deep, thundering purr.
