This was written in live write in @thepassifloradiscord for @jaskierswolf many ages ago, where Geralt comforts a very overwhelmed Jaskier. I want to imagine Jaskier having Adhd, but i am not familiar enough with what it all entails so I won't tag it as such.
Please enjoy this little thing <3
On Ao3
The coast is never quiet. Even on its clear days, there are gulls, gentle waves lapping at sand and rocks, the wind dancing in the reeds. Jaskier's head is not quiet. It never is.
Some days are much like a good day on the coast. Clear views and calm seas. Other times it is loud, roaring, too much happening at the same time.
Those days are... they are alright, mostly. It can be beautiful, terrifying, and when the storm is over he can spend some time to see what was washed up from the inky depths.
Other times it is too much. Too much, too loud, too everything.
Depending on the day, his notebook can prove a great outlet. Sometimes his lute, sometimes his dancing and teasing Geralt can do the trick. Those days, the storm can be a backdrop to his everyday life. Today, however, there is nothing else.
Being alone hits different today. He knows Geralt isn't far away, but the wind is howling fears at him, the ocean battering at his defenses.
Today, he can do little else but hold on for dear life. Geralt didn't ask when he didn't want to come. Didn't question his silence, didn't ask if he should stick around. And why should he? If Jaskier has something to say, all he needs to do is wait, so used to Jaskier speaking his mind at all times. And that sucks sometimes. Especially now.
Jaskier desperately doesn't want to be alone....
The contract is a quick one. Just another nest of drowners, easily dispatched. Jaskier doesn't offer to join him, and that makes sense. It isn't as if he hasn't seen it a billion times before.
Nothing noteworthy about it. There are only so many songs a drowner can inspire, Jaskier once said, choosing instead to flirt with one very handsome baker.
But something didn't sit right with Geralt when he left this time. His bard was too small. Too little. Too contained.
Geralt doesn't like it.
So he quickly cleans up the riverbank. They can't pay for another night at the inn if he doesn't, so he halfheartedly cuts and burns them as fast as he can.
Doesn't need to show off if he doesn't have an audience. (Don't tell Jaskier.)
He retrieves his payment quickly, pays off the innkeeper just as swiftly, buys them a simple meal for the night to bring to the room, and then he is ready.
The afternoon is dragging on to early evening. Geralt is expecting Jaskier to sit bent over the small work table with a candle lit, or maybe by the window with his lute.
But when he opens the door, the room is cloaked in murky shadows. No candles lit, the curtains drawn.
"Jaskier?" Geralt asks softly, taking a careful step inside and closing the door quietly behind him.
When he hears his name Jaskier looks up, but he seems far away. Geralt knows that look. He puts their plates on the table, they can wait. He doesn't light the candles, doesn't open the curtains, just walks up to Jaskier and sits next to him on the bed.
From the bed, Jaskier follows his movements, and the moment their legs touch, his shoulders sag. Like he has been holding himself up for too long.
This is not something they do a lot. Geralt suspects he is only now being allowed to see, to be the anchor when everything is trying so hard to knock him down.
"Sorry." Jaskier whispers, as he leans against Geralt's side, and that absolutely won't do.
"Don't be." He whispers back, and then surprises them both with his decision. He bends down and takes off Jaskier's boots, and then his own. Then he moves, so that he sits at the corner of the bed against the headrest, inviting
Jaskier to lean against him. And his bard eyes him. It takes a moment to see the invitation, to see the harbor that he is offering, and he crawls over the bed to do just that. Jaskier sits himself between Geralt's legs, cradled between his arms, head against his shoulder.
It is more comfortable than Geralt expected, and he leans his chin against Jaskier's forehead.
"It's so loud." Jaskier breathes, his hand coming up to rest on Geralt's arm. Geralt belatedly realizes he didn't remove his armor, but that is alright.
"How can I help?" He asks quietly, letting one hand wander up to the nape of Jaskier's neck, just under his ear. If it would help to fight the entire world, he would.
"I don't know." Jaskier’s breath hitch a little, as if he is fighting a storm inside, as if the wind is leaking out and he doesn't want it to.
"I'm here." He murmurs, letting his thumb gently run back and forth against that soft neck. “Whatever you need, I'm here."
The storm inside doesn't break. It pushes through the bard's defenses, tears like rain, sobs like waves and sighs like wind. They listen to it together, waiting for it to calm.
Geralt holds him. Waits. All he can do is wait.
The arms around him are grounding, soothing him. The thumb on his neck, the lips at his forehead. The even breathing and strong heartbeat. Jaskier craves it, as he is being tossed and turned inside his own head. It helps, and when it doesn't, he shifts, and Geralt follows his movement, lets him get comfortable again.
"I'm here." He whispers sometimes, and Jaskier knows. He is just not sure he himself is sometimes.
Eventually, his mind calms. It is late enough now for the stars to peak out, late enough for the inn to have gone to sleep, for the stew on their plates to be icy cold.
It is quiet.
They have shifted somewhat again, so that Geralt is half laying down and Jaskier more or less resting his head on his chest.
Big fingers are playing with his hair, gently combing through the strands, making them stand at all angles and only to be patted down again.
"Thank you." Jaskier mumbles, but he is not ready to move yet.
"It's alright." Geralt mumbles back, his voice rumbling in his chest beneath Jaskier's ear. Like distant thunder, he thinks, and smiles.
"Did you finish your contract?"
"Yes. Just as boring as predicted."
"I always said drowners are outdated."
"Tell that to them." Geralt jokes, and Jaskier huffs a weak laugh.
"I will." He promises. "But I'm not sure they are going to take it very well."
"It's alright. I'll be there to protect you." Geralt promises, and oh.
Jaskier shifts so that they are looking at each other. Geralt really means that. Those big fingers are still in his hair, on his neck, smoothing down along the shell of his ear. T
hat big, terrifying witcher is smiling down at him, the angle a little off so that he gets a double chin. He smells like sweat and guts and sea and he has a terrible morning temper, but he really means that.
Geralt really will protect him.
"What?" Geralt asks, and Jaskier's pulse spikes, flutters. It is nothing like before, nothing of that relentless roaring sea.
The water is pulling back and Jaskier is finally seeing the treasures.
"I trust you." He whispers, and lays back down on Geralt's chest. He could swear that the heart under his ear is beating a little louder, but that is probably just his imagination.
But Geralt holding him a little closer is not, and Jaskier smiles when he can feel lips at the crown of his head.
"Sleep, friend." Geralt murmurs, and yes. Jaskier will sleep.
Because he knows he really is safe now, it doesn't matter if his mind is raging, or if there are monsters about. As long as Geralt is with him, he knows he will be safe.
