#jaskier x you
Green With Envy (Jaskier x reader)
Summary: Jaskier’s beautiful new friend has you hurt. Unofficial sequel to I’ll Come Back For That Pint
Warnings: alcohol
Pairings: Jaskier x reader
Square Filled: “Please don’t leave me.”
A/N:@thewitcherbingo
THE WITCHER BINGO MASTERLIST |THE WITCHER MASTERLIST|GENERAL MASTERLIST
“We leave Oxenfurt at nightfall. Plenty of time to take a bath before then.” Jaskier’s voice drifted up to you as you descended the creaky wooden stairs, arms piled high with dirty linen. The sheets stank to high heaven, and you wrinkled your nose. Soldiers never seemed to bathe.
“Bard.” You nodded to him… and his companions. A woman glanced at you, purple eyes narrowed as she tugged her hood back over her head. You frowned, an irrational pang shooting through your chest as you met the gaze of her perfect face.
“Jaskier, who’s this?” The woman turned back to your bard, seeking answers from him rather than asking you. You pulled a face, dumping the linen in the basket on the table. That was all the bedding, every room emptied of its soiled sheets, or at least you hoped you had remembered all of them.
Your bard introduced you as the barmaid, reducing your importance to your occupation. Lips pursed, you grabbed the other set of keys from behind the bar. Hmm. Maybe you needed to rethink the inn’s security measures.
“I’m stripping the beds. Do your sheets need washing?”
His eyes flickered between you and the woman, who raised one perfect eyebrow at him.
Ah. You understood.
You sighed. “I’m taking that as a no. Can I offer either of you two anything? A drink? Lodgings?”
You made eye contact with the soldier behind her, nodding a welcome. He frowned, a deep mistrust laid into every hesitant motion as he nodded back.
“We… A place to have a wash would be nice.” The woman stumbled over her words, a sharp contrast to her previous confidence. You gave her a once over, your gaze running over her familiar features. She was probably some Countess or something, someone famous enough in these areas to be recognisable.
“There’s a bathhouse down the street, or I can get the tub ready.”
She glanced back at the soldier, who shrugged. “The tub would be lovely, thank you.”
“I’ll put them on your tab?” This was directed to the bard, who spluttered a protest, before you cut him off with a roll of your eyes. “It’s not like you’re paying it.”
You grabbed a key from under the bar, scanning the books for any pre-agreed occupants for the night. You wouldn’t have time to change the sheets before these two left, and on the days they were dirty for new occupants, Lefric would sigh and cut your tips. The woman took it from your outstretched hand, hovering awkwardly while you ducked back under for the linen closet key and grabbed an empty basket.
“Right, follow me. I’ll get you some towels and start heating the water. Are you happy to share the tub?”
She glanced at her soldier, both shrugging somewhat indecisively.
You pulled two sets of towels out of the linen cupboard and sets of fresh sheets for the bed, chucking them in your empty basket haphazardly. “It’ll be quicker if you do. I’ll just boil one lot of water.”
“Yeah, thanks,” the woman struggled to hold all the towels you gave her, “that’s brilliant.”
:.
“Y/N?” The bard wheedled, eyes pleading as you replaced the ale barrel behind the bar, scowl etched into your features. The sheets fluttered outside on the line, hung between the inn and its opposing building. You glanced out again, frowning at the water dripping off of them. With the grey, overcast skies, they were taking a while to dry.
“Y/N?”
You skimmed off the first inch of beer, pouring it out of the window with a scoff. The rag was dirty enough to put more smears on the glasses as you cleaned, but it did a good enough job that the drunkards wouldn’t notice.
“Y/N.” The bard grabbed your shoulders, stopping you from turning away from him as you avoided eye contact. “Why are you ignoring me?”
“I’m working. Can you just let me finish my job?”
He dropped his hands to his side, nodding with a sigh.
