#sit. and think. in silence. | don’t admonish him geralt…

[hanzajesthanza]

there are many good and even superb and even life-changing scenes in the witcher books, when asked “favorite scene?” we of course hear the classics — the striga fight, the death of essi daven, geralt leaving ciri outside of brokilon, geralt and ciri reuniting in something more, ciri at kaer morhen, shaerrawedd, ciri at ellander, yennefer and geralt at thanedd, the thanedd coup, the mandrake distillate, the horseshoe, the fish soup, the battle of the bridge, the slaughter of the rats, brisingamen, the ice skating on tarn mira, the stay in beauclair, ciri travelling between worlds, the battle of brenna, the assault on stygga castle, rivia…

but there’s also just the scenes you like that are not so grand or epic or even relevant to the main plot…

i have to have played and reread the conversation and philosophizing between regis and the rest of the company in chapter 7 of baptism of fire at least twenty times by now… and more, in my head

[geralthastwohands]

The Play’s The Thing

I just wanted to write something with Jaskier using his brain to get them out of a sticky situation with a healthy side of angst and this spawned out oops!! but also hey!!! i finished a fic!! 

***

The mercenaries attack their camp while they sleep.

By the time Jaskier is woken up, Geralt is already being held down on the ground by at least four men. He’s putting up a good fight, but Jaskier can tell the witcher is only so strong. The men were human, but they were well trained.

He has three options. Option one, get on his feet and try to fight back against the mercenaries. There were six men standing around the four holding Geralt down and Jaskier’s always been more of a lover than a fighter, so that was out. Option two, pretend he was still asleep and let Geralt get taken away like a coward. He is many things, but he refuses to be a coward. That leaves option three…

“Oh, thank the gods.” Jaskier breathes out, standing up on shaky legs. All heads snap towards him, including Geralt’s. If he wasn’t committing to this new role, he’d be offended that they seemed to have forgotten about him.

“Who the fuck are you?” One of the mercenaries asks. He’s the only one not wearing a face mask. Most likely the leader.

“I-I’m a bard. Dandelion,” He stutters. Geralt lets out a low growl and Jaskier flinches overdramatically. “The witcher’s had me trapped with him for so long. I knew if I waited long enough someone would rescue me! You, kind sirs, are gifts from destiny.” He knows he’s playing it up, but he needs this to work. He glances towards Geralt and sees the hurt confusion there and hopes they live long enough for him to explain.

“Y’here that, boys? We’re gifts from destiny!” The leader laughs. “Fuck off, bard. We’re taking him for the coin.” The leader shoos him like a fly the little- and gestures for the now bound Geralt to be pulled to his feet.

“He’s seen your face, sir.” One of the men pipes up. “We should kill him.”

“Oh, no, no! You don’t have to do that!” Jaskier quickly interjects. “I could- I could come with you! I’m known for many songs! Drinking songs, love ballads, even the occasional jig, if I’m in the right mood for it. I could be your entertainment, at least until the next town?”

The leader leans his head back and forth, considering it. He turns towards the man who spoke, who shrugs. Jaskier notes how he doesn’t look to anyone else. Most likely the second in command. Good to know for later.

“Alright...Dandelion, did you say your name was?” The leader pauses so Jaskier nods in answer. “We’ll give you a chance to earn your life. Morning is hours off yet. You’ll play while we eat. If we enjoy it, a few of my boys will escort you to the next town.” The leader raises an eyebrow. “Agreed?”

“Anyone here know Fishmonger’s Daughter?” He asks in lieu of a response. The men cheer.

***

Within the hour, the mercenaries have taken over their camp with their own bedrolls and firmly secured Geralt to a tree. The witcher won’t look at him, no matter how many times Jaskiertries to sneakily catch his eye. Even Roach, ever so loyal, turns her head away when he pauses to slip her a carrot.

There’s a stew cooking over the fire and ale being passed around. With Jaskier’s music, it’s a proper celebration of a job well done. The bard wants to snap and swing his lute at the nearest head. Stick to the plan, Jaskier…

“Oi, Dandelion! You know anything about these?” Jaskier looks over to see the second-in-command next to the fire, holding up one of Geralt’s potions. He can't believe his luck. Fuck the plan, this one is better.

“Y-yes, sir!” He fumbles the lute onto his back, playing up the helpless bard once again. “The witcher had me gather the ingredients for some.” He stands awkwardly above them until the second gestures for him to sit. “The one in your hand is a night vision potion called Cat.” He digs through the bag for a second, slipping a small vial inside his sleeve under the cover of the worn leather. He pulls out another harmless one. “This one is for your reflexes, he called it Blizzard.”

“Interesting…” The second mutters, listening intently. “Don’t suppose a human would be able to take them, do you?”

“I wouldn’t know.” He answers, fully knowing Witcher’s potions would kill a full-grown man. Without thinking, he leans a hand on the pot to look closer. The hot metal quickly burns his skin through his sleeve and he lets out a sharp yelp of pain.

“Ryvel! What are you doing to the poor bard over there?!” The leader calls out with a laugh.

“Fuck off, he burned ‘imself!” The second - Ryvel - calls back with a grin. He shakes his head as he tugs Jaskier’s hand closer. “Let me see where it hurts.”

Jaskier freezes at the touch but relaxes when nothing follows beside gentle prodding at the new burn. Ryvel digs through his own pack for a second before coming up with salve and a roll of bandages. They’re both silent as he coats the burn then wraps it with the care of someone who’s done it a thousand times before.

When it’s done, Jaskier flexes his hand. “Thank you.” He whispers. “I didn’t expect…” He trails off, not knowing how to say it without offending the mercenary.

“What happened to us kind sirs being a gift from destiny?” Ryvel teases. Jaskier forces a smile.

“I should go back to playing.” He excuses before standing. “Any requests?”

“Something fun,” is all Ryvel replies.

Jaskier crosses back to where he stood to play earlier. Ryvel’s kindness almost made him feel bad for the deadly amount of White Gull he poured into the stew while burning his arm. Though judging by the fact that every man is without a mask and calling each other by name, they weren’t planning on letting Jaskier go anyway.

He sneaks another glance at Geralt who still refused to look at anything but the ground. Soon, love. You’ll see what’s going on.

***

Dinner is served once the meat is declared cooked through. No one offers him any and Jaskier doesn’t ask. He plays while they eat and doesn’t think he’s ever felt more anxious in his life. He watches every single mercenary as they chew and swallow and take bite after bite. He keeps waiting for someone to say something about the taste or spit it out or call attention to it.

