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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years ago

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shelter me from winter’s bite

Everyone’s doing a hypothermia fic so I figured I may as well contribute. It’s one of my favorite tropes.

title taken from Brian Czyzyk’s poem “Hoarfrost” (he’s my favorite young queer poet and you should check him out).

tw: hypothermia, angst with a happy ending, whump with a happy ending

---

“Do you always have to be so damnably loud?” Geralt growls, glaring at Jaskier from across the small room.

“My apologies for existing,” the bard snaps back. He’d only been rearranging his pack, looking for something reasonably clean to sleep in while his clothes were laundered by the innkeeper’s lovely wife. “I’ll try to do so more quietly from now on, good sir.”

Geralt huffs out a breath in passive-aggressive annoyance and Jaskier bristles.

“Oh well, then. C’mon witcher, I know you want to say it!”

“Say what?” Geralt asks. His voice is low and threatening. He’s ready to play the game and by god he’s going to win this time.

“It’s practically your motto at this point,” the bard hisses through his teeth, angry and bitter and tired. Geralt sees victory. Sees some peace and quiet on the horizon. “Say it!”

Geralt does as he’s told, like any good witcher would: “Fuck off, bard.”

“There it is!” Jaskier laughs joylessly, throwing up his hands. He pulls on his doublet and boots and heads for the door. “If you want me gone so badly, Geralt, then I will go. I’ll get out of your lovely white hair and leave you to mope in peace.”

“Fucking finally,” the witcher snarls, turning away. He doesn’t see the genuine hurt in Jaskier’s blue eyes as the bard quietly closes the door rather than slamming it. He doesn’t hear the quiet sob that rips its way out of Jaskier’s throat as he stands very still, shocked and suddenly exhausted all the way to his bones. He doesn’t smell the salt of his bard’s tears as he slips silently down the hallway and out into the late autumn night. He doesn’t notice the snow starting to pile up on the windowsill ahead of season.

He’s too busy being a self-flagellating moron to notice any of that.

---

Geralt is woken in the middle of the night by a commotion downstairs. He can hear several loud, panicked heartbeats and one very quiet, very slow heartbeat beneath all of those; it’s achingly familiar but the half-asleep witcher can’t quite call its source to mind. Geralt listens as the innkeeper barks out a series of sharp orders: “Meredith, you get to the kitchen and make some strong black tea! Florence, fetch a pail of warm water and two or three towels from the laundry. Josiah you lazy lout, get into the attic and fetch some blankets! The poor lad has gone blue all over!”

The witcher peers into the hallway and catches the skinny stable hand, Josiah, racing for the attic staircase. “What’s going on?”

“A farmer from the next town over was on his way over to help a friend’s sow give calf and he found-” the lad pauses to suck in a great gulp of air and launches off again “-and he found that friend of yours lying in a snowbank, muttering nonsense and shivering like a leaf. The poor fool didn’t have a cloak on him or anything, just a doublet and walking boots! He’s near-dead!”

Geralt curses and makes for the stairs, taking them two at a time until he reaches the main floor. There are voices coming from the kitchen and he follows them as if in a dream, his feet moving without aid of his conscious mind. “Jaskier? Is it the bard, Jaskier?”

“Are you the great brute what kicked him out?” the innkeeper’s wife asks, crossing her arms over her ample chest and narrowing her eyes. Geralt falters.

“No, he- he left on his own, in a huff.”

“Wonder who could have started the huff,” the woman rolls her eyes. This isn’t about his status as a witcher, Geralt knows; this eye roll was made by a woman who knows a lovers’ quarrel when she sees one. Except that this stupid little spat might have cost Jaskier his life.

“Where is he? May I see him, goodwife?”

The woman points to a table in the corner, which has been cleared of cooking implements and cushioned with a heavy bearskin. Jaskier lies atop the brown fur, his skin frighteningly pale, his lips and fingers tinted a slight blue. Geralt rushes to his side and takes one of the bard’s stiff hands in his own. He brushes a stray lock of brown hair from Jaskier’s forehead and nearly recoils in shock from the temperature of his skin. Even colder than his hands, which are already dangerously frigid. If Jaskier cannot play his lute-

Geralt doesn’t even allow himself to finish the thought. Instead he works on rubbing small, careful circles onto the back of the bard’s hands with his thumbs, warming the skin in tiny increments: “Shh, you’re safe. I won’t let you go.”

