Radovid notices the burn scar on Jaskier's index finger.
Spoilers for Season 3 below the cut.
♪ The first time Radovid notices Jaskier's scars, the man is seated across from him, fidgeting and trembling, ever so slightly. He didn't know a man used to perform in front of audiences, and known for his adventures with the White Wolf could appear so rattled. But he is -he seems shaken to his core, and his eyes lose their spark as he looks up, asking for the man he calls Rience to be eliminated.
♪ There is more than fear in Jaskier's eyes. There is something primal, an instinct kicking and screaming against a growing darkness Radovid cannot see, only imagine. He wonders what sort of magic this Rience is capable of wielding that would rattle a man's very bones this way. And when he looks down at Jaskier's long fingers, he sees the scar. The pad of his index finger is no longer smooth, instead is seems rough, and Jaskier traces the edges of it over and over again as his voice shake. There is something deeply nauseating to hear the voice of a singer shake.
♪ The scar isn't as rough against the skin of his cheek when Jaskier kisses him, and anyway Radovid is too surprised to pay attention to it. Jaskier's mouth is confident and his kiss is more generous than he would have expected from a lover of such reputation. For a man who seemingly has seen many beds and touched many bodies, each of his kisses is done with the tender carefulness of first embraces, and Radovid trembles under his care. There is passion in his kiss as well, and his chest swells with a feeling of freedom he has seldom experienced.
♪ Radovid trembles ever more violently as Jaskier gazes at him, his eyes glassy with pleasure as he rocks atop him, and traces the shape of his bottom lip with his thumb. Radovid kisses his finger and Jaskier presses a bit harder, prying his mouth open. His lips part on a breathless moan that makes Jaskier's spine shiver under Radovid's hand, and the gentle shiver morphs into a shudder when his tongue comes to taste the skin of his finger.
♪ A strange look cross Jaskier's features -they are so enigmatic in the moonlight, as he seems more vulnerable and more closed-off at the same time. There is a calm to him there wasn't before, a quiet contemplation that makes Radovid feel like he is being studied, consumed, and even absorbed through the pores of Jaskier's skin.
♪ The undecipherable look turns to pure lust and something akin to grief as Jaskier's index finger comes to trace the fullness of Radovid's bottom lip. The young prince doesn't hesitate, and his tongue comes out to trace the scar. It is rough, and it feels like Jaskier has been picking at the new skin, but the unpleasantness of it worth the look of absolute ecstasy on Jaskier's face.
♪ Jaskier's hips pick up the pace, setting a brutal rhythm Radovid can scarcely keep up with, his mouth opening on a silent scream at the prince sucks the tip of his finger into his mouth, gently, carefully, feeling the pad of it drag against his bottom teeth. Jaskier hisses through a grin that makes him look inebriated, and Radovid falls in love with this wild look on the bard's face. Gone are the pretenses, the artifices -all that remains is passion, and a connection he never thought he would ever find with anyone.
♪ Jaskier breathes his name like a prayer, his thumb pressing against his chin as he thrusts his finger in and out slowly, and Radovid feels like his lover is reclaiming something by this simple act, and no matter how erotic it is, there is a depth to it the young prince hadn't suspected.
♪ At that moment, the haunted look in Jaskier's eyes recedes, fades into the blue waters of his eyes. Behind his pupils, the water is so clear and pure, the abyss doesn't seem as daunting.
—
This little piece came to me after seeing this post by @toss-a-coin-to-your-stan-account and I knew I had to write something. It has not been proofread, therefore all mistakes are mine ♡
I hope you all liked it.
Please reblog if you liked it. Reblogging is how we keep stories alive on this platform.
Request from anon: Reader is a princess who is betrothed to another noble who is probably twice older than her and during her engagement party Jaskier is playing and starts flirting with her? They flirt with each other all night then she asks Jaskier to take her virginity, because she would rather give it to someone she likes and trusts. Jaskier does and maybe at the end of the night he convinces her run away with him
Word count: 3k
Warnings: SMUT, 18+, oral (f!receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (please be safe peeps!)
A/N: I had so much fun with this one! It’s the longest fic I’ve written in a while and I’m still not 100% sure about my smut, but I had fun with this regardless. I just love Jaskier!! Hope you enjoy anon!
Being a nobleman’s daughter meant you had no choice over your own life. You couldn’t pick how to style your hair, what dresses you wore, how you decorated your room, who you spoke to, anything.
And you certainly couldn’t decide who you would be married to.
Your father claimed he was being generous in the lead-up to your marriage, as he was allowing you to choose the entertainment for the engagement party. He gave you a list of performers from across the Continent and you were allowed to make the final decision. You rolled your eyes as he rambled on about how generous he was being by letting you choose.
You weren’t at all bothered about what music would be playing in the background during the party that signified the signing over of your life to another man, but when your father gave you the scroll with the list of performers, the first name stuck out to you.
Jaskier.
You had heard of Jaskier the Bard before. He had quite a reputation for his songs about a Witcher he travelled alongside once. You had also heard he was easy on the eyes too, which couldn’t hurt. You were going to spend the rest of your life married to a man at least twice your age who looked much closer to death than anything else. So watching the bard perform for one night couldn’t hurt, right?
You didn’t need to read any other names to know who you were picking.
The day of the engagement party rolls around and you’re trying your best to look somewhat happy at the head table, but you just want it over with. Only once Jaskier appears do you feel any happiness at the situation. He makes his introduction to the head table, and thanks you all kindly for allowing him to perform for you before he prepares.
Jaskier absolutely lights up the room while he performs. He plays some songs that are well known among the crowd and gets big reactions, but also plays some new songs and the whole room hangs onto his every word. You’re so engrossed in his performance, you don’t recoil from your soon-to-be husband’s foul hand reaching out for yours on top of the table. Only once Jaskier finishes singing do you realise the weight upon your hand and pry it from his grip, giving a round of applause for the bard as he bows and thanks the crowd.
After his performance your father’s court musicians start to play some background music for the party, and you’re finally allowed to leave your table and mingle with the people in the hall. You know nobody in the room except your own father, and your soon-to-be husband, whom you’ve only ever met once previous to tonight’s party. So you approach Jaskier as he slings his lute over his back and approaches the drinks table.
“You live up to your reputation, Jaskier. Quite a triumphant performance.” You smile as you grab your own drink from the table beside him.
“My lady,” He bows to you immediately, “I’m glad I could play a part in the celebration.”
“Yes, and what a celebration it is.” You widen your eyes mockingly and grumble into your goblet.
“Is the party not to your liking?“
“Nothing is to my liking except your performance. You performing here was the only decision I was allowed to make in this whole affair.” You gesture to the hall filled with strangers.
“I must say I’m honoured that you chose me.” You notice he’s blushing slightly and you can’t help but smile at the boyish look it gives him. You’re drawn to his bright blue eyes which look at you with sincerity
“I’ve heard of your tales of wonderful adventures with Geralt of Rivia. I figured I’d like to hear them in person from you, as I doubt I’ll be adventuring anytime after this marriage.”
