#joey batey x oc

[mel-kusanagi]

an update i guess lol

[faeporcelain]

10$ commission for @yourmusicmuse of her OC and Jaskier for the Witcher!!

[raszdemon]

The first chapter of my Jaskier x OC fic will be up sometime soon!!

[leftsidebonfire]

Fuck did I just hop back into my Witcher Phase????

Because like low key...... wanna draw Jaskier.

All thanks to one person over on my Rolling Mountain page taking am interest in Ziona, who was my OG Bard and Witcher OC and that has me wanting to draw some OC x Canon stuff (or even just Joey Batey in general 👀)

[snickety-lemons]

So ordinarily I don't do this but - 1, all of my active RPs are now inactive and 2, I'm having a lot of difficulty in finding someone for this so

If you're also a RP writer, and would be interested in playing with a very sweet and adorable zombie boy who needs love; with an FC of the dearest Joey Batey - please please @ me or interact w/ this or etc if interested, and I'll chat with you and give you further details

And the verse is iZombie but like, I'll take anything from crossovers to OCs and honestly you don't even need to know much more than an ep or two of the show - also open to any ship, f x m; m x m; nb x m, just chem and build up is a must. Any spicyness involved will be after development and not before, no BDSM, v mild horror and gore only

And, MUST BE 18 OR OLDER, THIS IS NOT OPTIONAL

Thank youuuu very much, mwah ! 🧠🧟💞

[practically-an-x-man]

Secret!

Ooh, okay! Let's see...

Let me give you a little background on my future Witcher fic!

It'll be Jaskier x OC since I absolutely love Jaskier (and really, Joey Batey needs to be in more things! He's really talented!)

The OC's name is Lydia, I haven't given her a last name yet and I'm not entirely sure I will. At the time of the story, she's a siren (note that I haven't read the Witcher books yet so my depiction might be different from any sirens in that). I'm planning to go pretty dark with this - these aren't "mermaids", they are sirens that charm men into the water, attack them like piranhas, and eat their hearts. I'm also thinking of giving them some sort of bioluminescence as a means of communicating underwater.

I'm sticking to some typical "modern" depictions of sirens: they can shift between tail and legs via contact with standing water (not rain, and anything larger than a bathtub), they have to stay near the water (otherwise they grow weak and sick, like the flu, it's referred to as the "oceansong" or "call of the ocean"), and must consume the hearts and blood of living humans in order to survive. Most depictions state that it's men's hearts specifically, I'm saying that any human heart will work but most sirens still choose to hunt men because they're generally more susceptible to their song.

The siren curse operates similarly to other curses in the Witcher: in theory, would be cured by true love/true love's kiss. HOWEVER, the siren curse is spread through kisses, and the siren curse would transfer before the cure occurs - I.E., the curse is (normally...) too strong, and overpowers the cure. If you've read the Warm Bodies book it's basically the last scene in that This leads to it being viewed as an incurable curse (and results in a lot of grief on Lydia's end)

This will also be a soulmate AU: people get small tattoos on their wrists representing their soulmate - not names, but representative of the person. Aroace people either get a mark for their platonic soulmate, or a small braided band around their wrist that marks them without soulmates. This is normal - some people just prefer to be alone, that's respected. If a soulmate dies, the person's tattoo shifts to another design, either another romantic or platonic soulmate to fill their life.

Sirens have no soulmate. It's believed that they are completely incapable of love (similar to Witchers), and their wrists are completely bare. Not even a wristband tattoo, which isolates them even from the people who are naturally without soulmates.

Now, you might be thinking "R, you said this was a Jaskier x OC fic, what do you mean sirens don't feel love?"

Yeah, that's a load of bull. Much like the idea that Witchers don't feel emotion. It's a social superstition that isn't actually true, and is perpetuated by the fact that the older sirens simply enjoy their violent, immortal lives and don't mind being isolated.

Enter Lydia. She's a younger siren: turned six or seven years before the events of the fic (and ring the bell bestie because that story gets dark as all hell, probably one of my darkest backstories period), and this event leaves her with a lot of standing grief and emotional ties.

She's washing her clothes on the riverbank when Jaskier comes up to scrub his own tunic, stained with mud and blood and monster guts from Geralt's latest hunt. He doesn't know she's a siren, and being the painfully social flirt that he is, they get to talking as they wash their clothes.

Geralt returns after a while and realizes his bard has been talking with a siren on the banks of the river, and she could've killed him at any point. He pulls Jaskier away quickly - Lydia tries to promise that she wouldn't have hurt him (and she really wouldn't, it was nice to have someone talk to her as a human being after so long being treated as a monster), but he's hurt and leaves without another word.

The next day he goes down to the riverbank while Geralt's still asleep. Lydia's gone, but his tunic is clean and folded on a flat rock nearby. She leaves him a note: I'm sorry. For what it's worth, I never meant to hurt you.

This is where we begin our story.

[multific]

Worries

Joey Batey x Reader

Request: Can I please request an one shot where the female reader is feeling very insecure about herself, and thinks she’s ugly - so Joey Batey does his best to comfort her, by cuddling/kissing her and telling her she’s beautiful.

 Ever since The Witcher became such a success, and Joey became a better know actor, your lives took a turn.

When you married Joey, he was focusing on his band, taking on a role here and there, but nothing major. Of course when he came home one day, saying he will apply for the role of Jaskier in an upcoming show, you were the supportive wife who was there for him.

You were beyond happy when he got the role. Happy that his talent will finally be acknowledged. And he will get what he always deserved.