The bard remains unmoving, heartbeat fluttering weakly, lungs barely drawing breath; Geralt fights back an overwhelming sense of panic, trying to recall whatever training he’d received at Kaer Morhen concerning freezing humans.

“Do you mind if I take him upstairs and tend to him myself?” the witcher asks.

“Can you take care of him?” the innkeeper’s wife replies.

Geralt bows his head, shame licking like flames up and down his bent spine, and nods. “Yes, Ma’am. I have dry clothes for him in our room and I was trained extensively for emergency situations such as this, all witchers are.”

“Alright,” she narrows her eyes. “But he’d best be alive come morning.”

“I’ll happily turn myself over to the village elders to be dealt with accordingly should the bard come to any harm,” he vows. Her eyes widen minutely and he can read the surprise in her body language, but she remains relatively calm.

“Any further harm, rather. Alright, then. I’ll have my husband and the girls bring those supplies up to your room for him. We’ll be glad to go back to sleep.”

“Thank you for your kindness,” Geralt bows formally. She blushes despite her irritation with him and waves him away.

“Take your bard and go, witcher, before I change my mind and spend all night caring for him myself out of motherly pity. Go.”

Geralt hefts Jaskier into his arms, heavy bearskin blanket and all, and hurries up the stairs to his room. He will not let Jaskier come to any further harm. Not by his hand. Not by his word. Never again.

---

Back in their room, Geralt quickly undresses the shivering human, peeling away what few damp layers there are with growing disappointment. Jaskier hadn’t been prepared for a walk in the snow at all! Although, to be fair, it hadn’t seemed that cold earlier in the evening and the snow had been sudden and heavy.

He wipes Jaskier down with a warm cloth and slips one of his own clean shirts over the bard’s head. He tries not to let his gaze linger on the way Jaskier’s shoulders don’t quite fill out the dark material. Or on the way his dark, wiry chest hair peeks out through the open laces at his throat. The witcher quickly shuffles him into clean smallclothes and wraps him in a thick wool blanket.

They sit curled before the fire and Geralt holds Jaskier against his chest. He hums with his voice like gravel, grating out one note after the other in some attempt to soothe the bard’s aching body. Jaskier shivers and shakes violently in the witcher’s strong embrace, his eyes clenched shut with the cramps that wrack his frame as his muscles return to their normal temperature. Geralt feels like he’s holding a porcelain doll and keeps his grip deliberately loose, tight enough to comfort but not restrain.

“G-Geralt,” he groans. “Hold me, please.”

The witcher squeezes his arms more confidently around the bard’s middle, burying his face in Jaskier’s soft hair and breathing deeply. The warmth that usually emanates from his busy human body is gone and his chamomile-honey scent is buried beneath a layer of damp cold; it feels wrong. Terribly wrong. Geralt murmurs against his temple, begging the younger man’s forgiveness: “I’m so sorry, Jaskier. Gods, I’m so sorry. Will you ever be able to forgive me? I’m a fool, you know. I’m a fool witcher who never says anything important until it’s too late. I’m so incredibly sorry, my love.”

“This is a very good dream,” the bard sighs, smiling despite the pain. His eyes open, bleary and addled. “Like I was having in the woods, but better.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow and Jaskier seems to understand the unspoken question, even in his current sorry state.

“The real Geralt would never be so gentle with me, dear heart. You must be a dream, sent to me on my deathbed to ease my passage into the afterlife. There’s no other explanation for your sudden displays of tenderness.”

“It’s... It’s really me,” Geralt affirms. He runs his hand up and down the length of Jaskier’s spine, “I’m here, Jaskier. Can you ever forgive me for being so stupid?”

“I forgive you for being stupid ever other day, dear witcher. It is of no consequence to me.”