Picking back up the cloth, you scrubbed at a particular stuck spot and rinsed the whole thing in the bucket before flipping it over to dry. Repeating it for every single glass got monotonous and you almostwished you could just chat to the bard. But you were pissed off. You had been strung along and you weren’t going to stand for the slight to your dignity, even if you were a lowly barmaid.
He trailed behind you at all times, looking like a kicked puppy every time you turned back. Honestly, if you scowled anymore, you were pretty sure that your face would stay that way. You grabbed the sheets off the line, folding them not-so-neatly, and chucking them back in the basket to replenish the linen cupboard.
“Are you done yet?” He whined as you returned to the bar, nothing else to pretend to keep your hands busy with.
“Yes. What do you want?”
“Hey, hey, hey!” He threw his hands in surrender, frown working its way onto his face. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”
“Don’t call me sweetheart.” You spat the pet name, bitter on your tongue as it reminded you just how much of a true flirt he was. You had been so stupid to just believe him.
His smile dropped. “Y/N?”
He sounded so lost, thoroughly confused as you clenched your jaw.
“You’re not going to leave me, are you? Please don’t leave me.”
You scoffed. His audacity was astounding; he probably just wanted to be the one to end things. And playing on your sympathy was just cruel at this point.
“Go on, off with your other women.”
The bard frowned, opening his mouth as he failed to come up with any sort of protest. And then he gagged, face twisting with disgust. “Gods, eurgh, no, you don’t mean that she-devil, do you?”
It was your turn to frown.
He chuckled, that familiar smirk spreading across his lips. Gods, you wanted to slap it off of him. “Are you jealous? Why, you’re practically green!”
“Don’t.”
He grabbed your hands. “Y/N, trust me when I say that I would not want to come within ten feet of Yennefer if I had a choice. She’s an… old enemy. Very old worst enemy. And she could never compare to my favourite muse.”
You bit back a soft smile. “Jaskier, you’re sickeningly cliché.”
“But you clearly love it.”
At that you finally laughed, and a mirroring smile burst across his face.
“You’ll have me. You’ll always have me.”
And even still, the unspoken words of hurt lay between you two as you brushed back his hair, knowing far too well who he was thinking of.
“Jaskier, I will never be like him. I will never leave you. I promise.”
-
I’m Coming Back For That Pint (Jaskier x reader)
Synopsis: The bard performs every night at the pub you work at, and you’re a little worried for him. SOME SEASON 2 SPOILERS
Content warning: alcohol, mentions of sexual harrassment and cheating
THE WITCHER MASTERLIST|GENERAL MASTERLIST
You danced across the room, dodging swinging arms and splashes of ale as you refilled glasses through cheers of More. Drunkards congregated around tables, filling the air with hubbub and sloppy talk.
What for do you yearn?
The familiar strumming brought a smile to your face as you swiped empty tankards off the tabletops, stacking them high on your tray. You dumped them on the bar, swapping for another tray piled anew.
It’s the point of no return
You darted around the lusty eyes and groping hands as men drowned in their drunkenness, worsening your own job as you plied them with more drink. Avoiding eye contact, they grew bolder, chuckling at snide and bawdy jokes. You had heard every one of them before, each one chased away with a laugh and movement to refill someone else’s tankard.
After everything we did, we saw
Pollekin, one of your regular’s wife, grabbed the hat off the bard’s head as he leant back against her. Her husband tightened his grip on the tankard, knuckles turning white as he glowered. God, what a filthy look.
You turned your back on me
You offered him another drink, dunking it in the barrel and returning the sopping cup to him. When the men had their bellies filled with ale, their inflated ego was dampened. The slop of the cheap liquid on the table turned his head, dizzy eyes focused back on the tankard.
What for do you yearn?
The bard stepped onto the table, front leg bent as he leant into the song. He bared his teeth, scrunching his face as he drew out the words.
Watch that butcher burn
He leapt over the table, cheers echoing throughout in the bar as the audience was swept up in the emotion of the music. He sure as hell could perform; this was about the 50th time you had heard this, and you still weren’t sick of it.