Joey, himself, didn’t change at all. He stayed the humble, kind, funny man whom you married. It was the fans. Since their numbers grew intensely, which you were happy to see, grew the comments.

People saying he deserved better than you, someone prettier someone well-known. People saying how he should divorce you. At first you were confused why people you didn’t even know talked this way about you. And later you learned to shut their voices out and focused on yourself.

Your insecurities didn’t come from the fans, or from their comments. Your insecurities came from you.

When you first met his cast members. Freya and Anya were so sweet, you became friends instantly with the two, Henry was just as Joey told you, and you had to admit that in person, he was even more handsome and well-built than on TV.

Your insecurities didn’t come from Joey’s cast, or the amount of beautiful women he was surrounded by. Your insecurities came from you.

One night, it was late, you were in your bed, Joey sleeping beside you, not moving an inch, he must be very tired.

You moved to sit up and went to the bathroom, you washed your face and drank a little bit of water.

Your insecurities arrived two days ago, like it was a scheduled plane or train. Your insecurities came from the way you lived. You felt like you were holding Joey back. You felt like you were the reason he couldn’t grow and become who he had to become.

You looked at yourself in the mirror one last time before you headed back to bed.

“Y/N?” you heard Joey call out sleepily.

“I was just in the bathroom.” you explained, knowing he was confused why you weren’t there when he woke up. But since his mind was still cloudy, he went back to sleep with ease. Leaving you with your thoughts in the dark once again.

These thoughts had been bothering you further 2 days.

To the point where Joey noticed.

One Friday night, you were having dinner which you made, you sat down and ate in peace. Music playing in the background.

“Okay, Honey, you have to tell me, I can see something is bothering you.”

“I’m just being silly. Don’t mind me, I will get over it.”

“Y/N. I’m your husband, if something is bothering you, I’m the only one who can help.”

“It’s silly really.”

“That is why you haven’t been sleeping? I thought it was because of work.” you didn’t think he would notice. But the amount of attention he paid at you felt really nice.

“No, I just… I had this silly thought, seeing you with the others, Anya and Henry, and I thought that maybe I’m holding you back. That you need so much more than what I can give. All I have to offer you is a simple life, with an ugly wife. I’m not rich and definitely not a super model. But I know it’s silly.”

Joey was silent for a minute, he couldn’t believe what you just told him.

“It’s not silly. It’s incredibly stupid. Why would I want more when I already have everything I ever wished for? My life is perfect with you. Well we could do some touch ups with the kitchen, since that bloody cupboard door keeps falling off, but my life is perfect. Don’t be stupid, Love, please you are the most beautiful woman I have ever met and ever will.Love, you are not ugly. You are the love of my life. My everything. It really hurts me you talk about yourself this way. Please, I know I cannot make you see yourself the way I do, but I will prove it to you just how gorgeous you are.” he reached over the table and grabbed your hand. When he mentioned the kitchen you laughed a little.. You stood up and went to sit on his lap, hugging him.

“Thank you.”

“No, thank you.” he pulled you back from the hug and kissed you. “I love you, Y/N. You are beautiful, please don’t ever say things like this, ever.”

“I promise.” you smiled at him.

“Okay, now dessert, I have baked something for you.” your eyes rounded, judging by the video he made you shoot and upload to Youtube, the Great Witcher Bake Off, he wasn’t a big baker. Which was actually true. He wasn’t good in the kitchen, it was an ongoing joke that he could even mess a salad up. So, you got a bit worried when he stood up and went into the kitchen. You quickly thought back into the day. You knew you took an hour nap while he was reading, he could have produced something during that time. But you never smelled anything sweet or nothing.

Well, it didn’t matter what he would appear with all that mattered is that all your worries really did disappear. Sure, Joey liked to make a joke of life and was rarely serious, but you loved at about him and you also loved that how in the end he always managed to make you feel so much better and so much more beautiful.

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~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

My taglist is open!

Feedback is greatly appreciated. Thank You for reading my story!~

[chaoticcute]

When the Witcher Geralt and his Bard Jaskier happen across a crypt hidden in the purple mountains of Temeria, they accidentally uncover the legendary hero of old known as The Dragonborn..

The epic tale of Adventure, heroics and heartbreak returns to a fanfiction site near you!

Rewritten and revamped

[starshipsofstarlord]

Salt the Wounds | Jaskier

Geralt carried your body in his strong arms, Jaskier walking quickly by his side to keep up with the witcher's pace.

The bard wished he was holding you in your moment of pain. Perhaps his musical touch would lessen the agony that was inducing one side of your body.

"We need to get her to Yennefer." Geralt informed him, and he would have done the same to you if you weren't practically unconscious.

"I don't know..." They hadn't paused walking. He was heading towards the camp, where the witch and Ciri would be waiting.

"We don't have time for your dispute Jaskier." The witcher hissed through his teeth. He could see the fire in his amber eyes. "She could die otherwise, and none of us want that."

Yennefer stood when she saw your limp body, Ciri gaping worriedly at the sight. "What happened?" She examined your body, pushing Jaskier out of the way so she had room to do so.

He still lingered. Seeing the paleness that was molding into your face made him feel sick. You looked like you were already dead.

"A wound from a bandit’s blade. It's on her back." Geralt seemed worried, yet he contained it. Witchers weren't supposed to care, and so he kept up the exterior he had been raised to have.

"Don't do anything stupid." The witcher ordered Jaskier directly. You only rolled your eyes, knowing the bard was not one to follow rules.