“How so?” Jaskier asks, seemingly genuinely interested in you.
“I’m being married off to Lord Estendra purely for the unity it will create between him and my father. And I assume the Lord will want a son to carry on his legacy, and he’ll need a pure host.” You scoff.
“The marriage is arranged?” Jaskier speaks solemnly.
“Indeed.”
“I’m truly sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for. If anything, you’ve provided me with my last little morsel of joy before I’m confined to serve my Lord until his dying breath. So thank you.” You smile despite everything.
“Would you care to dance with me, my lady? Push away the inevitable for just a little longer and enjoy the now?” Jaskier abruptly puts his drink down on the table and holds a hand out to you.
“It would be my honour.” You place your own drink down and accept his hand.
He leads you to the middle of the hall, where there are already some people dancing. A jovial song is playing and you skip and spin around the hall, and you imagine it’s what dancing around a tavern would feel like with all the village drunks. You can’t help but laugh as you and Jaskier move around the dancefloor.
When a slower tune plays, Jaskier sways you around effortlessly. You make mindless conversation as you sway and you study his eyes, trying to sear them into your memory so you can always remember them when you’re looking into the cold eyes of your husband.
“It’s a shame we met under these circumstances.” he laments earnestly.
“Perhaps you can write a song about me and I’ll hear it one day.” You smile up at him as you sway.
“What would you have me call it?
“How about ‘The Nobleman’s Daughter’? Since your Fishmonger tune gathers quite a crowd.” You asked with a sly smile.
“Well, I think that’s due to the rather indelicate subject of the song.” He responds with his own smirk and a wink for good measure.
“I think I’d quite like to see the looks on my father and husband’s faces at hearing a song like that and finding it is about their ‘pure and fair’ lady.” You press yourself against his body closer, not caring if anybody thinks it’s unseemly.
“What exactly are you implying?” Jaskier perks an eyebrow up, intrigued by your comment, but also trying to keep his cool.
You lean in close and speak lowly into his ear, “That you would whisk me away to one of the many rooms in this forsaken palace and take me to bed. Ruin me for the old man I’ll be married off to by the end of the week. I don’t want him to be the one to take my virginity from me.”
“I would be more than happy to oblige, believe me, but are you sure? You barely know me.” He’s surprised but intrigued by your forwardness.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. And besides, even after just this evening I already know more about you than the man I’m to marry.”
You sidle off the the edge of the hall, hand in hand, and after taking a glance around the room you sneak out of the large doors. Nobody is remotely interested in you, all anyone cares about is congratulating Lord Estendra on his conquest to find a young and chaste wife.
You take a quick look down each end of the long corridor and upon seeing nobody, you shuffle quickly along it to find the passageway to your room.
You reach your door, and push Jaskier in before you, taking one more quick look around the passage before following him and bolting the door shut behind you.
Jaskier stands in the middle of your room awkwardly, not sporting the usual nonchalance he would have in a situation such as this. He’s taken women away from parties and into their beds more times than he can count on his fingers, but this is different.
He’s known you for such a fleeting moment, but his mind is already filled with melodies and lyrics about your beauty and grace, and your wonderful personality and humour.
And your sadness.
His mind is filled with sadness at the thought of what your life will soon become. A loveless marriage you’ve been forced into with an old man who you don’t know. He wishes he could take you away from it all, but knows he can’t. But what he can do is give you this one night of pleasure to remember him by.
And just like that, he’s snapped out of his stupor. He looks over at you standing equally as awkward by your door and holds a hand out to you. You tentatively step towards him and place your hand in his. He tugs on your hand until you fall into him. You place your hands on his chest to steady yourself and he wraps an arm around you while reaching his other hand up to cup your cheek.
He dips his head down until his lips are ghosting your own and he stays there, letting you be the one to close the gap. You lean in and melt into him. Jaskier’s lips are soft as they move carefully against yours.
After a few seconds he pulls away and smirks as you lean into him to chase the kiss. He plants a kiss on the top of your nose and heat rises in your cheeks as he moves around you and starts to unlace your dress.
He moves your hair out of the way and plants a kiss at the nape of your neck as he makes swift work of your dress, and the chemise under it. Once they’re pooled on the floor beneath you, he moves in front of you again, looking at you in the thin underwear you’re now left in. You move your arms to cover your chest and look down, blushing.
“What’s wrong, love? Do you want to stop?”
“No, it’s just… sorry, I’ve just never been this exposed before.”
“My love, don’t be sorry. Here-“ Jaskier wastes no time stripping down until he’s completely naked and standing unashamedly in front of you, making you laugh at his brazenness. “Now if anyone should be embarrassed, it’s me.” He grins cheekily at the smile that has worked its way onto your face.
“You have nothing to be embarrassed about Jaskier, you’re beautiful.” You can’t help but reach out and feel his broad shoulders, and you find yourself squeezing your thighs together at the groan that leaves his throat when you run your fingers down his chest, raking your nails lightly over the hair littered over his skin. You blush when you notice his clear arousal at the sight of you too.
Before you know it, he’s capturing your lips again and removing the final pieces of fabric separating the two of you. All you can do is grab handfuls of his hair as he moves the two of you over to your bed. He lifts you up and places you softly onto the sheets. You stare up into those once oceanic eyes which now seem dark as night with lust, but still carry a lingering sweetness despite it.
“Are you still sure you want this? Want me?”
“Yes, Jaskier. I want you.”
He presses open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck, and all you can do is lay there while he worships your body and litters your skin with kisses further and further down until he settles between your legs.
You lift your head and are met with the sight of those beautiful eyes staring back up at you and a mischievous grin on his lips. You gasp as he licks a broad stripe up your core. Instinctively, you grab a fistful of his hair as his lips wrap around your clit and he sucks greedily at you, taking all the pleasure you’ll give him. His tongue drops down to your entrance and probes lightly while a finger presses lightly on your clit, revelling in the noises escaping you. He spends his time working you up before pushing a finger into you.
Your strangled groan catches you off-guard and you heard Jaskier’s muffled laugh at your reaction. You feel him groan into you too, and you wonder if he is enjoying himself as much as you are. He pushes another finger into you and you relish in the feeling of the stretch.
“I suppose your fingers are good for much more than just strumming on your lute, dear bard.” You attempt at wit but just as quickly devolve back into moans and whimpers as his fingers push further into you and curl, brushing against a wonderful spot within you.
“I’ll wager I can make you sing just as pretty as my lute.” He lifts his head and smirks.
You didn’t think he could look anymore attractive than he already was, but the look on his face now drew the very breath from your lungs. His hair was all over the place from where your hand was still buried in it. His eyes were hooded with lust and his lips and chin were glistening with your arousal. He threw you a wink before diving back in, and now you could feel the pressure building as he worked his fingers and tongue quicker until you felt your resolve snap and Jaskier laps up everything you give him while you whine.