At the end of my days when I’m through, no word that I’ve written will ring quite as true
The bard turned to face his audience, arms outstretched as he belted.
As “Burn”
A banging of tankards on the table next to you broke you out of whatever spell he had put you under, the rhythmic thumping a reminder of your duties. You tugged the filthy rag from your belt, mopping up the puddles on the table as they continued to splatter the ale.
Burn, butcher, burn
The audience joined in, voices raucous and not particularly in tune, but a good sign of a night full of tips to come. You forced back the flicker of disgust as you brushed past a particularly grabby group, pulling your skirt out of their grasping hands.
Burn, butcher, burn
You hummed softly, catching Lefric’s knowing grin from behind the bar. You shook your head, a disobedient grin twitching at the corner of your lips.
Burn, burn, burn, burn, burn, burn, burn, burn
Your motions slowed as you were lulled by the slowing tempo, gaze firmly affixed on the bard drifting from present.
Watch me burn all the memories of you
The bard’s voice trailed off to a whisper. As his voice broke, so did your heart, a dull pain shooting through your chest. He settled on a stool near the edge of the stage, eyes gazing off into the middle distance as the pubgoers erupted into applause.
He stood up, forcing a weak smile as he broke free from whatever powerful emotion had him entrapped. “Thank you!”
You rushed over to the bar, grabbing a few empty tankards carelessly from the tables. Lefric elbowed you with a smirk, and you responded with a mutinous glare, jaw set, and eyes narrowed. A cough at the bar had you schooling your features, heat creeping up the back of your neck.
“What can I get you?” You couldn’t help yourself from leaning forward, bewitched by the bard’s brooding gaze.
“Just a pint of whatever ale you have.” The bard was despondent tonight, avoiding conversation as his fans came flocking.
Lefric waved them off with calls of ‘Closing time in 10 minutes’, flipping the OPEN sign around on the bar. The men grumbled, pulling their wives away as the bard remained unresponsive to their flirtatious charms. Pollekin tried the hardest, bottom lip jutting out when he refused to even look at her. She threw the hat onto the chair as she dragged her poor husband out, muttering curses towards the man who slighted her.
You thumped the tankard on the table, ale slopping over the sides. He glanced up, murmuring a word of thanks. Your interactions so far had always been a little more exuberant, filled with flirting that would make a whore blush and your laughter as you brushed him aside.
“Jaskier?”
The bard jolted at the sound of his name, turning to face you with a tired rendition of his most seductive look. “How can I help you, sweetheart?”
You wrinkled your nose. That wasn’t quite what you were after. “Are you alright?”
“Yes, all my songs have no actual basis in reality, yada, yada, you’ve heard the spiel before.” The bard grimaced, tone dripping with grumpiness. He glanced at you, irritation shrinking as he met your eyes.
“More ale?” You refilled his cup without waiting for an answer, catching the glares sent your way by jilted wives and their jealous husbands.
Lefric shooed them out, threatening them with a ban as they grumbled.
You sighed. “I meant right now though.”
“Fine, yeah, absolutely. I just-” He hesitated, before shaking his head.
You waited. Raised an eyebrow as he remained silent. “Alright, never mind. But if you fancy a confidante, I promise that as a barmaid I’ve heard far worse things than anything that might come out of your mouth.”
You swiped the tankard out of his hand, ignoring his protests. “Now, come on, you can’t get too drunk on me now, Sandpiper. You can come back to finish this off later, and I’ll be here to refill your cup and hear your stories.”
He stammered a response, coming up with some sort of thanks as he headed towards the door. He rounded up the elves in the darkened parts of the room as he did, glancing once, twice, thrice out the door for soldiers.
Lefric turned a blind eye to all the bard was up to, happy enough with the income and unhappy enough with the treatment of the elves to just let it pass. You wanted to help far more than you were, but all you could do was distract any soldiers or nosy neighbours who started to get suspicious.