The three of you were patrolling the borders of the quaint forest you were to camp in for the night. Ciri and Yennefer stayed behind, watching the horses and making the fire.

Attatched to your back, two swords similar to Geralt's own were strapped to the back of your armour. The only difference was, you were no witcher. You were human. A mortal that hunted the dark, trained by the forces that stood beside kings and queens.

More accurately you had been Ciri's protector, ordered by her grandmother to do such a duty. She didn't want Geralt to recieve his child surprise, but here you were, all traveling together.

"I'm offended. In no world would I risk our lives by being a conspirer in foolishrey." Neither of you believed the bard for a second, although he liked to believe what he was saying was true.

But if it was, you wouldn't have been injured saving his ass.

"This is bandit territory, so I highly recommend that you keep your bard eyes peeled open at all times." You told the musician, ready at any moment to hoist a weapon from the wall of your back and sling it at any enemy that came your way.

Gerald slithered down the opposite path the one to you leaving you in mutual mortal company. "How about I sing you a song?" He clapped his hands together at the prospect,exited to share his new original with you. It was special, close to his heart as one of his companions were.

"As much as it would brighten the mood, it is dark. The moon hangs in the sky, and with its shadow man and beast other than us wander this land. So please, please be quiet or return to camp." A part of you hoped he chose the latter and retreated to the safety of the fire, the horse, the girl and the witch.

It wasn't that you didn't wish to spend time with the handsome and charming man, but it was for the reason that you needed to focus.

"Oh come on, don't act as miserable as a witcher. Ciri informed me that you rather enjoy listening to me bellow out words of legend that will one day be written on pages amongst great poets. I wrote it for my favourite guard, well ex guard." As sweet as he was, and tempting, his offer could wait.

Sighing, you shook your hair, wishing to rid it if the days grease.

"Shhh." Your finger pressed to your lips as you heard a crunch from behind the omage of trees. But of course, the apprentice didn't listen to the master.

Waving his hand in dismissal, Jaskier disregarded your caution, continuing on speaking despite your liking against it. "We're in the middle of nowhere." Exactly. "It was probably a scurrying fox off to tail it's prey or a bird beating it's wings through the sad branches."

Pistoning out from your sight, a weapon was thrown, splintering your back with its sharp edge, breaking through the layers of leather and skin and making your body stumble. And then men ran out from the coverage of foliage, leaving the pair of you awaiting the arrival of the mutant. 

“It looks bad.” Yennifer inspected the wound, dribbling water down onto it as she raised your shirt. Ciri watched with terror. You needed to live, if not for your own sake for hers.

“Fix it.” Jaskier begged her, coming closer again, ignoring the waving of her hand that indicated him to move back. “She can’t die, not like this.”

“Who said she was going to die?” The witch quirked her brow, muttering a spell that healed the internal affects of the steel. “Now I need you to clean the wound, just in case there was any infection caused. Can you handle that Bard?”

He took Yennifer’s place, grabbing the rag and gently wiping over the edges of the wound. It looked like an abyss to him, one that you would surely slip into if he stopped. A few tears fell from his eyes. From all of his adventures with the witcher, he had never been so scared before.

….

When you awoke, the first thing that you could see was the forest floor, and that was when you realised that you were laying on your front. In an instant of you being conscious again, you winced.

There was water prying into your back, again and again. “I think she’s good.” Yennifer called over, stopping the petting of your wound. 

“Jaskier?” You called out to him, and he crawled on the dirt ground so that you could see his face. “I have a miserable now.” You noted, making him feel bad for his ignorance.

“How about I sing you a song?” He soon realised that was not such a good idea when he saw your expression.

But in the end, he was just happy that you were still here. He could see why Geralt thought he was idiotic sometimes and why Yennifer - scratch that, he didn’t want to agree with her. “Okay, maybe not..”

[writerdream22]

ambra's 400 followers celebration 🎊🎉🎊

requested by: @bravelittlesunflower, I sincerely hope you like this ✨🌻💛

moodboard pairing: rhian thomas (OC, healer) x jaskier

disclaimer: none of these photos belong to me, and I don't intend to plagiarize anyone's works

“Uhhhh, what are you doing?”

“I'm hunting, Jas. Can't you see?”

“You shouldn't do this. It's dangerous”

“I've been hunting my whole life. Since Geralt is not here and he can't to this for me, do you want to do it?”

“Actually, I'll leave you to it my love. I'll just— I'll stay here, quietly”

[mel-kusanagi]

idk what was going on in season 3 but my season 3 is all about din reuniting with an "old friend" named leon graylle which grogu already met him during his time with luke as his caretaker (and has plans to parent trap them) /hj

[riseatlantisss]

Dating Jaskier would include

Him kinda admiring you from afar at first

Until one day he mustered the courage to take the first step

You joining him and Geralt on their journey around the Continent

Geralt training you and Jaskier to defend yourselves against monsters

Jaskier HATES swords, but he wants to impress you so bad

“Sorry Jask, but Y/N is much better at this than you are...”

“...I had the sun in my eyes, Geralt!”

Jaskier always being able to make you laugh, even when you don’t feel like it 

Having to put up with his sarcasm and goofy side

Except in the bedroom, where the man knows exactly what he is doing...

Him worshipping you and helping you overcome any insecurities you have 

Him always asking for your opinion 

His tired puppy look in the morning

Him teaching you how to play the lute 

Geralt hates it 

“Oh god, now there are two of them ...”