“It almost was,” Geralt frowns. “I nearly- I almost-”

Jaskier’s arm raises weakly and his too-chilly hand presses to Geralt’s cheek. “I shouldn’t have stormed off like an idiot. I shouldn’t have kept picking the fight. We both fucked up, alright? What matters is our second chance. We got to have one, Geralt.”

“Hmm.”

“Am I wearing your shirt?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Yours were all being laundered and this one was clean and it had been in my pack near the fire so it was already warm and-”

“Did you take care of me all night?”

“Hmm.” Geralt sighs after his hum and glances away for a moment. “What did you mean about... about the dream in the woods?”

“Oh. Well, when I was very cold and things were hazy and slow, I dreamed that you were there with me. Everything got very fuzzy and warm for a little bit, and when it was warm you were holding me like this and giving me little kisses. It was... nice. Even though I knew I was dying because you were being so soft, so considerate; saying things to me you’d never say out loud in real life.”

“I love you, Jaskier. I will try my best not to lose my temper needlessly,” the witcher swears. “You don’t deserve it.”

“Can we still cuddle like this?” Jaskier asks, leaning his weigth against Geralt’s firm chest. “It’s so nice to be held.”

“Of course. Anything you want. I’m not going to waste my second chance by treating you poorly. Not for another second, my beloved bard.”

“B-beloved?”

“Hmm.”

“Oh, well then I’m definitely still dreaming.”

Geralt lifts Jaskier into his arms and carries him over to the bed, which is piled high with their extra blankets. He tucks Jaskier into the nest against the wall and lays along the outside of the mattress. He presses his lips to the bard’s, reveling in Jaskier’s returning warmth, and smiles. “I’ll prove it’s not a dream. Every day.”

“Sounds nice,” Jaskier yawns, snuggling into the witcher’s arms and settling down to sleep.

“It will be.”

#geraskier #hypothermia #getting together #bouncey's endless getting together fics #geraskier fic #geraskier fluff #whump with a happy ending #fluff with a happy ending #geralt #jaskier #jaskier whump #jaskier gets hypothermia #caring geralt #soft geralt #winter fics #geraskier winter fics

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jaskiersvalley · 4 years ago

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you're the sweetest!!! ♥️

Nonnie, I will say that in actual fact you’re the sweetest! I hope this new year treats you well. To start it off, have a bit of Lambert and the idiot wolf pack.

It was an unspoken fact that Lambert never cuddled. He had no problem with sex, happily spent an evening in Eskel or Geralt’s bed but he never stayed the night. It was just a Lambert thing and, no matter how much it hurt, the other two respected it. To start with they tried to entice him into staying, not with words, that wasn’t their way. But they’d wedge him between them, pull the cover up and grumble when, inevitably, he clambered out. It hurt but nobody said anything, Geralt and Eskel’s confusion and pain was hidden in the way they clung the each other, trying to reassure the other that they were enough.

When Jaskier joined them for winter, it was no different. Though Lambert seemed to avoid him, refusing to join them in their shared bed. If he wanted a tumble, he’d corner Eskel in a corridor or a secluded part of the keep. It wasn’t all that often though, most of the time Jaskier got to reap the benefits of having prime spot between Geralt and Eskel. A couple of times Eskel or Geralt thought they heard or scented a familiar body by their door but it could well have been their imagination.

Everything changed when Aiden entered the picture. He had no shame about snagging Lambert and holding him down until he submitted to the horror that was a cuddle. It was pretty entertaining to watch Lambert struggle but also not. He made a show of it, growled, yelled, thrashed but not once did he actually lash out and hurt Aiden in his attempts to get away. Eskel and Geralt never mentioned how much it hurt that Lambert would accept his fate and snuggle with Aiden. He’d even stopped cornering them for a quick fumble now that he had Aiden.

By contrast, Jaskier had no qualms about making his displeasure known. Lambert was hurting Geralt and Eskel and that was not okay.

“Do we smell?” he asked one evening when Lambert had been dozing in Aiden’s lap, head on his thighs and a hand carding through his hair.

“Yes. Your soaps burn my nose and eyes.”