And then the first man drops, suddenly and without warning. Jaskier starts inching towards Geralt. He only has moments before the mercenaries realize their friend has been felled by more than just ale.

The second man drops. Jaskier picks up the pace. Geralt is finally, finally, looking up. He’s got this confused expression and his head is tilted to the side and oh, that would be so cute in a different situation.

The third man drops. All hell breaks loose. Jaskier uses the time they take to sluggishly grab their weapons to throw his lute to the side - Daddy’s sorry, baby, but needs must. - and pull the dagger from his boot. He cuts Geralt free as the fourth and fifth man drop in quick succession.

“Fuck,” Geralt mutters, before throwing himself at the leader. With the drugs in his system, the man goes down easily. It’s actually almost laughable how effortless it is to simply push the next three mercenaries to the ground and wait for them to die.

Ryvel, now the last of his men, falls to his knees before Geralt can even touch him. His eyes are firmly locked onto Jaskier, mouth open in shock. “You manipulative fucking jester…” He hisses out. His last words before he too meets the ground.

After hours of talk and music, it’s eerie to be met with only silence.

Geralt, with no more mercenaries to take care of, settles on Jaskier. He opens his mouth to say something only to be cut off by the bard launching into nervous ramblings.

“Listen, Geralt, I know what I did wasn’t safe or smart or anything else you’re going to say but what else was I supposed to do? Let you get taken by those brutes?”

“Jaskier.”

“And that wasn’t even my original plan, poisoning them. That was just a lucky mix of circumstances that I got into your potion bag - you should really label those, by the way. We’re lucky I just so happened to pay attention to colors and bottles last time you organized this mess. And another thin-”

“I was going to say thank you.”

The bard stops. “I’m sorry?”

Geralt takes a step forward, tense. “You did well. With the stew. And the...acting.”

Jaskier blinks. “Not as good as that, I hope. You do know I’d never actually betray you, right, Geralt?”

The witcher raises an eyebrow. “Brothers have betrayed brothers for less than their lives.”

“For gods sake, Geralt, I didn’t even tell them my name! What part of that made you think I trusted them? Do you really think so low of me that-” Jaskier cuts himself off. He’s smarter than that. He knows it’s not him that the witcher thinks low of.

The bard takes a step forward and Geralt lets him.  “I could have stayed at Oxenfurt, you know. As a professor. They all loved my classes. I was the hot, young new teacher.”

“Did you accept favors in exchange for good grades, Professor ?” Geralt asks, voice low. Inwardly, Jaskier groans.

“As sexy as that was, you’re not seducing me out of talking about this, Geralt.”

“It was worth a shot.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“It’s worked before.”

“Geralt.” Jaskier admonishes and slaps him on the chest. “Listen to me, you brute. My point is that I could have had the easiest, boring-est, lavish-est life I wanted. Instead, I chose you. And I will continue to choose you over everything else in this world, including myself. Because you’ll do the same for me.” He says this with such certainty, as if Geralt had never done a single selfish thing in his life.

Geralt swallows, not quite meeting Jaskier’s eyes, and nods. “I would. Do the same, that is.”

The bard smiles, bright and wide, like Geralt just told him that he was personally gifting him the stars. The witcher smiles back, small and quiet, but it means all the same.

“Now that that’s settled,” Jaskier breaks the silence with a dangerous glint in his eyes. ‘Let’s find out who hired these men and kill them, hmm?”

[seanfalco]

(More Than Just) Travel Partners - Part V

Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Jaskier x f!Reader Word Count: 3.3k Rating: M Warning(s): Violence, Angst, Mild smut a/n: I was planning on making this part the last one, buuuut it was going to turn out much longer than I anticipated so I ended up splitting it in two.  So we have one more part to go.

[ Masterlist ]

——

Wrapped in sheets and tucked comfortably against Jaskier’s warm chest, your legs still entwined with his, a contented hum passed your lips as he wrapped his arm around your side, pulling you closer and resting his chin atop the crown of your head.  Sighing softly, a shiver ran through you as his fingertips traced idle patterns against your skin while you stroked his chest hair, your fingers tangling in the long silver chain he wore round his neck.

“That was --” you sighed, searching for the perfect word to describe how perfect your first time together had been.

“Amaaazing?  Hot?  Worthy of song?” Jaskier cut in, supplying descriptors and you giggled, craning your neck to catch a glimpse of his face. 

“All of the above.  And then some,” you decided, earning you an amused chuckle which rumbled through his chest.

“So,” he began, running his fingers up and down the length of your arm.  “What do you want to do next?”

“Round two?” You suggested, half joking.  “Or did you mean just in general, after tonight?”

Jaskier laughed again.  “Oh, round two is certainly on the table, but yes, in general.  Is there anywhere in particular you’d like to travel to next?”

Snuggling closer you let your eyes close as you breathed in his scent.  “Mmm, not really.  Wherever the wind takes us?” you mused with a soft laugh.  “I’ll be happy anywhere, as long as you’re with me,” you answered truthfully.

“Gods, how are you so perfect?”  Jaskier murmured, lifting your hand from his chest to kiss softly.

Comfortable silence settled on the room and after several minutes you began to wonder if Jaskier had fallen asleep.  However, when you shifted to glance at him you found him staring ahead into space, silently chewing his bottom lip as if deep in thought.

“What are you thinking about over there, hmm?” you asked softly, wriggling your fingers still clasped in his hand.

Jumping slightly when he noticed you watching him intently, he gave a rueful chuckle.  “I --” he paused to clear his throat, his eyes flicking away sheepishly, “I was just trying to think of a way to solve your uhm, well your little husband problem,” Jaskier admitted.  “I had a thought, but well, I don’t think it’ll work after all.”

“What’s that?” you asked, touched that he was giving your dilemma such serious thought.

“Well, I thought, hey I know a guy that might be able to help, even if he doesn’t like to get involved in the ‘squabbles of humans’, except he does all the time,” he grumbled under his breath.

“Are you talking about your witcher friend?”  You distinctly remembered how Jaskier had reacted when you’d brought up Geralt’s name when you first met.

“Ah.  Yeah,” Jaskier replied, deflating as if remembering something.  “Actually, nevermind, that won’t work.”  When you looked confused he sighed and elaborated.  “The last time we spoke he made it quite clear that I was nothing more than a burden and that he didn’t want me around.”

“Oh Jask…” you murmured, the dejection in his voice pulling at your heart and you pushed yourself up to look him in the eyes as you caressed his cheek.  He leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut, a shaky breath rattling through his parted lips.

It explained a lot.

