Jaskier is unreasonably protective of Geralt’s hair, for a good reason. (2.5k of fluff and boys being soft ☆ also on AO3)
Jaskier is being unreasonably protective of Geralt’s hair.
“Hey, hands off! Who said you could touch!”
The merchant, whose hand was forcefully slapped away by the bard, looks only slightly embarrassed.
“Forgive me, Master Witcher,” the man says, directing at Geralt and ignoring the daggers Jaskier shoots at him. “Hair as long as yours can sell for a good price.”
Geralt hums, peering down at the white hair draping down his shoulders. He hasn’t trimmed it in the past half a year or so, and it is indeed quite long, nearly reaching the middle of his back.
To keep it long but untangled is quite a feat. Jaskier has been adding more fancy oils to their pack and spending more time massaging them into Geralt’s hair whenever they find themselves in a bath. The longer it got, the soft it is to the touch. Geralt even catches himself combing through it on occasion to feel the silky texture.
He also finds himself wearing it down more often than not, leaving the hair loose and draped down one side of his neck. With its unusual color, no wonder it’s attracted attention.
“Do you deal hair?” Geralt asks in return. “Wigs?”
“Aye, I work for the royal palace. Been making wigs for ceremonies and banquets for two decades.” The merchant has a hungry look in his eyes. “But I have to say, hair such as yours is a rare sight. I’d pay extra for the king’s collection. It’s a wonder, white hair by mutation, free of dye and bleach…”
With that, the man moves to touch Geralt’s hair again, his hand outreached and inches away from the strands brushing against Geralt’s arm. This time, Jaskier steps in, inserting himself between the two of them and squawking a high-pitched noise.
“Oi!” he yells. “What part of hands off do you not understand? We said it’s not for sale! No, thank you! His hair is not some spectacle for royal brats to keep in a museum!”