Puffing up in offense, Jaskier took a deep breath, ready to defend his soaps. Until he realised it was a distraction, that Lambert was picking a fight to throw the conversation off kilter and move focus from the real issue. Undeterred, Jaskier pressed on. “You know that’s not what I mean. You cuddle Aiden but not us.”

“It’s not like I have much of a choice.” A brazen lie and everyone stared at Lambert flatly, even Aiden chuckled and swatted at his shoulder. Under such scrutiny, Lambert shrank away from the looks and scowled. “I don’t!”

“You know, you can move if you want,” Aiden said and watched as Lambert made no effort to move.

However, Eskel did get up. Without a word he lumbered out of the hall, leaving behind the bitter scent of disappointment that only Jaskier couldn’t smell. He could read a room though and he knew Eskel wouldn’t be coming back.

“Really?” He asked Lambert in disappointment.

“What did I do?”

“Oh I don’t know-” Jaskier waved a hand, “-maybe implied that he was good enough for a mindless fuck but nothing more. And only until someone better came along.”

“I didn’t say that!”

Geralt butted in at that, “Not verbally, no. I’m going to head to bed. Good night.”

With that, he followed Eskel and Jaskier got up too. He fixed Lambert with a look. “Just think about your actions and what they say.”

What followed were an uncomfortable couple of days. Lambert had no idea how to fix things and he didn’t know what was worse. That Jaskier was acting like nothing has changed, that Eskel was avoiding him or that Geralt was deeply unimpressed and making it obvious. Not even Aiden’s near constant presence helped quell his emotions.

“You weren’t just a fuck,” he blurted out over dinner one night. At those words, Vesemir piled his plate with food and rose swiftly, taking a gracious exit before he overheard things he didn’t want to. “But I can’t cuddle with you.”

As far as starts went, it was a pretty shitty one. Eskel looked ready to walk out once again and Lambert had to talk fast. If only the words would actually come. “I mean- You’re good at it. And it’s warm. But I- I-”

“You wanted someone else. It’s okay, I get it.” Eskel gestured at his face. “I don’t blame you.”

Lambert could almost hear Eskel’s inner monologue. Thinking that Geralt only stayed with him because he knew him for so long. That they needed Jaskier because sometimes Eskel was too much, or rather, not enough.

“No!” It came out louder than intended. “That’s not it, If I cuddle you, I get used to it.”

That made no sense. It was kind of the idea that they had a bit of comfort in Kaer Morhen over the winter, something to look forward to and enjoy.

In the following silence, Lambert mumbled, “If I get used to it, I’ll miss it too much on the Path.”

He was a creature of habit, already struggling to properly take care of himself out on the Path. Sleep came in snatches usually. To know what it’s like to fall asleep in Eskel’s and Geralt’s embrace would mean he never slept again without them there. It was a luxury he couldn’t afford. At least, not until Aiden came along. Once it became obvious that Aiden wasn’t leaving, Lambert allowed himself a comfort he’d only dreamed of before. To be held and cherished, knowing it wouldn’t be ripped away from him, not even in winter because Aiden followed him home.

His quiet admission was met with yet more stares. Eskel didn’t understand, he couldn’t imagine denying himself the touch of his loved ones just because he’d miss it.

“Is it better to have never loved than to have loved and lost?” Jaskier’s voice was loud and clear in the hall.

Aiden gave Lambert a slight shove. “Go to them.”

Rising hesitantly from his seat, Lambert stopped when Eskel raised a hand. “We’re not asking you to choose. If you come, Aiden is welcome too.”

That was all the invitation Aiden needed and he took the short but inelegant route over the table to barrel into Jaskier, From his new spot he watched slyly as Lambert was pulled into the middle of a hug, sandwiched between Geralt and Eskel. Needless to say, for the rest of winter they all shared one bed and, come spring, they parted ways with plans to meet up regularly along the Path,

#lambden #geralt/eskel/lambert #geralt/eskel/jaskier #lambert/aiden #geralt/eskel/jaskier/lambert/aiden #geralt of rivia #jaskier #lambert #eskel #aiden #tldr: lambert refuses to cuddle

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ilovejaskierthebard · 5 years ago

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Concept: In a more peaceful world, the Witchers are just a bunch of dudes with tragic pasts and Geralt is a horse-trainer, Lambert is a baker, Vesemir is the village schoolmaster, and Eskel is... uh... well, no one really knows, because he doesn't actually live in the village. He lives in the hills with his ten goats and sometimes on market days he comes down and sells cheese. How does he make this cheese? No one knows. It's pretty good, though.

