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wastelandcth · 3 years

Text

Better Love - cth

part four: a darker blue

summary: The rain stops.

author’s notes: I've loved writing this story and I hope you have all enjoyed reading it!

warnings: mentions of sexual themes.

masterlist || request || join my taglist!

part one || part two || part three

And I've never loved a darker blue Than the darkness I have known in you, own from you You, whose heart would sing of anarchy You would laugh at meanings, guarantees, so beautifully

Calum was running. His legs carried him through the overgrown forest and over fallen trees. The wind around him bit at his skin, leaving him gasping for air until all he could feel was the burn in his lungs, one that was different than the burn the cigarettes he smoked gave him. Behind him, the footsteps were getting closer and closer, never stumbling like Calum had. In his arms, the beating heart pumped, racing and then slowing in random increments that left Calum's blood running cold. He hadn't remembered the way back to the cottage, the thick forest trapping him in and spitting him out somewhere unknown. The lighthouse had been the only thing high enough above the trees that Calum could see, his legs burning as he ran closer and closer towards it. Somewhere behind the wind, the ocean waves crashed into the coast and shook the world beneath him, making him stumble whenever a particularly large wave hit.

He was alone and running from something he couldn't see.

As Calum ran, the forest disappeared behind him and all that was in front of him was rolling hills of green. The footsteps behind him had stopped and Calum leaned over himself to catch his breath, the cold air burning his throat as he tried to listen for anything or anyone else. Stepping towards the hills, where the ocean roared right below, Calum's eyes watched the lighthouse in awe. The light illuminated the world around him in glimpses, making its round across the landscape to warn ships that would never come of the land. The father Calum got from the edge of the forest, the darker the sky became, leaving him to wait until the spinning light was cast his way in order to take the steps up the rocky hillside.

"Calum?" a voice said behind him, echoing through his body as rocking the Earth much like the dark blue waves beneath him.

Calum turned sharply, his eyes scanning the forest at the bottom of the hill, searching for that voice in the darkness. The whirl of the lighthouse, which got louder and louder with every pass of the light, made Calum dizzy. His head hurt with every pass of the bright light, but he kept searching until his eyes finally landed on her. The wind had whipped her hair across her face, her clothes soaked with mud and leaves that left her shivering at the edge of the forest. Calum wondered if she had been chased her too, how she had managed to outrun something that Calum barely did.

"Maeve?" he called out, his voice lost in the wind and the waves, the sleeves of his sweater ripped to shreds by the trees behind her, "Come on! It's safe in the lighthouse, we have to get there!"

"I-I can't! I have to go back to the cabin!" she sighed, Calum's ears aching at the pain in her voice, "I can't go with you! I have to stay there!"

Calum frowned, watching as Maeve turned back around and ventured deeper into the forest. His body ached, his escape making his legs burn and his joints ache front he cold, but he took another glance at the lighthouse. One last look at the promised safety before he rushed down the hill and headed towards the woods once more, calling out Maeve's name.

Calum woke with a start, his lungs aching for a breath of fresh air as his eyes looked around at the dark room, trying to gain a sense as to where he was. The bed under him was soft, the mattress pillowy and not at all like his hard mattress back home. Next to him, Maeve's soft voice was slow and even Calum's mind too panicked to listen to the words she was whispered. But the softness of her skin against Calum's was what truly made his mind wake up and made his eyes meet hers in the darkness. He was sure he looked like an animal caught in the middle of a dark road, his face illuminated only by the sliver of light coming in through the blinds of the window. But Maeve's voice brought him back down, brought his breathing into a steady rise and fall of his chest until his forehead was leaning against hers.

"Hey, I'm right here," Maeve whispered, one hand cupping the side of his face as the other was placed over his heart, feeling the pounding of it against her palm, "You're okay." Calum's lips found hers in the dark, the soft sigh that left him as their lips connected making him forget for a second all about the lighthouse and the forest.

Maeve was on his lap, their bodies moving in a slow and lazy rhythm before Calum would even remember the dream. He was lost in the way her body curved into him, how her back arched back into the palm that was keeping her steady. The bed was squeaking with every move of their hips, hidden under the groan and soft grunts leaving them both as they melted into one another. With his eyes adjusted to the dark room, Calum could see how Maeve's face twisted in pleasure, her nose scrunched up and her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. Calum was sure his own face looked pretty similar, his grip of Maeve's waist tightening when he felt her clench around him, the waves of pleasure rolling off of her as she got closer and closer. Calum's hand, which had been shaking in fear only a few minutes before moved between their bodies, his thumb running through the hair at her mound before moving lower and finding the bundle of nerves that had made Maeve gasped and whimper the night before.

