#and who doesn't love a good angst/whump short every now and then?

[sablegear0]

Just used the parenthetical "(pet the cat)" in a note to myself for a scene about two characters carefully re-negotiating their history of physical intimacy. So yeah, it's been a pretty good writing day.

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

🥺 babe 🥺 bAbE

What if Jask gets sick at Kaer Morhen but tries to hide it from Geralt bc he doesn't want him to think he's gross/weak/etc? And Geralt has the Feelings Braincell for once?

oh babe... thank you

tw: sickness, falling unconscious, fever, whump/angst with a happy ending

---

Jaskier knew he had a fever the moment he woke up. He could feel it burning beneath this skin like a forge, flushing his face a more vibrant shade of pink than usual. He glared at his reflection in the small, round mirror above his dressing table and willed himself to feel better. It was his first winter at Kaer Morhen, and he didn’t want Geralt to think he’d made a mistake by inviting Jaskier along to stay. The bard knew that his stoic, self-loathing Witcher would blame himself immediately for any misfortune or illness that befell Jaskier. Geralt might even reconsider inviting him back again someday. So he had to keep his little bug a secret until he was well. Surely it was nothing major. Surely it would pass after a few days, unnoticed and unremarkable.

He should have known better.

Jaskier dabbed a bit more perfume than usual (which was generally none at all) beneath his ears and along his wrists. He hoped the peony-lavender mixture would mask whatever kind of scent his illness might carry and slowly, carefully made his way down the long stone staircase that led from the guest bedroom to the enormous kitchen. His limbs felt achy and tired, even though he’d slept heavily the night previous. His head sat heavy and unbalanced atop his shoulders; the world wavered and spun around him as he desperately tried to keep from pitching sideways into the wall. 

“You alright there, boy?” Vesemir asked, catching his eye from the bottom of the stairs. “You seem a bit… nervous.”

Maybe his anxiety was doing a better job of hiding his secret than the perfume. 

“Just a little wool between my ears this morning,” the bard laughed brightly, ignoring the searing pain that throbbed through his chest with the movement, “I think I might go chop some wood and see if the brisk mountain air helps clear it out faster.”

“Hmm,” the eldest Wolf nodded sagely. There was no doubt which teacher Geralt had admired most as a pup. “Alright. Be safe, take care. I’ll send someone to fetch you when breakfast is ready.”

“Thank you, Vesemir,” Jaskier bowed shallowly and headed for the kitchen’s back door. He took the axe into his hands and tried not to sway on his feet from the added weight. The bard covered his tracks by throwing a smile back over his shoulder and pushing the door open. “See you for breakfast!”

He stepped out of the keep and let the heavy slab of wood slam shut behind him. The early morning sky above Kaer Morhen was cloudless and the sun was bright, blinding him entirely. His situation only worsened when the sudden change in temperature, from the warm kitchen to the freezing mountainside, punched the air from his lungs in one thick cloud. He struggled to regain it as he wove his way through the snow drifts to the woodpile. Slowly, and with great effort, Jaskier lined up a thick log to be split.

The world felt watery and far away. His hand, which he knew to be attached to the end of his arm by some miracle, would not obey his command to pick up the axe again. His lungs felt heavy in his chest cavity and his legs suddenly ached with a fierce intensity. 

With a quiet cry of protest against his own body failing him, Jaskier collapsed into the snow.

---

Jaskier’s heartbeat was so slow and quiet, his limbs unmoving and his lips nearly blue from the cold; Geralt wasn’t sure he’d ever been so scared before in his life. He turned to Vesemir and asked, barely keeping the frantic terror from clawing its way out of his throat: “How long was he out there?” 

“Half an hour at most,” the grey Wolf shrugged. “I don’t really remember, Geralt. I was busy taking care of the breakfast arrangements.”

“Fuck!”

“Calm down,” Eskel ordered. He frowned at Geralt from his place at Jaskier’s opposite side. He’d helped carry the bard from the courtyard to Geralt’s room and was just as worried about the human’s wellbeing. “Panicking won’t help him. Now, what’s the problem?”

“It’s hard to tell over all that stupid perfume,” Lambert snarled. “Stupid fucking bard fucking knew we would be able to smell it on him. He covered his gods-damned tracks.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt murmured, having grown suddenly calm. He let the back of his knuckles drag softly across the bard’s too-hot cheek until he could stick a stray lock of sweaty brown hair back behind his ear. “You idiot.”

