a/n: i am feeling very rusty at writing - it has certainly been awhile! grammarly told me this sounded sad and nervous sooo, enjoy!?
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It’s late into the night that he finally falls into bed next to you, the undertones of another women’s perfume making the usual, “welcome home” catch in your throat.
After all, there was a time when you’d merely been just another woman to Jaskier.
“Sweetheart,” he greets, leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead and you let him, as you always do.
But when your eyes settle on the reddened lip stain right there on his cheek, he quickly props himself up on his elbow, studying the way your eyebrows have pulled together
It’s becoming the expression he knows you only wear when you’re exasperated with him. Most of the time it’s worn hand in hand with love. This time, he notices the slight glare in your eye.
Eventually, after a pause, he gestures toward his cheek with a flourish, “ohhhh, my adoring crowd.” he notes with a chuckle
And while you know, it was likely a harmless, middle of a song act, you feel that connection waver. For a moment, you think about biting your tongue and saying nothing.
“One person’s love will never be enough for you, will it? You’ll only be satisfied when you have the love of every lady on the continent.” It comes out a little snappier than intended, and you roll over before you catch the confused and slightly hurt, look on his face.
“Hey, I’m here now.” he tries eventually, and you feel his arm wrap around your waist as he gets more comfortable beside you.
“Well, I’m here loving you with everything I have, and it’ll still never be enough. Will it?”
He stammers something you don’t quite catch under his breath and pulls you in a little closer.
You sigh, and the feeling of him next to you softens your frustration. Because while it hurts, more than you’d like to admit, you can never ignore that you’re lucky to be one of the people that gets to feel his love at all.
“I’ll always love you more,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck. “I could lose all of it tomorrow, and I’d still be okay because I would have you.”
He’s speaking genuinely and it makes you pause, heartbeat in your ears.
Glancing over your shoulder, your eyes meet and his flicker down to your lips. Before he can catch you in a kiss, you say, “I just worry.”
This makes him pause, and he looks like he doesn’t quite know what to say. He doesn’t know how to put it into words, how much he loves you.
That you mean more to him than he could ever express in a line, or an entire song.
“You are the only thing that matters in my life, the one person I love, and I can promise you that, “he settles on eventually, feeling like his words fall slightly short.
For someone who shouts his love for everyone to hear, sometimes you find it comes in more subtle forms where it’s less about telling the entire continent, and more about making sure you simply hear his words.
“Your open heart is both your blessing and your curse, Jaskier.”
You do love him
And sometimes that love just isn’t a thing of poetry.
summary: a little bit of innocent teasing. geralt tells jaskier and reader to get a room :)
a/n: this was fun to write. it’s been a while so please be kind! kinda inspired by a game of thrones scene lmao
warning: a lil’ bit smutty - woohoo
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You let Jaskier ride up front first, arms settling around his waist and his back against your chest.
He doesn’t tell you how much he enjoys having you holding onto him. To be honest, it hadn’t taken you long to work it out the first time you’d been on a horse together. Mostly at the eye-roll from Geralt as he’d noticed the smug smile on Jaskier’s face.
It’s comfortably warm as you ride through tree covered trails. Past a pack of wolves, who only raise their heads from their sleeping place at the base of a tree slightly off the path, unthreatened by your presence.
“heyyy!” he all but yelps suddenly, as your hand slides downward, to brush against him innocently. Geralt glances back over his shoulder quickly and grumbles something about kids under his breath.
You pause, hand dropping to his thigh and from your place behind him, you notice his fingers tighten on the reins.
Jaskier finds himself becoming very aware of your breath at the back of his neck and the way your chest is pressing against him.
With one arm still around his waist, your fingers trail along the inside of his thigh and he clears his throat, unable to do anything about your slow, tantalising touches.
“next time, you are up front,” he manages as your hand finds his hardening bulge, palming him through his pants.
He shifts in the saddle, pressing himself a little more desperately against your hand.
“Gods-“
With another couple of firm strokes of your hand, you pull away, arms moving back to rest around his waist.
“Wait, what!?”
Jaskier fights the urge to look back over his shoulder at you and forces a straight face as he notices Geralt stopped ahead, obviously pausing to let you catch back up to him.
Nothing hides the red shade of Jaskier’s cheeks, however.
He mentions lunch with it being a little after noon, and both you and Jaskier are quick to agree.
You jump off first and take the mares reins from Jaskier with an innocent smile and flutter of your eyelashes. He takes a deep breath before letting it out slowly, readjusting himself and then following you over to where Geralt’s tied Roach.
It takes a lot to hide your nervous? smile as you approach the horses after lunch and Jaskier gestures for you to mount up first.
You know he won’t be able to help himself. But he does apparently, and you go for a few hours, with his arms around you comfortably and him humming insistently at your ear.
Geralt rides on a little further ahead on Roach, energy levels wildly exceeding the both of you, as your journey North.
Jaskier smirks at the feeling of your back relaxing against his chest.
“Did you just yawn?” He asks, offended, “is my company that boring?