Okay. First off. I love you and this whole soft concept and I just like, wanna throw myself into it like a crazy woman.

So Geralt is living his best horse-girl life and loving it. 100% teaches the local kids how to ride maybe even has little shows/games and gives tiny medals with horses on them because why not its 2 am and I wanna picture tiny babies on ponies while Geralt smiles okay

Ciri is deff a student and they super bond

-and maybe a certain Bard is like his only adult student who has "trouble" and needs leasons at different hours and its not cause Roach doesn't like him, maybe he just needs a refresher course. Late at night. Alone. Maybe someone loses a shirt?

Maybe Jaskier is actually a good rider, but saw Geralt the hot horse trainer and whoops he slipped and fell in love and DESPERATELY NEEDS LESSONS 'oh Geralt, I am so weak, please help me up? Oh Geralttttt I need help being balanced maybe you can sit behind me??' MAYBE I am just writing a romcom now and no one can stop me

TOSS A COIN TO YOUR HORSE TRAINER

((More like toss your coin to your well hung stable owner. 😉😉😉))

Lambert. Baker.

[Low hysterical laughter]

This bitch bakes. But like. Angrily?

He is still LamLam ok, big dude with the worst case of Resting Bitch Face since my own. But now in an apron that Geralt or Eskel stitched tiny angry muffins on it.

His bread and sweets are DELICATE and SOFT and works of ART ok but he is still Lambert, my favorite goblin baby so he will 100% make your baby the best most beautiful smash cake -fuck it probably looks like a mini unicorn with handcrafted icing flowers and edible gold leaf BUT he would also mutter and swear the whole time and threaten to burn the bakery down at least 7 times. Probably cries about it too.

10/10 if someone tries to steal his super special recipes he would stab them with a rusty bread knife.

Vesemir as a school master but also clearly the kept man of a local rich widow (*maybe a few, I mean I was thinking of Mignole, but whose to say Papa Vesemir can't be out and flirting with rich upper class ladies. Maybe he was a sugar baby in his younger days, okay. I won't kink shame a man who can kick Geralt's well toned ass. You do you, Papa V) so he doesn't need to work he just likes keeping himself busy and enjoys it. I see him lounging about, reading and maybe yelling at kids to get off his yard.

Its just Lambert setting up his bake sale ok

Eskel is hottest goat herder and that is just the facts. He still has his jacket. He still has his Codpiece of Destiny (let me fullfill that destiny jfc someone take my phone away from me pls I am just helplessly dissolving into a fantasy of Eskel the Hot Goat Dad)

He has a whole herd. All of them have names. Like Miss Daisy. Buttercup. Flora. Rascal. Lamb Chop (cus Lambert is a dick) Lil bleater is the baby of the group and maybe he got sick as a baby so Eskel spent a lot of time holding and cuddling him and so now lil Bleater 100% thinks Eskel is his mom and every time they are out just follows Eskel around.

-excuse me while I go cry real quick

Also he makes cheese because what else is he gonna do with all those goats?? Shut up Lambert he won't kill his babies. So. Cheese.

It starts out as a hobby and really simple cheeses but because Eskel is like, a secret foodie at heart suddenly it is like those special designer cheeses that people TRAVEL for. Maybe Lambert sells it at his bakery too?

Meanwhile every desperate housewife and well hung stable hand is just like in tears trying their horny very best to get into that Codpiece of Dreams & Destiny.

Eskel heads into town once a week and its a whole THING. People spend days thinking up lines to get his attention. Probably cheese related flirty puns because they all applied to Jaskier's World Class Flirting Courses. (Why wouldn't they?? His flirting is totally working with Geralt so maybe that's just how you get a hottie of that level??)

Poor Soul: Brie Mine 😉

Eskel: What? I don't have Brie?