Jaskier stopped at the door, his smile back in full force. “I’m coming back for that pint.”
And you both knew that promised a lot more than just a drink.
“I’ll be waiting.”
-
Witcher Bingo 2022
Age Gap:Guest Professor (Jaskier x reader)21-01-2022
“Please don’t leave me”:Green with Envy (Jaskier x reader)04-02-2022
Guest Professor (Jaskier x reader)
Summary: You keep bumping into the guest professor, and you’re not sure it’s just a coincedence anymore.
Warnings: alcohol
Pairings: Jaskier x reader
Square Filled: Age Gap
A/N:@thewitcherbingo
THE WITCHER BINGO MASTERLIST|THE WITCHER MASTERLIST|GENERAL MASTERLIST
You clutched your books to your chest, half-empty bag slung over your shoulder as you hauled your stuff to class. The clock chimed and you swore loudly, drawing scandalous looks from some old birds having a brisk morning walk before knitting or whatever else old people did in Oxenfurt. The looming university building seemed ever further away as the chiming bells reminded you just how late you would be.
You gulped down your panting as you tried to compose yourself before entering the lecture hall, forehead beaded with sweat. The door creaked open, warning of your presence, and you winced. It was already packed full of students in there, eyes watching your every move as you tried to slip in silently.
Filia waved at you, movements exuberant as your own mood gradually deteriorated. Why had she chosen the middle row? You pushed past your peers, a grimace firmly etched onto your face as you murmured Sorryrepeatedly. This was mortifying. Dumping your stuff down onto the table, you dropped into your seat. The pile of books in front of you was looking like a great place to bury your head in at this point.
“Isn’t this so exciting!?” She started off whispering, voice too eager to be kept quiet for long.
You frowned. “What is?”
“We’ve got a guest lecturer today.”
You peered over the pile of your stuff at the man, who was wearing a pressed silk doublet and had a verynice lute slung over his shoulder. You wrinkled your nose. “Another man? And looks like he comes from nobility as well.”
“It’s better than Schneider droning on about iambic pentameter and rhyming couplets again.”
You swept off the books into your bag, clearing the desk to leave room for your writing utensils. If the speaker actually made any points of use you wanted to note them down. “Yes, well anything is better than that.”
The lecture was surprisingly good; the man clearly knew his stuff, and had an attitude – you hesitated to call it arrogance but that did seem to fit best – that added an element of humour to the otherwise dry technicalities. And it was nice to have a younger lecturer for once. Schneider must have been reaching seventy or so years at least.
“Oh, wasn’t he dreamy.” Filia mock-swooned, pressing a hand to her forehead. You shook your head, continuing to pack your bag as a small smile played at your lips. His looks had played a small part in your enrapturement, but you preferred to say it was because of the quality of the lecture.
“Mhm,” you slung your bag onto your shoulder, “do you mind holding back for a moment? I have a question I wanted to ask.”
The man looked up as you descended the stairs towards him, boots a little too clunky for the narrow steps so you gripped the hand rail tightly. He broke away from Geert and Schneider, the latter of which continued talking without really noticing his disappearance.
“We really enjoyed the talk,” Filia gushed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in that way you knew all too well from drunken nights out where she was soon surrounded by adoring fans.
He raised an eyebrow, gaze drifting over to you in a way that made heat crawl up the back of your neck. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“I… I had a question, sir.” You clutched your bag a little closer to your chest, unnerved by the butterflies fluttering in your stomach.
“Oh, please, not sir, call me Jaskier.” Jaskier. Oh and of course he had to go have a name that you could imagine moaning. No. These were bad thoughts. Heat crept up the back of your neck. “And you are?”
You frowned slightly, mind still very much focused on his name. Oh. Fuck. You blurted out your name, eyes widening at your too loud voice.
Jaskier took a step closer, eyes afire with something you didn’t quite recognise. “Go on then, what’s your question?”
