#the witcher readerinsert

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

Made not Born: Part 1

Fandom: The Witcher (Netflix)

Pairing: Jaskier x Plus Size! Goddess! Reader

Warnings: 

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff​ aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​

Summary: You’re a goddess of little things, but you were made not born. You tire of immortality, of the glitter that does not fade, of watching those around you grow and age and falter and die. You help Jaskier in a moment of need and in return he tries to help you. Perhaps you find yourself falling in love along the way.

Notes: 

You find him by the roadside. You’ve followed his journeys, one of the many mortals you enjoy watching the life of, and now you find him in need of help. His clothes are dirtied, he is sat in a muddy ditch, hair misplaced and blood bleeding from the broken skin of his lip. He is beaten and he is bloody, but not dangerously so. But you are a minor goddess, good for healing little wounds and mending small broken things. 

You don’t answer his questioning calls until you’ve placed a hand on his cheek and the bruises have faded, the cuts stitching themselves back together, the rips in his doublet mending. You doubt he knows what god you are, few do, but his eyes glimmer with recognition as he takes in your form. You are the homeliest looking of the gods, although by mortal standards anything but. Your hips are wide, your stomach soft, your skin is covered in marks and scars from your previous mortal life. Your hair does not shine and your eyes do not glow. You looked as you did in your mortal life, only with something extra, something which mortals could never place a finger on and could never quite describe. It was an essence that let them know you were more than them, something else, something other. For some this bred fear, other’s awe, some comfort, and many curiosity.

“You’re Desara” He lifts himself from his place sitting, only to kneel instead. Blue eyes twinkling up at you, taking in the strands of your hair, the colour of your eyes, the way your dress falls around your body as if purposefully effortless. He tries not to stare, he really does, but he’s never met a god before and you’re...godly, no...otherworldly, effortlessly beautiful, shining like a beacon and, most of all, you look kind. There is a softness in your face that he never expected a god to have, he always imagined there would be glares and glowering, thunderbolts and lightning. He always thought gods were supposed to be frightening.  You were the opposite of what he had imagined, you gave off a feeling of comfort and safety that had his shoulders relaxing without a thought.

“That’s what you mortals call me...I go by Y/N...” You rest your hands on his shoulders and urge him to rise, he towers above you. Another thing he thought impossible. He always imagined the gods doing the towering, but he has to angle his head downwards to look you in the eye. He isn’t sure if he’s supposed to look a god in the eye...he’s not sure what godly etiquette is. He’s fully prepared to make a massive faux pas and be struck down with some sort of plague or be crushed under the might of your godly powers. 

“Well, that’s very...”

“It’s a very mundane name, I know. I wasn’t always a goddess, you know?” You say with a small little smile, coy, playful. He shakes his head and swallows hard. He will admit he knows your name, knows that you are a minor goddess, known for little things, but he does not know what little things and he does not know your story or history. He always imagined that Gods were born. That they simply burst into existence or rather they existed and birthed everything else. He’d be lying if he said he was an overly devout man, he’d seen enough to be open minded, but had never been one for leaving offerings at shrines or speaking out prayers and thanks.  

“I was once a farmer’s daughter. I sowed the seeds, I threshed the wheat, I brought in the harvest...and then one day a god came to me and decided to make me a god too. She believed they needed more, believed she could create something more of me. I think she believed I’d become a great one, a powerful one.” You laugh and he thinks it is supposed to sound bitter and humourless, but instead it sounds soft on the breeze like the light strumming of his lute or the sound of birdsong on a spring morning. “So I became Desara, Goddess of the little things, the warmth of a hearth, the feeling of home after a long journey. Goddess of small creatures and little deeds, of jaunty tunes and a noiseless breeze. Goddess of the seed that roots and the weed that dies, Goddess of the daisy chains and flower crowns. Of worms and of rhymes. Of broken noses and split lips. My powers are minor and few pray to me. Mostly, little children who find my rhymes and songs amusing or who wind chains of flowers for their friends. They soon forget, however.”