Poor Soul about to get his money back: 😧

Everyone flirts their pants off but Eskel just doesn't get it. Maybe they are just being nice because of his scars? Maybe Lambert threatened them with burnt buns for a month?

Meanwhile there are like at least three people willing to propose marriage at any given time and help him raise all his goat babies IF HE WOULD JUST LET THEM???

Im done now.

#jaskier #jaskier dandelion #the witcher #geralt of rivia #Eskel #Lambert #ask #why did no one stop me #i am so sorry #and not sorry too #🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️#vesemir #domestic!witcher au

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maximumsunshine · 3 years ago

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Hello! No pressure, but if you feel like it, is there an update on Jaskier (the cat formerly known as Two-Houses)? Just curious!

He's doing great! He got neutered on the 21st and is still in the cone of shame, so he looks pathetic, but I promise he's a happy, well-adjusted boy otherwise! (Ignore the food on his cone; I caught him at dinner time just now. His human will clean him up.)

He has seen the vet twice, besides the neuter, so he's fully vaccined and worm free. He's fully healthy according to the vet.

His human is my 14yo son. Jaskier has been quarantined in Lou's room all this time because we have other cats, so the two of them can bond, and so he doesn't pee all over my house. Now that he's neutered, once the cone comes off, he'll be introduced to the rest of the clowder, and then he'll eventually have the run of the house.

Jaskier is a working cat, filling the role of ESA for Lou. He does an amazing job of it! He is a sweet boy that loves to cuddle and make biscuits and be pet. He's also quite the talker and LOVES to sing the songs of his people. He's well and truly named. He's also a bit of a man whore and will ask for pets from anyone and everyone.

Here him before he was neutered, so there was no cone.

Here are a few more of him with his human.

He is a good boy, and we're very lucky to have him!

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regrettablewritings · 4 years ago

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Modern!Jaskier x Reader Ship Meme

Prompts taken from this ship meme

Which one texts like a straight white boy?: Of course it would have to be our resident white boy. It isn’t even that he necessarily means to, there’s just an embarrassing amount of overlap between the messages a straight white boy tends to text, and those of your rising star boyfriend. You’d look more into it if it weren’t for the fact that you know there’s no actual malice in it, and because it’s just so sad that it’s funny. If one were to go into the photos saved on your phone, they would’ve surely come upon an entire album of screenshots you’d taken over the years, from when Jaskier would be on tour without you to when he’d just be resting at home while you were out at work. Things like: “Wat r u up to 2nit, cutie? ;)” “I’m probably just gonna play whatever’s on my Watch Later backlog on youtube until I conk out.” “Wild!!! anyway wat would u do if i was there rn~?” Or “Do u miss me? :(” “Of course I do ya dingus!” “Ok....Can we do a quickie over videochat?” “Jas i’m at the store.” “The point still stands.” Or “Watcha thinkin bout? ;)” “About how The Great Gatsby becoming public domain means there’s nothing stopping anyone from making a drag show interpretation called The Gay Dragsby.” “Aaww w/o me? ;)” “...” “WAIT NO I THOUGT YOU’D SAY YOU WERE THINKING ABOUT ME SHIT NO.” “BUT ACTUALLY DO GO ON IM KINDA INTERESTD.” If it were anybody else, you would’ve blocked them. But this wasn’t anybody else. It was your Jaskier: Your foolhardy, constantly horny, but never-short-of-loving Jaskier. And besides, not for nothing, at least they were something you could get a laugh out of.

Which one cried during a fucking Disney movie?: Once again, Jaskier is the guilty party. It’s no secret that he’s the more emotional of the two of you -- he wore his investment in Titanic with pride, after all. But it is a secret that the particular Disney movie to make him cry was Hercules of all things! Not Bambi, not The Lion King, not even Beauty and the Beast, but goddamn Hercules! (On another note, he also cried to Coco. But that barely counts: Literally everyone and their mother has cried during Coco. The only difference here was that Jaskier could relate to being a young man so in love with music while coming from a family that discouraged the pursuit of it.) This isn’t a knock on anyone who enjoys the movie, mind you, but let’s be honest: Out of the Disney animated canon, Hercules isn’t exactly the most . . . emotionally cathartic or heart-string-plucking of the bunch. But just because it didn’t go out of its way to create a crying frenzy doesn’t mean that it’s lacking in some humanity. It is, after all, still a Disney film. The problem is, Jaskier can’t even quite express why it made him cry the night you both decided to watch it. Maybe it had something to do with a young man most people took as a joke trying to achieve greatness? And to be fair, “Go the Distance (Reprise)” and “A Star is Born” differently when you’ve done some growing . . .