His most beautiful songs are all about you 

You being Jaskier’s first fan

Him singing to you whenever you’re sad or angry 

His voice is the only one able to calm you down

Deep, meaningful kisses

Never being let out of his sight

Feeling safe in his arms 

Him showering you with compliments all day long 

“Ah, and how is the most amazing woman of the Continent today?”

Geralt rolling his eyes every single time 

But low key being very happy for you two 

You have been together for years, but sometimes he still can’t believe he has you

 “...Jask, you’re staring again.”

“I know, just.. How did such a beautiful girl fall for me?”

“Well, you’re quite charming, believe it or not!”

To be honest, your bard made you happier than ever before

And to him, you were simply his everything

dating Geralt would include

[raszdemon]

Is the Witcher fandom still alive? I’m writing a Half-elf!OC x Jaskier fic series in the POV of the main character, and would like to know who would all be interested? The OC named Rwyn is a run away half-elf, a victim of a hate crime done by humans, thus making her weary of them. But she soon warms up to the Loud mouthed bard after a few days being stuck with him.

[onthepageoftears]

Wounds and Whiskey (Jaskier x OC) || The Witcher

a/n: okay so this isn’t so much ‘cute and romantic’ as it is ‘thea in pain and jaskier helping her’ but I hope you enjoy it anyway khlghhsd also this is one of those things where I went back to read my doc for Thea and was like “ummmm this is good? why did I stop writing this???” anyway, i’m glad I could find the inspiration to write this little drabble, so thanks for the request!

request: Hi, could you please write something cute, romantic and fluffy between Jaskier and your oc Thea, please? Thanks so much!!

warnings: mentions of blood, wounds, pain, stabbing etc. language, alcohol consumption, but flufffff too hehe

words: 1,580

Please Don’t Plagiarize My Work!

“Shit.” Thea’s voice was scratchy, barely even a sound. Her eyes were still closed when she woke up, and the first thing she felt was pain. Her head pounded, her heartbeat was stuck in her throat, and her arm felt like it was actively pulsing from where she had fallen.

In the time that she had passed out, the sun had drifted below the horizon. Thea knew that before she even managed to crack her eyes open — the darkness was more than just from her own eyelids, and she remembered leaving the inn quite early, planning to only stay out for a couple hours.

So much for that.

Almost against her own will, Thea lifted her eyelids. They were heavy; far too heavy for her liking. She didn’t know how long she had been passed out, but part of her wished she had stayed that way. The pain was more than she expected, but not more than she’d felt before. It was manageable, at least for a little while.

She let her fingers graze her throbbing arm — bad choice. The sharp sting of pain made her squeeze her eyes shut once more; after the pain subsided — only slightly — she lifted her eyelids again. Yeah, just as she thought: she had gotten stabbed with a knife, or dagger, or some other blade. But somehow, the blood wasn’t pouring as profusely as it should have been. Which meant that she already lost far too much.

Thea bit her tongue as she pushed herself off the ground with her good arm. Her feet were wobbly, but she was able to stand without much trouble. Of course, she also had to lean against a nearby tree, but it was the small victories that she would celebrate.

She forced herself to breathe carefully as she trudged towards what she hoped was the road. In the darkness, and in her pain infused vision, it wasn’t very easy to tell. But still, the moonlight guided her steps, and she eventually made it to the road she walked earlier that day. Blinking at the sight in front of her, Thea realized she wasn’t too far from the town. Despite the pain she was in, she couldn’t help but feel proud of how far she had gotten before passing out — perhaps a new record.

As much as this was helpful, the pain in her arm was only getting worse. She’d have to get back to the town, and fast. She had her bow still fastened on her back — how it wasn’t snapped in two, she’ll never know — but her other supplies were in the bag she dropped. Dropped, yes. That was what happened. Even now, she couldn’t be too sure. Who had even stabbed her in the arm?

She’d catch up to her memory later. Now, she needed Jaskier.

Never thought it would come to that. She laughed to herself through gritted teeth. Even in immense pain, she could still cling onto the bard that, surprisingly, helped her on more occasions than she could count. He was useless at times, but she had come to the point where she could call him…a friend. And she hadn’t had many of those.

She was looking through the slits of her eyes by the time she pushed open the inn’s front door. Her breaths were heavy, limbs heavier, and she couldn’t even imagine how she looked to the inn keeper.

Luckily, she didn’t have to worry about it.

Jaskier’s strumming came to a halt. Even in her half-conscious state, she could see he was sitting alone in the empty tavern. Perhaps he had just performed and was waiting for her to return. Either way, he jolted from his seat, letting his lute hang beside him.

“Thea? Thea what the—“ He stopped, his eyes filling with horror. “Shit, what happened to you?”

“Ambush,” she managed, keeping her hand clutched against her wound. She would have given more information if she hadn’t been so focused on keeping herself up on her feet — or if she had remembered it at all. She must have hit her head when she passed out, because all she had now were still just puzzle pieces of the memory.

Without a word, Jaskier lifted her good arm over his shoulders and latched one arm around her waist. Her weight was practically all on him, but she didn’t mind. Her feet barely touched the floor, and finally, she felt like she could breathe normally.

Thea opened her eyes again to Jaskier rushing around their room. She was sitting in a chair — she didn’t remember getting here. Must’ve passed out again. Her eyes blinked drearily, but widened immediately upon finding the bottle of alcohol beside her.

“Don’t touch that.” Jaskier sat in the chair across from her, his frown making her pout. “We need to clean the wound.”

“We need to numb the pain.”

Jaskier pursed his lips.

Thea blinked back.