"Come on, pretty girl," Calum breathed out, his thighs tensing underneath Maeve as he rocked up into her, "Let go for me,"

And Calum had never heard such a pretty noise like the one’s Maeve made.

"Choose life?" Maeve whispered into the darkness, her fingers slotting in between Calum's.

"Mhm," Calum breathed out, his eyes unfocused in the darkness of the walls and the bouncing of their voices, his mind still reeling from the high she'd brought him, "From the movie Trainspotting."

Maeve's shifted, moving onto her side as she rested her head on Calum's chest, her fingers tracing over the words against his skin again and again as she listened to Calum whispered about the movie and how it had changed his outlook on life. She felt the goosebumps under her touch, could feel the blush that ran down from his face to his chest. Her lips had been leaving trails of kisses on his skin, her smile pressing against his skin whenever Calum's voice stuttered from the kisses left on his skin. They'd been lying there for what could have been hours, in Maeve's mind, both enjoying the afterglow of being together in more ways than one.

"I like it," she whispered, placing a soft kiss over the peak of his nipple, "Always question the world, huh?"

"Always." he breathed out, his hands exploring the softness of Maeve's curves.

Maeve had decided that the Scottish air was infused with magic. Every day, she’d try and spend as much time outside as she could. In the beginning, it had been to give Calum some alone time; but after their eventful night and early morning, Maeve has needed the fresh air to clear her mind and stretch out her sore limbs. Her walks in the forest had been a lifesaver in the beginning too, they gave her peace and quiet and a sense of calm that hadn’t been around since the crack of a bridge had forced her to lodge with a stranger. Well, not so much a stranger anymore.

“Or is he?” Maeve thought to herself, a frown on her face as she leaned against a tree to tighten her shoelaces, “All you two do is talk and get to know one another, Maeve, you’re not so naïve to sleep with a stranger!”

In the short time that she knew Calum, she had found a lot of herself in him. She didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing, but that hadn’t mattered last night or this morning when she woke up wrapped in his arms. She knew that Calum had a passion for learning and exploring, much like she did. She knew that Calum had been in a different situation than her, relationship-wise, but that hadn’t meant he was broken. If she was being honest with herself, Calum had been in the exact opposite of her situation. She wondered if he knew that too, if he resented the fact that she could leave someone so easily and not be affected by it or if he sympathized with her. Maeve felt the pain in his voice that night when Calum spoke about his ex-fiancé like she was the stars and the moon before the supernova wiped them out of his universe. She knew that he had loved her and he wanted a life with her, even if he had rushed into things.

She knew Calum just wanted to feel a love that would never be there.

The sun had filtered in through the brightly colored leaves, the kaleidoscope it made on the ground below Maeve leading her back from the depths of the forest to the cabin where the man who had made her see stars just hours ago had been when she left only an hour before. She had wondered for a long period of her life whether she was broken or not. Whether her heart was defective and unable to love since it had seemed like she was never able to love her past partners. But last night with Calum, under the safety of a dark cabin, she had felt her heart race and her mind go numb to anything but the thought of him. Maybe she’d been alone for too long, Calum’s soft touch and grunts in her ear stirred something inside of her, or maybe it meant more.

Maybe Calum had become something more.

"Do you think you'll stay in Scotland longer?" Maeve asked as she walked into the kitchen.

Calum was stood by the small window, watching the sway of the trees, a cup of tea in his hands keeping him warm. He'd been lost in his head again much like he did nowadays, the worry of heading back home to deal with his problems instead of running away pressing against his temple. Maeve’s soft voice had drawn in his attention back into the moment, his body turning towards her, pulled by the softness of her presence and how hours ago that same soft voice had thrown him over the edge. Since he’d watched her walk out of bed, dressed in only the shirt she’d thrown off of him, he hadn’t gotten the image of her out of his head. How the sliver of moonlight had shown him sneak peeks of her body; the shade of red her chest had turned from Calum’s lips, the darkness that the hair on her mound had been. He’d been thinking of her ever since she walked out of the bathroom past him in a dark blue sweater, her boots leading her outside before Calum was once again left in the dark and silence of the cottage.