“Julian Alfred Pankratz, you are the farthest thing from a burden, and Geralt of Rivia is a light blinded fool if he truly thinks that.”  The quiet fierceness in your voice surprised even you, but you meant every word, and Jaskier eyed you with awe, his mouth falling open slightly.

“And who knows, maybe René will never find me, or maybe he’s already stopped looking and I’m just being paranoid, but if he hasn’t then we will cross that bridge if and when when we come to it.  Besides, it's not like I’m completely defenseless.”

Jaskier looked conflicted, but he finally nodded in agreement.  

“Perhaps you could show me how to do that little trick of yours with your knives,” he suggested, his voice turning husky.

“I suppose I could teach you,” you replied slowly, climbing into his lap to straddle him, resting your arms over his shoulders as you regarded him with a smoky grin.

“Good,” he quipped, his arms snaking around your waist, pulling you closer, “because I want to protect you too, if it comes to that.”

The heat in his voice was enough to make you shiver, and while the thought of Jaskier deftly wielding a blade was almost too hot to handle, the fact that he wanted to learn in order to protect you, well you couldn’t think of anything more romantic.

Still, you hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Jaskier rolling his hips under you shocked you out of your thoughts and the feel of his reinvigorated desire teasingly pressed against you had heat flooding you once more.  “I believe there was the mention of a second round, earlier?” Jaskier drawled, changing the subject, a roguish grin spreading across his face as he squeezed your bare ass.

“Someone’s impatient,” you replied, a noise somewhere between a sigh and a moan cutting through your words as Jaskier leaned forward to plant his lips against your neck, his teeth nipping hard enough to mark you.

“What -- do you -- expect” he asked between kisses and you found yourself grinding lazily against him in return, “when you’re sitting naked -- in my lap -- and looking like that?”

Throwing your head back as you arched against him you couldn’t help the delighted laughter that spilled forth as his lips moved lower, peppering your breasts with open mouthed kisses; absolute affection for the man beneath you spilling over, making you giddy.

This is how it’s supposed to be, you thought, holding him tighter.

Suddenly Jaskier’s face tilted back, his chin resting between your breasts as his clear blue eyes peered at you, holding you captive.  “Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” he asked softly.

“What, to bed me?” you asked with a laugh, but Jaskier’s expression didn’t alter.

“No, to see you with your walls completely down,” he replied and your breath caught in your throat.  His lips parted as if he had more he wanted to say and you swore you could almost hear the words, but they remained unspoken and you realized in that moment just how much you wanted to hear them --to say them in return.

Instead you contented yourself with capturing his lips with yours, desperate to show him, at least, how you felt.

——

The next few weeks became a blur, and you’d never been happier.  Continuing your travels south you filled your days listening to Jaskier’s tales and writing new songs together.  You even began sharing some of your own stories with him.  They were never as exciting as his adventures with Geralt, but he would listen, enraptured, treating each new morsel of information about your past as if it were a priceless treasure he’d uncovered, hoping to one day collect all the pieces.

Your nights were spent much the same as before: drinking, dancing, and performing, except now when you were finished you’d retire to your shared room, or lay together under the stars -- sometimes spending hours getting lost in each other, mapping out each other’s bodies by touch, and learning each other’s most intimate desires by trial and error before falling asleep, safe and warm in Jaskier’s arms.

You even made good on your promise to begin teaching him how to use your knives and Jaskier was a surprisingly adept student, picking it up faster than you’d expected, though you’d had to help bandage his poor nicked up fingers more than once, mending each one with a kiss for good measure.  

Jaskier ambled along next to Swift in the darkening light of the afternoon, twirling one of the small daggers between his fingers as you swayed in the saddle, penning lyrics in a small notebook in your lap.

“I bet you I can hit the trunk of that tree from one hundred paces,” he said suddenly, his face lighting up as you turned to him.

“Oh yeah?  Now that I’d like to see,” you exclaimed, cocking an eyebrow.

Flashing a smirk and a wink Jaskier hefted the dagger in his hand, pinching the blade between his finger and thumb and threw it.  The dagger soared in a tight arc toward the tree in question, spinning blade over handle several times before glancing off the bark and falling harmlessly into the grass. 

At this Jaskier let out an indignant gasp and threw his hands on his hips.  “Oh come on!  That’s bollocks!”

You had to press a hand to your mouth to keep from giggling, not wanting to bruise his ego further.  When he turned to you with a frown you quickly pulled your hand from your face, smoothing your expression.  “Try it again, but don’t forget to snap your wrist and don’t let go of the knife too early.”

Jaskier nodded, his lips moving silently, as if repeating the instructions back to himself.  Slipping another dagger from his sleeve he tried again, and this time the blade buried into the side of the tree with a loud ‘tchunk’.  Letting out an excited cry he turned to flash you a proud grin that had your heart skipping a beat.

“Would’ve been more impressive if I’d gotten it on the first try,” he grumbled however, and you swatted at him with your notebook.

“Don’t be like that,” you admonished, a grin twisting your attempt at sternness.  “I’m still very impressed.”

“You’re impressed by everything I do,” Jaskier pointed out, traipsing off toward the tree to retrieve the two daggers.  

“Is that a bad thing?” you asked with a laugh, watching him struggle to pull the second dagger free and rummage through the foliage nearby for the first one.  After a couple minutes of hunting he gave a triumphant ‘aha!’ and stood, dusting off his trousers before returning to your side and slipping the blades back into their hiding spots. 

“Come to think of it, it’s not,” he said after a moment, glancing up at you.  “In fact, it’s quite nice being appreciated.”

Grinning softly you offered him a hand and he took it, stepping into Swift’s stirrup and swinging his leg over the back of the saddle to settle in behind you; brushing a peck to your cheek.

“So what d’ya say we find a tavern for the night and do what we do best?” 

——

The loud hum of voices that filled the tavern’s common room quieted somewhat as you began to play, but several people still talked loudly, determined to carry on their conversation, despite your playing.  Jaskier shot a scathing glare at them as he sang louder, trying to drown them out with his own voice.  Eventually they got up from their table and your gaze followed them to the door, relief filling you as they left.

Your relief was short lived however, as your eyes fell on a man in a dark cape, brooding by himself in a booth near the back of the room, his cowl pulled up to cover his face.  Instantly a shiver raced through you and your face began to tingle, your lips going numb with fear.  A serving girl approached the hooded man and he turned to speak with her, handing her some coins before she turned away, and the song ended.

“[Y/N], are you alright?” Jaskier’s voice in your ear startled you and you tore your eyes from the man in the booth to look at him.

“What?” you asked, trying to gain your bearings.

“You missed a few notes in that song, is everything okay?”