He rolled his eyes. “One drink.” He lifted the bottle for her, bringing it to her lips and tipping it back. The liquid burned as it fell down her throat, but immediately, she felt better. Well, ‘better’ was a relative term. But she already felt the color returning to her skin as Jaskier placed the bottle back on the table beside her.

Somewhat more awake, Thea leaned back in her seat. Her eyes threatened to droop shut once more, but she didn’t want to give in. Not yet.

Jaskier inched the wet towel towards her arm. She watched him as he tried to gently pat her arm, where a mixture of dirt and dried blood caked on her skin.

As soon as the towel made contact, she winced.

“Did that hurt?”

Thea grit her teeth. “No.”

Jaskier quirked a brow. Instead of saying anything else, he leaned forward again, this time taking her arm in one hand and using the towel to clean the wound with the other. It got easier to expect the warm cloth against her open wound, but Thea still flinched. She hated it, but she was too tired to pretend it didn’t hurt.

Jaskier’s eyes were focused. His fingers around her arm were gentle, but firm. The tips were calloused, rough against her skin. She was trying to ignore the fan of breath that hit her skin as he leaned closer, doing his best to clean the area around her wound. She supposed it was easier to focus on his proximity — and the way his lashes brushed against his cheeks, or the parting of his pink lips — than the pain she was in.

Jaskier’s voice was low when he spoke. “Why is it that whenever you go off on your own, something catastrophic happens?”

Thea’s eyes flicked to the bard. He was dipping the cloth into the bucket of warm water, but as soon as he turned, his smirk rose.

Thea narrowed her eyes at him. “You know, you’re not as funny as you think you are,”

“Funny enough to make you laugh.”

Thea cursed the twitch of her lips. She cursed even more when Jaskier noticed it, a gleam reaching his gaze.

She rolled her eyes to make up for it, then sat up in her chair and jut her chin out to the bottle beside her. “Alcohol. Now.”

“You’ve had enough.”

Thea scrunched her nose. “What are you, my suitor?“ Jaskier’s eyebrows shot up, and, if she was seeing right, his cheeks reddened. She ignored it and continued, “I can drink what I want to. And it’s not even for me. We need to disinfect the wound.”

Jaskier avoided her gaze as he reached for the bottle. “Right.”

“Wait,” she said, just before he was about to pour the liquid over her wound. “Give me the towel.” Jaskier did, and she used her good arm to shove it in her mouth. With a nod of her head, Jaskier poured the alcohol over her arm.

Her scream was muffled, but it didn’t stop the tears that sprung to her eyes. She squeezed them shut, trying to ignore the stinging in her arm. 

Then, memories.

Walking through the forest. Gathering herbs. Eyes searching for a good tree to climb. Somewhere she could stretch her bow back without a problem. Food, so they didn’t have to buy more at the inn.

Then a pain in her arm. A knife, with a man on the other end of it. She didn’t even look to see who it was before ripping the knife from his grip and out of her arm, back down to the side of his neck. His eyes flickered until they faded completely, and his body fell to the ground with a thump.

“Dat Ucker.” Jaskier pulled the towel from her mouth, allowing her to pant through her gritted teeth.

“What fucker?”

“The guy that stabbed me. Shit.” She winced at the tingles in her arm; her eyes felt heavy once more, but she urged them open. Before she could tell him to, Jaskier began carefully wrapping her wound.

Thea’s words came out with less cruelty than she’d intended; they fell from her mouth in an exhausted slur, “If he weren’t already dead, I’d fucking kill him.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Jaskier murmured, and with a few more dragged out blinks, Thea finally let herself close her eyes. She kept them closed as Jaskier finished the bandage, guided her to her bed, and settled her under the covers. Then, she let sleep fully take over.

[mypoisonedvine]

I Never Danced Until I Met You - Chapter 1

Jaskier x (female)Reader

Rating: T (we’re getting into E territory eventually… but not today)

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3.6k (ooh boy it’s a long one… and just the one chapter lol)

Summary: You and Geralt fought together years ago and became quite close friends, but you stayed in your kingdom as a knight while he traveled the Continent to fight monsters.  When business brings him back into town, he has a new friend tagging along.  Jaskier is mischievous, boisterous, and unrelenting in his romanticism: just the opposite of yourself.  No one expected you two to get along… and exactly the last thing you expected was to find yourself developing a peculiar interest in him.

A secret meeting had been called late in the evening by the Queen and her closest staff members.  Something had been hunting and killing the citizens of the nation, and a decision needed to be made quickly to save lives and prevent hysteria.

Sadly, not many solutions were being brought forward.  You were only there as the Queen’s guard, not a politician, but after an hour wasted on nothing useful, you felt you had to say something.

“I humbly offer a proposition,” you spoke as you bowed before your Queen.

“A knight should not be speaking on matters of governance,” an advisor scowled discouragingly.

“This is not only a matter of governance but a matter of protection of the people: exactly what my Protector should be consulted on,” Queen Araja responded coolly.  Her expression softened as she turned back to you, though. “Speak,” she commanded.

“My troops are not prepared to wage war against something of a magical nature.  Our royal mage brings understanding but lacks tactical skill.  We need someone who can assess this threat and fight it.  A-”

“Witcher,” she beat you to your point.

“Blasphemy,” another advisor sputtered incredulously.

“Geralt of Rivia is a famed Witcher; I know him, he is a… colleague.  I could write to him, negotiate a reduced price,” you offered, ignoring the dissenting men.

“Price is no issue.  Negotiate instead for efficiency, and discretion,” she announced.

