#Jaskier deserves to make some bad innuendos

[flowercrown-bard]

Birds Still Sing When They Fall From The Sky

part 1  part 2  part 3  part 4 belongs to this

The trembling notes of a lute drifted through the air, unsure, faltering. Yet brimming with the energy only a bard ready to take on the world could have.

A sharp twang, as fingers missed the correct string.

“No, love, like this.” Jaskier said gently, followed by the chords as it should have sounded.

Geralt’s brows knitted together, as he entered the cottage, exhausted from the day’s ride that had been hard and fast in Geralt’s eagerness to get home to Jaskier as early as possible.

Another missed chord, as the young woman sitting next to Jaskier startled at the sight of Geralt. He nodded at her in passing, but his eyes were on Jaskier’s smile, when he got up and crossed the room to embrace Geralt.

“Geralt, you’re back!” Jaskier’s embrace grew tighter, before he pulled back, looking Geralt over for injuries like he always did. Wrinkled fingers brushed a strand of hair out of Geralt’s face, as Jaskier looked at him critically, before nodding in satisfaction. “Handsome as ever.”

“What a generous verdict.”

“You’re not going to say it back?” Jaskier asked with mock offence, playfully hitting Geralt’s chest.

Geralt’s eyes darted over to the women, who was pointedly looking at the old lute in her lap, but risking what were probably meant to be subtle looks of curiosity at them.

Jaskier followed his eyes and smiled sheepishly.

“This is Sera.” At the mention of her name, the woman gave up the pretence of looking like she was busy and gave a small wave. Geralt looked at her more closely. Something about her seemed familiar, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on where exactly he had seen her before. “I am giving her lessons.”

“I want to be a bard like Jaskier some day.” Sera perked up and Geralt could detect a hint of insecurity in her voice, though the determination overshadowed it.

Geralt shot her a look that probably only Jaskier could recognise as a grin. “A word of advice: learn how to climb out of windows.” He ignored Jaskier’s snort. “If you’ll become anything like Jaskier, you’ll need it.”

Jaskier nudged him in the ribs. “Or you could just find yourself a witcher who can take care of any arising problems for you.”

He even had the audacity to throw a wink in there for good measure. Geralt had to look down to hide the smile that was threatening to show. Out of all the things old age had already claimed, Jaskier’s ability to slip an innuendo into a perfectly innocent conversation was one talent Jaskier held onto with stubborn pride. Geralt wouldn’t have it any other way.

Contrary to Geralt, Sera didn’t hide her reaction. She openly snorted. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Her fingers twitched on the lute in her arms. “But maybe I’ll just stick to the music lessons for now.”

“Right!” Jaskier clapped his hands, rubbing them together eagerly, before he halted and shot Geralt a worried look. “You don’t mind, do you, dearest? I didn’t think you’d be back so soon. Of course, I understand if you want your peace. We could just go somewhere else for the rest of the lesson.”

He tilted his head in question and Geralt felt unexpectedly sheepish. The tips of his fingers rubbed together, a gesture that hadn’t always belonged to him.

“Actually,” he cleared his throat. “I was wondering if I could listen to you.”

Jaskier brightened at his words. “That is a wonderful idea! Sera, do you mind?”

She shook her head with a lopsided grin. “I’m already used to singing for an audience.” She paused. “Though I must warn you, I am relatively new to playing the lute.”

“Nonsense!” Jaskier waved her off. “Here’s a lesson for you: Being humble is a virtue, but not one suitable for a bard. Never sell yourself short.”

A laugh escaped Geralt. “A lesson you yourself really took to heart.”

“Naturally. There is a difference between knowing your limits and selling yourself short. And Sera here,” he pointed a finger at her. “has been taken lessons from me for weeks now, whenever you are away.” Something in Geralt sagged in relief, knowing that Jaskier wasn’t alone and restless while he wasn’t around. “She is good. I would be disappointed in my teaching qualities if it were any different.”

A thin blush crept across Sera’s face. “Alright then. I am good. Should we continue?”

At Jaskier’s nod, she stuck up the song she’d been playing before again. While Jaskier corrected her finger placement, Geralt sat himself down in a corner, eyes fixed on Jaskier’s stern but gentle expression when he gave instructions.

His chest felt warm and he was sure if Sera had looked up she would have seen a fond look that normally Jaskier was the only witness to. Geralt’s didn’t care enough to keep it off his face. It had been too long ago when Jaskier had given up his teaching position in Oxenfurt. He had loved it, but “the life in the road is far more interesting. It’s calling out to me!”.