“A rather impressive list, oh beautiful creature, oh mighty goddess” He is not sure how anyone could forget you. If you consider yourself minor and unimpressive he cannot imagine what the other gods are like, but he finds that he has no interest in finding out.

“Please. Y/N. I do not enjoy being....grovelled too or worshipped. I am so tired, Julian Alfred Pankratz. I have lived so long and so lonely.” 

“If I am to call you Y/N, then please call me Jaskier.” There is a pause before he continues, “Surely you have admirers at your beck and call?” He cannot imagine you without them. Cannot imagine why men and women would not flock to worship at your feet, why they would not revel in the swell of your hips or the softness of your body, the kindness of your face, or the gentle nature of your words. It seemed to him that anyone would be a fool not to admire and worship you. 

“Admirers are not loves. They grovel, they seek, they desire, they want, but they do not wish to truly know or listen or care. What I would give to be mortal again, to live in the moment, to know there is an end. To be loved for myself, a farmer’s daughter and not a goddess.”

“Is there not some way to do so? To become mortal, I mean?” He doesn’t pretend to know much about these sorts of things, that was always Geralt’s area of expertise, but it makes sense to him that anything that is made can be unmade, anything that is fixed can be broken. 

“For all my years, my knowledge of gods and kings, monsters and men is rather limited. If there is, I doubt the other God’s would tell me for fear that in some hateful fury I might make them mortal. Although I tend to avoid them where possible and would much rather leave them to their quibbling and return to a simpler life”

“Your predicament moves me, Y/N...I am humbled in your presence, “ You go to cut him off and chastise but he stops you, “Not because you are a god or some immortal being but because it is clear to me you have a mortal soul longing for what mortals do.  Love.” Perhaps he is flowery with his words, like most bards are, but you decide that he truly means what he says, no matter how poetic it might appear. 

“If you will permit me, I would try to help? I have little knowledge on the subject of Gods, but I know a friend who might know where to look.”

“The Witcher.” He looks surprised, “Us Gods watch, you know. From our skies and our seas and our grasses and our trees. I find you enjoyable in your journeys, Toss a Coin to Your Witcher really was a masterpiece,” 

“-Why thank yo-” You cut off the thanks, not needing thanks for speaking what you feel is the truth. 

“I watch and I know things. He is your friend and you are right, he knows a great deal about my kind and all the tricks to make or break us...do stress that I was not born a god, I was made...and surely what was made can be unmade?” You take a deep breath and humble yourself, kneeling in front of him in a way none of the other gods would,  “I...thank you, Jaskier...I wish to be me again and I no longer wish to be so old and weary and never age. Thank you for trying even if an answer cannot be found.”

“I’ll find an answer. For good or ill. I’ve never had a quest of my own before, a true adventure, and I refuse to fail you, Y/N. I hope I can return your mortality.” You feel a little of your composure slip at the genuine kindness and determination in his voice, at the hopefully gleam in his blue eyes. You blink away what tears have filled your eyes and stand up to lean forward, pressing a thankful kiss to his forehead, gentleness you bestow upon any you can, but rarely with such genuine feeling. 

“Thank you, Jaskier. I will aid in what little ways I can, but I am no greater god, I cannot do much but mend small breaks, and soothe little hurts.” It’s a warning, kindly, but one to remind him that if he needs help greater than you can give then there is little you can do. It would pain you to see one of your favourite mortals perish in an effort to help you, you wanted your mortality, but not at the cost of a life. Perhaps your mortality wasn’t even possible to regain.

You leave him there, kneeling in the dirt with soft eyes and a softer heart. To him it seems as if you become one with the leaves and the trees, drifting off to somewhere unknown and his eyes follow for as long as they can before you disappear entirely. He steels himself, rising from the ground, tugging on his now mended doublet and grabbing his lute. He has a witcher to find and despite their current differences, Geralt had made it quite clear that he didn’t want the bard hanging around, Jaskier needed his help and he would put up with the grump for you. A kind goddess in need of help regaining her mortality, beautiful as the sunrise and quiet as the moon, well, that was just a song that needed to be written and a story that needed to be told.