You’re panting as he crawls his way back up your body, planting kisses as he goes until he’s hovering above you once more. He captures your lips again and slips his tongue into your mouth and you moan at the obscenity of tasting yourself upon his lips.
“That was- that was amazing…” you breathe out shakily when he pulls away.
“Do you want to go further, because we can stop there if you want?” He carefully moves a bit of hair out of your face and looks lovingly down at you. You feel the weight of him on your stomach and find it sweet that he’d happily ignore his own need in favour of your comfort.
“I want you, Jaskier. Please.” You whimper and he’s kissing you to smother the noise as he notches himself at your entrance and pushes in slowly.
You grab onto his arm tightly as he pushes in the first time. He goes so slowly and stops once he’s flush against you, waiting for you to adjust and give him the go ahead.
He just about exploded from the feeling of being inside you. Yes, he’d fucked plenty of women in his time, but you were different. You were so soft and warm and inviting, and he could feel his heart hammering in his chest at the mere thought of how perfect you were.
“Move, Jas, please.” The little nickname spurred him on and he rolled himself in and out of you over and over until you were both sweating and panting. You wrapped a leg around his hips and it provided such a lovely angle when he continued to thrust into you.
“You’re so perfect, so perfect for me.” He rambled as he pressed his lips against your neck. All you could do was moan his name incoherently as he undid you completely.
You ran your fingers through his hair and tugged lightly, earning the most delicious groan from him, so you did it again and he rewarded you by kissing you fervently and snaking a hand down to find your clit and apply just the right amount of pressure to make your vision go white.
You clenched down on him hard as you found your release, and Jaskier followed suit quickly after, spilling into you before he even had the thought to pull out. You didn’t seem to care and he just collapsed down onto you, still inside you.
You both caught your breaths and Jaskier finally pulled out of you and moved to lay next to you. He looked at you and you were the image of an angel. You were glowing, and the look of pure pleasure was plastered over your face. He couldn’t help but lean over and press a sweet kiss to your forehead.
A weak “Thank you Jaskier.” was all you could muster as he lifted himself out of the bed to find a cloth to clean you up with. You were making no effort to get up and put yourself back together to return to the party so he climbed back into bed behind you, rather than making his usual quick getaway in a situation such as this.
He wrapped his arm over you and pulled you back against him, running his fingers over the skin of your stomach. He plants feather-like kisses against the back of your neck and shoulders and you sit in silent bliss for a while.
“Run away with me.” He murmurs against your skin and you whip your head around to look him in the eyes.
“What?”
“Run away. With me. I don’t have much to offer you, I’m but a bard after all. But we could find somewhere together, and you can have the life you want. You can choose what you’d wear and how we’d decorate and everything else you want.”
“Really?” His heart bursts at the innocence in your features and it only makes him more certain he won’t leave you here to the fate that’s been decided for you by your father.
“Absolutely. I apologise for being crude but fuck your father, and fuck Lord Espadrille or whatever his fucking name was anyway.” You chuckle as you find yourself unable to remember his name either, your mind too clouded with Jaskier to think of anything else.
“How will we leave?” you knit your eyebrows together and he presses a kiss over them until your features soften.
“I’ve snuck out of many castles in my days, trust me. It’ll be easy.” He winks and gives you his trademark boyish grin before hopping out of bed and getting back into his clothes.
You quickly follow suit, though on shaky legs as you change into a much simpler dress than the gown you had to wear for the party. Jaskier helped you pack your clothes and belongings into a bag and you took one final look at your room. A final look at your old life.
Then you turned and looked at Jaskier stood at your door. Your new life awaited you behind those doors with that very man. And you couldn’t wait.
Yennskier + 7 prompted by @handwrittenhello ! You know that one dress Yennefer wears with the shoulder jacket thingy? What if.. what if it’s gone 😳. I’m having Thoughts.
Summary: When Jaskier lets Geralt stay in his home for the night, the Witcher discovers two things: that Jaskier has a wife and children, and that said wife is not best pleased with the way Geralt has treated her husband.
Word count: 2200
Warnings: Pregnancy, parenthood, S1/2 spoilers
A/N: I just think Jaskier deserves a nice cosy home and a family so I decided to give him that 😌
The streets of Oxenfurt were unoccupied for the most part; the only exception being the odd drunkard staggering home from the tavern. As Geralt followed Jaskier through the narrow streets, the stars watched from their stations in the great ink stain that was the night sky, silently wondering what a bard and a Witcher were doing creeping around together after dark.
“It’s not far now,” Jaskier whispered over his shoulder, pausing where two streets crossed each other and glancing both ways before darting across the street and back into the shadows. He turned to check that Geralt had followed him and jumped almost unnoticeably upon realising that the Witcher was closer than he had thought. “Just round this corner...”
Up ahead, a drunken figure stumbled from a doorway and they both tensed up, Geralt pulling the hood of his cloak up to cover his white hair. The mayor had put out a warrant for his arrest following an unfortunate disagreement between him and the Witcher over payment for the disposal of a Bruxa, and he didn’t fancy a night in a cell. He didn't particularly fancy a night in Jaskier’s home either, but he couldn't exactly walk into the local inn and ask for a room in the circumstances.
It briefly occurred to Geralt that he had never really thought of Jaskier as having a home. He only ever saw him on the road or in taverns; the thought of the bard having a bachelor’s lodgings tucked away on a lane in Oxenfurt seemed strange.
The figure disappeared down the next street and, after a few moments of caution, the two of them continued until they reached a house at the end of a terrace. It was unremarkable, narrow and crooked in the way that all of the houses crammed into Oxenfurt were. As Jaskier searched his pockets for a few seconds before producing a set of keys to fit into the door, Geralt frowned at the sight of candlelight coming from the downstairs window.
Did Jaskier have a roommate?
The door was unlocked with a click and Jaskier slipped inside, holding the door for Geralt to follow. He barely had the chance to glance around the room- a sparsely furnished yet homely parlour with a roaring fire- before the nearby staircase was threatening to give way beneath thundering feet approaching quickly. The Witcher’s hand twitched to reach for his sword at the sound of what seemed to be an ambush before it fell limply at his side in surprise at the appearance of his would-be attackers.
Two children- a boy and a girl, both six years old at the most and with heads of thick dark hair- reached the third step from the bottom and launched themselves at Jaskier, who caught them both with a delighted laugh as they exclaimed in unison:
“Daddy!”
Geralt’s eyes widened in shock; not a bachelor’s lodgings, then.
He watched as Jaskier adjusted the children in his arms, pressing kisses all over their faces until the boy and girl were both shrieking with laughter. Seeing all three faces alongside each other, it was undeniable- and yet still seemed utterly insane- that the bard was indeed their father. From the little girl’s face, Jaskier’s bright eyes blinked curiously at Geralt, and the little boy frowned at him in a way he had seen a hundred times before.