The bard shifted against the blanket they’d laid him on, his brow wrinkling. His arms twitched slightly, as if he was trying to move them, and he whined plaintively: “G’ralt.”

“I’m here, Jask,” the Witcher replied quickly, forgetting they weren’t alone in the room. He took one of the bard’s freezing hands into his own and began rubbing the warmth back into his fingers. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you better. You’ll be alright.”

“Who are you trying to reassure?” Lambert huffed a short laugh. “You or the bard?”

“Leave off,” Eskel shot his younger brother a glare. The redhead rolled his eyes and moved to lean against the wall near the door. Eskel continued speaking to Lambert, but his eyes were back on Jaskier, who kept trying to get closer to Geralt even in his sleep. “Why don’t you go grab some clean clothes from his room while we get him warmed up and conscious again.”

“Fine,” Lambert spat. But he took off at a quick trot, regardless.

“Geralt, get his wet clothes off and get him wrapped up. Eskel, you come with me to the kitchen. I’ll need help carrying things and I’m sure the bard would prefer some privacy in this particular matter.”

Eskel nodded his agreement and followed Vesemir from the room, leaving Geralt alone with Jaskier. The White Wolf hurried to undress and swaddle the bard with a warm, heavy wool blanket and several furs, talking all the while in a low, worried voice. “Fuck, Jaskier. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry this happened and that you- Why did you hide it? Why wouldn’t you- Are you afraid of me? Is that why you didn’t come to me for help?”

Jaskier’s lids fluttered open and Geralt watched with nervous anticipation as two of the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen, blue as cornflowers and brighter than the spring sky, tried their best to focus on his face. “Geralt?”

“I’m here, Jaskier. What’s ailing you? Please, tell me how I can help you.”

“Hurts,” the bard managed to groan. “To breathe.”

“Fuck,” Geralt growled. “We need to get you warm. Lambert should be back with your clothes by now.”

Jaskier’s head lolled back against the pillow and he struggled to reach for his Witcher, “Hold me.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll warm up-” he gasped between words, as if every syllable pained him to expel “-faster if… you hold me.”

“Hmm,” Geralt’s brows furrowed in frustration. He knew Jaskier was right, that he’d feel better faster with skin-on-skin contact, but he also wanted to hold Jaskier for other, less emergency-based reasons. That was unacceptable. Losing Jaskier to death or sickness or other human reasons was intolerable but losing him, in all senses of the word, because of Geralt’s impossible feelings? That would be truly horrendous.

The warring factions of his heart were still clamoring over a decision when Eskel and Vesemir re-entered carrying two large trays. One was covered with foodstuffs and the other held an enormous clay teapot and mugs. A small pot of honey, gathered from Vesemir’s very own beehives, was the most obvious sign of affection Geralt had ever seen the older man display for a near-stranger. 

“I’m gonna… get… spoiled,” Jaskier gasped. The eldest Wolf shot Geralt a glare. 

“Why aren’t you in there with him? You know the best way to warm up a hypothermic person is skin contact, Geralt! I certainly taught you better than this.”

“I didn’t-” he stuttered. “I wasn’t-”

“He’s afraid,” Jaskier smiled sadly, cuddling himself deeper into the furs as he turned his gaze towards the fire. All three of the Witchers could smell his sadness, even more potent than the illness ravaging his delicate human body. Geralt winced when his brother and father glared at him in tandem, expressions nearly matching in fury. The bard was still looking away, watching the flames send dancing patterns of light against the stone walls. “Don’t worry… won’t ask… for any more.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt whispered, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress. “May I hold you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s our cue to leave,” Vesemir smiled beneath his mustache. Jaskier was too tired to blush, and opted to bury his head in Geralt’s shoulder instead. “Come along, Eskel. Let’s see what Lambert has gotten up to.”

“What about Jaskier’s clothes?”

“He can borrow Geralt’s for now. I’m sure our White Wolf won’t mind sharing; he’s the possessive type, after all.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and grumbled out of habit more than disagreement. 

When Vesemir and Eskel had gone for good and the door was closed, Geralt pulled Jaskier out of the furs and removed his own shirt. He settled the bard against his chest and buried his nose in Jaskier’s dark hair, breathing in the scents of sweat and sickness and now, thank the gods, tangy-bright happiness. “Gods, Jaskier. Don’t scare me like that ever again. I can’t lose you.”