[cacti-are-like-flamingos]

Texted Love

Henry Cavill x Fem!Reader

Part 5

Central Masterlist | Texted Love

"Wait a minute...are you showering?!" The words blurting out of his mouth as he stared at the screen of his phone with much interest. Ignoring the questioning stares of his colleagues, the Brit hurriedly pulled the device closer to his figure, wanting to at least provide you with some privacy on his end.

You weren't naked on the screen if that was what you were thinking. You had simply placed the phone on top of the toilet lid, capturing the gorgeous sight of your white ceiling. The sound of your giggling accompanied by the sound of the showerhead being switched on echoing through his airpods.

"What? I thought it was time to take this relationship to the next level." You teased with a small snicker at the end. Rolling his eyes, he retorted, "Wow. Now I can say I've showered with you without ever been there physically." You snorted.

"Exactlyyyy."

"...Not even a peek?"

And then suddenly, your little head popped into the bottom left corner of the screen and what was to be considered a unflattering angle. You hid the bottom half of your face, but he could tell you were grinning by the slight squint of your eyes. Droplets of water sliding down the curve of your nose before falling onto the device itself. Behind you, he could see the steam clouding around the small room. He smirked.

"There's your peek. Like it?"

"Absolutely loved it. You have me blushing like a prepubuscent boy who saw a little bit too much of ankle from some schoolgirl." You barked a laugh.

"Ooo, is your heart hammering in its chest?" He smiled.

"Oh most definitely. Here have a listen." He then aimed for the phone to lay against his clothed chest. You let out a gasp before he pulled the device away and aimed it back to record his face.

"Henry! So you do have a heart!" It halfheartedly glared at you.

"Of course I do. It only beats for you. Now go finish showering." There was a short silence after he had spoken. The silence having been so sudden and uncharacteristic of you, that Henry couldn't help but feel a small level of concern for you. Had he said something wrong? Did you take a tumble? He remembered that one interview where you mentioned having been so clumsy that you once slipped in the shower and hit the back of your head quite harshly. Oh no.

"Are-" "You're not gonna hang up right?" He noted the way your voice sounded so...small. Almost as if it was afraid of the answer.

"No. Not unless you want me to...?" "Uh, don't hang up. It's just that...ah, I don't know. It gets to quiet at home." He frowned.

"Where's Terry?"

"Probably at some dick appointment or something." He chuckled.

"Then I'll stay on call for as long as you like, doll." The sweet sound of your giggle was music to his ears. Then there was silence in the background, he figured you finished showering.

"Are you on the Witcher set?" He glanced to his surroundings, it was the inside of a tavern. Things were still being moved and set up, extras crowded the corners as they were being told where they would be positioned and so on. He was decked out in his Geralt of Rivia outfit, the leather of the clothing tight around his torso and biceps.

"Yeah, we're about to start filming soon." He answered, his eyes watching the Director speaking with the camera crew.

"Oof, I bet you look like a whole ass meal." Why did you manage to always make him laugh? Seriously, how the hell did you do that?

"And you don't?"

"You right, you right. I'm the meal and you're the delicious dessert that I've been waiting to eat all night." Now that really got his heart racing. And thank god for Bluetooth or we'd be having some issues right now.

"Oh? Rather bold coming from the woman who seemingly refuses my advances for us to physically meet."

"Oi, oi. You didn't have to come after me like that. I swear we'll meet eventually." He huffed, puffing out his chest as he did so.

"Well you owe me after rejecting me so many times."

...

"Well you owe me after rejecting me so many times."

BITCH.

“Huh? You’re glitching. What you say again?” 

“I said,  well you owe me after rejecting me so many times.”