“Daddy, who’s that old man?” the girl asked.
Before anyone could respond, another voice came from the kitchen.
“Is that you, my love? You’re home awfully-”
You stopped abruptly in the doorway from the kitchen as your eyes landed on Geralt, staring incredulously at the white-haired, sword-wielding Witcher standing in your front parlour. He stared back at you with an equal amount of confusion, taking in the wedding ring that glinted on your left hand and the way your belly swelled beneath your skirts.
Definitely not a bachelor’s lodgings.
Jaskier cleared his throat awkwardly as tension settled in the air and stepped forward, still with a child balanced on each hip.
“Geralt, I’d like you to meet my wife,” he said, adding your name before nodding to the children in his arms, “And these rascals are Freya and Fergus.”
Freya and Fergus stuck their tongues out at Geralt in unison and, judging by the unimpressed arch in your eyebrow, you were barely resisting doing the same...or perhaps worse, Geralt decided. Jaskier smiled nervously at you before ploughing on with the introductions.
“Darling, this is-”
“I know who he is,” you interrupted, folding your arms so that they rested on your bump, “Why is he in my house?”
Geralt could feel the animosity radiating from you and it briefly occurred to him that he should have taken his chances at the inn after all. Even heavily pregnant as you clearly were, you looked pissed off enough to do him some damage.
“I’ll get these two back to bed then we can talk,” Jaskier said quietly, turning for the stairs. You turned and disappeared back into the kitchen without a backwards glance.
As Jaskier reached the bottom step, his children still secure in his arms, Geralt took a step after him.
“You never told me,” he said, his tone a confused cocktail of guilt and self-defence.
Jaskier didn't turn to face him as he replied simply:
“You never asked.”
With that, he continued up the stairs without looking back. Over his shoulders, Freya and Fergus watched Geralt curiously; he found himself feeling strangely small beneath the children’s stares and had to look away. Guilt swirled in his belly at the thought of their having existed for years without him knowing, without him even considering that there might have been more to Jaskier than just Jaskier.
A muffled curse from the kitchen reminded him of your existence, and the guilt doubled. With the way that you had glared at him, there was no doubt to be had that your husband had told you about the events on the mountain and, whilst Jaskier had apparently forgiven him, you were clearly nowhere near that stage. He heard the sound of metal scraping on stone followed by you cursing again and, swallowing his fear of you, crept into the kitchen.
You had your back to him as you attempted again to lift a large metal cauldron towards the fire. Your substantial belly seemed determined to thwart your efforts as you succeeded only in pushing the cauldron along the stone floor. Geralt saw you place a hand on the small of your back in apparent discomfort and knew that he had to intervene.
“Please, let me.”
You turned sharply at his voice, looking ready to bite his head off, before you sighed in defeat; perhaps it would be easier just to let him help. Stepping back, you watched as he picked the cauldron of stew up as easily as though it was a feather and hung it over the fire. You gave him a curt nod of thanks before determinedly looking away from him again.
He couldn't stand the silence. Glancing at the ceiling, he wondered how long Jaskier would take to come back downstairs; he always was good at filling silences. You had turned your back on him again, chopping vegetables with a level of violence that left little room for doubt about who you were thinking of. The Witcher winced as you cut a carrot in half with a particularly resounding thud of the knife on the wooden chopping board.
There was still no sign of Jaskier reappearing- he could faintly hear what sounded like a lullaby coming from upstairs- and he knew he had to break the silence.
“Jaskier’s a good man.”
Your shoulders tensed at his words and you turned to face him with an expression of disbelief etched into your face. Geralt noticed with a muffled sense of dread that you were still clutching the kitchen knife in your hand.
“Is that why you abandoned him on that mountain?” you asked, raising your eyebrows, “Because he's a good man?”
He shouldn't have said a thing, he realised too late. The anger that you had barely been containing since you first laid eyes on him had just been waiting for him to say the wrong thing to escape, and now there would be no stopping it until you had said everything you wanted to say. Casting another nervous glance at the knife, he hoped that your anger remained strictly verbal; monsters, he could handle, but enraged wives were another type of dangerous.
“His clothes were in rags when he made it home,” you continued, glaring into his eyes where he remained frozen to the spot on the other side of the kitchen, “His feet were bleeding from walking for miles. For weeks, we didn't know if he was alive or dead, but I took comfort from the fact that he was with you. He promised me that I could trust you to keep him safe.”
Geralt opened his mouth to speak but found he had no words with which to defend himself. He was guilty of every charge you were throwing at him, and you weren't done yet.
“The Continent thought you were a monster, and he turned you into a hero,” you told him, gesturing with the knife as you spoke, “He told our children stories of his adventures with a white-haired knight who would keep them safe from monsters. He never stopped telling those stories, even after you broke his heart. Did you know that? He cried in my arms every night for a month because of you, but he never stopped telling his children that you're a hero.”
You stepped towards him, your empty hand on your belly and your other hand pointing at him with the tip of the knife instead of a finger, and he fought the urge to take a cautious step backwards.
“So you don’t get to come in here, Witcher, and tell me that my husband is a good man like I don’t know that better than anyone.”
The kitchen door creaking open caught both you and Geralt’s attention, and you both turned your heads to see that Jaskier had returned. Geralt widened his eyes at him in a silent plea to please take the knife out of your hands before you could decide to castrate him with it, but the bard wasn't looking at him at all.
He was looking at you with eyes softened by love. He had heard you defending him, squaring up to Geralt as though you weren't a heavily pregnant woman armed only with a kitchen knife, and scolding the Witcher as though he was one of your mischievous children. In your eyes, he had committed the ultimate crime of hurting someone you loved, and Jaskier was certain that he had never loved you more than he did in that moment.
You met your husband’s eyes and he widened them in a silent question; sighing, you turned away from the Witcher and returned the knife to the chopping board. Jaskier resisted the urge to chuckle at the audible sigh of relief that Geralt let out. A Witcher was no match for his wife.
“I can find somewhere else to stay,” Geralt said quietly, “I’ve...caused you enough trouble.”
Jaskier raised his eyebrows in surprise; it wasn't an apology, but it was a step in the right direction. Raising his hand to tell him to wait, he crossed the room to where you were leaning against the kitchen table with your back to the two men.
“It’s your choice, my love,” he whispered, leaning in close and placing his hand on your aching lower back.
You rubbed a hand down your face before looking at him with concern written in your eyes.
“Do you still trust him?” you murmured back, “He hurt you, Jask. You might be able to forgive that, but I don't think I can.”
“I trust him,” he told you, nudging his forehead against yours, “But I trust you too. He’ll only stay for one night, if you allow it.”
You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch as you reached your decision. You didn't trust the man on the other side of the room, but you trusted the man beside you more.
“One night,” you conceded with a sigh, “But the swords stay outside. I want them out of reach of Freya and Fergus’ temptation...and mine, for that matter.”