“I didn’t… want… to disappoint.”

“You never do and never will,” Geralt intoned. He pulled the furs over them both and splayed his large hands across Jaskier’s back. The bard’s skin was overly hot in some places and freezing in others; Geralt buried his panic in order to care for... for the man he loved. He took a deep breath and rubbed slow circles between the bard’s shoulder blades. “I… I love you, Jaskier.”

“Hmm,” the bard hummed tunelessly. “Love you… too.”

Geralt helped him sit up and drink a mug of tea. He listened, slowly allowing himself to relax, as Jaskier’s breathing eased and his heartbeat balanced. When the tea was gone and the fire was re-built to Geralt’s satisfaction, the Witcher tucked Jaskier’s head beneath his chin and wrapped his arms around the bard’s shoulders. “Oh, my little lark. I’ve been so foolish for too long.”

“Yeah,” Jaskier grinned into the Witcher’s warm pectoral. “Me... too.”

“Well, we’ll have plenty of time when you feel better,” Geralt murmured, lips pressing over and over to the top of the bard’s head. Jaskier couldn’t keep himself from smiling, even as he drifted back to sleep. The Witcher felt something settle in his chest when he whispered: “Rest up, dear heart. There are many more adventures to be had.”

[coffee-n-bagels-comic-universe]

The Salem House or The Scottish Cottage

Quick Tag List: @kuruumiya @spacelizardtrashboys @stupidbluegirl @enigmaticandunstable @nattinngrst

This Passage Contains Potentially: swearing, violence, blood, angst, whump, fluff and smutty content.

Summary: Rod and Kirby move in to their new cottage home in Salem, Oregon.

Kirby's POV:

Rod blindfolded me with one of his ties and drove our rented van out to the property, taking off my blindfold in front of the house.

"There it is, our new home," he twirled the keys around his index finger, "all ours now, Kirbs."

There it was, white panel exterior with fancy windows and lights along both sides of the gravel path towards the house. Without thinking I pulled Rod into a hug and kissed him, tears of happiness rolling down my cheek.

"Woah, baby, are ya alright sweetheart?"

"I love it, and I love you and-" Upon hearing that, Rod hoisted me over his shoulder, "Woah, Roddy, what are you doing?"

"Taking you inside and carrying you to the one room I know you're gonna love."

He carried me through the front double doors, through the foyer and then the kitchen, before carrying me past the television and sofa, past what I believe is the ground floor bathroom and up the stairs, letting me get a glance at the basement staircase as we went up to the top floor of our new home.

He then put me down in front of a pale green door with a childish or childlike, chalk or pastel drawing on the front.

I turned the handle slowly, not knowing what to expect.

Then I saw it.

The lone white bassinet.

Surrounded by soft toys and things you'd assume would be in a nursery.

"The former owners said that they're daughter was gonna move in before she moved to L.A. They knew she had a baby and set this room up. I'm gonna be honest with ya and tell ya that I let a couple tears slip when I saw this room ma-self, so I completely understand if you need a moment alone."

"Rod, Roddy, as much as I hate the weird wallpaper in the foyer, this room is," I took a second to compose myself, "It's perfect."

"Do ya wanna see our bedroom?"

"Yeah."

Rod showed me around the rest of the house before going into the basement.

"There's no attic, so the basement will have to do if we want to store anything anywhere."

The basement was large, the only room separated off from the rest of the basement was another bathroom. I walked to the opposite side of the basement and stopped in my tracks.

"What's wrong babe?"

"They have a hot tub?!"

"What?"

Rod walked over to me, also stopping upon seeing the hot tub in it's own corner of the basement, separate from the gym equipment and rugs and the very empty basement.

"What d'ya reckon they use that for?" Rod asked, teasing me slightly.

"No, Rod, eww, that's gross, you wouldn't dare suggest that!"

"Hot tub sex, babe, it's a thing."

"We are not doing that. Ever!"

"We are alone in the house, you know." He started unbuckling his belt, chucking it as well as his sporran down at his feet, "I know we've gotta fly back to the other side of the country later, but, right now, we're home, honey," He started walking towards me, whipping his jacket and shirt off, leaving him in his kilt and boots as he ran his hand through his hair, letting out a deep guttural sigh.