“Yes, my lady,” you bowed again, turning to leave.  You heard the arguments of the advisors at the table, but ignored them as you rushed to your quarters to get out the parchment and ink so you could write to an old friend.

~

“There is a man at the gates,” the errand boy said as he burst through your door.  His eyes went wide when he realized you were still dressing, your chest exposed.  He turned away.

“I should’ve knocked!” he apologized, but you weren’t sensitive about that sort of thing: knights don’t usually have the privilege of privacy, and you hadn’t really gotten used to having a room to yourself since you had become the Royal Protector and been granted your own space and luxuries.

“What you should’ve done was let him in- you knew I was expecting a witcher,” you instructed, slipping the tunic over your head and finally your chainmail and chestplate.  Sure, he was a friend, but technically he was here on request of the Queen, and that meant a formal royal greeting, with all the bells and whistles (or in this case, flags and trumpets and horses).

“H-he’s a witcher?!” he stuttered.

“Yes,” you looked at the boy with a tinge of confusion, “why are you so scared?  You’re not a monster in disguise are you?”

Clearly he wasn’t one for humour, just looking at you with an expression of absolute terror.

“My horse is ready?” you presumed.

“Yes, my lord- I mean, my lady- er, knight-” he began.

“Shut up, please,” you begged.

“Yes,” he agreed weakly, nodding in submission.

You shot him one last glance before putting on your helmet.  You had gotten used to seeing out of it, but it was always a bit of a transition when you put it on and the whole world was just a slit.

There was quite a fanfare, as you had informed the Queen how famous a guest they were entertaining.  You knew he didn’t care about that kind of stuff, but it was moreso to send a message to the other staff that Geralt was someone worth respecting.  Purple flags were draped over golden staves, an infantry of knights rode their horses towards the gates with full ceremonial armor, there was even a royal announcer to make the whole thing official.  It would’ve seemed ridiculous to a foreigner, but it had become very familiar to you after nearly a decade of serving her Royal Highness.

Seeing Geralt again, even from such a distance as your horse trotted towards him with the company in tow, made you smile.  It had been a long time since you fought beside him in the battle that made you famous and gave you the opportunity to serve the Queen, but of course he had not aged a day.  You were only sixteen then, a naive girl full of anger and a thirst for revenge.  In the decade since, you had come to appreciate the art of war, the realities of justice, the balance of peace.  You were probably nicer now than you were then, or at least more polite, but every year and the losses it brought hardened you to the world.  Even having advanced yourself to leading the Queen’s personal guard, most still doubted you simply for being a woman.  Not that you were ever much of a daydreamer, but you were probably the woman in the kingdom least interested in romantic pursuits or anything of the sort.  It was just as this thought crossed your mind that you noticed a man stood beside Geralt’s horse, dressed more… flamboyantly, to say the least.  They were a nobleman’s clothes, and as you came closer, you realized they were an entertainer’s clothes: he was a bard.  

You couldn’t stop yourself from noticing that he was rather attractive.  He had a young face, but you figured he was about your age considering his frame and the shadow of stubble on his jaw.  It was quite a diverse crowd- knights in armor, royal attendants in proper clothing, Geralt in witcher’s gear- and yet this bard stood among all of them.  Dressed formally but with most of his doublet’s buttons undone, and a posture that suggested a lackadaisical attitude.  You tried to ignore the chest hair creeping up from behind the collar of his exposed tunic, or the way the muscles in his thighs shifted underneath his tight trousers.  Men didn’t really dress that way in your kingdom.

“On the behalf of her Royal Grace, Most Honorable and Noble Queen Araja Persepolla Constantine Asher the Just, the kingdom of Revellon welcomes and accepts Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf, Witcher most famed, as a royal guest and an honorary citizen of her nation,” the announcer read loudly from a scroll after the horses stopped moving.

“So much for discretion,” you heard your lieutenant mumble so that only you could hear.  You tried not to giggle.  

“This isn’t really necessary,” Geralt grumbled.  His voice sounded even deeper than you remembered, and that’s saying something.

“As a token of her gratitude and appreciation of your arduous journey, a feast will be held tonight in your honour in the main hall,” the announcer continued, ignoring Geralt’s disinterest. “Please join us at your convenience.”

“When is it?” the bard asked.  His voice was sort of high-pitched (but then again, whose wasn’t compared to Geralt’s?), his accent indicating that he was highly educated.

“A servant will fetch you from your rooms when the celebration is beginning,” the announcer explained.

“We’re expected to stay in the castle?” Geralt asked incredulously.

“We suspect you will find our conditions highly accommodating,” the announcer smiled politely.

“And the security?” Geralt interrogated.

You smiled as you removed your helmet, letting your hair fall down from the tight bun you had tied it into.

“Finest in the Continent,” you said confidently.

Geralt grinned when he saw you, and you glanced over to absorb the bard’s shocked expression for a moment.

“You failed to mention in your letter that you’d become a member of the Queen’s royal guard,” he said joyfully.

“She is the Queen’s royal guard,” your lieutenant corrected.

“Is that true?” he quirked an eyebrow.

“I wouldn’t have worded it that way,” you said humbly, “but yes.  I am the Royal Protector and leader of the good Queen’s army.”

“Spectacular,” he said admiringly.

“You know this woman?” the bard asked nervously.  You looked to him but you almost didn’t want to, now that he could see your gaze.  You wondered if he could see your own unexplained nervousness.

“She’s a fine warrior,” he said, “one of the finest I know.”