“Hey, I’m tired, it’s been a long day,” you throw back with a tired chuckle and he sighs, arms tightening slightly around your waist.
You ride in silence for a little while longer, the sun beginning to dip closer the horizon, dragging the sky in hues of gold.
When he starts moving one of his hands, you tense. But he raises it behind you and sweeps your hair over one shoulder, baring your neck to him.
Again, he waits before his lips find the dip where your shoulder and neck meet. He peppers kisses against the side of your neck slowly, and you find your head tilting ever so slightly.
That’s when you feel his teeth graze your skin, and with one deep kiss, his teeth sink into your skin. Gently enough for it to hurt only a little, but you gasp and feel his grip on you tighten.
He runs his tongue over the marks from his teeth in another languid kiss before you can find your words.
“did you just bite me?”
Jaskier only chuckles in response.
There are minutes of unbearable silence as one of his hands drops to your hip and his fingers dig in with enough force to allow bruises to bloom beneath them.
A shiver of pleasure shoots up your spine as his hand moves along the waistband of your pants, teasingly dipping his fingers beneath, and your hand jumps from the reins to grab his wrist as he brushes over your clit.
He stills, palm resting against you.
You whine and he kisses your neck again.
“how funny do you think teasing is right now?”
Your thoughts scatter at his words and he chuckles, breath hot against the back of your neck.
“yeah, two can play that little game,”
He moves again, a finger rubbing your clit in leisurely circles. You bite your bottom lip hard, one hand still gripping his wrist, the other holding the reins.
Your mare’s hoofbeats are soft as you turn off from the road to cut across a small field in the direction of where Geralt knows, is a tavern that he hopes has an available room that he would gladly pay for.
As soon as you end up back on the road, only a few hundred meters from a small village, Jaskier pulls his hand back, and you’re left with your breath caught in your throat.
You’re lost in both thought and the need to be touched when your mare stops next to Roach. The two snuffle noses as Geralt pulls something out of one of his saddle bags.
He nods toward a still lit building and holds a small pouch out to you. The coins inside it clink as you take it.
“Get a room. Please.”
You are mortified. Jaskier quite literally cries with laughter.
summary: based on the prompt: “do you want to kiss as bad as I do right now”, also kinda fits with the first kiss request! basically some sweet, fluffy... drunkness.
a/n: a little scared to post this, won’t lie ahaha but fuck it basically and yeah italics apparently, are my unavoidable thing
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His arm is heavy, draped around your shoulders as the two of you make your way clumsily up the stairs from the inn’s bar to the room you’d paid for earlier that day.
"We are druuuunk,” you say in a sing-songy voice after he almost trips on the back of your heel. Jaskier gives a dopey smile in response because where you think his voice is the best thing since, well everything, he thinks your entire existence is the best thing to... exist.
“Understatement,” he quips as you fumble with the door. His hand reaches out to cover yours right as you finally get it. His palm is warm against the back of your hand and you clear your throat.
“I got it...” You say eventually, and let the door swing open to prove your point.
He almost kisses you, right then and there. But in the time it takes for him to think about the way he’d kissed the back of your hand the second time you’d met, or the way he’d kissed you on the forehead after you’d gotten injured fighting for him, you’ve left him hanging in the doorway.
It’s more that he wants to hold you against the wall with kisses, and run his hands through your hair and just love all of you, completely. Instead, he finds himself staring, unblinkingly at your lips.
The room is warm enough even before your cheeks had grown rosy from the wine, which after Jaskier’s performance you’d quickly begun chasing with beer. You stumble ungracefully into the side of the bed, and Jaskier, two steps behind you laughs softly.
“Shiit,” he mumbles and rubs his brow. You nod in agreement, thinking he’s aiming that comment at the current state of both of you.
“We’re never drinking again,” you hum as you pull back the covers and begin pulling off your boots. From your place in front of him, you miss the equally red cheeks of your travel companion as you tug off your outer layers of clothing.
He finds his voice again as you flop onto the mattress, and hug your pillow close. He wishes that it were him you were holding.
“Well... fair enough, but it was so fun, right?”
Your eyes flash up to meet him and roll at the sight of him seemingly nervous. Jaskier is never shy. Maybe it’s the fact you’re not only being nice toward him, but sweet.
“Get in,” you slur, arm lagging as you gesture to the other side of the bed.
“Me? In the bed... With you, now?” You’ve never realized quite how pretty his voice is until he’s near-spluttering over your proposition. His eyebrows are raised and he’s pulling that face.
“We’ve shared a bed befor’,” You roll over with a groan to watch him round the foot of the bed, shedding his jacket and letting it drop to the floor, when he glances down at the rest of his clothing and then back at you, your face heat up again, and you pull the covers over your head, “M’not watching,” you mumble into the sheets and you swear even in the darkness, you can see him smile.
When he pulls his side of the covers back, you let yours drift back down to your shoulder and instantly rub at your slightly bloodshot eyes.
