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missorgana · 4 years

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jaskier/geralt + 44 👀 (only if you find the motivation for it obv, ily) 💛

ahhh sab ily!! ❤❤ this prompt is so perfect for them omg, i love. i’m honestly not really sure where this fits into canon fff, let’s just say they stay the night at one of those places where jaskier performs i guess... and i’m solely familiar with the show, never read the books or played the games, just fyi! warning for mild swearing and brief mentions of blood and death! really hope you like this baaabe 💕

send me a pairing + a number and i’ll write you a short fic!

44. “If you die, I’m gonna kill you.”

Stupid Geralt.

Certainly, the world swoons before the tales Jaskier have so geniously, if he may say so himself, crafted about the brute and all his doings.

The ladies all think he’s smart and strong, well, he’s quite strong, but really, he’s just a giant tosser.

All that brain and brooding is all well and good until Jaskier’s stuck with the task of washing blood out of his clothes, blood which he doesn’t even know who comes from, he might get stuck with some terrible infection and that’ll fall on the witcher’s shoulders, rest assured of that.

Tonight is one of many aforementioned nights, and Geralt says little, always a man of few words.

The bard runs him a bath, and his sword needs a good cleaning too, bloody hell, he really should be getting paid for this, except Geralt loves suggesting he then should leave.

Which, of course, he could, but who would do all this, then? You think the witcher can sort out all of this himself? Pft.

He’d be a lost cause without him, Jaskier swears by that.

The bard diverts his eyes as Geralt gets dressed, which is out of politeness, of course. He definitely doesn’t notice the way he’s built, and his deep but soft voice and his sharp eyes for, um, other reasons.

Or fuck it, what if he’s thought about it?

It’s not like witchers can read minds, right?

Jaskier’s pretty sure the witcher would be uncomfortable with these thoughts, if he ever voiced them, yes, he knows he doesn’t have a chance, probably never will, sadly.

Geralt never talks about his feelings, god forbid, but whatever this… thing with Yennefer is confirmed to Jaskier that he’s barking up the wrong tree.

He’ll still help him, obviously, he supposes having him as a friend is alright, but it’s really quite unfair, isn’t it? Guess Jaskier never will learn.

“You’re quiet.”

The slightly grumbled words take the bard out of his trance of staring at the shut door, and blinks up at Geralt, now clothed, but still without a shirt, curse the heavens.

“You’d like to celebrate?”

He’s used to the glare he receives, typical antics of the brooding man, who tells him, “Jaskier. You’re not usually like this.”

And Jaskier waves him off with a shrug. He does like when Geralt says his name, or anything at all, maybe when he so rarely speaks, the words he does say carry a sense of importance.

The witcher huffs, still glaring, but doesn’t get closer.

“Something’s bothering you.” he tells him, turns around in a couple times, as if in a haze, “Where’s my sword, Jaskier?”

“Left it with Roach, Geralt, also, why in the world would you need it right now?”

Geralt sighs, in clear disappointment, but sits down, well that was an easy defeat, you see, this is why he’ll never get far without Jaskier. You would expect simple tasks like this to be easily handled by a man of his caliber, but alas.

“You think you can manage Roach for the next few days.” This surprises Jaskier, firstly because this isn’t spoken as a question, he thinks the witcher’s a little too comfortable bossing him around.

Secondly, he’s never been allowed near this horse before.

“Another job, I suppose?” he asks, trying to come off like he doesn’t care, Geralt and the violent things he does for payment, but Jaskier profits off it, too, so he figures he can’t complain all that much.

“I’m picking up something for Yennefer.”

You son of a bitch.

Now the bard has to pretend extra hard he doesn’t care, Geralt ties his hair back, Christ. Jaskier shouldn’t feel offended, but he does. Stupid witchers, stupid sorcerers.

“Is it dangerous?”

“Everything I do is dangerous, Jaskier.” he replies, with an extra grunt for good measure.

And the bard laughs, emphasizing the sarcasm, because well, he does care, oh God, save him from this travesty, let him use his feelings more wisely. “Wouldn’t surprise me if you ended up dead, soon.”

With that, he simply turns his back on him, and hopes this causes confusion, serves him well enough.

“What are you doing-”

“If you die, I’m gonna kill you.”

This is met with nothing but wind rushing in his ears, this room certainly isn’t well isolated, or is it just the blood in his face? Good thing he’s turned away, not showing his possible mushyness to Geralt.

Jaskier does hear movement, what seems like a sigh, rustling of fabric.

“You shouldn’t worry about me. Come on.”

And when the bard turns around again, Geralt’s laying on the bed, inviting him to lay down. Well, that’s possibly the thing he expected the least to happen.

He’s just about to come up with a snarky reply, but is interrupted, “Don’t argue.”

Witchers are impossible, oh dear, but it’s not like he’ll say no to… whatever’s happening, and he obliges the wish.

Once settled, out of every possible thing in the universe to happen, Geralt spoons him.

Lord, is this a dream?

Maybe Jaskier immediately relaxes into the embrace, but he still finds it weird, mind you, he’s never been touchy. They’ve slept in the same bed before, much to his own agony, but there’s certainly many brand new things happening tonight.

“Have you gone soft, Geralt?”

“Don’t talk.”

“What about Yennefer?”

“What about her?”

Jaskier couldn’t help the question, but more so doesn’t know the answer, and avoids it, “I figured you didn’t care about me.”

“Go to sleep, Jaskier.” the witcher says, and the request settles as the closing statement. This calm, and this touch, it’s nice, Jaskier has to admit that.

Perhaps he isn’t that stupid. For now.

And the bard’s sure Geralt will deny this, but he swears he, in the darkness before this nonsense fades away for the night, hears a low grumble saying, “I care.”

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