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wordsablaze · 4 years

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Where Did Everybody Go?

Mages can often have cruel and confusing intentions but Geralt and Yennefer's intention will always be to find and save their bard... day eight of whumptober.

A/N: today’s pairing: geralt/jaskier/yennefer | prompts used: abandoned / isolation

Being in a relationship with two of the most famous people in the continent comes with risks.

Jaskier was more than aware of that fact when the three of them had settled on being associated with one another but he often forgets to remember what those risks are. As it is, he’s very blatantly reminded of them when he finds himself being drugged.

“No, no no no no …” Jaskier breathes as he wobbles on his feet.

There are hands on his arms before he can try to look for either Geralt or Yennefer and he feels himself being pulled outside. Stupidly, his last coherent thought is hoping nobody steps on his lute.

When he wakes up, he’s tied to something. It only takes him a matter of seconds to determine that it’s a whipping post, except he’s sat with his back to it, his legs stretched out in front of him and his arms looped around the wood, tied with rope.

He sincerely hopes that Geralt and Yennefer are smarter than to assume he'd merely abandoned them in favour of entertaining a stranger. He's not sure if he hopes that because he doesn't want to hurt them or if he wants them to save him from being hurt but he hopes it either way.

“Took you long enough to wake up,” someone comments.

Jaskier groans, his head still throbbing. “If it was my company you wanted, you only had to ask.”

He blinks his eyes open to see a familiar pattern of robes and groans again, this time just for show. “Not another one. How many of you witches have something against Yennefer?”

The mage seems to take offence, slapping him. “I am nothing like her !”

“Clearly,” Jaskier mutters, running his tongue over his teeth just to check she hadn’t broken any of them.

“You live to be theatrical, don’t you?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

Jaskier frowns, wondering if this is a trick question. “I’m a bard. I would think it’s rather natural that I often embellish my performances with theatricality, is it not?”

She smiles. “Of course. But do you know what I think?”

Resisting the urge to look away from her and admit defeat, Jaskier just shakes his head. “I assume you’re about to tell me.”

She kneels in front of him, one hand raking through his hair as the other trails down the side of his face. “I think it’d be fun to see what you do without an audience,” she whispers, her breath ghosting across his neck.

He stiffens. “Well, I don’t particularly see an audience now,” he replies, hating the way his voice sounds inadequate in comparison to the confidence within hers.

There’s a soft breeze behind him but before he can question it, she’s pushing something into his mouth, wrapping it around his head and, despite his struggles, tying a knot at the back so securely that it becomes painful.

He tries to complain - to shout - but only muffled gibberish leaves his lips. Satisfied, she pulls his hair down just enough to irritate his eyes and presses a finger to his mouth. “Are you still a bard if you have no instrument, no voice, and no audience?”

Jaskier glares at her, pulling against the rope wound tightly around his wrists, but it doesn’t matter because she gets up and smirks down at him, offering him a small wave before conjuring a portal. He tries yelling after her but she vanishes without another word, without explaining her motives like people who kidnap him usually do.

Jaskier has never been a fan of solitude. He’s always been someone who craves company and if he can find none he creates his own by talking to himself. To be left without either option is nothing short of cruel.

Still, he doesn’t truly panic until after it gets dark.

Empty nights only remind him of punishments from when he was younger, when his tutors had deemed it right to separate from the rest of his fellow students or when his parents had chosen to isolate him in order to maintain their honourable reputation.

He regrets not taking Geralt’s cloak when it had been offered to him.

Sleep evades him, replaced with shivers and strange noises that usually wouldn’t bother him, that he usually leaves to his lovers to take care of; he’s almost glad there’s nobody around to witness the way he draws his legs close and flinches every time anything interrupts the silence.

The closest thing to warmth he feels is the way his nails dig into his palms, leaving behind throbbing indents whenever he finds himself jumping at any kind of noise. And h e wants the horrible, heavy silence to stop. He wants so badly to go back to the small tavern, he wants to settle under a truly warm blanket with the two people who hold his heart between them, but he can’t .

When the sky opens up and rain pours down over him, it’s joined by his tears.

An awful keening sound escapes him as he finds his crying blocks his ability to draw breath but he can’t stop, he doesn’t know how to calm down when the rain is so loud against his skin and his teeth keep trying to chatter only to pull on the gag and make him wince over and over again. He tries to keep his fingers moving so he doesn’t lose them to the cold but his whole body is numb when night falls once more and he can’t even feel the wood he knows he’s slumped against.

Stupid witch.

Stupid him.

Stupid, stupid, stupid .

He tries humming when he’s jolted awake once more but it only turns his throat hoarse so he scraps that idea, laughing bitterly at the way he finds himself in the same position as his own thoughts: abandoned.

He gives up on trying to free himself when he feels the ropes burn fiercely against his skin, when the warmth of what he knows to be redness trickling over his fingers makes him gasp, because he’s so tired and so cold and, worst of all, so alone.

And then he’s not.

“Gods, Jaskier!”

“Open your eyes, bard!”

“Get that thing out of his mouth, Geralt!”

“His hands , Yen!”

“Jaskier?”

He groans, coughing and indignantly spluttering as his gag is removed and he can finally, finally breathe in a way that doesn’t at all hurt.

He flinches at the feels of nails against his face but when they vanish instead of pressing down, he frowns, peeling his eyes open. He knows he must look awful but he’s never been so relieved to find he's being watched in his life.

“You found me,” he breathes, not even sure if his voice is audible.

Geralt and Yennefer share a sideways look before nodding at him.

“We always will,” Geralt promises softly, his voice practically leaking affection.

“Bards are rather useful,” Yennefer adds, but the relief in her eyes reveals what she really means to say.

“Thank you,” Jaskier manages, his voice quiet but his gratitude as loud as the love he sees in his favourite audience’s eyes.

ik this one’s a bit of a mess but idk, i just kinda ran with it ?? i’m a little tired, don’t mind me :))

thanks for reading! masterlist | witcher blog: @itsjaskier

#whumptober2020 #no.8 #abandoned #isolation #the witcher #fanfic #geraskefer #geraskifer #geralt x jaskier x yennefer #hurt jaskier #protective yennefer #protective geralt #hurt comfort #kidnapping #my writing #whumpskier

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