“My flight leaves in two days,” he said quietly, setting the cup of tea down, “If we’re ever rescued,” he teased.

“I’m sure we will be,” Maeve laughed quietly, “I’ll jump from tree to tree if I have to. There’s no way I’m missing this interview.”

“They’d hire you anyway,” Calum chuckled and shrugged, his eyes meeting hers, “They’d be foolish not to.”

The afternoon sun beamed down on both Maeve and Calum, leaving them warm and energized. The hike, which Calum had forced Maeve out of the cottage for, had taken place on their last day alone. Maeve had brought a blanket, making Calum carry it in his backpack which was also packed with snacks, water, and a camera that Calum had insisted was necessary. They'd walked next to one another, their hands grazing one another every once in a while. Calum's eyes were focused on the trail, knowing that no matter how far they walked, their way back to civilization grew farther and farther away. Eventually, his focus turned from the panic of being alone again and the reminder of his dream to the way Maeve's warm hand wrapped around his. He looked down, where their hands were joined and swinging with every step they took, his heart jumping at how right it all felt. "Is this okay?" Maeve asked quietly, her bottom lip sucked between her teeth.

"Of course," he whispered and nodded, giving her hand a small squeeze as he continued on through their walk.

When the grassy field came into view Calum had unfolded the blanket and set down the backpack, sighing at the relief his back felt when the heavy bag was no longer straining his muscles. The field was surrounded by trees, leaves scattered around them as the sunshine warmed the air. They'd sat in comfortable silence, listening to the songs that the forest would play for them. In the daylight, where the trees, birds, and river could see them, the distance between Maeve and Calum grew until they were nothing more than strangers again. They would drift off into their own minds, stuck in the waves of anxiety and tension that came from sleeping with a stranger. But that afternoon, their last afternoon, things were different. The sunlight brought soft touches and laughter that floated into the leaves above them. Calum's lips were puffy from the soft kisses that Maeve would leave every time she giggled at something he would say.

"I'm going to miss this," Maeve whispered at one point, her eyes focused on passing clouds, "I don't think I've ever felt this carefree before."

"Me too, I didn't think my trip to Scotland would've ever ended up like this," Calum mumbled, his own eyes watching the clouds swim across the sky, "I'm jealous you get to stay here."

"Do you think we'll see each other again?" she asked softly.

"I think the universe trapped us in a cottage together for a reason, no?" Calum asked and chuckled softly, his head lifting up to look over at Maeve.

"It seems that there is no theory for which to explain a moment like this," Maeve whispered and smiled as she watched Calum lean in closer to her, "I'm going to miss you."

Their last morning together, was one they hadn’t even realized would be their last.

In the morning, when the sun hit both Calum and Maeve, the bedroom was quiet. Calum's chest was rising and falling, the soft snores that usually left him hidden by Maeve's shoulder. The wind had no longer whistled against the cottage, the last of the raindrops from the night's storm falling down with a drip, drip, drip. The birds outside were singing, cheering as if they knew the bad weather had passed and the final storm, an encore complete with thunder and lightning, had come and gone. Calum's eyes opened slowly, his hands pulling the warm body next to him closer. His body leaned closer to hers, the warmth between their bare bodies a reminder of the night before where they both held one another as their moans were whispered in between kisses.

Calum had been stroking her skin, lost in the softness of her and the way his heart ached knowing that his life would never be the same as it was in that moment when he heard the familiar accent of Mrs. Bagby. His body tensed, his arms reaching out to pull the curtain back, flooding the room with light and being met with Mrs. Bagby, who was waving from the other end of the broken bridge. Calum's wide eyes and shaky hands had forced him to pull the curtains closed, his body moving on its own as he grabbed his sweatpants and sweater, before rushing out of the cabin. His shoes were covered in mud as he jogged over to the bridge, his breath hitching as he watched the roaring water splash against the rocks below him.

"Mr. Hood! Oh no, this is horrible, are you and the girl okay?!" Mrs. Bagby called out, "When did this happen?!"

"The day I walked out here! We couldn't contact anyone! The power hasn't worked since that storm blew over!" Calum yelled, watching as the older lady’s face turned into confusion.

"Storm? Darling, there hasn't been a storm here since before you arrived," she said with a shake of her head.