Every glance Jaskier makes at you seems far more intoxicating than all the spirits and beer and wine could ever make him. You keep your eyes on him as he settles in the bed next to you. Your dark lashes blink slowly and the scent of your delicate perfume is overwhelming - Mostly because you normally smell like horse, leather and occasionally... dirt.
“Wow, d’ya know how pretty you are up close? Like gorgeous. More so than any of the royal wives or daughters that I’ve sung to and they always look prettier after they’ve heard me sing.”
Again, your eyes roll and you’re almost smiling, until he speaks and you realize that you are, in fact beaming.
"Annnnd, that smile – Song worthy.”
You laugh, honey soft, “Stoooop, Jask...” you pull your arm out from under the covers to annunciate his name with a poke of your finger. It’s getting to that point, now that you’re in bed and filled with the warmth of too much drink and the giddy feeling he provides.
Not used to it, you begin wondering if he’d be able to taste the cherry sweet alcohol on your lips if you kissed him.
“If you smiled like that all the time, we’d have a long line of boys following us trying to woo you,”
“Well, they’d not have much ov’a chance with you constantly at the fron’ of the line then.” Before you have a chance to even think about what those words might mean, they just fall out of your mouth. Fuck.
His eyes move from where your hand still rests on top of his arm and then to your half-lidded gaze, he gulps down nerves.
“Please tell me you feel the same right now,”
“What? Near unconsciousness-ness?” you’re so done that you can hardly even pronounce unconsciousness and he smiles, eyes scrunching at the corners and you nestle a little closer. Too, too comfortable right now.
His hand moves to rest atop yours and your eyes meet his. You can sense it, the emotions that he’s holding back. The look of want and need. You’ve never paid such attention to the way he looks at you, pure adoration.
For a moment in silence, you wonder what the look in your own eyes shows. Can he see your feelings? Does he know how you feel right now? The jealousy you wear at the back of the bar when woman after woman approaches him with words of love and eyes that hold back no mixed signals comes back in fleeting doubt.
You chew your lip, and this time it’s him that moves a little closer, knees bumping into yours under the covers.
“Well that as well, I guess. But more, do you, you know, want to kiss me as bad as I do you right now?”
Okay, you’re a little stunned and maybe your raised eyebrows do the mixed signals thing but you do... want to kiss, GOD do you want that... badly.
His eyes brighten with love or humor or, a mix of them both at your expression.
“y/n...” You’re so distracted and charmed by the way your name sounds coming out his mouth that when his lips meet yours you absolutely swear your heart may stop. It’s quick, and light and leaves you yearning for more.
The look on his face makes you giggle, sweetly and he can’t help himself. Your lashes flutter, flush against your cheeks when he rolls himself on top of you, propping himself up with hands and thighs either side of you.
After a few beats of silence, where he looks to be trying to work out if you’re actually enjoying this, your hands catch around the back of his neck, drawing him back down for another kiss. He pulls back to glance at you when your touch moves to his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric in hazy, drunk passion as he kisses along your jaw.
“Waaait,” you slur when his hand grazes your hip and you can’t help but buck against him in protest. He pauses with slightly calloused fingertips light at your waist. His touch makes you dizzy.
“I want t’ remember this...” the words that tumble from your mouth feel shameful, and he places another kiss at the side of your mouth – yes, he can taste the sweet wine and beer you’d been drinking. It makes him want to ignore your wishes, but instead, he lowers himself at your side.
Your head turns to face him, unspoken words of likeness lingering between you as your eyes catch. There’s a moment of weakness, where you almost pull him back in for a hungry kiss but instead, settle on resting against his chest, his arms wrapped around your figure and a bashful smile crossing his face when your fingers remain linked with his.
Those kisses and that hurried contact you shared fills you with a warmth to the depths of your bones. It feels like it would never leave you.
a/n: I wrote this a long while ago, edited it today and this has my fave dialogue in it ever, I think. Reader character is an OC of mine from school of the cat! now onto your requests - keep ‘em coming!
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It’s a couple of weeks after your incident that you hear news of the famous Geralt of Rivia being sighted on the outskirts of town.
You sit across from Geralt and next to Jaskier who keeps bumping his knee into yours.
For once, you don’t mind the nagging closeness.
“So…” Geralt begins, “You going to tell me how you got that,” he gestures at the slice across your face and you shrug.
“Not much to tell. I got knocked on my ass by a wyvern, killed it and returned home.”
There’s a pause. Then,
“You Cats not learn how to catch birds?”
His words are cheeky, and you simply internalise the flare of emotions within your veins, toes curling and fingers twitching in annoyance.
Geralt notices and raises his eyebrows
Your teeth sink into your lower lip to stifle a remark. Jaskier rolls his eyes, hand moving to drape over your clenched fist.
“y/n, I love you, but you’re absolutely shite at telling stories,”
“Well, I have to let you be good at something, don’t I?”
Always so quick.
The bard’s expression morphs into something of mock offence.
“I can tell you exactly what I’m good at. In great detail.”