You gulped, mind wiping blank before you steeled yourself against whatever this infatuation was. “You mentioned the importance of sound within poetry, the use of sibilance, plosives, to drive dramatic effect. On the flipside, do you think that these could be used to create almost an irony within the poem?”
He tilted his head. “That’s an interesting question. Is this irony for the purpose of humour? Or more to jar the audience?”
“Oh, um, either I guess.” You scratched the back of your neck, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. You hadn’t been expecting to be probed on the exact meaning of your question; wasn’t he meant to be the one answering them?
“Well, I think it would work well for creating tension by unsettling or offsetting the tone – I’m not sure about humour. How about I get back to you on that?”
“Yeah, sure, that sounds good.” You tripped over your words as he maintained that deep eye contact, brain suddenly melting to thick slush. This was embarrassing.
Filia tugged you out of the room, your feet having lost the ability to move of their own volition, and you sighed at the smug grin on her face. She spun on you as soon as the door slammed shut behind you.
“You two seemed very friendly.”
You frowned. “He was just being professional.”
“The look he was giving you was anything butprofessional.”
:.
The pages were smooth under your fingers, a simple pleasure in the torture of writing yet another essay. Sometimes you wondered if you’d ever actually get on to writing poetry, instead of just analysing it. Schneider was very much a by-the-book professor.
You skim read the page, eyes flitting over the words as you sought out anything to do with ‘metre’ or ‘pace’ or ‘rhythm’. But yet again it was useless. More of the same old drivel that really told you nothing. You thumped the book shut, dust particles flying into the air, and you sneezed.
A harsh shh came from the librarian’s desk and you winced.
Grabbing the next heavy tome from your pile, you placed this one down a little more gently. Your finger trailed along the contents page, scanning the chapter headings for something a little more insightful into the “importance of metre”. Anything other than how it characterises a poem’s mood would be helpful really.
Cough. You ignored the gentle noise, huffing frustratedly as this book yielded nothing. By this rate, you were going to have read half of the books in the library and still not finished your essay.
Cough. The cough was louder this time, more insistent and purposeful. You glanced up, perfectly ready to berate whoever had decided to interrupt your studying.
He made eye contact with you, smirking. Oh Melitele, smirking. Your mouth stayed open, words caught in the back of your throat.
“Need any help?” Jaskier slipped into the seat next to you, somehow aware that you weren’t going to be the first one to say something. Well, it wasn’t that surprising; you had just stared at him like a brainless goldfish for about half a minute.
You hesitated, umming and ahhing a little as your gaze flitted between your book pile. You really ought to do this one by yourself, but when he was practically offering you a good grade, it would be self-sabotage not to accept.
Deciding on just redirecting the topic, you settled on an easy question. “What’s a guest professor like you doing in the student library this late?”
He sighed wistfully, gazing out of the large glass windows at the stars shimmering in the night sky.
“Reminiscing about the god-awful hours I spent in here over essays that took far too long.” His gaze sharpened. “Which reminds me, did you want some help?”
You pursed your lips, before groaning in resignation. “Yeah, these books are useless.”
He chuckled, sidling a little closer so your shoulders were brushing. You froze, mentally berating yourself and desperately hoping he hadn’t noticed.
“Mhm, I felt the exact same thing when I was in your place.” He was close enough that you could feel his breath fanning against your cheek and the warmth of a body just a little too far away. “They’re all far too old and stuck in the past. We need to forget tradition. Forget all the rules. Switch it up!”
He had summarised very succinctly what every single one of your frustrations with this essay boiled down to.
You grinned. “I swear some of these were written when youmust’ve been a student.”
Jaskier gasped, looking very much like you had just slapped him with a rotten fish. He stuttered, utter horror destroying his ability to speak. “Exactly how old do you think I am?”
“Oh, well, ancient.”
He scoffed, outrage soon dissipating into chuckles as you grinned at him. You really hoped that this sick soppy feeling wasn’t translating onto your features.
“So…” You paused, glancing back down at your unblemished parchment. “What do I do?”