Calum frowned, standing at the edge of the broken bridge, his eyes searching the older woman for any hint of a joke. But Calum was met with a worried look that made his blood run cold. He'd clearly remembered the rainstorm, remembered hearing the tumbling of the bridge and how Maeve had gasped from the room next to the kitchen. He remembered walking out that next morning and standing where he was now, trying to figure out how he was meant to spend the night with a stranger who had taken his breath away.

"Calum?" Maeve asked quietly, her voice still laced with sleep as she stood by the door. She was wrapped in a blanket, her hair a curly mess around her head as she looked at Calum confused, "What's going on?"

"I'm going to get help! You two pack your bags!" the older lady called out, the engine of her car rumbling through the forest as she disappeared down the road.

And then they were alone.

Maeve had been quiet, packing clothes and memories of a day she couldn't help but think would be the last remnants of Calum she would have. Calum, who was sat on the couch, had packed his bag and sat in silence wondering whether he was ready to leave the cabin behind. Whether he was ready to leave Maeve and the safety of the dark powerless cabin. The past couple of days had been a whirlwind, they had been tiring and filled with silence. But Calum had loved nothing more than spending time with Maeve and learning about her in those moments when the silence was broken. He'd never met anyone like Maeve before, she was open and willing to tell Calum her story with no hesitation and yet, Calum found himself wanting to know more and more about the woman in the bedroom next to him. But the sound of a car across the river brought him back to reality. Brought him back to the fact that he had to go back to a sunny city where his life had been. A city where every street reminded him of the fact that he was alone and where the only trees he could see were palm trees. He'd be back in a city where his friends tiptoed around him and the way his heart had been broken.

Maeve had been outside, sitting on a stone that had looked more comfortable than Calum assumed actually was, staring up at the sky. The sunlight had illuminated her, leaving her skin a soft golden color that looked breathtaking in the dark sweater she'd slid on after Calum had taken it out of his bag and handed it to her on the car ride back to civilization. The car ride, which had consisted of Mrs. Bagby, or Baird he still didn't quite know, apologizing profusely for all the confusion and for leaving them trapped in the forest. Maeve had been focused on the passing trees and the way the river was no longer a constant noise in her ears. But when the rolling hills of the Highlands came into view, Calum felt the ache in his heart, knowing that their little universe was far away and no longer just theirs. The sweater engulfed Maeve, leaving her protected against the bitter wind that nipped at her skin even through the sunlight. Her bags had been sat at her side, like two piles of rocks ready to float away and leave Calum stranded.

“You’re going to do amazing,” Calum mumbled as he walked over to her, “They’re not even going to know what hit them.”

“Thank you,” Maeve whispered, her head turning up to look up at him, “I hope you have a safe flight back, take lots of pictures of the ocean.”

“And you take lots of pictures of those hills for me?” Calum smiled, the flash of his teeth disappearing as the car that would take him away from the woman, and the country, he’d fallen in love with, “It was nice meeting you, Maeve.”

“It was nice meeting you, Calum,” she nodded, her arms wrapping around his waist as they both hugged, hoping that maybe the world would bring them back together again.

The sky outside of the forest had been a bright blue, the white clouds puffy and soft as they floated towards one another before separating and going their own way. Some clouds would find their way across the world, seeing bright cities and vast oceans. Others would find a patch of weather that filled them with so much water, eventually draining themselves until all they became were a forgotten memory. They would change from the white and puffy clouds above to the dark grey and condensation-filled rain clouds that hid the dark blue sky. It was unfair, Maeve thought to herself, how such an aching moment in her life had been on such a beautiful day. How the man who had unknowingly changed her life in a matter of days had left on such a beautiful and sunny day. Maeve’s eyes focused on the black car, watching as it drove down the same dirt road she’d traveled on a few days before taking a turn and disappearing from view.

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jaskiersvalley · 4 years

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So I'm sure that a lot of people tell you this and that I myself told you not even a few days ago, but you are an amazingly talented person

With so many people being so nice (repeatedly!) I need to watch my ego XD I honestly have no idea what I can do to return the kindness other than offer the only thing I have which is more stories. Today it’s a hurt/comfort kind of day - heads up for blood, infection and injury.