Geralt raises his palms, knowing Jaskier wouldn’t think twice before running his mouth. “Please… Don’t.”
Jaskier laughs, and intertwining your fingers tightly, raises his hand to kiss the back of yours. He’s quickly hushed by you pulling him forward and catching him in a deep kiss.
Suddenly, Geralt finds the bread in front of him incredibly interesting.
The mix of beer and wine is unusual to most - an acquired taste at best.
Sweet and sharp and everything the pair of you happened to be.
summary: mostly sober reader keeps an eye on jaskier when he starts trying to challenge Geralt.
a/n: this was fun to write - even though the first word document of this disappeared into the abyss. Hopefully it makes sense aha
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As soon as Jaskier started challenging Geralt, you knew you were in for a long night.
“I can definitely out drink you,” he aims at Geralt across the table. He elbows you in the hopes that perhaps you’d back him up.
There’s a pause and then, “Jaskier, no.” the two of you speak at the same time and Jaskier raises his eyebrows in offence. Geralt rolls his eyes and crosses his arms.
“Ah ah, I believe that should be Jaskier, yes.”
“Fine, but don’t forget that you asked for this,” Geralt shakes his head and he moves back toward the bar to order another drink.
You walk away without saying a word, leaving Jaskier with two jugs of ale in front of him and as predicted, it doesn’t take long for Jaskier’s hopes of victory to start sliding out from under his feet, almost literally.
Jaskier has his arm around the waist of a young local following a few drinks, his lips at her cheek every so often. It’ll take many more for Geralt’s expression to lighten and his laugh to become a little more prominent.
You choose to watch from a safe distance, with your back to the fire and a look of exasperation painted across your features.
The blonde giggles loudly then at something Jaskier says, her hand resting on his chest and your face falls.
He hasn’t looked your way even once.
It shouldn’t hurt, but it does.
It stings.
Too many unspoken words and over felt feelings have your heart aching and your skin burning with longing.
An hour passes and the drinks continue to flow freely. One eye kept on Jaskier, you’re focused on shrugging off the attention of another man, with sweet words and sour intentions.
He leaves with a scowl and, always looking out for you, Geralt catches your eye across the room. His expression hardens and you give a dismissive wave to say, you’re okay.
Eventually, Jaskier moves on from ale to spirits and you find yourself sitting at the end of the bar, hands clasped around a drink of your own.
“Ready to call it?” it’s Geralt’s voice you hear over the hum of chatter.
“Of course not, Geralt,” Jaskier moves to clap Geralt’s shoulder and misses, swaying off balance and spilling half his current drink, all over the blonde. You can’t help but laugh when she shrieks in response and runs off, followed by both Jaskier’s apologies and her friends.
You’re a little surprised Jaskier’s still on his feet. He could hold his own against most men when it came to his tolerance for alcohol. But Geralt, definitely had the upper hand against the Bard in this… well most situations.
The nights ticked into the early hours of the morning when the crowd suddenly breaks into unsynchronised song, led by Jaskier and your lips twitch up into an amused half smile.
Until, a young man who lacks Jaskier’s confidence and boyish charm, approaches you.
“Care ta’ dance?” he asks meekly, and you tilt your head back to finish off your drink.
“Not really,” you glance up at him and he sighs. There’re a few moments of silence, and you swear you can hear him thinking.
“Or, I could buy y’ another drink?” He tries again, a hopeful smile on his face.
“You know, I was planning on leaving soon.”
Its Geralt’s hand on the man’s shoulder that has him shutting his mouth and shrinking away from the Witcher’s grip. You can’t decide if it’s in fear or disgust.
He’s quickly turned and given a shove toward the door. He scurries out with his tail between his legs and doesn’t look back even once.
“He was hardly a threat, Geralt,” you spin on your barstool and hop to your feet.
“Hmm, I’m just looking out for you.” He moves to stand shoulder to shoulder with you and gives you a nudge. “Just the way you’re looking after him,” he jerks his chin in Jaskier’s direction.
You exhale loudly as someone passes Jaskier yet another drink. Geralt reaches out to give your arm a gentle squeeze, “maybe not with quite the same intentions, though.” His eyes soften with an almost smile and a laugh bubbles up from your chest.
The two of you stand in each other’s company for a while before Geralt heads away with the mentioning of a game of Gwent he had to win.
You turn back toward the bar, leaning on the bench with a tired sigh. The spontaneous singing finally seems to have died down to idle chatter and the odd jeer.
“Where’s ma’ girl?” Jaskier calls loudly and you pause, glancing over your shoulder in the hopes that he means you and not the blonde from earlier.
He slings his arms around you, pulling you against your chest and momentarily, you melt.
“There she is,” his words are not as quiet as he seems to think and you spin on your heel to face him, taking in his flushed cheeks and the way his eyes light up when they drink you in.
“Love you,” he chides, and you bow your head, forehead resting against his chest.
“You’re incredibly drunk.” You tell him and he tilts his head.
“Still loooove ya’,” you ignore the fact that you’d been watching him draped around that other girl for most of the evening and sigh pointedly.