Your husband's eyes lit up, and he pressed a kiss to your temple.
“I love you,” he murmured, “Best of wives and best of women.”
You rolled your eyes affectionately at his dramatics.
“I love you too, you silly man.” Turning to look at the Witcher, you cleared your throat. “I meant what I said about the swords.”
With that, you left the room to go and check on the children, and Jaskier turned to grin at Geralt, who looked no less on edge.
“She’s wonderful, isn't she?”
A/N: I hope you enjoyed this! As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. Have a lovely weekend and remember to look after yourself xx
Summary: Set between Episode 2 & 3 of Season 2 of The Witcher.
Rinah Saov is living with the consequences of saving Vessimer from the Leshy, as the other witchers make her life a misery she decides there is somewhere else her heart and mind need to be.
Words: 2,267
Notes: Just trying something new, writing some new characters/universe that I haven't written before. I know that not many people like OC characters etc. but I really wanted to write this so I hope some of you like it. Just trying something a little different for once 🤷♀️
Rinah Saov was the nightmare parents told their children to keep them quiet. She was the stuff of Cintran legend; Redania denied her existence despite her long studies at Oxenfurt - stories and songs and tales of vast pain have been created in her wake.
The last name she adopted was a moniker of her kind, Saov meaning Soul in the elder language. Rinah was a ‘Second Soul’, a creature split in half by ‘good’ and ‘evil’. Equally in control; switching between a strong, extraordinary, but un-magical existence and a being of pure unfathomable power, sporting blood-red eyes and a magic not even the oldest mages of Aretuza know.
She was the origin of it all; the origin of the darkest magic in the continent, older than Chaos itself, a burden she knew all too well.
Their kind had existed before The Conjunction, few and far between, but by the time it was over Rinah was the only one left. Seemingly, she was now one of the oldest creatures on the continent inhabiting the body of a twenty-something year old woman. After The Conjunction, in an effort to placate the many creatures of this new world order she locked away the darkest part of her soul in a cage of her own minds making, vowing that her magic would remain dulled until war ravaged the lands she swore to protect.
A task that she had not been able to fulfill during the first Nilfgaardian war, a war she’d spent mostly unaware of what was happening as she remained locked in dimeritium chains in the dungeons of Cintra alongside Geralt of Rivia.
Geralt had met her by chance, some 30 years previous when he was a young Witcher. Fascinated by his lack of fear Rinah had followed him, irritating him into companionship. Eventually he stopped telling her leave; one day he handed her his sword to fight as hers was kicked from her grasp and that ostensibly insignificant act had sealed a formidable duo that was equally revered and feared across the many kingdoms. Her legends became entwined with his until she was not just two souls but three.
There was however a fourth, one that more belonged to her heart. Jaskier, Viscount De Lettenhove.
Since their chance meeting in a tavern deep in the northern mountains the bard had wormed his way into her heart, a heart she had never once given to another. A thousand years of loneliness came crashing down around her, a feeling she never knew the sound of till she knew him.
Passing each other like flittering nymphs they had flirted with the prospects for years, seemingly only toying with it rather than solidifying any feelings. Geralt dutifully ignored his companion, the most powerful entity he had encountered in all his years, acting like a love-struck child. Swooning every time the loud-mouthed bard would cross their paths.
Then, one night in the woods outside Novigrad, as Geralt had slept, they had spilled their hearts open. Agreeing that the other may do what and whom they pleased, as long as they always made it back to each other.
Rinah was thousands of years old, monogamy wasn’t her style – a fact Jaskier embraced heartily.
Then came the dragon hunt, then Geralt’s rage and an issue neither of them had discussed – the fact that both would follow Geralt’s instructions without question, a different sense of loyalty. Hers to stay and his, with a shattering heart for both his love and his best friend, to leave.
Rinah paced the cold corridors of Kaer Morhern, cracking the bones of her neck in agitation, “Ignore him,” Vesemir said calmly, leaning casually against a damp wall. The silver adornments on his Witcher armor glimmered in the moonlight that shone in from the windows beside them.
The night air around them was peaceful and still, making the echoing thumps of her boots on the stone passageway sound like the walls had a heartbeat.
Shooting a look of daggers his way Rinah snorted incredulously, “I don’t know if you noticed but the little lamb makes it rather hard to do that.”
“Lambert is a feckless brute; he will come around.”
She sighed, halting her pacing and looking at Vessmier much kinder, “What I did to Eskel was…”
“… For the best.”
Rinah’s eyebrows furrowed in sadness, “I would never hurt any of you, but that… the Leshy had taken over, I had no choice.”
Vesemir grunted with a confirming nod, “So let it go child.”
Rinah smiled at his use of child, so tender and yet so incorrect. It had been a long time since she’d been treated like someone’s daughter. Vesemir smiled back as if he knew; his cold-grey eyes watching her curiously for a moment, as he so often did, before leaving.
------------------------
Dinner was noisy as usual, clattering cutlery and mingled voices. The air was thick with tension however, Geralt and Rinah sat at the opposite end of the room to the rest. Ciri sat by Rinah’s side too, side glancing at her every now and again with wary worry.
Suddenly Lambert's voice rose above the rest, “Can’t trust anyone these days!” he shouted in a jovial but pointed tone. His words were followed by a boom of bass-filled laughter.
Rinah rolled her eyes as Lambert peaked over his shoulder intentionally in her direction.
“This is impossible,” Rinah muttered under her breath. Geralt grunted dismissively by her side, shoveling spoonfuls of broth into his mouth, “They’ll move on.”
Sighing, she turned to him, lowering her chin so she could whisper, “They don’t want me here, and who can blame them.”
“You did what had to be done.”
A flash of the Leshy’s face, a mimic of Eskel, blinked across her memory, “I killed their brother! It doesn’t matter.”
Geralt was definitive, “Let it go.”
Rinah pushed herself up, plates clattering as her hips knocked the table as she clambered out from the bench, “I can’t.”
She stormed from the dining room, avoiding eye contact. Her feet carried her forward, cold air whipped her face as she made her way down some stone steps at the back of Kaer Morhern.
Ice filled her lungs as she breathed down, trying to loosen the rope tightening around her chest. Her mind raced like a flood rushing down a hill, pointless to stop. She couldn’t stand their eyes on her, their judgement and rightful emotions.
She had no right to be angry, no right to be upset that they hated her. The only reason not a single one hadn’t tried to take her out wasn’t because of their history together, it was because of Geralt. Her mere presence was faltering cracks in their unbreakable mountain of bond. Geralt would pay a price that wasn’t a debt he owed the longer she held on.
But where would she go? Home was a foreign concept lost on her many thousands of years ago.
Then a face appeared in her mind, a memory that only made the rope around her chest more taut. The string-plucking sound of a lute like a call across the wind.
She’d go to him.
-----------------
Geralt heard Rinah before he saw her. The clatter and her weapons strapped to her back, thudding against the leather of her heavy pack.