Jaskier’s blue eyes met yours, so unforgettably and unabashedly close. Your breath stuttered in your throat.
“Make your own tradition.”
:.
Pelagius whooped loudly, clanking his tankard against yours and spilling ale everywhere as the rest of the group burst into laughter. You’d all come for your morning pick me up, a half pint of ale (or pint if it was a really tough day) but as a rule you tended to avoid any more just to be able to get through your lectures.
You groaned. “Pel, it’s only the morning, why are you already pissed?”
“Hair of the dog? It is your fault.” He shook his pint at you, more droplets splattering the table, and you winced. Alright, you also had a dire headache and were desperate for a little more sleep, but you weren’t quite at the point of drowning your stress in ale.
Filia cackled at the two of you, smug grin twitching at her lips as you wrinkled your nose. She had been the one egging you on last night, and seemed right as rain. Back to her usual chipper self.
The rest had refused to come out last night, citing Schneider’s second essay of the week as a need to stay in, and therefore were eagerly participating in Filia’s mocking. After the third snide remark about your foul stare and dark under eyes, you pushed out your chair and stood up.
“More drinks?” Suddenly, all teasing was forgotten as you received a chorus of Yeses. You shook your head, smug grin tugging at your lips. “And you say I’m the one with an alcohol problem.”
You slipped into the seat next to some poor patron who was brooding over his beer, no doubt regretting his night just as much as you were. The barkeeper chucked a filthy rag over his shoulder, giving you his most lascivious smile, and you returned one, although rather more politely.
“6 pints please. For that lot over there.” He nodded. He was a silent fellow, much more of a man for grunting, which is why this was your favourite place to chase off a hangover at. “Oh, and make sure the blond drunk one doesn’t get any more.”
At the sound of your voice, the poor bastard to your right’s head shot up. You glanced over, eyes flickering over him before back to the barkeeper as you dropped a handful of coins on the counter. Hang on. You looked at the man again out of the corner of your eye, turning your head over so slowly as your face fell.
“Jaskier…” Your false enthusiasm trailed off as you simply ran out of the energy, eyes wide and mortified.
“Wow, I can tell you’re barely hiding your excitement to see me,” he grouched, taking another large swig of his drink.
“Well, I think we’ve both had an equally awful wake-up, so I’m sure you can understand why.”
“Oh,” he chuckled slightly, “I’m not sure yours was quite as bad as mine. I’ve lost my favourite doublet in Lady Wendelbalda’s chambers as her husband chased me out.”
You grimaced. Yeah. You couldn’t really compare with that. Rubbing the back of your neck, you nodded a thanks to the barkeeper as he delivered the pints to your friends. But all you could think of was Jaskier’s… sexual adventures, and the deep prickle in your heart.
Were you jealous?
“I hope you get it back.”
He harrumphed. “I seriously doubt it. Her husband is a veryvolatile man, and I’m not risking my balls being cut off.”
You wrinkled your nose. “Oh, yes, well that would be a seriousloss to the population of Oxenfurt.”
Jaskier spun on you, raising an eyebrow. He leant forward, breath stinking of stale ale, and you pulled a face. “I’m sure it would be a serious loss to you.”
Your eyes widened. Was he allowed to say things like that to you? He was technically a professor… but it wasn’t as if you hadn’t thought about it. And it made you clench your thighs a little tighter together.
“I…” You stuttered, tongue tripping over itself as you tried to come across as cool and aloof. You failed miserably. “I ought to get back to my friends.”
You escaped to the group, who hadn’t noticed your extended period at the bar, and rejoined the conversation almost seamlessly. When you glanced up again, his blue eyes (Melitele, those eyes) were still firmly fixed on you.
:.
Turning over the apple, you peered at its skin for any marks of insects or damage. It was costly enough without extra bruises and protein. You wrinkled your nose at the concept of eating bugs. All the instability had worn the import and export market down, and the produce at the market was becoming less and less diverse every day.