“Okay tough guy, let’s just… Get you to bed.”
“I’m not even tired,” he pouts, eyebrows raising, and you sigh.
“Well I am, and you’re supposed to be letting me take care of you tonight, so I say, we’re leaving.”
“You’re sweet annnnd bossy,” He pulls you close then, hands at the small of your back and plants a hot kiss on your lips. You can’t help but lean into it in a moment of needy weakness.
“I kinda like it,” his fingertips graze your hip as he smirks, “like, a looot,”
“Point taken,” you roll your eyes and he laughs at your expression.
The one that simply screams both I love you and you’re a damn fool.
But he’s your fool and that kinda happens to make you one too.
“Where’s Geralt?” He asks as you begin tugging him over to the staircase in the corner of the room.
“He left a while ago, I think,” you manage briefly, even though it was only moments ago that you’d caught sight of Geralt over Jaskier’s shoulder. The Witcher seemed entirely coherent and focused on his game of Gwent.
“I won,” he chides, “against bloody Geralt, can y’ believe it?”
“Hardly,”
“You must be my good luck charm. That’s what being in love does for me – a gut of steel... Or would it be a liver of steel?”
Charming. He wasn’t going to remember any of this come morning.
Eventually, he gives in to your grasp and follows you up the flight of stairs.
You arrive at the door to his room and he sways on his feet, leaning back against it and blocking you from opening it.
“It also lets me share a room with a pretty girl,” he blinks at you, eyelashes fluttering flirtatiously, “a bed too, if I’m lucky?”
He’s unbearably adorable when he looks at you like that, and you swallow down your feelings.
They catch in your throat.
With rosy cheeks, you point a finger at him, “don’t push it, sweetheart.”
You kiss him this time, like it’s the end of the world and all Jaskier can do in return is kiss you back and pray he remembers this in the morning.
“Pleaseee don’t let me forget this,” he mumbles, struggling with the doorknob behind him.
Hand grazing his waist, you reach around him to open it.
He pulls you inside.
“You’re welcome.”
You kick the door shut with your heel.
Unceremoniously, he drags you toward the bed and almost knocks you off balance as he flops onto his back with a loud exhale.
He watches you for a moment as you help unlace and pull off his boots and he gives you an impressed grin, pipes up suddenly, “you called me sweetheart.”
In the beginning, when you’d first started travelling with him and Geralt, it had been hard to accept that Jaskier would flirt with not just you, but everyone.
So far, there hadn’t been anything that had particularly convinced you that he wanted you more than anyone else.
Not only did he claim to love you, but he also loved the brunette in Cintra, the red headed sisters from Rinde, and the blonde from only earlier that evening.
Honestly, it’d taken you a while to warm up to the idea of wanting someone else, especially when that someone was equally infuriating and easy to love.
It frustrated you past the point of no return logical thought and rational action.
But now, in allowing yourself a smidge of weakness… He became all you wanted, hard and fast.
summary: based on the run and braid prompts! super duper fluffy.
a/n: wow something about this was super cathartic to write so it ended up being longer than anticipated, hope you enjoy. smut version here!
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You’re in a rightly pitiful state when you make it to the edge of the closest town, flowers blooming against quaint homes and several children playing at the side of the path, their laughter greeting you warmly.
With a wrist aching in colors of blue and purple and cradled against your chest, you ride with one hand on the reins, Jaskier a few paces behind you on his own horse. The worried expression he wears, burning into your back.
Your mare, affectionately named Bandit, and to blame for your condition, walks meekly, her ears flickering back and forward at your occasional, pained mutterings. Jaskier is quick to hitch the two horses when you reach an inviting looking inn that sits halfway down the main street.
Bandit snorts, and nips at your hand.
“You’re really something, ya know” you waggle a finger at her with a slight chuckle, “leaving me in the dirt like that.”
He lets an arm wrap around your side then, fingertips grazing your hip as you enter the fire-warmed inn. He’s quick to pull out enough coin for a room, despite your protests. The middle-aged lady behind the bar passes him a key and a knowing look.
You want to pause, so you can tell her that it’s not like that. But she winks at your bewildered expression and tells the two of you she’ll send her daughters up to warm the bath shortly.
He can’t recall a time where you’ve allowed him to feel more needed when you let him help you out of your boots and cloak without a word of protest.
You catch sight of the pleased expression on his face and think you could almost kiss him. You’re hardly able to place blame on the fire, flames whittled down to glowing embers, for the warmth that blossoms on your cheeks.
He’s standing in front of you still, hand still resting on your arm and rubbing soft circles into the fabric of your shirt with his thumb.
It seems like an innocent enough gesture until his gaze drops to your lips - soft and pink and kissable.
There’s nothing stopping you from leaning into his hold then, a moment of weakness, or perhaps strength, letting your head rest against his chest. It’s a comfortable place to be, and you don’t want to forget the way his arms move to wrap around your lower back
A sudden knock at the door has you jumping apart, and you settle on the edge of the bed to watch as Jaskier answers, stepping back to let two younger girls into the room.
