#guilty geralt

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 141

Many would assume the flirtatious and caring bard to be the most touchstarved of the duo, but they would be wrong. Very very wrong. It was Geralt that sought out Jaskier's personal space like it was an all-curing ambrosia. Day and night, In town or in the woods, warm weather or the late autumn, Geralt would touch him. Always, always touching him. Don't get him wrong! Jaskier loves being groped all day by his rather attractive witcher friend, but it wasn't always the most convenient trait for his witcher to have.

*Growls* "Geralt, please, it's the waitress! She's taking our order."

Geralt clings to Jaskier's arms, plays with his hair, sniffs at his neck. He guides Jaskier with a hand on the shoulder, or an arm around his waist, or one time, - flustering Jaskier greatly - a hand on his hip. When Geralt is worried for him, he grips his arm, shields him with his body, or roams his hands over Jaskier's body, searching for injuries. Geralt is ever-present in Jaskier's personal space. It's just become a thing with them. Even in times of stress, danger, adrenaline. Geralt is fighting a manticore one day, and Jaskier is - admittedly, quite foolishly - in plain view. It wasn't on purpose! He's not an idiot! STOP JUDGING HIM! The beast goes to charge straight for him, and Geralt grabs his arm and whips him to the side, just in time to save him from the beast who then careens off a cliff. Jaskier pants, and feels the familiar weight of Geralt's hands. Geralt is snarling at him, shouting at him, and Jaskier tries very hard to understand, truly, he does, but it's hard. "Damn it, Jaskier, answer me!" Oh! REALLY should be listening now! "Hm?" "Are you hurt? Are you in pain?" "No, no, you- You saved me." Like always. Jaskier stares at his hero. His witcher. His Geralt. His love. For Jaskier does love Geralt. More than anything. And Jaskier seems to realize this fact more and more every day. With every move Geralt makes, with every word he says, with every little touch and caress. He thinks more on this fact later that night around the campfire. Geralt asks him to pass him a waterskin, but when Jaskier reaches to grab it, he hisses in pain. He rolls up his sleeve and sees a bruise in the shape of Geralt's hand on his arm. Right. From when he was saved. "I'm going to find some dinner." Geralt suddenly announces, standing abruptly and already shuffling away. "Wh- But Geralt, what about the watersk-" "I don't need it." He disappears into the bushes and trees, and Jaskier furrows his brow. He was sure they still had some food in their packs, why was Geralt so insistent on leaving? Curious... Even more curious, is in the following days, Geralt is avoiding him. From an outsiders perspective, nothing would appear wrong. But Geralt hasn't touched him once. No embraces, or odd sudden bouts of smelling Jaskier's hair, or holding his hand... He hasn't even stood closer than a meter to him. Jaskier worries to no end. What must he have done? What's changed? Why won't Geralt touch him? It's not until he's bathing one evening and he glances to the still-healing bruise that it clicks. Geralt feels guilty. The damned bleeding-heart is so convinced he's a monster that even a mark that shows protection shows only it's ugliest form to him. When Jaskier sees the bruise on his arm, he remembers Geralt saving him, he remembers the relief, he remembers feeling alive. Geralt only sees a bruise. Something of hurt. Caused by Geralt. Jaskier is so simultaneously horrified and infuriated that he slams open the door of the joined bathroom and marches into main area of the room they'd rented for the night. Still nude. Still dripping. Geralt, sat on the bed, midway through taking off his boots, was certainly shocked.

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

you’ll never make me leave

I was feeling very whumpy after my nasty day at work, so here’s Jaskier being accidentally poisoned by, nursed back to health by, and confessed to by his idiot Witcher.

title from MCR’s “Thank You for the Venom”

thank you to @thecomfortofoldstorries for helping me out and giving me the good ideas (and also here’s some Julek content for ya)

tw: poisoning, Jaskier whump, angsty-ish but mostly just an excuse for Geralt to be real fuckin’ soft w/the bard

---

First Jaskier’s quiet fireside singing and playing slowed to a stop, his fingers slipping clumsily against Sexy’s well-tuned strings in a worrying kind of way. Geralt watched in silent confusion as Jaskier set his lute in its case and gently closed the lid. The bard’s usually bright blue eyes went glassy and glazed over. Any remaining focus in Jaskier’s gaze disappeared as he stared off at some distant point, pupils wide and unmoving. He sat like that for one minute, then two, totally unblinking. 

