See Me Differently, I Beg You(Alpha!Geralt x Omega!Jaskier)

Blame the Thief

Jaskier didn't envision spending the early hours of the morning hunched over a rancid barrel, heaving his guts out. Yet again. For the third day in a row. He must be ill. Something he ate, likely. Some bad meat. That'd explain it all well enough.

And it wasn't simply the morning that churned his stomach. It was the smells.

Used to be he could take a stroll through the market square without a care. Now he couldn't even pass by the shoemaker without upsetting his stomach. Which was a damned travesty. As the shop that sold spare lute strings was sat right beside it.

It wasn't until he caught wind of a conversation that he began to suspect this wasn't an illness. Head still hanging over the barrel, he heard the pair's exchange. "Oh poor thing." Yes, yes. Poor Jaskier. "I couldn't stand the scent of shoe polish when I was carrying either." And his expression must have turned something sour, because her friend immediately hushed her.

His hands gripped the lip of the barrel. Blood frozen just as much as he. Until it began to rush. To his cheeks. To his ears. To the nape of his neck. Painting him red.

He stood up straight, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth. It was only gossip. Nothing more. Jaskier only ate something rotten. That was all. What did those women know? He was only feeling ill is all. This would come to pass. But as he hurried through the square, errands long forgotten, That night came to mind. And it wouldn't leave him.

That night. When he and Geralt-

The thought of the Witcher left a taste more bitter than his own bile. After that damn quest with the dragon-after Geralt snapped at him-things hadn't been the same. Geralt hadn't been around the inn for weeks. And Jaskier hadn't even bothered talking to him the last he was. He ignored him completely, turning up his nose and away from the Witcher. If he wasn't there to apologize he didn't want to hear it. Even went as far as to parody his own song. Toss a Coin to Your Bitcher, O' Fucker O' Plenty. That got a good kick out of the drunkards.

Geralt made it plenty clear he didn't want anything to do with him anyhow.

What did Jaskier think was going to happen when he asked Geralt to help him out when his next heat arrived? Did he think nothing was going to come out of Geralt and his knot? He just had to know what it was like, spending a night with the Witcher. hadn't he? He wisdh to spend at least one night with his-well, his former friend he supposed. Greatest muse. With whom he had been so love struck. With whom he still was. Unfortunately.

It was all that damned cut purse's fault.

--
It was only supposed to be a brief supply run. They were headed a little ways north and the wind was already beginning to bite. They needed the supplies. Jaskier kept a list and he planned to keep to it. He prided himself on being at least a smidge useful, though he was certain Geralt would have handled it all well enough on his own. The point he was making was that he didn't have to. Not as long as Jaskier was around.

"We still need to grab some food for the road." he mused, scratching off another item from his list. "Preferably something not as hard as a rock, thank you. So best leave that to me. Geralt." his eyes flicked up just enough to give the man in question a brief glare. Geralt only gave him a glance in return, busy packing Roach's saddlebags.

Jaskier should get himself a horse. Frankly he was tired of walking everywhere. On the plus side his legs have never looked better. Not that anyone who mattered knew. And the only one who mattered would prefer to shove his head up some foul mage's skirt-Jaskier refused to think about her. That woman. He wanted to be in a good mood today. Though he couldn't say the same about his traveling companion.