They both carry a pail in each hand, steam rising as they add them to the bathtub in the corner of the room. You wonder if Jaskier catches the shared glances between the girls – did they think you two were going to share the bath?
A fleeting thought has you hoping you would – your back resting against his chest – time slowed and the world, forgotten.
They leave and come back with more hot water. The brunette lingers behind and casts an eye over the scented oils kept on the shelf. After a moment she selects two and adds them to the water.
Jaskier smiles then, a boyish smirk in your direction – you're both trying to figure out if she thinks the something between you is true love or simple loveless vows.
Eventually, she leaves the room with a small bow of her head and the door shuts firmly behind her.
The scent, rising with the steam from the bath leans in the direction of romantic. All soft and rosy and everything you and Jaskier were yet to be.
His gaze returns to you and the quirk of his eyebrow makes you think he’s heard that thought. Still sitting on the bed, you pull your socks off with intent focus.
Despite the pain, your wrist is still moveable. But unlacing your remaining clothing requires both hands and at your set jaw and constant hisses of pain, Jaskier steps forward to help.
He waits for your nod before deftly unlacing and undoing a little more of your modesty. There’s a surge of warmth that fills your veins when his fingers brush against your collarbone.
You shiver.
He notices.
He also makes quick work of your clothing. Practiced hands. He bites his lower lip when the neckline of your blouse dips into uncharted feelings.
And it was almost like all this time, his existence had been within Winter’s entirety and there you were, the sun, his sun, seen in it’s purest form for the first time. He wants the vulnerable sense of trust you show him burned into his heart for eternity.
Even his face flushes slightly and you bask in this feeling of both needing someone and wanting them at the same time. Unpracticed thoughts.
There’s a sharp twinge of disappointment in your chest when he turns away from you, letting you kick off your trousers and pull your shirt over your head without any of his help or longing looks. He keeps his back turned and drapes his own jacket over the desk chair while he waits.
You take such time climbing into the tub that he catches sight of you, sinking into the heat with an appreciative sigh and Gods, if only you knew quite how badly he wanted to love all of you, completely.
He rounds the side of the tub, coming into your view and pushing his shirt sleeves up to his elbows. You force yourself to look away, nipping at your lower lip to stifle a moan.
Honestly, you wouldn’t mind those exact arms wrapping around your body, pulling you flush against him, on a backdrop of soft sheets and candlelight, his hand-
“You’re blushing,” he points out with a chuckle and you can only make up an excuse about the water being hot. He sees through your lie with a smug smile and gathers one of the soaps from the shelf – subtle tones of lavender.
Shifting the wooden stool, he settles behind you and offers to wash your hair.
“You’re taking care of me,” you mumble, arms resting on the sides of the tub and your fingertips dancing across the surface of the water.
“Happily,” he assures you, before focusing on working the braid out of your hair, carefully so as not to pull at it, or hurt you.
You smirk, his hands carding through your hair with gentle enthusiasm.
When you have to lean your head back so he can wet your hair with a pail of water, the heat that rises up your spine is hardly due to embarrassment. It’s a vastly different kind of flame you’re beginning to feel.
He works the soap, lathered in his hands through your hair, unable to tell who’s happier with the current situation. Your eyes are shut, lashes kissing your cheeks and fluttering on the occasion where his fingers catch in a stubborn tangle. Jaskier smiles to himself, at your impossible beauty in such a simple moment.
You’ve lost any sense of time as his fingers run through your hair and you’re hardly able to muffle the whine/moan that escapes through your lips when his fingernails drag against your scalp, once, twice and then a third time.
Does he see your toes curl?
He guides you to sit up slightly so he can rinse the soap from your hair and gently squeeze the excess water out.
Jaskier’s watched you braiding your own hair on many occasions. Either a single braid down your back or one that wraps around your head like a crown.
He thinks he can manage one for you, but you’re always making complicated things look easy. As fumbling hands weave your locks into a sad braid, he fantasizes about what you would look like, hair splayed around you on a shared bed and him straddling your hips with heady intentions-
“I never thought I’d want to need someone,” you say then, breaking the thought that makes him adjust the way he’s sitting behind you.
“Oh,” he replies, and then he realizes you’re talking about him. “Well, I never thought I’d want someone to need me, like...” he drifts off as you relax further, back against the tub.
You can’t help tilting your head back to catch sight of him above you and the blissful expression on his face at taking care of you makes your eyes water, slightly. Has anyone ever cared about you this much?
It felt like the sort of thing lovers would do and in that moment, with his eyes glancing down to meet yours, there’s nothing you want more out of life – to be the lover sung of in his ballads.
You’re wondering if he feels the same... If he wants to be your lover when you both speak at the same time -
a/n: unprompted, and i adore this a whole lot. just a sweet lil something for you.
;
The last of the afternoon sun casts a warm, golden glow over the two of you in the top section of the estate garden. On the soft grass lawn, Jaskier lays with his legs propped, letting you lean against his knees.