Their small living room was no substitute for a lecture hall, but It was good that at least Jaskier still had this. As much as Jaskier had always talked about Geralt being an inspiration for him and that it would be a shame to let that inspiration go to waste, the same could be said about Jaskier. Geralt couldn’t count the myriad of bright-eyed bards now roaming the continent solely because Jaskier’s tales and teachings had inspired them. They had all looked up to him, just as Sera now looked at him with unabashed admiration.

Jaskier must have given her a sign Geralt had missed, or maybe Sera’s confidence had taken hold of her, for the next time she strummed a chord, it was accompanied by a clear voice.

Geralt’s eyes snapped to her. So that’s where he knew her from. Her voice, now weaving words about sea faring, lighthouses and storms had rung through a tavern, confident and a little drunk, singing sea shanties and folk songs while Jaskier had told him he wasn’t fit to sing anymore.

“She’s better than me,” Jaskier had said back then and though Geralt still didn’t believe that was true, his heart clenched sweetly at Jaskier’s shining eyes when he saw his young student move transition to the next verse. Sera wasn’t a better bard than Jaskier. She was hardly even a bard at all. But now, watching her close her eyes and sing about a traveller seeing far-off places and experiencing all the wonders of the world, Geralt could see what Jaskier saw her. Despite Sera’s brown eyes, it was hard not to see the young bard, blue eyes filled with wonder and hunger for the world, that had approached Geralt in Posada in her.

Far too quickly, the lesson was over. Sera left with rosy cheeks and a tired but ambitious look in her eyes, leaving Geralt and Jaskier alone in their home.

“That wasn’t one of your songs,” Geralt said at long last.

Jaskier huffed, putting his hands on his hips. “I am not that self-absorbed to only teach my students how to play my own songs.”

“You absolutely did while I was away, didn’t you?” Geralt deadpanned.

Jaskier threw his head back laughing and held his hands ups in surrender. “Naturally, I did. You know me too well.”

Never too well. There wasn’t a single facet of Jaskier that Geralt didn’t wish to know.

Jaskier clenched his fingers, stiff from demonstrating chords for hours, before coming over to sit by Geralt’s side. “It was her own song. Truth be told, I don’t think the lute is right for Sera, but it is the only instrument she owns and she needs to be able to play at least one original composition on an instrument if she wants to apply to Oxenfurt.”

“She wants to leave?”

“Don’t all bards?”

“Do you?”

Jaskier was quiet for a while, only absentmindedly humming the melody Sera was working on, his fingers forming the shapes of chords in the air. “It’s about returning home.” Geralt’s brows drew together and Jaskier clarified. “Her song. It’s about coming home. We’re working on it together. Sera is a bright student, but she doesn’t know much about the feeling she wants to convey in her songs.”

“I thought it sounded rather well. A bit like yours when you wrote about a hunt.”

A smile tugged at Jaskier’s lips and he scooted a bit away so as to better look at Geralt. The position was painfully, beautifully familiar. It was the same position Jaskier always took, when talking his own writing process over with Geralt. The way his hands waved through the air, as if it would make it easier for Geralt to understand the intricacies of chord-progressions or rhyme schemes, was the same. Sera might never become better than Jaskier, but Jaskier cared so much about her and her song, it was impossible for Geralt not to do so too.

“Ah, but here’s the problem,” Jaskier said. “She doesn’t want to write about adventures. That’s not what the song is about. Not really. That’s what she wants to experience herself, but the song isn’t about her.”

“And she needs you to tell her what it feels like to want a home?”

Fingers brushed against his hand. Geralt twisted his hand to interlace them with his. Jaskier gave him no answer, and Geralt had no need for one.

The sun had already begun to set when Jaskier got a strange look in his eyes. Geralt’s hand followed his unbidden, when Jaskier pulled away.

“What are you doing?”

Jaskier didn’t look back to him over his shoulder, instead rummaging through a drawer. “I need paper. And a quill.”

“Been struck by inspiration for a new song?” How he hoped that was it. He was yearning for Jaskier to talk about his own compositions the same way he talked about Sera’s, with the same joy and knowledge that he was still creating. That he was still here.

“Something like that.”

Barely supressed sounds of frustration left Jaskier, when he came up empty.

Geralt hummed in thought. “I think you used the last one on the letter to my brothers.”

“Oh.”

Something tugged at Geralt’s heart at the small sound. “Do you regret it?”

“Writing letters?” Jaskier sounded so incredulous that the brewing tempest in Geralt’s chest calmed. “Never.”