Now that he’d gotten a closer look at you, concern filled his eyes and he frowned.  “You look pale [Y/N], what’s wrong?”  Suddenly he looked around the crowd.  “Did you see something?  Is-is he here?”

You knew exactly who Jaskier meant and you bit your lip, willing the anxiety that had plunged you into ice water to go away.

“I don’t know,” you whispered, searching the crowd.  “There was a man in a cloak, but I couldn’t see his face.  Now I can’t even find him.”

It was true, the cloaked man was now nowhere to be found and you didn’t know if his absence was a good or bad thing.  The crowd was becoming restless and you shook your head ruefully.  “Maybe I’m just being paranoid,” you hissed, frustration replacing your anxiety.

“It’s alright,” Jaskier assured you, putting on a strained grin for the crowd.  “I’ll keep my eyes peeled and if I see anything we’ll leave.  I’ve got you.”

Nodding you brought your fiddle back up to your chin and began playing the next song, settling the crowd.  As you played you scanned the room, double and triple checking the space, but the hooded man truly was nowhere to be seen.

——

As your set came to an end you were beginning to feel slightly better, though you couldn’t help but notice the serving girl from earlier mooning after Jaskier, flashing him alluring smiles anytime he looked her way.  You knew he was merely playing to the crowd when he would occasionally smile back and wink; a bard had to be likable, right?  It still twisted your stomach in jealous knots though.

It helped that once your instruments were stowed away in your room and you were away from prying eyes Jaskier pulled you close, kissing you thoroughly, one hand on your waist and the other cupping your face.

Sighing into the kiss you deepened it, your hands clutching at his open doublet; your fingers brushing the cool metal of the brooch you’d given him.  He’d kept it pinned to his outfit every day since the night at the palace.  The thought made you smile.

“Mmm you seem to be… feeling better,” Jaskier observed, pulling back to study your face.

“I am,” you replied, your fingers easing on the stiff silken fabric; your hands smoothing the wrinkles you’d made.

“Good,” he replied, “I was getting worried.”

Affection bloomed in your chest and you wrapped your arms around him, pressing your face to his chest, unable to speak, just wanting to hold him and you felt Jaskier squeeze you back, resting his temple against your hair.

After several minutes he pulled back, pressing a kiss to your forehead and flashing a smile.  “Why don’t I go order us some drinks while you finish washing up, hmm?  Something to take some of the edge off?”

“Sounds perfect,” you purred, “I’ll meet you at the bar.”

——

Feeling much better after washing your face and changing into a fresh dress you walked down the steps and back into the tavern proper, your gaze searching for Jaskier.  The dim candle light flickering from the wall sconces made it difficult to make out anyone from far away and you ducked through the crowd, making your way to the bar.  You heard his voice before you saw him and as you turned the corner and he came into view you froze, your heart dropping into your stomach.

“Jask…?” your voice cracked, turning hoarse and withering away; confusion, anger, and hurt warring across your face.

Jaskier, disheveled and pressed back into one of the booths, the serving girl from before practically in his lap gave an alarmed cry at your sudden appearance, his eyes going wide, and the girl twisted to stare at you, her yes flashing as she directed a shit-eating grin your way.

“[Y/N] this is not what it looks like!” Jaskier exclaimed, and a hollow laugh burst from your lips.

“Oh it’s pretty obvious what it looks like,” you growled, anger fueling you now and you turned on your heel.  Feeling as if you were going to be sick, you needed to be anywhere but there.

“Nononono, [Y/N]!” Jaskier exclaimed, unceremoniously pushing the girl off him to chase after you.

Hot tears welled in your eyes as you marched away, stumbling into people in your haste.  As you reached the stairs Jaskier caught up to you, grasping your arm and pulling you to a stop.

“[Y/N] wait!  Please just let me explain.  It’s really not what you think, I assure you,” he exclaimed, desperation lacing his voice.

Rounding on him you jabbed a finger into his chest.  “I saw the way you were smiling at her earlier -- God’s I’m such a fool,” you cried, desperate not to break down in front of him, in front of all those people, but his grasp on you was too tight and he wasn’t letting go.

“[Y/N] please, I love you.”

Jaskier’s words and the pain in his eyes snapped something in you and the sharp ‘crack’ of your hand across his face quieted the room, all eyes turning toward you.  “How dare you?” you hissed, your voice trembling dangerously.  “You used me to-to further your career and -- bolster your image and I… I believed you when you told me I was special.  Gods, I knew this was too good to be true, I’m such an idiot.”

Jaskier watched you, shock painting his features as his mouth moved soundlessly, searching for the words to fix everything, to make you believe it was all just a misunderstanding.  With a sob you pulled your wrist free and ran up the stairs.

That seemed to snap him back to consciousness and he lurched forward to go after you, but a large firm hand on his shoulder held him in place.

“Where d’you think you’re goin’ bard?” the barrel chested barman demanded, hauling Jaskier back.  “First you lay hands on my server and now you’re bortherin’ the lady?  I dun think so pal.”

“Oh come on,” Jaskier growled, fighting in the man’s grasp.  “Let go of me!  [Y/N]!”

You could still hear Jaskier’s shouts as you hurried down the back stairwell, fiddle case and saddle bags slung over your shoulder.  Each plaintive cry cut through your heart and you knew if you went out the front and saw him again you’d probably lose your conviction and you refused to let yourself be played again.  So you slipped out the back way to the stable, rushing to saddle Swift when a low voice behind you stopped you in your tracks; the blood in your veins turning to ice.

“Hello [Y/N].  Or is it Aevryn?  Or Felka?  Or Lettie?  You’ve used so many names, I’ve lost track.”

Slowly you turned to face him, the man from your nightmares, your husband.

“So you found me René,” you said, surprised at how even your voice sounded.

The cloaked man stood blocking your exit as he lowered his hood.  “I admit, you’ve led me on a merry little chase these few years, but it's time to come home now, where you belong.  With me.”

Taking a deep breath to steal your nerves you met his gaze.

“I’ll even forgive your little tryst with the bard.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

René smiled, the charming smile you remembered, but like usual it didn’t reach his dark eyes.  “I thought you might say that.  It’s a shame really.”

“What is?” you asked, your fingers trembling as you visualized your next move.

“That I’m gunna have to take you by force.”

You moved as soon as he did.

Your first blade missed as he lunged for you and you nearly tripped over an upturned bucket as you backed away.  The second knife that sprung to your hand however found its mark, burying itself to the hilt in René’s shoulder and as he got close enough to grasp at your skirt you already had a third knife in hand and you slashed at his face, forcing him back.