Of course Geralt had warned Jaskier to stay out of the way, to follow Roach and leave the fight to him. But could he? Not in the slightest. Jaskier had stayed close to watch, to draw inspiration for his next epic. Well, first epic. Usually, he was more for happy ditties and memorable drinking songs. But a bard could dream! So he had stayed and watched Geralt battle the...something. It had a name that simple wouldn’t be fit for singing so Jaskier had promptly forgotten it in favour of taking note of the swirling blackness that shifted along barbed tentacles. The dripping fangs and the spider like body heavy with the grey-green sludge that trickled and dripped from the wounds Geralt had inflicted. The stench of it hit Jaskier all at once and he was hard pressed to keep breathing, retching noisily. Which only served to draw the creature’s attention and a tentacle shot out. Jaskier turned but it was too late, barbs sliced through his back, sent a burning agony through him. The pull which tried to reel him in stopped and Jaskier let out a cry of relief, the tentacle fell limp from his back. Turning,he was Geralt had sliced it clean off and was now on the creature’s back, sword raised for the final, killing plunge.

Black eyes looked over to Jaskier. “Alright?”

There was no way Jaskier was going to admit to being foolish and being injured as a result so he gritted his teeth and shot back a tight “peachy”. It seemed to do the trick as Geralt hopped off the monster’s back and set about his post kill ritual. Parcelling up useful parts of the creature, bits to sell and the head to claim the bounty. Then it was a matter of finding Roach and heading back to the tavern. It was slow going, Geralt led the way, holding Roach’s reins while Jaskier tried to keep up. His back was a burning somewhat fierce and he wondered whether he could slip off to see a healer while Geralt was sleeping.

His hopes were dashed when, as soon as they were back, Geralt was telling him to pack up, they were leaving as soon as he picked up the bounty. No amount of wheedling and nagging seemed to change his mind. So, Jaskier did the only thing he could. Put on a dark coloured shirt and a leather overcoat. It was too warm for it probably but it was the only thing he had which wouldn’t soak through with blood. He tucked his shirt into his trousers, keeping he waist looser than usual. That way, any blood would trickle down the shirt and not soak the back of his clothes.

Leaving the town, Jaskier sighed. It hurt to play his lute, each breath pulled at his back. So he opted to stay quiet and tried to keep pace with Geralt who was leading Roach rather than riding her. Probably because she had a fair few things attached to her saddle.

The first night, they settled under the protection of some trees, a little way off the road. Remembering Geralt’s superior sense of smell, Jaskier was sure to stay downwind form him and also liberally applied his scented oils to drown out the smell of his blood. His whole back was sticky, the shirt clung to his skin. It was quite disgusting but Jaskier refused to admit his foolishness. Now, it was more because Geralt would be angry at the fact he didn’t mention it at all, rather than the fact that Jaskier, once again, failed to listen to him.

Sleeping on his back was out of the question, so Jaskier ended up on his front, breath only hitching once as he turned. It took a while to fall asleep but he hoped it would do him some good at least.

It did not. Jaskier woke feeling cold but sweaty. His whole back felt tender and stretched, like someone had taped a balloon of molten metal to it. Breakfast was out of the question as nausea made him squeeze his eyes shut. Still, he got up, applied his scented oils, ignored how his shirt had dried to his skin and pulled with each move. He let Geralt go ahead with Roach and focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

Up front, Geralt was saying something about a hunt, some creature or other. Jaskier honestly couldn’t care less though, his attention eaten up by moving forward, by trying to keep up. His foot caught on a rock and he tumbled, hand shooting out to catch himself. Something on his back gave, warm sludge trickled lower, slowly, too thick to be blood. Geralt didn’t even notice, he might have been talking to Roach for all Jaskier knew. It was certainly more than Geralt usually spoke.

“Geralt,” his voice was strained, “stop.”

Silence engulfed them. Jaskier blinked, patches of dark were dancing in his vision but he could still see the frowning glare Geralt sent his way. A few steps were all Jaskier could manage when a sudden gust of wind from behind picked up. He saw Geralt’s nose twitch and his eyes widen.

Warm hands were on Jaskier, guiding him down slower than he would have met the ground at his own pace. Words rumbled near him but other than knowing it was Geralt’s familiar voice, Jaskier couldn’t focus. His back was hurting, shoulders being forced to roll to slip out of the jacket. Behind him, Geralt sounded angry and Jaskier tried to shy away, not wanting to cause more problems than he already had. However, a hand held him down and something was cutting the back of his shirt open.