When the formal greeting was complete, you let the servants show Geralt and his new friend around the palace, while you returned to your quarters to change into your dress blues.  There was never much of a security threat at a party, especially this one with a witcher in attendance, but for the sake of tradition you were expected to wear your medals and stand at the Queen’s side with your sabre at your hip.  You were pulling on your white gloves when a lady-in-waiting came to fetch you.

“I’ll be ready in a moment,” you told her, not even needing her to say anything- because why else would she be here but to tell you that it was time to escort Her Royal Highness to the banquet hall?

Everyone stood as the Queen entered, of course, and you took your post beside her.  She sat and motioned for everyone to return to their seats, but you were expected to stand the whole time at her side.  You always felt kind of like a decoration at these sorts of events… everyone would talk and drink and eat and dance as if you weren’t there, and you were not permitted to partake of any of it- not that you really wanted to necessarily.  You took your duty very seriously, even if you understood that there was not much of an actual risk.

That’s why it was so peculiar when Geralt’s bard- you’d figured out his name was Jaskier, or at least that was what he called himself- stopped playing along with the royal bards and approached you with a chalice in hand.

“I noticed you didn’t have a drink,” he explained, offering it to you, “so I brought you a glass.”

“That’s… kind of you,” you replied, trying to be gracious instead of just confused, “but I won’t be drinking this evening.  I’m on duty.”

“That’s all right,” he responded with less disappointment than you expected, “more for me.”

He took a swig of the drink and you felt so unsure of what to do.  People normally didn’t talk to you during these things- or all that much in general, really.

“What’d you think of my playing?” he asked with a quirked eyebrow.

“It was… fine,” you answered simply.  Now that made him look more disappointed.

“Just fine?!” he repeated incredulously.

“I’m not really the person to ask- I don’t listen to much music, so I’m not a good judge of musical quality,” you defended.

“I wasn’t asking if it was objectively good, I was asking if you liked it,” he clarified.

That was a harder question to answer.  You hadn’t really been paying attention to the music itself, but the energy that filled the room with Jaskier played.  It was different from other events you’d attended.  

“The crowd seemed to be enjoying themselves,” you offered.

“That’s not what I asked,” he pressed.

You sighed.

“I suppose I did like it, yes,” you finally resigned.

“Then why don’t you come down and dance with me?” he asked.

You were blushing, strongly against your own will.  This was probably the longest personal conversation you’d had in months, and it was easily the most interest someone had ever shown in you for something other than your fighting skills.

“I don’t dance,” you announced.

“You don’t dance, you don’t listen to music, you don’t drink; what do you do when you’re not fighting?” he asked with a smirk.

“I prepare to fight,” you answered.

“Live by the blade, die by the blade,” he quoted the adage in warning.

“I plan to,” you responded coolly.

You had expected him to be shaken by that, but he just smiled even more.  What a weirdo.

“All the better to live for the moment while you can, before your untimely, tragic demise on the battlefield,” he countered.

“That’s preposterous,” you scoffed, crossing your arms.

“As your Queen, I order you to dance with this man,” Queen Araja suddenly interjected, “if for no other reason than for me to be spared of this irritating conversation.”

The smile he shot you when he heard that made you suddenly very nervous.  

He reached out and it took you a moment to realize that you were supposed to put your hand in his.  You cautiously removed your hand from the grip of your sabre and place it on his.  Even through the white gloves you felt that he was warm, and his touch was oddly electrifying.

The royal bards started the next song and you tried to ignore the guests staring at you, apparently noticing that you were not really meant to be mingling with them as given away by your outfit.  You felt horribly out of place, and the way Jaskier was looking at you made it so much better and and yet more nervous simultaneously.

You couldn’t even remember the last time you danced, but he guided you through it, slowly at first, and you were very aware of his hand on your back.

It was a lively tune, so you had to keep up the pace without stepping on toes which mostly worked.  You tried not to say anything, just hoping to get this over with, but eventually you had to speak up.

“You’re staring at me,” you observed.

“I’m looking at you; I’m dancing with you, where else should I look?” he asked with a tone of sarcasm.

“We’ve fine silk on the walls, look at that,” you suggested.

“Silk looks finer on you,” he winked. “Nice outfit by the way, certainly stands out.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever met a man who didn’t mind trousers on a woman.  Causes quite a stir around here basically every single day,” you rolled your eyes.

“You don’t seem the type to suffer fools,” he noted.

“And yet, here I am,” you sighed.  Suffering didn’t even begin to describe it.

“This couldn’t possibly be less fun that standing at attention and staring straight ahead,” he frowned.

“It wasn’t so bad,” you shrugged.

“Of course it wasn’t, because you kept sneaking looks at me,” he winked.

Your eyes went wide.  Had he really seen you watching him?

“You were the one playing music, where else should I have been looking?” you defended.

“Ah, so now you can’t say I shouldn’t be looking at you while I dance with you,” he countered.

You laughed, sort of an instinctive reaction to the mild annoyance-yet-bemusement you felt.  

“Your smile is gorgeous,” he said with a gentleness to his voice you were unprepared for.  You wanted to look away from him to avoid blushing, but you didn’t want to show any sensitivity either.

“I swear if one more man tells me to ‘smile more’,” you began threateningly.

“No, your stern, serious face is gorgeous too,” he interrupted. “I just hope I can get a chance to make you smile again.”

How were you supposed to respond to things like that?  Even if men had ever been interested in you like this, you suspected none of them would’ve been this forward.  

“Do you know how to do a dip?” he asked, thankfully giving you something else to talk about.

“I said I don’t dance,” you recalled.

“It’s not difficult,” he soothed, the hand on your waist tightening.