If you could just get around him and back into the tavern…

Suddenly the door crashed open, breaking your concentration and your eyes met Jaskier’s.  The split second of hesitation was all René needed and he scooped you over his shoulder to toss across the saddle of his waiting horse and rode off.

Still not giving up you thrashed, trying to break free and the last thing you heard before blacking out was Jaskier’s desperate voice calling your name into the night.

[thefatedthoughtofyou]

Bright Smiles And Tired Eyes ~ Part 5

(Yeah! part 5! not the “the end” but fucking “part 5″... cuz this fucker STILL isn’t done. hahahah! i tried. but there will be more, because there needs to be. i don’t know how soon, because i am pooped and my interests are running in like 3 different directions at the moment but I’M GONNA TRY MY BEST DARLINGS!!! enjoy!!! thanks for reading! as always!!!! <<<333)

Ao3 - Chapter 5

Summary: Modern Au, Punk!Jaskier, Creature!Jaskier. Geralt needs a new roommate to help him pay rent. Jaskier answers his ad. Through a handful of circumstances and series of events… there’s bed sharing. And some angst. …And so much more.

Word Count: 3501

Warnings: descriptions of gore and death and dead bodies

Jaskier is unconscious for four days. They’d taken him to the hospital. Yennefer had been unsure of the extent of his injuries and hadn’t wanted to cause any more harm by a healing spell going awry. So they’d taken him to the only hospital they could, one that not only treated humans but supernatural creatures and non-humans as well. An old friend of Yennefer’s, Triss, met them at the door. Jaskier had been groaning in Geralt’s arms, no longer able to hold himself up. Triss had moved her hand slowly over him, her eyes closed, brow creased with focus, assessing the damaging. He’d moaned when her hand moved over his ribs, curling into Geralt’s chest, trying to escape the pain. She’d opened her eyes, moved her hand to settle over his eyes, and put him to sleep.

He’d been in bed for four days, not moving, just sleeping and healing. Geralt had requested a room with a view for him, on the chance that he’d woken up early, or while one of them wasn’t there. They’d been taking turns watching over him, taking it in shifts. Renfri had made them. Geralt had had every intention of staying with him until he woke up. No matter how long it took. But Renfri had refused to let him stay longer than eight hours. She’d come into the room, with food for Geralt, from his favorite place, and had kicked him out. Geralt had fussed but Renfri had threatened to send Yennefer after him, so he’d gone home and tried to rest.

He’d cleaned their apartment. The message on the wall had taken some magic-ing but he’d gotten it all off. He’d cleaned up Jaskier’s room as well. But no amount of magic would help him replace his instruments, he’d tried. There was something about them that wouldn’t allow his magic to touch them. He supposed that maybe Jaskier had done something to them, had them charmed somehow. He made a mental note to ask him about it. He took the broken pieces out of Jaskier’s room and stashed them in his own room, in case Jaskier had a way to fix them. He didn’t want to put it past him.

He fixed Roach’s pen, only a few screws had been knocked loose. Then he drug it out into the living room, so she could have more space, and so that Jaskier could as well. Roach slept in his bed with him, the small amount he did sleep. And he kissed her head before he left, telling her he’d give her love to her dad. Dad number one, as Jaskier had taken to calling himself. She hopped after him to the door, sitting on her hind legs and watching him as he closed the door behind him.

Four agonizing days of silence. And then he woke up. Geralt had been dozing in the chair next to his bed when he’d heard his name. A whisper in his dreams. And then he’d startled awake to see two heavily medicated eyes looking at him. He leaned forward so quickly that the chair almost tipped him off onto the floor. His hand grabbing the bed in front of him for balance.

“Jaskier.” He smiled, he couldn’t help it, those blue eyes were open again and that pressure behind his ribs was pounding out a rhythm against them like a drum. Jaskier’s lips twitched into a small smile, his eye lids already drooping again. He lifted his hand, holding the back to Geralt, he moved his other hand to gently tap the IV line.

“This… is not the milkshake I requested.” He mumbles, voice groggy like his eyes. Geralt reaches out, his fingers settling on Jaskier’s arm when he drops it to the bed.

“Sorry. I’ll work on it.” he moves his thumb over Jaskier’s arm and watched his tired eyes track the motion as they blink slowly. They move back to Geralt’s face, still slow, and he hears him gasp, his mouth drops open the smallest amount.

“What? What’s wrong?” Geralt asks, worried he’d hurt him somehow, his hand moving away from Jaskier’s arm reluctantly.

“Those are… the prettiest eyes.” He murmurs, sounding breathless through his exhaustion. Geralt feels heat crawl over his skin as Jaskier’s blue eyes stare into his, apparently pretty, yellow ones. He does his best to meet Jaskier’s gaze but fails. He clears his throat and looks away. He pushes himself to standing and pretends not to see the way Jaskier’s fingers reach out for him briefly before he walks to the window.

“I made sure you had a nice view, in case you woke up alone.” He clears his throat again, hearing the way his voice shakes.

“It’s a great view.” He hears Jaskier sigh, glancing at him, his skin burns again when he finds Jaskier resolutely not looking out the window, his eyes on Geralt’s ass, his mouth crooked with a content smile. Geralt moves his eyes back to the window, looking at the birdhouse someone had hung in the garden. He hears Jaskier sigh behind him and turns. His eyes are closed again, his chest rising and falling slowly. Geralt takes a deep breath and sighs himself, never thinking he’d be relieved about Jaskier having fallen back into sleep.

Renfri comes by for lunch. Once again bringing food for them both. She hates hospital food and refuses to let anyone eat it if she can help it. She drops the bag of food down gently in the corner and gives Geralt a small wave before reaching in and unpacking the food she’s brought.

“How’s he doing today? Anything new?” She asks, holding a foil wrapped burrito in each hand, clearly weighing them before deciding which one she’s going to take. She looks over her shoulder at him when he doesn’t answer.

“Geralt?” She looks at him for a moment, and sets the food down.

“What happened?” her voice is serious, and he can see worry creeping into her eyes.

“Nothing, sorry. He woke up earlier on. And he-“ Geralt stopped himself, he shouldn’t tell her. He knew what she’d do. She never let it go. And then she’d tell Yen, and he’d never hear the end of it.

“He what?” She prodded, her attention seemingly moving back to the food, but he could see the set of her shoulders, she was listening carefully.

“He just… talked. For a bit. Not a lot. Just a few things.” Geralt said, doing his best to avoid the actual conversation that took place.