"I guess we could test out the new bed, Roddy." I started unbuttoning my shirt, exposing the peach toned tank top underneath.

"Or, We could have sex right here and now," He suggested, whipping his kilt off and in true Scottish fashion, revealing nothing but his bare body below.

He unclenched his hand, showing off the fact that he had brought a condom with him.

By the time we got to Taunton, Massachusetts on the first of March, Roddy had set aside some time for us to redecorate the house, and by the time we actually got around to redecorating, Roddy had recruited the rest of the D.O.D as well a Schultz, Orton and Orndorff to help us. We had met back at the house on the Eleventh (of March) and unbeknownst to me, Piper had made a couple calls to his friends from back in his NWA and Mid Atlantic days.

"Woo!"

"He didn't." Schultz grunted out, partly worried and partly surprised.

"He didn't do what … David?"

Schultz guided me outside to meet the guys.

"Piper! introduce ya wife to the boys, I'll go grab us some beer."

"I'm not his wife," I called after him as he walked back inside, "So, Roddy, who are these guys."

Rod leant up to kiss me, he would have backed me into the nearest wall if I didn't pull away immediately after, concern taking over any hint of a flirtatious mood in me.

"Who's this fine female?"

I recognised the voice from the yell earlier.

"Ric, this is my girlfriend, Kirby. Kirby, this is Ric Flair. Over there," he gestured to the other four, "Are Tully Blanchard, with the black hair, JJ Dillon, the other blonde looking one and Ole and Arn Anderson."

"Are they here to help or are they here to distract you?"

"The only thing distracting me is the idea of seeing you na-"

I covered Rod's mouth with my hand and gave Ric a sheepish smile, "I apologise for my hus, I mean boyfriend's attitude Ric."

"You almost said husband, Kirbs." Rod whispered to me as we led the boys inside, before he took me aside.

"It was a slip of the tongue."

"I'm sorry, about the kiss, I got a bit jealous because I know what Ric can be like, with women in particular."

"Rod, you shouldn't have to apologise for that, I love ya. I was going to start looking for you anyway, what d'ya want for lunch?"

"Don't you worry about that, I'll go grill those hamburgers we have in the fridge and … hey look, beer."

"Thank you, David."

"Anytime, Tall-ass."

"Look, babe, I'll deal with it alright, you stop worrying and I'll deal with it. I'm the man of the house so I'll deal with it."

I came up behind Roddy, putting my head on his shoulder and wrapping my arms around his waist, kissing his neck.

"I'm gonna go rest for a bit Rod, my head feels funny."

"Baby, baby come here."

Rod helped me upstairs, making sure I didn't fall over and letting me lay on the bed.

"We have today and tomorrow here baby, relax."

"Rod, you know me, you know I wind myself up with worry."

"I know," He brushed his thumbs over my knuckles, "I'm gonna get you some hand wraps or something, stop punching things until ya knuckles bleed."

"I thought you were gonna go cook."

"I am, but, right now, I'm taking in every little detail of the woman I love."

"You softie."

"Oh really? I'm soft. You worry way more than me baby."

"I love you, Roddy."

"I love you too, Kirby."

I slept for a short while until I was woken up by Piper and Schultz yelling obscenities at each other. I ran down the stairs and outside the house to see the two grown men squabbling like children.

Without saying anything I picked Roddy up by his midsection and took him back inside, chucking him down on the sofa.

"I'm gonna fuckin-"

"Roderick!"

"Yes, baby."

"You are drunk, and shut up."

"Yes, Sweetheart."

I helped Roddy up, almost gagging at how strong the smell of alcohol was coming from him, swiftly avoiding his attempts at kissing me and placing my hand over his mouth.

By the Thirteenth we were back working and Rod had started to get fidgety around me until things came to a head on the Thirtieth.

"Rod, are you alright, you've been awfully quiet today."

"I'm fine baby, actually, Kirby?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you like to be on Piper's Pit?"

"When?"

"Sunday, Yes or No?"

"This Sunday?"

"Yeah."

"Well, there's your answer."

"Wait, you'll do it."

"Of fucking course I'll do it. I don't give a fuck what Damien says."

He let out a chuckle as I pulled into the hotel parking lot.

"How's the Visa status going?"