“I could buy a notebook for you,” Geralt said when they were nestled together in bed at the end of the day, the frustration having ebbed away from Jaskier, though his fingers were still twitching with the need to write down whatever it was that was coming to life in his head. “Tomorrow, when I go to the market again.”

Jaskier pulled himself closer against Geralt, tugging his head under Geralt’s chin. “You are a darling.”

“You could tell me about your new idea now. So that you don’t forget come morning.”

“I won’t forget,” Jaskier said firmly. He was quiet for a moment and Geralt listened to his heartbeat. Steady, like the beat of a lullaby. “And it’s not time for you to know yet. I want it to be perfect.”

“You never bothered before. I have witnessed your writing process enough times not to judge you.”

“It’s not about judging me.”

“Then what is it about?”

“About you.” Jaskier lifted his head and pressed a soft kiss against Geralt’s jaw. “I’ll let you read it when it’s time. I promise.”

[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

I see the other anon(s?) with their tropes that are just excuses for cute cuddling and raise you: Snowed In. A small cabin. A storm howling outside. Whatever will the reader and Jaskier do?

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Jaskier x ReaderWord Count: 1,673Rating: GTaglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mynamesoundslikesherlock @magic-multicolored-miracle a/n: This is such an excellent trope 10/10 to you

“Well the good news is there’s cheese.”

Jaskier flashed you an optimistic smile and you laughed. Not the laugh of someone who’s heard a joke. The sort of laugh you make when everything’s gone wrong and it’s too ludicrous to be sad anymore.

“What’s the bad news?” you asked.

“What makes you think there’s bad news?” he challenged.

“That’s the setup, right? The good news is X, the bad news is Y,” you said.

“Maybe I only bring good news?”

You gave him a meaningful look and he sighed.

“Alright. We may, possibly, sort of be snowed in,” he said the last bit in a rush, a little wince on his face as he waited for your reaction. It had been a rough day overall. You’d gotten lost in the woods, you’d argued over how to find your way out, then the snow started and you were freezing and totally soaked through and there was no dry firewood in the little cabin (if you could call it that) in the middle of the woods. And you wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon.

“Well,” you said, trying to summon a weak smile, “At least there’s cheese!”

You were trying to be brave for him, knowing how hard it must be for Jaskier not to be able to just make things right. He was determined to make the best of it so you would be as well. You looked around the cabin. It didn’t take long as it was just a single room with a little wood stove, a larder box where Jaskier had found the cheese, a dilapidated table with two chairs, a cot in the corner that looked like it was now an orphanage for wayward rats, and a wardrobe you were a bit scared to open.

“Before we have that, I’m going to find something for you to change into,” Jaskier said, a look of determination settling on his face as he walked purposefully over to the wardrobe and pulled it open. There were stacks of blankets that looked to be in pretty decent condition, a thick coil of rope, and, best of all, some matches and firewood.

“Alright now we’re talking!” Jaskier exclaimed happily, “There isn’t much wood but enough to cook with.”

“Cook what? The cheese?”

“Well I didn’t mention it at the time because I didn’t want to get your hopes up but I may have also spied something that looked suspiciously like sausages,” he said with a little smile. “But first let’s get you out of those clothes.”

“Pardon?”

“You can’t stay in wet clothes and neither can I. We’ll both have to change,” he insisted.

“Into what?” you asked.

He held up the blankets in one hand and the rope in the other and you could tell by the look in his eyes that there was no use arguing with him.

You stood back to back and stripped, your teeth chattering as the cold air hit your bodies and you both quickly draped the blankets around you and cinched it with a quilt.

“Well I think we look quite fetching,” Jaskier said, doing a little turn in his makeshift tunic. You giggled and allowed him to spin you around, the heavy quilt thwapping against his legs as you turned. It was still cold and you were hungry and the howling winds outside reminded you of the danger you were in if you didn’t find a way out someday soon, but Jaskier was still able to make you laugh and make it all feel that much more bearable.

He unearthed the sausages from the larder and chipped away the ice as you scooped up some snow to melt in the pot.

“Are you still angry with me?” Jaskier asked as he watched you light the meager firewood you had, crowding near the stove together for the warmth it gave off.

“No, that wasn’t fair to you,” you said, “It’s not your fault we got lost. I just got scared and wanted to blame someone else for it.”

“I’m pretty good at that,” he said with a rueful smile.

“Hey,” you said, reaching a newly warmed hand to touch his icy shoulder. His eyes traveled from your hand to your face and you got lost for a moment in the soft, warm depths of his eyes. “You don’t deserve that. If I’m ever cross or rude to you again for no good reason, please tell me to just fuck off.”