“And what did he say?” she asked, still not looking at him. He can feel his skin burning again, the heat moving up his neck and into his ears. He stays silent too long and she turns to him again. Her eyes meet his, and travel over his face, and he sees them ignite with amusement.

“Oh my god. What did he say?” the smile on her lips is full of mischief as she saunters toward him, the food she’d been sorting quickly forgotten.

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter.” Geralt mutters, standing before she can reach him and moving to the window. A poor attempt to run from her. Her hands fall on his shoulders heavily and turn him back to her easily.

“Look at you.” She laughs with a snort, hands moving to her hips as she smiles at him.

“What?” he frowns, crossing his arms over his chest, not liking the way she’s looking at him. Because he knows she can see it. And he doesn’t want her too.

“That.” She says, her hand reaching out and poking his cheek. He swats at her hand and she laughs again, he can feel himself wanting to smile. His chest feeling light. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if she knew. If he told her. If he said it out loud. He bit his lip and fought the urge, shoved it down again, and felt it growling behind his ribs.

“Come now it’s clear on your face, you look like a beet! What did he say to you that’s got you looking like a nervous maiden of old?” she’s laughing again, arms wrapping around herself as she tries to at least hold the laughter at bay.

“Nothing. Leave it.” he grumbles, looking to his feet.

“Oh please! I swear I won’t tell!” she clasps her hands in front her, begging him with those big puppy dog eyes of hers.

“Renfri.” Geralt admonishes, giving her a look. She wilts, hands falling at her sides, shoulders drooping, a pout on her lips.

“Ugh, fine.” She sighs, turning away and going back to the food. She throws herself into the chair and kicks the other chair with her foot, moving it out for Geralt to sit across from her. He sits slowly, both of them eating and glancing at Jaskier off and on. He’s taking a drink when she finally decides to speak again.

“Well whatever it was, it must have been good. To have you looking like that.” She smirks over her own drink at him, pulling the straw between her teeth and grinning around it like the asshole she is.

“Hmm.” Geralt rumbles, rolling his eyes and looking away from her. His eyes betray him again and land on Jaskier, his lips curve of their own volition and he smiles at him, though he still sleeps. Renfri snorts across from him and he kicks her out of the room. She laughs as she leaves, a knowing look in her eyes that Geralt finds absolutely, unequivocally, terrifying.

Yennefer comes by for dinner to take his place. She says nothing about Jaskier waking up and speaking to him, doesn’t try to pry anything from him. So either Renfri didn’t tell her, or she’s waiting for the moment to spring it on him. Either way his nerves are on edge.

“I found something.” She says, setting her fork down on her empty plate. Clearly having been waiting to bring it up. Geralt continues chewing, though slowly, and furrows his brow in question.

“About the men who took Jaskier.” She elaborates. Geralt swallows hard, nearly choking, and sets his own fork down on the table, what’s left of his dinner forgotten.

“Who were they?” he asks, moving his hands against his thighs, worry setting in and making his palms sweat.

“Well, I can’t vouch for all of them, I think quite a few of them were just random local hired muscle. But a few them, the ones you talked to, and the one’s that stayed near Jaskier. I think they were the main guys. The founders I guess you could say. They’ve been hunting for a while. Leaving a bloody path behind them as they go.” She pulls something out of her bag, a file. Geralt reaches for it but she pulls it out of his reach.

“I think they killed his parents Geralt.” She says, blunt, and quiet, glancing at Jaskier with a pained expression. Geralt feels his heart speed up, it pounds in his ears and against his ribs.

“I’m not supposed to have this. And I probably shouldn’t show it to you. But I know that Jaskier has told you things. About what happened to him. And you’ll be able to tell if this is them. The names are different in the file but I think he may have changed his name. To stay safe.” Geralt nearly flinches back from her, she follows him, her hand going to his knee quickly.

“I will never tell anyone any of this. The men are dead, I checked, there were no other known associates among them. I just think it’s best we know for sure.” she widens her eyes, waiting for Geralt to confirm that this is okay. He nods. Once. And she hands him the file. He goes to open it and her hand covers his, stopping him again.

“What’s in that file is… terrible. Even for us.” She gives him a pointed look, squeezes his hand, and walks to the window to give him space. Geralt takes a deep breath and opens the file.

Bile rises in his throat as his eyes scan the pictures. A man’s body, horribly mangled, lying on a carpeted floor in dark pools of blood, his limbs are at odd angles. He looks like a rag doll that’s been tossed aside. Jaskier’s father. Geralt’s heart aches as he looks at the pictures, the man’s light hair, matted to his head, his eyes empty. His arm is stretched out in front of him, the only limb on his body that looks normal, fingers splayed out on the carpet, like he’d been reaching for something he’d never live to touch.

Geralt turned the page. His hand going to his mouth as he shut his eyes and took a deep breath.

The woman in the pictures looked so like her son, dark hair, cherub cheeks hiding high cheekbones. Her body had been covered in cuts, a gaping hole in her chest telling Geralt that these men had literally cut her heart out. The pool of blood beneath and around her was smeared and uneven, telling him that they’d done it while she was still alive. Her face, thank the gods, looked peaceful at least. Her eyes shut, her mouth not twisted in a strangled scream like Geralt had seen many times. He was about to close the file, unable to look any longer, when he saw them.

Little hand prints.

On the woman’s shirt, and her face, and the floor near her head. His heart beat faster and faster as he moved the picture closer to his face, needing to know that he was seeing what he knew, deep in his gut, that he was. Two small red smears on the backs of the woman’s eyelids. She hadn’t had her eyes closed peacefully after all. They’d been closed for her, by someone with small, blood covered hands. A child’s hands.

Her child’s hands.

Geralt sighed deeply and closed the file, throwing it onto the table so that he didn’t rip it to shreds.

“Jaskier.” He sighed, his chest aching. Yennefer was back by his side in seconds, her hand on his shoulder.

“Did it match what he told you?” she asked, voice low. Geralt looked up at her, she looked back, face full of sorrow.

“No,” he moved his shaking hand to touch hers on his shoulder.

“It was worse.” He sighed, looking into his lap. Yennefer sat down across from him, her hand clasping his, her face full of sorrow.

“They’re dead. The men who did it.” she said again. Saying the only thing she knew would make him feel better. That the monsters who had hurt Jaskier and those he loved where dead.

“Do you think he knew?” Geralt asked, a question whispered between them, a secret he was hoping he’d never know the answer to.

“I knew.”

Geralt’s heart stops as he and Yennefer both look to the bed in the room. Jaskier’s eyes are open, clear now, and looking at them.

“You knew it was them?” Yennefer asked, not unkindly. Jaskier nodded slowly, biting his lip, grimacing when his teeth hit the still healing wound there.