A lifetime of romance captured in one single moment.
Jaskier absentmindedly plays his lute, lost in the thought that one day he’d attempt to teach you to play and distracted by the occasional freshly picked strawberry you offer him.
You’re simply enamoured by him and are unsure if your cheeks are heated by the sun or the warm feeling of home that he constantly manages to bring about within you.
“I always knew I was going to marry you,” Jaskier’s words cut through the gentle strumming of his lute. His words crawl inside your heart and settle. They intertwine with the memory of the first time he’d told you he loved you.
“Is that so?”
“Yeah. The first time I met you, I just didn’t want to lose sight of you.”
“That’s romantic for a… how old were we? 6 or 7?”
He laughs and places his lute to the side, catching your hands in his own instead.
“You were 6, I was 8… I think…?”
Knocking into his knees, you swing a leg over his waist, and he wiggles his eyebrows at you suggestively as you settle your weight against him.
“You know, marrying you is something I’ve wanted for a long time,” you say softly, leaning down to punctuate your thoughts with a kiss, weight shifting to your palms on either side of his head. He reaches up to trail his fingertips up and down your wrists.
“Maybe not quite from age 6, but a long, long time.”
Adoring grey eyes locking with yours before he kisses you again, the sweet taste of strawberries and light wine on your tongue - addicting.
“I can’t believe our wedding is happening… next week,” Jaskier breathes between kisses
“Too soon?” you smirk, rolling over onto the soft grass and propping yourself up with an arm to face him.
“Not at all,” there’s a pause, and he pulls himself up, throwing you off balance to straddle you instead. “I’d marry you right here, right now if I could.”
Your strawberry stained lips quirk up into a smile.
“I do, I do, I do,” your whispered words dissolve into giggles as he peppers kisses across your face.
Eventually he pulls back and his gaze melts into you, the backdrop of the setting sun behind him, stains the sky in soft pinks and golds.
summary: based on the prompt: “that’s a lot of blood”
a/n: i love him, okayyy - but something for geralt next because yowza - also titles are hard.
;
The late Summer air lingers as you ride across the open field, eyeing the cover of trees ahead in desperation. You’ve been sweating since dawn; your horse has been spooking at shadows all day and Jaskier, seated behind you won’t stop singing.
His arms, wrapped around your waist tighten suddenly as again, your horse stops dead in her tracks with an indignant snort and pricked ears. You snatch at the reins and growl under your breath at the mare.
“Why’d y’ stop?” He asks, peering over your shoulder at the nothing you’d been trying to find all day.
Your gaze snaps back to meet his, and he pulls a face, “yikes, okay.” his grip on you doesn’t loosen until you bring a hand down to pinch at his arm.
“We need to make camp for the night,” you sigh, both exhausted and filled to the brim with annoyance.
“But we...” He begins until you cut him off with a glare.
“Need to get there as soon as possible. You think I don’t know?”
Honestly, you’re not really sure why he sticks with you. Most of the time, you’re badly tempered and impatient, but neither of you really have anyone else. Plus, you’re the one with the horse.
He calls you feisty. Once or twice you’ve admitted that he’s good company, both times at the mercy of beer and spirits.
Your nostrils flare as you wait for him to get off and then you dismount too, albeit a little less nimbly than usual. He glances away when you stumble, only because he knows you’ll snap at him if you catch him staring.
The line of trees ahead, calls your name. Following your lead, the grey mare walks forward and Jaskier half walks / half jogs to keep up with your long bad mood strides.
It’s when you reach the edge of the field that you hear the voices, jarring against the near silence that has fallen between you and the bard.
“y/n?” He asks, bumping into you when you stop suddenly.
“For fucks sake,” you mutter, feeling his breath on the back of your neck. “Shut up – there are people ahead.”
“Ohh-”
Before he can say anymore, you step back onto his toes, effectively keeping him quiet.
“We should keep moving,” one voice says and another yells maybe-drunk obscenities in protest. “we’ll eat, and then we’ll leave. your chosen ‘state’ is not my fault.”
Bandits. Fuck. With one hand you thrust the reins into Jaskier’s hands and the other draws your sword.
“Wait here,” you hiss and before you can listen to his protests, you move forward lightly, palms sweaty against the swords handle.
Crouching behind an old tree stump, you catch sight of them – both tall and on the skinny side. In the light of their small fire, you notice the shiner that one of them sports on their cheek. Quickly you realize that this is the drunk one. The other one sits next to the fire, tending to their food. The smell makes you feel weak, the only thing you’d eaten all day was some slightly stale bread.
You’re hardly able to stop yourself as you burst from your hiding spot, partly due to your awful mood needing to swing your sword. The drunk goes down with only a couple of lazy swipes of their own sword, unable to make it connect with you or your blade. He drops heavily at your feet, and you huff in satisfaction.
The other one, however, is less predictable and the sound of clanging metal has Jaskier dashing forward, your mare trotting alongside him without argument. He pulls to a stop at the edge of the clearing, just in time for your blade to catch the man’s bicep in a pirouette, and then with a second swing, his neck.