“Vesemir,” she called out, gesturing him closer. Vesemir's eyes raised to hers casually before he caught sight of her appearance and despite the concerned furrowing of his eyebrows he rose to his feet and crossed the room.
Geralt stood when he saw her dressed in thick armor, his feet getting closer as she asked, “Do you have a horse you could spare?”
“A moment Vesemir,” Geralt spoke, cutting off his answer. Vesemir didn’t move for a split second before a sideways glance from hard, gold eyes encouraged him away.
“What are you doing?” his graveled voice rumbled her way.
Rinah sighed, looking past him to see if Ciri was still sat at the table, she found it empty, “I need to leave this fucking place.”
Geralt raised his eyebrows just a touch, understanding her reasoning but silently questioning it. She huffed in annoyance, “Geralt, you are not my guard I can come and go as I please.”
She pushed past him, making some more headway towards the doors at the back of the room. A gloved hand grabbed her bicep and tugged, “Enough of this,” he growled.
“They do not want me here,” Rinah replied, sounding out each word, “This is only going to get worse. You deserve better… she does too,” she lowered her voice to a whisper.
Geralt rolled his eyes, so used to her constate of quick to reaction, “You’re moving too fast, give it time,” Geralt said, his voice almost lilting down towards soothing as he loomed over her blocking Rinah from the prying view of their company.
“I know where I must go,” Rinah said with tentative words, carefully eyeing Geralt to see if he understood.
“You’re going after him, aren’t you?” Ciri appeared from the darkened corridor at the side of the room, smiling with a dreamy, doe-eyed happiness.
An understanding of a memory passed between them, one night at camp whilst Geralt hunted for food. Neither had ever had friends such as this to gossip about, Ciri asking all the questions with girlish glee that an age-old creature wouldn’t think too. Like sisters, tittering over some boy, Rinah had opened her heart once more.
Softly smiling, Rinah nodded and Ciri bounced on her heels, bounding towards her, “Go after him!”
“We’ll come with you,” Geralt adjusted his armor and looked around, deciding which direction to go first. Armor or to load up Roach with supplies, Rinah could see the cogs turning behind his eyes.
Even Ciri balked at the words, staring up at him incredulously. Had the weight of her decision not weighed her down Rinah may have smiled.
Rinah shook her head, “I will do this alone.”
“Rinah,” his grumbling tone warned her, eyebrows furrowed in frustration and disagreement. She placed her hand against his chest to stop the forward step he was taking.
“You will stay here, for her,” she kept her hand against his chest, a physical stop in his tracks, and tilted her head in gesture, “And for you.”
His eyes said everything his lips did not. Squinted in disapproval as he looked down at his friend.
Rinah rolled her tongue in the hollow of her cheek, swallowing her irritation, “Need I remind you Geralt, it’s your fault he isn’t here. Do not begrudge me this.”
Her heart ached, fear of not knowing what she’d find, but she knew she had to follow this feeling. This was not a habit she made practice of very often, her years were deeply lonely before the witcher had strolled into her life. But this was different, like an invisible string was pulling her Jaskier’s way.
She’d more than likely find him in bed with some wench he’d found at a local tavern but even that brought a twitch of a smile to her lips.
Rinah raised her eyes to Geralt, her expression somewhat pleading. A wave of her forgotten grudge swirled around them, Geralt's nostrils flared as if he could smell the scent of her fear, her pain.
“If you knew Yennefer was alive, you’d go after her, am I wrong?”
Geralt stayed fixed in brooding silence as she continued, “Don’t insult me by telling me it’s not the same thing.”
Rinah’s hand reached up and rested against his armored shoulder, “I have to do this,” she urged, “Even just to see him once,” she continued under her breath so only he would hear, “I don’t even have to speak to him, I just… need this.”
She had no way of explaining the ache in her heart, although she feels the level of anger that she threw at Geralt in the months after the dragon hunt may have given him a hint. They barely spoke for weeks as she tried to forgive him. And as she tried to forgive herself for not telling her friend to fuck off and running after Jaskier before he stepped one foot off that mountain.
Geralt spoke in-kind, “This is a bad idea. You don’t know where he is or even what you’ll find, he could be anywh- “
Suddenly arms were around Rinah’s waist cutting off their muted conversation and ice blonde hair smothered her, “You’ll come back?” Ciri asked softly, muffled by her cheek against Rinah’s chest.
Pulling back, Rinah grabbed Ciri’s face, hands cupping her cheeks so she would look at her, “Always, I will always come back.”
Rinah took one last knowing glance upwards towards Geralt before turning her back, collecting her sword from the table behind them. The other Witcher’s watched in silence, it was unusual to hear this hall so quiet. The air felt a little colder in the absence of rambunctious energy.
As she made her way to the door, she passed Lambert; raising an eyebrow accusingly she quietly spat, “You got your way, little lamb.”
“Rinah!” a booming voice echoed after her before Lambert could speak.
Turning on her heels she saw Geralt taking tentative steps towards her, he opened and closed his mouth as if to speak despite his face remaining steely and unfaltering.
As it had done so many times before, understanding passed wordlessly between them.
Rinah smiled tenderly before turning her back once more, calling out over her shoulder, “Our girl better be more skilled than you with a sword by the time I get back Geralt!”
A/N: I need to get a fic out because I literally haven’t written in weeks. However, I’m also incredibly lazy so you all are getting another Eskel fic. I love my boy. As always, no beta, we die like retired witchers.
Pairings: Eskel x reader, Jaskier x Geralt
Summary: The first time you meet Jaskier is also the first time you see Eskel jealous.
It happened on the path, as most things in your daily life did. You and Eskel had just left a poor contract. He had slayed the beast with little injury to his physical self but the alderman had dealt him a mental blow. The old man had refused to pay Eskel, making up excuses that if you were allowed to join him on the hunt, then the beast couldn’t have been worth that much coin. You had almost lost your arms, a fact that you were quick to point out. No mere human could have done what Eskel did.
But the alderman was relentless and Eskel, the ever polite gentleman merely thanked the man for the opportunity and pulled you gently away. Eskel didn’t want a fight. He was tired and you were injured. He argued that time would be better spent finding another contract then sulking after one that didn’t deserve your concern. Bad contracts were expected on the path and as long as one could still walk, there would always be more work to be done.
You rode on Scorpion so as to not further agitate your wounds while Eskel moved on foot. He kept a steady hand on the steed in case you could no longer keep upright and needed to be stabilized. Your wounds were nothing major. There were a couple of bruises on your arms and chest, a cut across your back, and a little on your abdomen that was a tad deep for comfort. Nothing that a local healer couldn’t patch up. If you could get to a healer in a reasonable amount of time of course.
The next town over was perhaps a three day ride. With you needing to keep a slow and steady pace that might extend it to four days, but really it was nothing to fret over. Eskel didn’t mind being on foot and Scorpion loved the extra attention. Winter was a long way away and the summer heat did wonders for your mood.