“That’s the thing about being a musician, I’ve got a good ear. For music. And for voices.” He sighed, looking into his lap, his fingers pulling at a string on his blanket.

“Though,” he scoffs, humorlessly, pausing to pick at the string on his knee, nail digging into the fabric.

“It’s also hard to forgot a voice that haunts your dreams.” He looks back up at them, eyes colder than Geralt has ever seen them, the dark circles beneath them making them shine.

Yennefer gets up then, and walks slowly to Jaskier’s bedside. Her hand finding his and holding it tightly as she looks deeply into his eyes, his features soften into sheepishness as she gazes at him.

“They’re dead. You killed the last one. Those men, who took everything from you.” Her voice shakes with emotions and Geralt watches a tear fall down Jaskier’s cheek.

“They’re dead. And gone. And you’re still here. With us. You won, Jaskier. You beat them.” She offers him a shaky smile, and when he returns it, with one of his own, she presses forward and hugs him, briefly. Just a tight squeeze and then she’s retreating. Both of them wiping at their faces, Jaskier sniffles as he looks at Geralt. His eyes are sad, and tired, and sunken into dark skin that Geralt longs to touch, but he smiles at Geralt. And Geralt smiles back.

~*~

Jaskier walks up the stairs carefully, holding onto the railing tightly. Geralt walks next to him, hand on his back, ready to catch him if he stumbles.

“You don’t have to do that, I’m not an old woman.” Jaskier gripes, his free hand scratching at his head, his hair lay flat and wavy on his head, the magical color long faded out during his stay in the hospital.

“Oh I’m well aware. An old woman would have been up the stairs and home by now.” Geralt teased, smiling at Jaskier when he stopped on the steps to glare at him.

“Asshole.” He mumbled, starting his slow accent again.

“What was that?” Geralt asked, stepping away from him.

“Nothing.” Jaskier hissed.

“Right. Okay then, see you whenever you get home.” Geralt said loftily, marching up the stairs and away from Jaskier, he got about three steps ahead before Jaskier was calling out to him.

“No! Wait please come back! What I meant to say was, thank you! Oh hero of men and monsters, please don’t leave me behind!” his hand flailing dramatically as he made a scene of bowing before Geralt.

“Alright that’s quite enough.” Geralt snorted, walking back down the stairs to walk next to Jaskier.

They make it up the stairs eventually. Geralt pushes the door open and lets Jaskier walk past him. They turn their heads in unison when they hear the plop from down the hall, and then the scuffling of claws against wood as Roach makes her way quickly too them. Jaskier bends and scoops her up easily as soon as she reaches his feet, holding her close.

“Oh my darling hello! Daddy’s missed you.” he breaths into her neck, face pressed into her fur as her paws curl over his shoulder, her head leaning into him as he leans into her. Geralt closes the door and walks to them, his fingers pressing deep behind her ears as Jaskier sways gently with her in his arms. He moves his head to look at Geralt.

“Did you give her a bath?” he asked, almost a whisper, as if the mention of a bath might bring back some possibly horrible memory for her. Geralt nods and pets her head.

“I didn’t have much of a choice.” He murmurs, matching Jaskier’s hushed tone. Jaskier’s features darken.

“Yeah, I sort of… just shoved her under the bed. One of them tried to kick her so I had to get her out of the way.” He shrugged, careful not to jostle her. Geralt looked at him, and saw his eyes filling with tears, he moved without thinking, pulling them both close. He felt Roach wiggle between them and then settle. Jaskier moved one arm away from her, snaking it up around Geralt’s back, his slender fingers digging deeply into Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt barely felt it, he just held him closer, letting him cry against him for as long as he needed. Jaskier pressed his face into Geralt’s neck, his tears wet and warm against his skin. He moved his hand up Jaskier’s back, cupping the back of his head, his fingers soothing over soft hair.

Jaskier pulls back slowly, readjusting the rabbit in his arms and clearing his throat.

“Sorry, I just. Long few days.” He says with a breathy laugh. Geralt gives him a soft smile.

“You don’t have to apologize.” He says, and he can hear the emotion in his own voice. Jaskier looks at him for a long time, something unknown dancing behind his eyes.

“Thank you Geralt.” His voice was heavy. He let Roach down, wiping his hands on his thighs nervously as she hopped a few paces away from them.

“It’s fine.” He said, his hands shaking at his sides.

“No.” Jaskier shook his head and took a step forward.

“Thank you Geralt. For everything.” He closed the space between them, wrapping his arms around Geralt properly this time, pulling him close and burying his face in his neck once again. Jaskier’s hands fist in Geralt’s shirt as he pulls him closer, he’s pressed against Geralt nearly head to toe now. Geralt suppresses a shiver and tightens his hold as Jaskier shakes in his arms and clings to him. He holds him, silently, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, Jaskier’s scent filling him with warmth. Jaskier’s heart pounds behind his ribs where he’s pressed to Geralt’s chest.

[splendidlyimperfect]

chapter 6 - my hands are guilty

Jaskier's awake and Geralt tries to make amends.

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 Fandom: The Witcher Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier

@buttercuppedwitchers​

-----

Jaskier cries for a long time, face pressed against Geralt’s shoulder, uninjured hand gripping the front of his shirt. Geralt tries his best to be comforting, continuing to hum and run his fingers through Jaskier’s hair. Relief floods through him like an exhale after a deep breath, and he holds Jaskier as close as he possibly can without hurting him.

Eventually Jaskier lets out a shaky sigh and pulls away, wincing as Geralt helps him lie back down again. His eyes are clear now, and a bit of color is coming back to his cheeks.

“You’ve been asleep for a few days,” Geralt says gently. He slips his hand back into Jaskier’s without thinking. “Are you hungry?”

Jaskier doesn’t respond right away. His fingers curl weakly around Geralt’s and he searches Geralt’s face, staring at him like he’s going to disappear.

Continue reading on AO3

“I’m real,” Geralt reassures him again. The guilt that’s been sitting in his chest since he shouted at Jaskier resurfaces full force, and he squeezes Jaskier’s hand.  

Jaskier frowns. He opens his mouth to say something, but only a quiet wheeze comes out.  

“Don’t try to talk,” Geralt says. Panic is starting to weave itself alongside the guilt, and he grinds his teeth in frustration. It’s okay, he thinks. It’s temporary, once the wound heals, he’ll be all right.

Jaskier lets go of Geralt’s hand and slowly brings his fingers up to the bandage on his neck.

“Something bit you,” Geralt says, pulling Jaskier’s hand gently away from the bandage. “I killed it.”