“Oh, no no no no,” you rushed anxiously.

“It’ll be fine,” he said in a way that wasn’t very reassuring.

“No, Jaskier, I swear on all things holy and unholy if you drop me on this floor-”

“I like the way you say my name,” he smiled, and just as you reacted to that rather unsavory double entendre, he swung you into the dip.

The only way to describe the sound you made was girlish… not a word that described you or your activities very often.  You tried to suppress it and it helped but you were still sure everyone thought you were out of your mind.  The fear of falling washed away as you looked up at him, and there was definitely a moment.  You had heard of these sorts of moments before, but until now you never understood it.  Now that you were there it all made perfect sense.  

Just as you noticed that a moment was happening, it ended: he pulled you back up and spun you in a quick circle.  You were incredibly close to him for a second, your body pressed completely against his, and it was exhilarating in a way entirely different from combat.  It may seem obvious that those things would be different, but you had gotten so used to approaching everything as if it were a war.

The song ended, and unlike if it were a war, you found yourself wishing it would’ve lasted longer.  He stepped away from you, and you both did the polite post-song clapping.  As the next song was just starting to begin, he gave you a little bow.  You figured you were supposed to curtsy in response, but you weren’t even sure how to, and bowing back seemed even worse, so you just stood there.

“Thank you for the honour,” he said as he came back up, and you tried not to notice his gaze trailing up your body.

“Thank you, for…” you weren’t sure how to finish that.  Thanks for reminding me I have a sexuality, I seemed to have misplaced it for the past decade didn’t seem to be appropriate even if it were true.

“For showing you a good time?” he offered.

“I’m not sure I’d’ve phrased it that way.”

“For lively conversation?” he proposed instead.

“The conversation was the worst part of it!” 

“I assumed the dancing was the worst part.”

“Oh, yes, you’re right, it was,” you corrected. “Thank you for the conversation: it was less frivolous than the dancing.”

He laughed in a way that made you wonder if you’d actually managed to hit his ego.  You’d been trying so hard to do so, but now that you might have, it was a lot less fun than you’d imagined.

“I won’t keep you, you can get back to what you were doing before,” he said flippantly.

“You mean guarding the Queen?” you asked, offended by his tone.

“I meant watching me play,” he winked.  Before you could react, he turned away and flipped his lute around on its strap to strum on it.

“Do you know Fishmonger’s Daughter?” he called out to the band as he approached them.

You smiled to yourself just a little as you walked back to your post, and tried not to make eye contact with Queen Araja: you weren’t sure what look she would give you but it would most likely make you more nervous.

You went to bed that night still trying to shake the ridiculous giddy feeling.

~

The next morning came early when the Queen requested to speak with you.

“The witcher is out on the hunt as we speak: while he is out and the infantry are on leave, take the bard out someplace,” she ordered when you arrived. 

“What am I supposed to do with him?” you asked innocently.

“I don’t know, go to the training fields and teach him archery or something,” she shrugged.

“Am I to believe you are giving me a purposeless assignment, my liege?”

“Cut the formality; we’re alone,” she instructed. 

“Sorry, my- Araja,” you stumbled.  Force of habit.

“It’s not purposeless, to answer your question.  I want you to spend more time with him,” she explained matter-of-factly.

“Why is that?” 

“He makes you laugh.  I’ve never seen you like that- the way you were last night at the banquet.”

“I apologize for my indecency,” you bowed, “I was caught up in the moment.”

“Exactly.  Get caught up in more moments, please,” she begged. “It’s good for you.”

“Pardon my insubordination, madam, but should a Queen really be concerning herself with the romantic exploits of her soldiers?” 

Even such a simple, and fair, question made you nervous.

“First: please shut up about insubordination.  Second: you’re not just a soldier, you’re my protector and closest ally in this castle, and it bothers me to see you always alone.  Lastly: who said anything about romance?  Just make a friend,” she encouraged.

You blushed, realizing that your wording had accidentally revealed your suppressed interests.

“I won’t hear any dissent from you, now go fetch him from his quarters,” she demanded.

“Myself?” you guffawed. “A lady of fine standing should not be seen entering a man’s quarters.  I’ll send a servant to do it.”

“Most everyone in this castle has forgotten that you’re a lady, except possibly for him,” she frowned. “Just go.”

You bowed before you left, turning down the hall to where you knew Jaskier had been staying.

Knocking on his door, you found it already cracked open.

“May I come in?” you called out into the room.

“Always,” you heard him reply, so you pushed the door open to find him sitting at the vanity, shaving with a dagger.  

“On business of the Queen?” he asked.

That was not the easiest question to answer.

“Yes, she has asked me to take you on a tour of the grounds,” you explained.

“Alone?” He smiled. “How scandalous.”

You ignored that.

“Shame,” you mumbled to yourself as you watched him shave.

“Hm?”

“I thought the stubble suited you,” you stated, hoping it didn’t come across the way you actually meant it.

He stopped moving the blade.

“Wish you’d said that before,” he frowned.

The idea that he cared what you thought of his appearance, enough to change his habits, was intriguing.

“It’s done now,” you fought a smirk, “can’t go out with half a beard.”

He sighed, his gaze returning back to himself in the mirror as he resumed moving the blade slowly along his jaw.  You watched intently for a moment, the muscles in his arms exposed by rolled-up sleeves, slowly shifting as he delicately dragged the knife along his skin.  

“When you’re finished, meet me in the courtyard,” you said quickly before stepping back into the hall.

Why did he make you feel so flustered?

[next chapter]