“I’ll take 5 of these apples and about 2 pounds worth of your leeks.” You paused, scanning the stall. “They’re in season right?”
The shopkeeper perked up at the sound of your order, nodding fervently. “Ay, the leeks are best this time of year. We’ve had a good crop as well, nice and sweet. Anything else?”
You eyed the strawberries, mouth twisting as you quickly rattled through your shopping list in your head. You couldn’t afford them on your measly student budget, but maybe one day. “Uh, no, I don’t-”
A voice cut you off. “And a pound of your juiciest strawberries. I’ll pay for the poor student’s shopping.”
You spun around, protesting as Jaskier brushed you aside, already chucking the shopkeeper a couple of gold coins and grabbing your produce. He ignored your squawking and pushed away your purse as you desperately tried to reimburse him.
“Oh, just let me do something nice, will you?”
Your brow furrowed. Jaskier slung an arm around your shoulders, steering you towards the butcher’s with a smug grin on his face. He clearly thought he had won this argument.
“Jaskier, no!” You pushed him off, finally managing to open your purse without him batting your hands away. “I don’t need your pity money. I appreciate it, I really do. But, um, it’s just not right.”
He refused your coins, tucking them back into your purse and that back into your belt. “When was the last time you had strawberries? I saw you looking at them, it was a nice gesture, okay?”
“You’re still my professor.”
Jaskier pulled a face.
“Not really. It was one guest lecture, so this,” he waved his hands in the air, “is all okay.”
One lecture? Oh. Oh.
“How come you’re still in Oxenfurt then?”
“I promised an old friend that I would perform at his tavern for free in return for never paying back the money I still owe him.” He scratched his neck, suddenly bashful. “It’s tomorrow night, at the Old Bull’s Head Inn. Come along?”
“I… Sure.”
:.
You had told Filia about the performance, trying to remain nonchalant as you floated the possibility of going. Despite a little teasing, she had managed to wrangle a few of you, including Pelagius, to come along, You just hoped that Pelagius wouldn’t get you onto the stronger stuff again. You weren’t made for it.
The tavern was packed; inhabitants and students alike had come from all over Oxenfurt to see the renowned bard. Pelagius had managed to grab you all a table, a mean feat considering the size of the crowd already gathered. But, knowing him, he had been here since noon.
Gentle strumming broke you away from the conversation, hush settling in the room. Even just a few notes was spellbinding, a promise of the music to come.
Jaskier was a master of the crowd, weaving emotion and eliciting cheers with every plucked note and repeated refrain. You watched, jaw clenched, as some of the girls from down at the brothel giggled as he came close. He winked, revelling in their attention, and you returned your gaze back to the bottom of your pint.
It was only your first of the night, but you had promised yourself that there would be no more drunken antics for the rest of the week. And you were determined to stick to it.
As the night drew to its close, the hubbub died down, some already having headed off. The pace of his songs also eased, a softening for the end of a triumphant performance.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m afraid that this will be my last song.” Cries of disappointment and ‘Encore’ echoed throughout the audience, and a smug grin twitched at his lips. “But you have been the most wonderful audience.”
He strummed a slow chord, the melancholic minor key striking you by surprise. Usually bards ending the night with a rousing tune, designed to get the innkeeper more orders for pints, but considering the size of the crowd, you doubted he had struggled much tonight.
O'er glistening roofs you float,
A love ballad. Interesting choice.
Through lily-strewn rivers you dive
Jaskier’s eyes met yours, your lips slowly parting as your mouth dried. Melitele, this wasn’t just an infatuation anymore.
Yet one day I will know your truths
His lips curled into a sincere smile as he leant forward, eyes never leaving yours. Was he singing it to you?
If only I am still alive
The song ended to raucous applause with drunkards attempting to stagger to their feet for a standing ovation.
“Thank you, please remember to toss a coin! If you need anything, I’ll be by the bar.”
Emboldened by your single pint, you headed over, needing little more than Filia’s encouraging glance. His serenade, or at least you hoped he had been serenading you, was enough motivation by itself, really.