The confusion on Jaskier’s face turns to relief, but there’s still a wariness behind his normally bright eyes. Geralt isn’t sure if it’s directed at him or the situation in general, but if it’s him, he deserves it.

“I’m sorry,” he says before he can change his mind and fuck things up again. “What I said was cruel, and I hurt you.” Jaskier stares at him. “I was angry,” Geralt continues, and he feels a hot flush of shame creeping up the back of his neck that he hasn’t felt in a long, long time. “I was angry, and you were there, and I didn’t mean any of it, and this is my fault.”

The words hang in the air between them and Geralt looks away, staring down at his hand on Jaskier’s wrist. Jaskier’s pulse thrums under Geralt’s fingertips, like a hummingbird, beautiful and bright and easily broken.

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

Jaskier turns his hand, pressing their palms together, and nudges Geralt until he looks up. There are fresh tears on Jaskier’s cheeks and Geralt makes a frustrated sound, heart aching as he reaches out to brush them away with his thumb.

Jaskier tips his head the tiniest bit, pressing his face into Geralt’s palm. Then he tugs on Geralt’s other hand and it takes a second for Geralt to realize that Jaskier tracing letters on the palm of his hand.

F… o… r….

Forgive. Jaskier spells the word with shaky fingers, then squeezes Geralt’s hand as if to emphasize his point.

Geralt swallows around the lump that’s quickly growing in his throat and shakes his head. “You shouldn’t,” he insists. “I don’t deserve it.”

For that, he receives a gentle slap on the back of his hand – a tiny admonishment that’s reflected in the mildly irritated expression on Jaskier’s face. He starts to write more letters on Geralt’s palm – saved me.

“I put you in danger in the first place,” Geralt says. Jaskier huffs, tapping his fingers against Geralt’s palm impatiently.

No, he spells, slowly and carefully. Not fault.

Geralt doesn’t agree, but he also doesn’t want to argue with Jaskier, who already looks exhausted again. Instead he squeezes Jaskier’s hand and murmurs a quiet, “I’m not letting you out of my sight again.”

Jaskier sighs, then frowns, letting go of Geralt’s hand and touching his chin. His fingers brush over stubble and he makes a horrified face. Geralt laughs.

“I told you, you’ve been asleep for a while.”

Jaskier quickly returns his fingertips to Geralt’s palm and spells the word bath.

~ 

When Geralt leaves to bring the wooden tub into the bedroom, Jaskier feels a brief flash of panic. But Geralt returns quickly, and then starts to bring in water by the bucketful. Every time he leaves the room, he gives Jaskier a reassuring look, but Jaskier can see something else etched into the lines of his face.

Guilt.

An angry part of Jaskier thinks, Good. He should feel guilty. There’s hurt and fear behind those thoughts, combined with the ache in his neck and his wrist. Not being able to talk is… well, Jaskier would like to say disconcerting, but terrifying is probably a better description. If he can’t talk, he can’t sing, can’t make music anymore, can’t—

“Bath is ready.” Geralt appears, interrupting Jaskier’s frantic train of thought. His contrite expression melts the anger, and all Jaskier can feel is relief. “Can you stand?”

Geralt holds Jaskier’s elbow, helping him slowly to sit up on the edge of the bed. A wave of dizziness washes over Jaskier and he groans, bringing his good hand to his forehead. He feels too light – empty, not quite real.

“Can I lift you?” Geralt asks. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” Jaskier nods miserably, squeezing his eyes shut and bracing himself for the inevitable pain. It never comes, though – Geralt’s movements are slow and deliberate, and he gently shifts Jaskier until he’s leaning against Geralt’s broad chest with his injured hand tucked over his stomach.

When Geralt lowers him into the water, Jaskier lets out a soft, contented sigh. “Careful,” Geralt says, keeping one hand on Jaskier’s back as he slides down into the water. “You have to sit up. Can’t get the bandages wet.”

Jaskier tries, but the pull of the heat mixed with the woozy feeling from earlier drags him down as if it’s calling him to sleep. “Damnit, Jaskier,” Geralt grumbles. He sighs, keeping one hand under Jaskier’s arm to support him and using the other to unbutton his shirt. “I’m coming in with you, so you don’t drown.”

Jaskier’s not sure if he wants to protest or not, but he doesn’t end up getting much of a say in the matter. Geralt manages to get down to his smalls without letting Jaskier slip into the water, and then he’s stepping in behind Jaskier, slowly sinking down until Jaskier is settled between his legs and leaning back against his chest.

“Better?” The words rumble through Geralt as he wraps a careful arm around Jaskier’s chest. Jaskier manages a tiny nod as he relaxes against Geralt, already exhausted despite having done exactly nothing since waking up. “Good. Try to stay awake if you can.”

Jaskier’s not sure he can promise that. He focuses on the way the tension bleeds out of his legs and back; the slow, steady thump of Geralt’s heartbeat; the lavender scent of the soap sitting next to the tub.

When Geralt’s fingers brush against Jaskier’s temple, he tenses for a second, then sighs and relaxes into the touch. Geralt doesn’t say anything, just grabs a small cup from the side of the tub, filling it with water and using it to wet Jaskier’s hair.

Geralt works in silence – washing and rinsing Jaskier’s hair, then gently combing out the tangles with deft fingers. If Jaskier wasn’t so exhausted, he might have found it sensual, but instead it just feels comforting. Safe.

Jaskier must have fallen asleep at some point, because when he opens his eyes next, he’s back in the bed. The linens smell fresh, and he’s dressed in nothing but his smallclothes and a clean, too-large shirt that obviously belongs to Geralt.

“Here.” Geralt crouches down next to the bed and holds out a cup of something murky and foul-smelling. Jaskier makes a face and Geralt grunts in amusement. “It’s for the pain,” he says. He holds it up to Jaskier’s lips and keeps it steady while Jaskier reluctantly drinks it all down. Whatever is in it floods through his body immediately, leaving everything pleasantly numb.

“Better?”

Jaskier nods, slumping back against the pillows. He reaches out for Geralt’s hand and writes a shaky thank you into his palm. Geralt’s face twists with guilt again and Jaskier flicks his thumb. Stop it.

“You should go back to sleep,” Geralt says gently, moving to stand. “I need to go take care of some things.”

The flood of panic from before resurfaces, even through the sedating effects of the herbs, and Jaskier shakes his head, refusing to let go of Geralt’s fingers.

“What’s wrong?” Geralt moves from his crouch to sit on the edge of the bed, and Jaskier writes one more word on the palm of his hand.

Stay.