Who put a goddamned fork in the microwave?: It only happened once, but you’d never let him live it down. You like to joke that you’d left him to his own devices for just fifteen minutes so that you could take a shower -- of which was completely true -- and that was all he needed for things to go downhill. Nobody wants to think they’d be in the wrong for trusting a 20-something year-old to not be his usually somewhat distractable self. But that particular day, said 20-something year-old decided to occupy that little spot of time to himself with TV and a plate of leftovers. And normally this would’ve been fine and dandy. But normally, Jaskier would’ve just waited for the food to heat before searching for something to watch. It shouldn’t have been too big of an issue that it went the other way around that day, but apparently it was. As much as he wanted to (which honestly wasn’t by much), Jaskier just couldn’t tear his eyes away from the images flashing on the TV. The baby blues were set on the screen the entire while -- up until he heard a faint popping. Followed by a sound he normally only heard in a cheesy sci-fi movie. The problem was, he wasn’t watching anything even remotely science-fiction-y . . . All you were doing when you exited the bathroom was going to grab your lotion. That was literally all you had any expectations for. What you hadn’t expected to come upon was your boyfriend, hollering and diving over the sofa in order to scramble into the kitchen and stop that strange, not-good-sounding sound. Suffice to say, you had to put your shower on hold; it simply had to wait for you to finish fussing, then again for you to finish laughing your ass off. And again because if you entered the shower still laughing, you’d probably slip and break your head open and then Jaskier would have to deal with another possible emergency caused by himself.

Who does the silly hands-over-the-eyes “Guess who?” thing?: You can both be guilty of it, but Jaskier without a doubt does it more. Sometimes he’ll emerge from “his cave” (aka the little nook in the apartment where he likes to mess around and write lyrics or arrangements) on a break and catch an unsuspecting you sitting on the couch or at the dinner table. Other times, it could just be when he comes back from running some errands or doing a quick interview at the local radio station. You don’t mind it much . . . Especially since you can get a rise out of him by purposefully guessing the wrong person. (“Hmmm . . . Could it be . . . my mail-order husband? Boy, that was quick. And all the way from Russia, too . . .” “Uh, no.” “The milkman, finally accepting my invitation to commence a torrid love affair?” “Okay, you know damn well -- ” “Or better yet: My hopes and dreams have manifested, oh, Waluigi, could it really and truly be you!?” “What in the absolute fuck --”)

Who puts their cold hands/feet on their partner?: Because it’s usually himself who presents as being the more mischievous of the two, and because he tends to run the warmest, it always shocks Jaskier when you decide to play dirty and put your cold limbs all over him. Is it childish? Yes. But are his reactions to the sudden feeling of icy flesh hilarious? Also yes. You love to creep up on him when he’s tuning his guitar or scribbling down lyrics, or just minding his own damn business by trying to actually turn in relatively early for once. You love even more to watch him jolt and release the most high-pitched yip a man of his build could ever even joke about making. You’ll still be laughing about it as he scowls at you, cursing your “ghoul hands” and demanding to know if he’s dating a corpse at this point. Of course, no matter how peeved he might be, you can always count on one other thing from his dramatic reactions: Him huffily grabbing your hands into his own and rubbing them warm, or him forcing a park of fuzzy socks on your feet. And just for extra measure, you can be sure that he’ll spend the rest of the night holding you close or cuddling you -- “For exchanging bodily heat purposes,” he will always reason.