“Jaskier.”
He spun around, grin widening at the sight of you. “Well if it isn’t my favourite fan.”
You rolled your eyes, raising an eyebrow as he chuckled at your disapproval. His fingers danced against the side of his tankard, the only giveaway of his restless energy. The noise of the inn was dying down as people felt that their night had drawn to its end, and drunkards started to stumble out the door.
“What did you think of the performance?” His eyes searched your face as you hesitated, reformulating a thousand responses in your head before settling on a simple “It was incredible”.
A slight pout settled onto his lips, your gaze flickering down and back up again, and his eyes lit up in a way that let you know he had caught you.
“Justincredible?”
“Well, you tell me the meaning of your final song, and I’ll give you my full review.”
“It’s a love ballad, as I’m sure you know, dedicated to the most beautiful woman in the room.” His lips twitched into a smirk. “Did you enjoy it?”
“Mm, it was my favourite part of the night.”
His eyes took on an impish gleam as he sipped at his pint. You ran your finger along the grooves in the bar as you waited for his response. “I’ve got a suggestion on how we can top it.”
Your head shot up. So much for cool, calm and collected. “We?”
“Come back to my room tonight.”
Pretended to hesitate, you stroked your chin thoughtfully. But any pretence was mitigated by the smile playing at your lips. “How could I ever refuse?”
-
Y/N: I truly believe that water can solve all your problems.
Y/N: Weight loss? Drink water.
Jaskier: Clear skin? Drink water.
Geralt: Want to get rid of someone? Drown them.
Jaskier x Reader
!SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2!
Words: 540
Summary: As soon as the song hit your ears, your heart broke.
You looked at Yennefer, hearing his voice after so long did something to you.
You thought you were over him, that you moved on, clearly, that wasn’t the case. You still loved him. Even after you broke his heart on that mountain and left with Yen, your feelings for the bard never stopped.
But that song was not about you.
The butcher he kept on singing about wasn’t you. You could only imagine the song he wrote about you. But you could imagine.
Then Yennefer told you to go to him, talk to him, she could wait. And you ran.
You ran up to the bar and found him at a table, sitting alone.
“Jaskier?” you asked with a soft voice.
He recognized you immediately as you saw him freeze in his place and then slowly really slowly he started to turn around and looked at you. He might look different from the last time you have seen him but it was still him, that you could tell.
“Is that’s really you?” he couldn’t believe his own eyes it felt he was imagining things wondered someone was playing some prank on him. They had to. You couldn’t be there.
Not with the way you looked just as beautiful as the day you left him.
You offered him a smile, you were ready for him to yell, to scream at you, call you names and say that he never wants to see you ever again. And you wouldn’t blame him.
But he didn’t.
No.
He ran over to you, his drink long forgotten, he ran to you and hugged you.
“You are as beautiful as the day I lost you.” he said with tears in his eyes, he leaned in to give you a kiss.
A kiss that exploded in your stomach, filled you with a warmth you never thought you would even feel again. A kiss so gentle, as if he was afraid he would lose you if he kissed you too hard.
And yet, here you were, in his arms again.
You forgot the entire world around you, nothing mattered anymore.
And you just knew you would never be able to leave him again. No matter what Yennefer or the world has to say.
The two of you were meant to be.
“I’m so sorry.” is what you said when he pulled away from the kiss. Letting your words and his soak in as you pulled him in for another kiss. And this time it was a lot more desperate than the first.
A kiss shared between two lovers.
And when he pulled back the third time, you looked into his eyes, you knew you broke his heart, you knew you didn’t deserve his forgiveness, but he gave it to you. Jaskier was able to forgive you, seeing it in his eyes, you were glad.
You enjoyed every moment until Yen would decide to come up and you will have to face reality once again. You weren’t sure if you were ready to do that.
And somehow, Yennefer understood. And she waited.
She let the two lovers reunite.
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