The second man’s body crumples, blood spurting from his neck and before you turn to face your companion, you let the pain wash over you. His blade had caught the outside of your thigh, lightly before you’d danced back out of reach. The silence between you is stifling as you return your sword to its place at your shoulder.
Refusing to look down at your leg, or even accept that you’re now injured you move toward Jaskier and your horse, focused on hiding your limp. The lack of lighting allows cover for the rip in your trousers, and the blood that wets the dark fabric.
“Always something to prove, huh?”
He winces when you take the reins from him, hands brushing against his for a moment more than you’d usually allow. When his hand raises to wipe the specks of blood from your face, you sigh, letting your eyes shut against his touch.
As you drag your mare toward a nearby tree to tie her up for the night, he notices the slowness in your movements. Nothing about you is ever slow. He helps unsaddle the horse, propping the saddle against the tree and keeping hold of the heavyweight blanket that rested underneath it.
“Wait, you’re not okay,” he states when you stumble, grimace and curse under your breath. The genuine concern in his voice makes you pause.
“I’m fine. We’ll stay here, not waste their food and leave at dawn,” you order, always so bossy.
Both of you move back towards the small fire that gives off light but not much heat. The sweat that covered your skin only minutes ago has cooled. He sits next to you, so close that your shoulders bump and a little heat returns to your body. When he’s occupied with trying to guess what kind of meat is cooking over the fire, you catch a glance at your leg.
The tear in your pants shows a short, sharp slice. Still aching and wet with blood.
“Yeah, you’re fine,” he leans over and scoffs when you pull back with blood on your fingers.
“Fuck,” you hiss and he offers a smile, “I did this, to protect you.” your voice reaches a near yell and he pulls back, looking hurt for naught but a second.
“Well, we could have gone around them,” he gestures toward the bodies and you’re fuming as he continues, “My healing skills may be limited, but I think it’s me that can help you and your ‘predicament’ right now,” he gestures at your thigh and if it had been any other situation, you may have blushed.
Swallowing your words instead, you glare at him for a moment, in embarrassment because usually, it’s you helping him and then motion for him to go collect the saddlebag that contains all your vials.
Eventually, you lie back, legs falling to the side, injury face up. “Sometimes I don’t think you realize how much you like me,” he says lightly as he brings back the leather bag.
“Careful,” you snap and ignore his words when he sits down next to you and fumbles through it, glass clinking together. “It should be white,” you add when he pulls one out, holding it up to the light of the fire, “so not that one.”
Sighing, you push yourself up on your elbows, to watch as he holds up yet another wrong vial - “no,” the pain keeps you snappy and on edge.
“Doing my best,” he quips and produces two more. Finally, you nod.
“That one,” when he puts the right one back down, your annoyance only builds. “Jaskier,” you exclaim, pitch heightening as you jab your finger in the direction of the glass bottle, filled as described, with some kind of white substance.
He chuckles almost nervously, “Now, who’s this going to hurt more?”
Despite the pain, you take a moment to tilt your head to the side slightly, “Me-” he unscrews the lid and brings it up to sniff. You almost laugh when he dry heaves. It’s not a salve best known for its smell, but it’s effective and created exactly as you were taught when you were younger.
“Okay, now I’m really sorry,” he holds it at a distance before realizing he’s committed to the point of actually having to use it.
His touch is ginger against your wound and you hiss through clenched teeth.
“I don't want to hurt you; I mean that does seem like a lot of blood”
You take a breath, “It’s fine, just do it quickly.”
“I can’t really get the angle right, to be fair,”
“I thought... You were doing your best,” he looks offended for a split second before his voices gains a sense of authority that makes you choke.
“Well, maybe if you pull your trousers down a little,”
“Fuck off.” You snarl and his hand presses against the side of your thigh, making you whimper and shut up at the same time.
Keeping an eye on where his gaze remains, you eventually oblige. The bleeding has slowed, and with a quick distraction of “who’s that over there?” it’s over, your hand moving to grip his arm, nails digging in until he actually yelps.
As you begin to regain a little of your dignity, you recognize the look on his face, giddy at feeling like he was your protector. Honestly, it was hard not to appreciate the small feeling of safety you’d been given, even if it were only for the night.
“Go to sleep, I’ll keep watch tonight,” he tells you after the both of you have eaten your fill, the fire providing little warmth.
His intentions are in the right place, but in a night of fitful sleep, every time your eyes flicker open, you catch him asleep next to you. For once you don’t really care, even when his arm drapes over you, his light snores warm on the back of your neck.
The pain leaves you in a state of comfortable you thought you’d never truly feel. That concept had plagued you since meeting the bard. Would you ever lose the constantly watching your back state of mind?
The slight smile is still on your face when he wakes before you, morning sun filtering through the trees. Despite all the strong feelings you’d shared and you had promptly chosen to ignore, he can’t help but feel like the luckiest man on the Continent.