Who had that embarrassing reality TV marathon?: You both are guilty of it, actually. The question should really be, who is the least shameful about it. As with most things regarding a lack of shame, it was, of course, our dear Jaskier. Being a musician with a growing following, the little attention whore just can’t miss out on an opportunity to show himself off to his awaiting public. A rising star with relatability and a taste for trash? People eat that shit up! So you’ve learned to be less surprised every time he decides to liveblog himself watching things like Love Island or any of the 90-Day Fiancee spin-offs. In fact, in more recent times, you’ve come to join in with him, adding your own corresponding Tweets and commentary. Though don’t be too shocked once he starts holding polls and letting the public decide what show the two of you should watch next.

Who laughs more during sex?: You do, completely through Jaskier’s own efforts. Jaskier’s always had a pretty lax view of sex. This didn’t change when he met you, of course, but how he specifically portrayed that laxness did undergo some metamorphosis. Before, the entertainer was much more intent on his bedroom experiences being a display of power and an ability to please. Something dramatic and to be taken seriously. He still sees the importance of satisfaction in the bedroom, mind you, but with you, he can’t help but feel more . . . comfortable. With you, it’s a little more okay if he accidentally makes a dumb noise that in no way can be salvaged as sexy. With you, it’s a little more okay if he struggles to get his or your pants off, or if he struggles with removing your bra. And with you, he’s come to find that he’s a lot more okay with sharing a giggle or being a little more loose about things. It’s fine if your fingers tickle him or if he struggles to think of something proper dirty. But it’s even more fine if you think something he says or does makes you laugh, but not in a way that discredits his efforts. When you laugh, it shows that you’re comfortable with him. Comfortable enough to be with him, and be truly vulnerable. So do forgive him if he can’t help but run his fingers up your sides in a tickling fashion, or sloppily string together an innuendo. He simply loves how golden your laughter sounds, even in the throes of passion, intermingled with sweet whimpers and pleas of his name. How the heave of your chest and rippling of your tummy bumpily sync in with the rhythm of his thrusts . . . He just wants to see your smile, your genuine mirth, and bask in it with you. Besides, it serves as excellent song inspiration for him . . .

Who is the little spoon?: It depends on the sway of the day, really. As a whole, you both take turns without much thought simply because you tend to just fall into your positions. Some days, you just happen to lay into him in a way that makes you the little spoon. Other days, he conks out next to you in a manner that most could consider would make you the big spoon (or jet pack). Neither side really fights how it plays out unless one or the other may feel small and vulnerable, or just plain tired and in need of comfort. You often find yourself playing the role of the more dominating position during those first few days after Jaskier returning home from either a quick tour, or after finishing a long week of hours upon hours in the studio, or whatever kind of press-related nonsense his management team told him he needed to do. For as much as your boyfriend loved the spotlight, the truth was he was still quite capable of burning out and needing time to himself. Or, at the very least, just time with you. Even if that means he’s asleep for most of it, with you clinging to his back as he drifts off into a much-needed sleep. He makes sure to return it tenfold when you need just the same. Sure, your occupation may not be of the same nature as his own, but that didn’t mean you were in any less need of his cuddling. In fact, with him being gone as often as he was, Jaskier couldn’t help but feel almost guilty for not always being able to provide you with the basic comforts of being a constantly present boyfriend. Hence why the moment he would see your fatigued body crossing the threshold of your apartment, he would be all over you, ushering you into a quick shower, followed by a quick and simple dinner or snack, and capped off with him cuddling about you from behind. It didn’t matter if you’d come home right in the middle of a writing frenzy, or even if he’d been in the middle of searching for a breakthrough with an arrangement -- for as vain and bullheaded as Jaskier could be, he knew he owed you at least this much. You already put up with so much of his nonsense; this was quite literally the least he could do, both for you and for himself. Besides, he who was he to fight against the feeling of you wiggling closer into his hold, to deny himself the sound of your soft breathing as you lay yourself vulnerable to him? The fact of the matter is that he simply isn’t. He couldn’t be. Maybe in the beginning when things were still so unsteady and uncertain, but never now, when things had become so . . . well, what he could only describe as being “the both of you”. The both of you, molded and entwined, never wanting to let go. Never planning on it, either.

#jaskier x reader #modern!jaskier x reader #jaskier imagine #jaskier imagines #the witcher imagine #the witcher imagines #regrettablewritings

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