"It's good, I'll hopefully be a US citizen before the end of May."

"So, May, you'll be a citizen, so," He mumbled to himself for a short while, "Alright, cool."

Before long it was time for me to be on Piper's Pit, fully expecting Roddy to do something and cause a ruckus to occur.

"Well, I'd just like you to know, it's a pleasure to have our first, female, guest on Piper's Pit. I want you to know that I asked every single female in the entire WWF if they would be on the Pit and only one of them said 'yes' to me. The only woman with enough guts to face me with 'Gluttony' herself, Kirby Lucifarian. Kirby, I would like to thank you for being brave enough to come out here and face me. I had Captain Lou on here last week and he said something vague about you and your sisters protecting Lauper. Why would a woman like you, someone who doesn't smoke, doesn't swear, doesn't drink, or shack up with skinny little idiots like Dave Wolff, Why would a great and accomplished female wrestler like you offer her protection to Lauper?"

"First of all, Piper, thank you for having me on here."

"My pleasure."

"Secondly, I was going to let you unmask me, but you showed support of Big John Studd, A man I greatly despise for his disrespect of both me and André."

"I am sorry for going back on that unspoken promise, Miss Lucifarian."

"Thank you for the apology, Roddy, Thirdly, may I say that I did not offer my services of protection to Miss Lauper, instead that was my father who told, Miss Lauper, that the D.O.D would protect her. Why on earth would a woman with an intelligence that rivals, yours for example, protect a girl like Cyndi Lauper?"

"I don't admire a lot of women, but you, I like you. I admire your intelligence, your ability to strike fear into the hearts of men with your words alone. I know that you have been searching for your next challenging opponent, and I for one don't wanna offer myself up, I just want to know how difficult it has been for the past few weeks going without a challenging enough opponent for your skill level?"

"Well, Piper, it's been tough, honestly, I think I may have scared everyone off. As someone who has previously been banned from women's competition, I find getting any support in the ring quite hard at times. I find your lack of fear quite charming, honest to the Lord above, you charm me, boyo."

"Thank you, you're a real sweetheart. Quick question, why do you call me 'boyo'?"

"Don't you call men 'lad' in Glasgow?"

"Oh, I see, anyway, before you go, one last thing."

I wasn't expecting this, the rest me and Rod had planned in advance, but not that line, he said he wasn't going to pull anything, he gave me his word.

Then, before I knew what was going on, he unbuckled my mask, pulling it down for a moment and kissed me square on the lips, in front of the cameras and the fans.

I tried to stand up and he dipped me down into the kiss, much to the enjoyment of the fans, who were hooting and hollering, obviously this doesn't happen much in the WWF.

Roddy kept his right hand intertwined with my ponytail and had his left arm around my back, supporting most of my waist as he brought me back up and helped me re-fix my mask into it's rightful spot.

After the show I tried to avoid Roddy for a couple minutes, trying to make sense of why he would do such a thing knowing full well we were not an 'out' couple or even an 'in' couple with the fans, sure the fans enjoying the moment was nice, but we were both heels, we were not supposed to do that off-screen, let alone on-screen and in front of a full crowd of fans.

I came to the decision to drop it for now and wait for Rod to hopefully explain his actions or somehow work it into a programme.

My mind started to wonder, maybe he would try to use that as blackmail against Damien, or even against me.

The D200's door opening and slamming shut caught me off guard, making me jump a little.

"I'm sorry, baby, I didn't mean to scare ya."

"I'm fine, Roddy, just caught up in my thoughts, that's all."

"What were ya thinking about?"

"Nothing important, mainly just what happened earlier."

"Ya mean, me, Orndorff and Schultz winning the match?"

"No, Roderick, the kiss, we didn't plan that."

"Oh, yeah. I forgot to clear that with ya, but Orndorff and Schultz said that it would get the fans interested."

"Hon."

"Yeah?"

"Next time, please clear everything we do in a promo or interview with me first, so I don't start wondering if you'll blackmail me."

"I would never blackmail ya, maybe Damien, but never you."

"I love you, ya hot-headed, kilt wearing idiot."

"I love you to, ya blonde, gothic, tattooed Ivory tower."

"Did you call me an 'Ivory tower'?"

"You're tall and pale, what d'ya want me to say?"

END OF THE SALEM HOUSE or THE SCOTTISH COTTAGE