The worst sign of trouble came last, when the bard collapsed suddenly forward and began to shake uncontrollably atop his spread bedroll like a fish out of water. Geralt rushed to his side and dropped to his knees in the dirt, pinning Jaskier’s shoulders down so that he could assess the situation with his enhanced abilities. Already, he knew, this was very bad. 

The bard’s skin was white-hot to the touch, even through the material of his thick autumnal chemise; dangerously feverish for a delicate human like Jaskier. The Witcher tamped down his panic and tried to think as rationally as possible. It wouldn’t do Jaskier any good if he lost control now. The veins in the bard’s neck were pulsing with an odd violet tint and Geralt realized with a start that the thing ailing Jaskier was his fault entirely. 

The Witcher had only vaguely remembered the mushrooms from some book in Vesemir’s personal library. He thought they were safe for human consumption and that the poisonous hallucinogenic compounds would only affect Witchers like himself. As he knelt between Jaskier and the fire he had the sudden, gut-wrenching realization that he’d probably gotten it backwards, and that he was the one who would be unaffected by ingesting them. He couldn’t test it now, though, because he needed to tend to his sick companion.  

Jaskier arched up against Geralt’s restraining hands, his slender hips and surprisingly strong shoulders twisting in some kind of panicked attempt to relieve the pain. His spine bowed and buckled in oddly timed waves as the toxins from the fungus raced through his bloodstream and pricked at his nervous system. Guilt and terror twisted in Geralt’s stomach like twin knives and he leaned down to press an apologetic kiss to the bard’s sweat-soaked brow. 

The contact was brief and burning and the Witcher’s slow-beating heart caught suddenly in his throat. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier cried out, arms reaching and eyes searching blindly as if the Witcher wasn’t leaning over him. Wasn’t holding him tightly to keep him from getting hurt in his own frenzy. The bard released a low, shuddering moan followed by a harsh sob, begging: “Don’t leave me behind, please! I swear, Geralt, I can keep up! I can! I promise! Please!”

The Witcher had never felt such acute emotions so intensely before. The love he felt for Jaskier ached and stabbed and rippled out through him. The bard was afraid that Geralt wanted to leave him behind, which meant that somehow, in some way, the Witcher had failed to make his companion feel wanted or welcome. The truth was, the Path didn’t feel right when Jaskier was away.

“Julek,” the Witcher tried to sound as soothing as possible with his gravel-rough voice. He flinched when he heard himself and lowered his tone to a whisper, “Jaskier, I’m here. I’m not leaving you. I’ll take care of you; I’m so sorry.”

“Please,” the bard sobbed, wriggling violently in an effort to escape, “Please, no! Ger-a-a-alt! Come back!”

The Witcher’s heart cracked wide open in his chest when he heard the anguish in Jaskier’s voice. 

“Julek,” he breathed. He brushed the bard’s damp fringe away from his forehead and placed the back of one cool hand against heated skin. “I will keep you safe until you’re well again, sweet Julek, and then I’ll prove that I’m still worth all the time and effort and love you pour into me.”

“Hnn,” came Jaskier’s high whine in lieu of reply. “Don’t go.”

“I won’t,” Geralt asserted. “I swear I won’t.”

He wouldn’t. He would die here if he had to, curled around the bard, keeping him warm on the side that the fire didn’t reach in an effort to sweat the poison out faster. He would die protecting and caring for the one person who’d always cared for and protected him. In ways Geralt was only just beginning to properly fathom. 

Eventually, after much tossing and turning, Jaskier fell into a fitful but deep sleep.

---

Geralt stayed at his side all through the night, rotating which parts of him were facing the warmth of the fire and regulating his body temperature to the best of his ability. Jaskier released sad moans and pained whimpers every once and awhile, but what frightened the Witcher most were the snippets of sleep-talk,

“I swear I can be good,” he would whisper, sounding panicked. “I promise I’ll stay far away. I won’t touch you or Roach. I won’t. I just...”

Geralt’s heart clenched in his chest. Eventually he replied, trying to ease the bard from whatever hallucinogen-induced nightmare was plaguing him. “You just what, Julek?”

“I just want to be able to be near you.”

“Why?”