That being said, on the fifth day of your travels with Eskel you regretted not pushing the alderman further. You were no longer able to ride Scorpion without falling. Eskel sat behind you, thick arms wrapped around your waist. His hands grabbed onto your stomach like letting go meant letting you fall to your demise. You were pressed tightly against his chest, the heat radiating off his skin began to grow uncomfortable in the bright sun. You later found out that was because you had a fever and the sun was a mocking sun of a bitch.
“We’re almost there,” Eskel yelled directly into your ear, only his mouth wasn’t anywhere near your head. Your skull was pounding, a throbbing sensation that began at the base of your neck and traveled up the back of your skull. “Stay awake for me,” Eskel screamed again but you’ve never once heard Eskel raise his voice above an excited rumble. Every little sound was like a back handed slap across the face. Your body ached and sweat made your clothes stick uncomfortably to your skin.
“Make it stop,” you breathed and even that seemed too loud in your ears. Eskel heard you loud and clear regardless. You could hear his slow heartbeat thumping in his chest. If you didn’t know any better it almost sounded like he was afraid. “Just kill me already.”
“You do that well enough yourself without any help from me,” Eskel tried for lightheartedness. “What were you thinking? Jumping in front of me like that? Following me into the cave?”
“Couldn’t bear to see you alone,” was your hushed reply.
The next few hours happened in a blur. One moment you were cradled in Eskel’s arms as he carried you off of Scorpion. His large hands were as big as your face. He could palm your skull and you would beg for it. In the haze, you faintly remembered reaching out a hand to wave goodbye at the stallion but that could’ve been a fever induced dream.
The next moment you woke up in a unrecognizable room on a bed made of molding hay. You were tucked under a mountain of furs you recognized from Eskel’s packs: bear, wolf and fox. You were drowning in them and moving underneath them proved to be difficult. That combined by your otherwise compromised body, you were crawling in an undignified way out of your bed. Your arms could barely support your weight and you were happy that no one saw you in such a state.
“I must say, I spent the whole morning wondering how you were going to get out from under there,” a male voice drew your attention to another makeshift bed across the room. You were in something of a hastily put together infirmary built in the back of a stable. It smelt of horseshit and whatever farmers put into pig slop. There was a row of three beds on each side of the room. Besides you and the man, there was one more occupied bed by a woman who had seen better days.
“Oh don’t mind her, she’s just hung over. Alive, to my knowledge,” the man answered your unspoken question. “Frankly, you looked worse than she does when you first came in.” You looked back at him. He was dressed in an olive green doublet that did wonders for his blue eyes. Although, it was an odd outfit for the infirmary. His hair was disheveled and he smelled of more ale than the woman in the bed one over. An elven lute leaned against his bed, the case filled with loose, aged music sheets. Which explained his unusual attire as well as his talkative personality.
However, what stopped you from making fun of his craft was the wolf medallion around his neck.
“How did you get that medallion?” you asked curiously from the floor, suddenly too tired to get back on your bed.
“Oh, this old thing?” He held the medallion in his hand like it was some sort of award. “My lovely witcher gave it to me for safekeeping of course. He loves me too much to let me go out without some sort of claim around my neck. A little possessive if you asked me, but what can I say? No complaints here. None whatsoever.” You smiled at the bard and he returned the grin. “Although, how does he wear the thing when it's always so cold? And it practically weighs a ton. No wonder he’s such a pain in the neck. He has this thing dragging him down all the time. Really, he should be thanking me for taking it off his hands instead of,” the bard made his voice into a gruff mockery of his witcher, “Wear this so you know the difference between getting mauled by a bear and a manticore.”
You couldn’t help the laugh that left your lips. Your chest constricted the laugh into a coughing fit but the bard didn’t seem to mind your outburst. “Even I know the difference between a manticore and a bear.”
“Do you?” You raised a teasing eyebrow at the bard.
He took the challenge in stride, grabbing his lute from the side of his bed. He strummed a note or two before breaking off into song. The bard had done his research. He described a manticore in perfect detail as if he had slain one himself. Every detail of the beast was there: its thick, furry hide, its godly mane, the wings of the beast that made it even more of a pain to kill. There was a lyric about the manticore’s venomous tail which most thought of a wives’ tale. No normal man could have seen such a beast and lived to tell the tale. You and the bard were exceptions.
“Does your witcher let you battle as well?”
“As well?” You winked up at the bard, keeping your lips otherwise sealed. Smirking, he continued, “No, no. Letting me into battle would mean he likes me being there. I simply enjoy following him into battle to record every description for my songs. Method acting if you will.” He brushed off your laughter once more. “I tag along as his personal barker, his backup, his most trusted friend, and deeply treasured lover.”
You held up your hands in mock submission, “I see, I see.” You tugged down a large fur to wrap yourself up from the cool draft of being in a stable. “And what is the name of the witcher's deeply treasured lover?”
“Jaskier the greatest bard to have ever graced the continent!”
“Jaskier? I feel like I’ve heard that name before,” you tested the name on your tongue, racking your frizzled head to place the name.
Jaskier grinned and you instantly knew how anyone, even a grumpy witcher could fall in love with him. His very being was magnetic. His smile, the devil’s. “Does my reputation precede me?” He wiggled his eyebrows, his voice dropping to a purr. “Tell me, what have you heard of me?”
“It's going to kill me but I have heard your name before. I feel like I should know you.” Frustration clouded your mind and your head began to ache. It was cold and you were forgetting very simple knowledge. “There aren’t many witcher’s bards walking around the continent. I should know who you are.”
Seeing your distress, Jaskier leapt from his bed. He was by your side before you even heard him move. Definitely a witcher’s bard, you thought absentmindedly. He tipped your head back to look into your hazy, unfocused eyes. Jaskier laid the back of his hand on your forehead to check your temperature. “You’re hot as a fire,” he scolded.
“My witcher won’t like you saying that,” you whispered, tongue dry and voice hoarse.
The shockingly strong bard lifted you in his well toned arms. You were taller than him but he held you like you weighed nothing. “I think your witcher would be more upset with me if I let you grow cold on the floor.”
“I thought I was hot as a fire?”
You were laid back on your sea of furs, head gently settled on the pillow. The bard tucked you into place like you were a sick child under his care. “You’re absolutely breathtaking,” he brushed a stock of hay from your hair. He began to sit at the edge of the makeshift bed when a low growl drew both of your attentions to the doorway. A frazzled witcher stalked his way to your bed and Jaskier all but leapt out of the way before he was impaled by two very big, scary swords.
Eskel drew you into his arms, cradling you as he tucked you against each nook of his body. He was an imposing wall of force and rumbling words. His amber eyes glared at the bard and Jaskier sprinted back to his side of the room. “I-I mean no harm, dear friend. I was merely lending a hand to a companion in need.”