Pain was the only thing in Jaskier’s world after that. Pressure on his back increased but the pressing discomfort that radiated from within seemed to ease. The burning of something being poured over his back might have made him scream, Jaskier couldn’t tell if his voice was more than whimpers now. Finally, he slipped from consciousness.

Occasionally he roused. The rhythmic jostle of a horse moving under him while an arm was curled around him to keep him upright. It might have been night or Jaskier could have had his face tucked against a warm chest, he didn’t know.

Another moment where there were people gasping, the world tilted and the sound of feet running while Jaskier floated on a bed of pain.

A bed, it didn’t smell like tavern or Geralt or home. His back was on fire, a thousand tiny prickles which only got worse as he tried to move. Solid hands held him down, there were words somewhere near him but Jaskier couldn’t make out what they were saying. All he knew was that he was in pain and wasn’t being allowed to escape it.

The sheer agony was less the next time he was aware of the world. More bearable but he still didn’t want it. Jaskier was on his front, a few blocks of ice along his sides which made him shiver. Someone brushed a warm hand over his forehead before offering him a few sips of tepid water that tasted sweet yet rotten.

“Geralt?” he called out the next time he woke, a little more coherent.

“He’s sleeping,” a voice called and Jaskier twisted to look. Yennefer sat next to him, looking as beautiful as ever. Even if her eyes betrayed the fatigue she’d never actually show. “Once he knew you were going to pull through, he crashed. It’s been almost a day for him, eight for you.”

Guilt washed over Jaskier at that. Eight days of people fighting to keep him alive. All because he had been stupid and not listened to Geralt.

“Sorry.” It wasn’t often Jaskier apologised but this time, he felt he ought to. “And thank you.”

“It’s always a pleasure doing business with a Witcher,” Yennefer replied haughtily and Jaskier’s stomach tightened. He dreaded to think what Geralt had traded this time. “Relax, he didn’t do anything stupid. Paid me in scented oils - orange and lilacs. Said he couldn’t face their scent after they had been tainted so badly.”

Maybe it was fair that Jaskier’s scented oils were traded for his treatment. And if Geralt couldn’t stomach them now that they reminded him of Jaskier, oozing puss and blood as he fought for his life, well, it was perhaps for the best to be rid of them.

“You said you’d wake me if he came to.” It didn’t sound like Geralt was particularly impressed with the world. More so than usual.

“He’s been awake for three whole minutes. I had to check he was fit for company.”

There was a rumble of response from Geralt as he approached, sat on the edge of Jaskier’s bed and reached to smooth hair from his face. It was a move that felt familiar and Jaskier pressed into it.

“How are you feeling?” It was such an honest question, heartfelt in a way it rarely was from Geralt that Jaskier could only reply honestly.

“Like I’ve spent the last week dying. I certainly smell like it.” That drew a snort from Geralt, not quite filled with humour but close enough. It made Jaskier brave, he wrapped weak fingers around Geralt’s wrist and tugged lightly, adoring how easily the other followed. “This is your signature smell on a good day, you won’t mind a cuddle with someone who smells as bad as you.”

The cuddle was gentle, more like Geralt was cradling the most fragile, precious thing in the world. And to him, he might as well have been. Jaskier let out a sigh and burrowed closer to him, basking in the warmth and comfort.

“I should have listened.” His half-assed apology was lost to the muscles of Geralt’s chest but it didn’t stop him being understood.

“I don’t say things for the fun of it. But if you hide an injury from me again, I will personally kill you.” Geralt replied, his arms tightening just a little. Behind him, Yennefer snorted and stood.

“Well, that’s all on the up. I’ll check in on you in a couple of hours.” She made to leave but turned. “And Jaskier will not be up for any bedroom acrobatics for another couple of days. Don’t even try it.”

While she didn’t get any response to that other than some soft snickering, she wasn’t surprised when she returned, as promised, that Jaskier was curled up into Gerlat’s bare chest, both of them sleeping and looking rather dishevelled yet smug. Idiots, the both of them. Very deserving of each other if they couldn’t listen to simple instructions.

#geraskier #geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #the witcher #random love in the ask box #tldr: jaskier is an idiot who doesn't listen to geralt and gets injures plus almost dies #cw: blood and injuries #hurt/comfort #hurt jaskier

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