A flush lit up Jaskier’s pale cheeks, staining them violet with his tainted blood. “I- don’t make me say it, Geralt. You’ll run off again and I’ll be all alone. Always alone.”

“Say it, Jaskier. You’ll never make me leave.”

A sigh. Two blue eyes opened and met Geralt’s with a semblance of awareness and understanding: “I love you, Geralt.”

The Witcher leaned forward and pressed a soft, urgent kiss to Jaskier’s overheated forehead. “I love you, too, Julek. Now rest for me. Get better.”

The struggling stopped, then, and Jaskier sank into a deep and peaceful slumber.

---

“I had a horrible dream,” Jaskier rasped, waking Geralt from his slumber. “That you’d left me at some healer’s back down the road and continued on with out me. I don’t know why I would have such a horrible dream, but I’m glad it’s over and that I’m awake.”

“I love you,” Geralt declared. The bard rolled over in his arms and stared up, shocked. 

“Come again, oh great and broody Witcher of my heart?”

“I love you, Julek.”

“Oh, Geralt!” A pair of warm lips were suddenly pressed against the Witcher’s. Geralt pulled back and glanced away, biting his lip anxiously. Jaskier’s brows furrowed cutely. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s my fault you got so sick in the first place and had that horrible dream,” Geralt explained. “I’m so sorry for hurting you like that. I should have paid better attention.”

“You’re forgiven,” Jaskier replied. He burrowed closer to Geralt’s chest and pressed a kiss to his Witcher’s clavicle. “But only if you hold me a little longer. I like this.”

“Hmm,” Geralt rumbled, finally content. “Me too.”

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

prompt: I am still not over how cute your fic about grabby hands Jaskier was <3 can you give me: Jaskier having a nightmare, Geralt wakes him and has to comfort and hold him? telling him everything will be okay? <3

Ellie... I’m sorry. This got... not cuddly...? I had a place I wanted to go then I got dragged down this rabbit hole 😖 I can try again! when the dumbass in my head is less moody?

Warnings: nightmares, guilt. so much guilt why am I like this

__________

Geralt woke with a start to Jaskeir’s fists clutching his shirt and soft whimpers coming from the still sleeping bard. A wave of guilt washed over him as he shifted onto his side, pulling Jaskier in close and placing a kiss on his forehead. He was sure he knew this nightmare, it was his fault, as were most of the bard’s nightmares. 

“Jaskier, wake up,” he whispered, brushing his soft chocolate hair out of his face as his heart threatened to break from the way Jaskier’s face twitched in fear, “Darling. Wake up, it’s just me.”

A soft gasp escaped his lips as Jaskier’s eyes flashed open, not registering reality for a moment before he was flooded with relief. He buried his face in Geralt’s neck, drawing deep, shaking breaths to try to calm himself.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’m right here.” Geralt hummed, feeling sick to his stomach as he lied. He couldn’t tell his lover anything was okay any more than a child could wield his swords, not to mention his failings were the reason the bard was trembling in his arms. But Geralt wrapped him up tight nonetheless, situating them so Jaskier was laying atop his chest, hands tucked around his ribs and underneath this shoulder blades. Geralt’s hands traveled up and down the backs of his arms and his shoulders in soothing strokes as he whispered more and more comforting lies to his bard. 

“It was-” Geralt was about to say ‘just a dream’ but that was too bold a lie, and he was not a good enough actor. 

Jaskier shuddered, clinging to him just a little more forcefully, “You left. In my dream... “ he sniffed and turned his head to rest the other cheek on Geralt’s chest, “... you left and I tried to stop you but- you- kept walking.” He tried to keep his voice even but his body insisted on squeaking inhales before tears finally fell from his eyes.

“I will never leave you.” Geralt insisted, pulling him up so they were nose to nose, “Never.”

Jaskier tilted his head to rest his forehead on Geralt’s with his eyes closed, “Say it again,” he breathed.

Geralt closed his own eyes in shame, wishing he could erase the way he’d panicked and ran in the beginning, “Jullek, I will never, as long as I live, leave your side. Nothing on the continent could take me from you... You are the only good thing in my life and... I owe you everything. I am never leaving you.”

Geralt felt tears splash over his eyelids and his heart cleaved in two.

Jaskier’s breath was ragged and his voice sounded raw from holding back sobs when he finally spoke, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”