“I would never,” he said with a laugh.

“Why not?”

“It’s not very gentlemanly for one thing.”

“Oh good gods Jaskier it’s just me.”

“Well you deserve to be treated like a lady.”

“I’ve seen how you treat ladies,” you teased, your tone meaningful. In any other moment this joke would have been laughed off or met with a faux injured expression. But you were crouched low together, so close your bare knees were touching and you grew keenly aware that only a few inches of rope obscured each other’s bodes. As it was you were trying not to be too distracted by the muscular arms and broad shoulders the tunic he’d fashioned exposed. You didn’t know that he was trying very hard to be a gentleman and keep his eyes trained away from your legs as you sat, the quilt inched up higher to expose your thigh and if he craned his neck he knew he would see��� things he would never see unless you explicitly showed him. So he just looked at your face which was frankly just as dangerous.

The bubbling of the pot pulled you both from your contemplation and you gently eased the sausages in while Jaskier sliced up the cheese he’d found. Before long the two of you were seated on the floor together (not trusting the rickety looking table and chairs), sharing a picnic of cheese cubes and sausages.

“Honestly this is better than most of the food I get in taverns,” Jaskier said, taking a bite of sausage. You smiled at him fondly and he smiled back, the same look of determined optimism on his face as before.

“You know, Jaskier, if I had to be stuck in a cabin in the middle of a blizzard, I’m glad it’s with you,” you said.

“You wouldn’t rather I be someplace safe and warm?” he teased.

“Absolutely not. If I’m going down I’m taking you with me,” you said, causing him to laugh, a sound more beautiful than any of his songs.

“Geralt would be more useful, probably,” Jaskier said.

“Geralt would be brooding in the corner. He wouldn’t be cooking me sausage or thinking of blanket togas or making me smile so I don’t go insane,” you argued emphatically, “You’re the perfect person. For me. In a snowstorm.”

Jaskier smiled down at his food a little sheepishly and you bit your lip nervously, worried you’d revealed too much or made him uncomfortable.

“Well,” he said, finally raising his eyes to meet yours, a twinkle in his eye, “I’ve never had such a delicious sausage. Well, never swallowed one so tasty. Well…”

You laughed at his unsubtle innuendo, throwing a piece of cheese at him that he caught in his mouth, giving you a wolfish smile as he chewed. When it was time to sleep you were worried about the awkward dance of whether or not you should sleep close together but thankfully Jaskier approached this dilemma with the same, casual practicality he had every other. He pulled a couple of unused blankets from the wardrobe, laying one on the dusty floor and climbing on top of it, patting the spot next to him. You crawled over, burrowing up tight against his chest as he wrapped the second blanket around the both of you, trying to tuck it in as tightly as possible.

“Comfy?” he asked, his voice muffled slightly by your hair.

“Yes, you?”

“Yes.”

“Jaskier?”

“Hmm?”

“What happens tomorrow?”

The question had been hovering in your mind all evening. You were usually the one to make those decisions but he had traveled much more than you had and you relished the opportunity to ask someone else to decide. You couldn’t have known how much Jaskier loved that you asked, loved taking the role of the person you could trust to lead you through this chaos. It scared and excited him in equal measure but he knew deep down that he would do whatever it took to keep you safe and that certainty was what kept his voice calm when he answered.

“Tomorrow we will see how high the snow has fallen. If we can get out, we do, but we don’t go too far lest we get lost again without any shelter. Yennefer will have told Geralt by now that we didn’t arrive and they will come for us. Until then, I will keep you safe even if I have to fight a bear or press every ounce of warmth in my body into yours to keep you alive.”

His words and tone were dramatic but you felt the truth in them. You felt safe and secure and so very grateful that you thought your heart might burst. You burrowed your head into the nape of his neck, the fine, dark hairs there brushing against your cheeks as you felt his pulse quicken in his throat.

“Jaskier?”

“Y/N?”

“Will you sing to me?”

His hands instinctively clenched you tighter and he smiled into the top of your head.

“Of course. Any specific requests?” he asked.

“Nothing sad,” you asked, yawning the word against his shoulder. “But nothing too bawdy either. Not that I don’t like them, I just don’t want to hurt you as I try to clap along.”

He chuckled and cleared his throat and began to sing, a low, soothing song. It could have been about anything or nothing at all, you lost track of the words as you listened to his voice and before long you were fast asleep though he kept singing until he fell asleep as well.