“Mine,” Eskel said lowly, eyes tracking Jaskier’s slightest moments. His ears strained to hear every beat of Jaskier's heart.
“Yours, yes. All yours, dear witcher.” Jaskier held out his hands to show Eskel that he could not do no harm. “I never even considered otherwise.” Eskel took note of his lack of weapon, his gaze finally landing on Jaskier’s medallion. He held you closer and sniffled the air. All you could smell was a goat that hadn’t been washed since the day it was born and Jaskier’s choice in beverage. But Eskel seemed to smell something else because he relaxed his hold, still keeping you on his lap.
“Where’s your witcher?” Eskel asked, recognizing the scent of a brother.
“He’s out securing a room for us. There are many contracts to be done around here, as I’m sure you are aware. He’s on a hunt but should be back any moment.” You watched as Jaskier unbuttoned his doublet, pulling down his collar to reveal red bite marks. They were recent, perhaps a day or two old. “You see, I have no eyes for your lover. I’ll have you know I’m very satisfied with my witcher.”
Eskel huffed out a laugh and it was the cutest thing you’ve ever heard. “So Geralt really fell in love with a bard?”
“What lies has he been feeding you?” came the teasing voice of the mentioned devil.
Main Masterlist
Fluff Promptlist
Anon requested: 6, 16, and 25 from my Fluff Promptlist
Jaskier was a player. That much is true. He was a traveler, a Bard, and many other things that can’t be put into words. He can sing into many hearts and slither into many beds. ‘When did that come to a stop?’ He would ask himself. ‘My music stays the same but my insatiable habits have come to a stand still.’ He mulled this over in his head.
‘Ah yes... It happened once you stepped into the room.’ You were wearing men's clothes sitting at a table in the tavern he was playing in. Your (H/L) (H/C) was matted with mud and guts. You looked tough but smiled and clapped along to his song. Your (E/C) eyes were light with joy. He got lost in them. His playing paused and the tavern murmured in confusion. He realized his silence and came up with a new song. He began to serenade you that night. As well as every following night of your stay there. He hadn’t looked at a woman since. So maybe the coin was less now that he didn’t speak of his escapades with the likes of royal women. He didn’t care. He spent his nights writing poems of all kinds. Describing the best parts of you. From your eyes, to your smile, to your bosom -He would keep that one for himself-. When time came for you to leave the town you were currently in he was overcome with sadness. ‘This isn’t how I am!’ He thinks to himself. ‘I am a confident and suave man!’
So with this in mind he approached you as you mounted your horse. “My dear lady!” He announces. “Yes Bard?” You ask with a smile. “I wish to offer my services to you!” He exclaims. “I wish to be at your side in times of need! I wish to serenade you with song for your ears only!” He walks up to your horse taking your hand from your reins. “I wish to be your faithful companion and friend!” He says and backs up a few steps. “And I wish to court you properly!” He says and bows to you. “Will you please indulge in my request!” He says. He doesn’t lift his head until he hears you dismount your horse. He looks up from his bowing position. “I know you are one for theatrics Bard but you do not need to bow to me in order to gain my favor.” You say as your voice echoes in his ears. “As for your request I must ask one question.” Jaskier stands to his full height looking down at you. “Yes my lady?” He asks. His heart feels like it is racing a million miles a minute. “May I ask your name?” Jaskier suddenly blushes. All this time he has been serenading you and he hasn’t told you his name. He doesn’t even know your name! “I-It’s Jaskier! W-Well it’s Julian Alfred Pankratz but I much rather refer Jaskier.” He says looking at you with nothing but admiration. “I will be glad for you to join me Jaskier.” You say with a small smile as you lean up and kiss his cheek. Jaskiers face can’t seem to get any redder then it is now. He sees you mount your horse again. He places a hand on his cheek. “I wish to leave while the sun is still in the sky My Dear Bard!” You say with a giggle. “O-Oh yes! Right!” Jaskier says and quickly falls in step with the slow pace of your horse.
That was a few years ago. Here you are now in a small cottage outside of a small farm town. You were in your small garden picking berries and other small edible herbs. You feel hands finding themselves on your swelled waist. “My lady must you work so much?” You hear you Bard from behind you. “My love. You know I must! I need to make the jellies and take them to the market tomorrow!” You say with a giggle. “I am sure our little lute must be tired!” Jaskier says twirling you around and pulling you flush against him. “Why must you continue calling our child a ‘lute?’ We are not naming them after your instrument!” You say with a giggle. “I can’t hear you! You’re eyes are beautiful my dear!” You sigh as you both press your foreheads together. “You see with your eyes. You hear with your ears my love.” You say with a giggle. Jaskier begins to sway gently back and forth. One hand holding your left and the other on the small of your back. Jaskier brings your left hand to his lips and kissing the ring that resides there. “If only I had the artistic ability to paint. I would fill the world with portraits of you.” Jaskier says kissing your forehead. “My Julian... Your words paint the air with your song. I don’t need the whole continent knowing my name. As long as I know that I am yours that will be enough!” You say and cup his cheek.
Jaskier leads you to the center of the back garden and sits down placing you between his legs as you recline back into his chest. Jaskier’s hands reach forward and cup your swollen belly. “How can I possibly be here with you right now?” He asks himself. “What do you mean?” You ask. “I am with the most beautiful woman on the continent with an equally beautiful child on the way.” You smiles and look up at him. “I have no idea. I was covered in guts and grime when you first saw me. I have no idea how you found that appealing enough to court me let alone marry me.” You say looking down at your ring. Jaskier places his ringed hand over yours. “Do you wish to know a secret?” He asks and you nod. “I knew from the beginning of our courtship that I was going to marry you.” He says. “Maybe even before then.” He says with a chuckle. “How could you have possibly known I would say yes?” You ask. “How could I not!” He asks in fake shock. “It was written in the stars! You cannot deny destiny and you were mine!” He says and tickles your sides. You burst into a flurry of giggles. “I feel as if I have never known love until I met you.” You say as the laughter dies down.
“You make me feel loved” You say looking up at him. Jaskier looks from your eyes to you lips before capturing them in a searing kiss. His mouth parts as his tongue caresses your bottom lip. He pours all his love into one kiss. There is a grunt from behind you both. You both pull apart to see a disgruntled Geralt and a giggly Ciri. “Must you interrupt our moment of utter love and enjoyment Geralt!” Jaskier exclaims and you and Ciri are reduced to gasping laughter. “We wanted to let you know that lunch is prepared.” Ciri says and you smile and nod. “Give us a moment and we will be right in.” You say and they both walk inside. “Now where were we?” Jaskier says and starts to lean in but you stop him. “The baby wants dinner my love. We best hurry in.” Jaskier gasps. “Now even my lute is betraying me! I swear they like Geralt more then me!” Jaskier says pouting s he stands up helping you to your feet. “Come now Jaskier no sad faces. Lets go inside and eat.” You say and Jaskier sighs and nods. He presses a kiss to your temple before guiding you inside.
