#i would like snark and cuddles from a bard plz and thank

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Almost Sweet

i felt like hell a couple days ago and wanted to project a little, and i just wanna see geralt be a little soft and goofy

Pairing: Geraskier- could be read gen tho

CW: teen, geralt feels sick? jask plays nurse a little?

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Geralt woke with a massive hangover, at least that's what it felt like, but for the life of him, he couldn’t recall having more than a weak ale with dinner the night before. He groaned and rolled over, thinking he possibly drank enough to forget the whole night, though that wasn’t usually the case unless Lambert was involved. His body ached with every movement and his head throbbed no matter how much light he blocked out with the covers, and to make everything worse he was starting to feel nauseous. 

Absolutely nothing was worse than being nauseous in Geralt’s book. He would quite literally rather nearly bleed out or break a bone than throw up.

So when Jaskier greeted him with his perky “Good morning Sleepy Head! Fancy a lie-in today? Suddenly the monsters will hunt themselves? Hm?” Geralt rolled back over and groaned, his stomach doing a backflip at the movement. 

“How much did I drink last night?” Geralt moaned, doing his best to cocoon himself even more. 

He could almost picture the confused scrunch to Jaskier’s nose when he answered, “Nothing? You turned in early with a snide remark about my music giving you a headache.”

“Hm…” It was slowly coming back to him, but all Geralt could really focus on was the way his body was trying to punish him, “Crowd was loud… not you.”

There was a pause where Geralt thought Jaskier might simply saunter out of the room and leave him to suffer in peace, but Melitelle knows he’d never been a lucky man. 

“Geralt? Can I feel your forehead?” Jaskier asked, his voice softening just a touch, a nice compensation for how the dip in the mattress made Geralt’s head spin. The witcher didn’t have the energy to bat Jaskier’s hand away as he gently pulled the covers back and laid the back of his hand over Geralt’s brow. The cool touch was rather nice, actually, and a small pout snuck onto Geralt’s face when the hand disappeared.

Jaskier hummed in thought and slowly got up to grab a rag and wet it in the little basin of water provided, “You’re sick, dear. Didn’t even know witchers could get sick.” He brushed some hairs off of Geralt’s forehead and laid the cool cloth over the too-warm skin. Geralt couldn’t quite stifle a shiver as the rest of him suddenly felt far too cold but still sweaty and hot. 

“Must’ve eaten…” Geralt trailed off and clenched his jaw as a wave of nausea passed over him, “...something bad…” 

“We’ve shared meals for weeks, my friend. You simply caught something fighting monsters in the pouring rain.” Jaskier almost sounded amused in the way that usually made him roll his eyes, but he didn’t have the energy to be gruff. Instead, he just furrowed his brow and pulled the blankets back up to his chin. 

“Try to sleep it off, I’ll be back shortly,” Jaskier whispered, flipping the rag over to the cool side and earning a contented hum from Geralt. 

To Geralt’s disappointment, he got no sleep, only watched the door and wished that Jaskier wasn’t taking so long doing whatever it was he was up to. He’d never in a million years admit he wanted company for company’s sake, but as the minutes ticked on he began to worry that the bard wouldn’t return till after sundown. Maybe he’d found some well-to-do townsfolk and was charming them with inflated tales of adventure for a spot at their table or a cozy bed without a sick witcher. 

It was because of these thoughts, nothing more, that his face lit up when Jaskier finally returned, “You’re back.”

“You look relieved,” Jaskier laughed, setting down a basket on the table and a bucket by the bed.

Geralt could feel his eyes glaze over as Jaskier took the rag from his forehead with a little wince, “Who want’s to stay with a sick witcher?”

“Me,” Jaskier tutted, pulling a mug of steaming liquid from the basket and sitting next to him on the bed, “Drink this.” 

“What is it?” Geralt asked, looking from the cup to Jaskier warily, not out of distrust but definitely not wanting to make himself worse. 

“Poison.” 

A small laugh bubbled up out of Geralt but oh mother of fuck did  it make everything feel worse, “Jask, no,” he moaned, trying not to laugh as Jaskier chuckled at his misery “Don’t be funny. It hurts.” 

“Gods you’re almost sweet when you’re sick,” he observed, tucking a stray hair behind Geralt’s ear and guiding his chin a bit to the side so he could tip the contents of the mug into Geralt’s mouth bit by bit. 

When Jaskier pulled the mug away, satisfied with how much he’d drank Geralt was feeling rather sleepy but still cold, “M’not.”

“Mhm, sure.” Jaskier didn’t seem to bother hiding his sarcasm but the gentle strokes to Geralt’s cheeks and forehead made up for the slight in his book. He briefly thought he should be upset by the affection, that he needed to push Jaskier away for some noble reason, but he was too tired to be noble. And if he couldn’t sleep then at least he could have this? 

“Do you still feel cold?” Jaskier’s voice almost sounded distant and Geralt realized that he was starting to shiver from the light sheen of sweat all over his body. 

When he nodded, eyes still closed tight, though he wasn’t sure when he closed them, Jaskier’s hand disappeared from his forehead. Geralt whined at the loss, only to be jarred back to his upset senses by Jaskeir clambering over him and shuffling under the covers with him. 

He weakly protested as Jaskier enveloped him in a warm embrace, “But you’ll get sick.”

“If I haven’t already, I doubt I will now,” Jaskier soothed, running his fingers through Geralt’s hair, “Just let me know if you think you’re about to be sick.” 

“Mhm…” Geralt nodded, for once allowing himself to settle back into Jaskier and breathe. It was nice to have someone to take care of him for once.