“Nope, still can’t hear you.” It was upon seeing your chesire cat grin that he understood that you were messing with him. Earning a slight huff from the male. 

“Rude,” he chuckled amusedly, “Anyways, I do have to go now. Bye darling.”

“Send me pictures! Bye hot stuff!”

...

It was around 12 a.m. when all of a sudden your phone started vibrating in the middle of a movie you were watching with your manager, Terry. Yawning a bit, you flipped the device to face you before clicking the button to turn it on. The sudden brightness blinding you for a mere second before you were bale to read the notifications.

Instagram 12:23 a.m.

(U/n): Henry Cavill has sent you a message.

(U/n): Henry Cavill has sent you a photo.

(U/n): Henry Cavill has sent you a photo.

(U/n): Henry Cavill has sent you a photo.

You snorted.

“No way...”

Tapping on the notification, you unlocked the phone and waited as the system took you to the app. It was then that you had a heart attack

“(y/n)? ( Y/N)?! Girl why are you on the floor?! What you mean look at yo’ phone????” Grabbing the device, Terry looked at the screen before screaming.

“FUCKING RAIL ME ALREADY!!!!”

.

..

.

(henrycavill): (U/n) Your wish is my command ;)

...

(A/N): For a a moment, I thought I got over this man. But nah, I rewatched The Witcher and I fell back in love. I swear-

Hope you enjoyed!

[readerstories]

Another Traveler - Geralt x gender neutral reader x Jaskier - part 1/14

Most of this is written from Geralt's point of view just so you know. Also, Jaskier isn't coming in until a few chapters inn, but since the story is going to be a pairing with Geralt, you and Jaskier all together eventually, I thought I would tag it. If you see any typos, please tell me. (AO3) 

Warnings: none

Wordcount: 1143

Summary: A fateful meeting many years ago between Geralt and you starts this story, and over the years you find yourself meeting often, as well as some others.

Geralt was someone who was used to spending most of his nights alone, wether he was in an inn or camping out in the forest like tonight. Lighting kept most creatures at bay, and those who were not afraid of it often slunk away when they laid eyes upon who was keeping the fire alight.

Geralt would often hear steps of creatures in the night, silently checking out who was roaming in their forest before leaving him and Roach alone. He had heard several kinds of paws already that night. He's slowly cleaning his sword, debating with himself if he should hunt tonight or just go for some of the dried meat from his saddle bag.

He looks up from his sword to watch into the bushes for any signs of small game he could catch, and is surprised beyond belief when he sees a person standing there.

They're standing there, a dark green cloak with a hood pulled up and three hares slung over their shoulder. It's unusual enough in itself that someone neared his fire, but even more unusual that they did so without Geralt noticing them. He tightens his hand on his sword, ready to leap up if need be. The stranger seems to notice and chuckles under their hood.

"I mean you no harm, though I doubt I could do any to you Witcher."

"What do you want?" The stranger does a half bow before straightening up again.

"I simply want to share your fire, and the protection you and it brings." Geralt raises a brow.

"Protection?" He can't see the person's face, but they do not sound afraid, nor do they smell it.

"There are simply things that move in the night that I have no desire to become acquainted with. I'll even pay you with one of my hares to outweigh any disturbance I might bring to your otherwise peaceful night." Geralt lets his eyes roam over the person's figure.

Other than the hares over on shoulder and the bag slung over the other, they don't seem to be carrying much, and no visible weapon. Geralt decides they do not pose an immediate threat, and if that changes, he has certainly managed before. He gesture for the stranger to sit across the fire from him.

"Thank you." They say with a bow. They approach the fire, their footsteps loud like any normal human would be. Which makes him even more curious on how they managed to walk up so close without him noticing. He's so distracted by his thoughts that he almost doesn't catch the hare tossed at him. He catches it barely inches from rolling into the fire.

"For your troubles." Geralt grunts. The stranger take their hood down, and Geralt can't help but look while their gaze and attention is focused on the hare. The stranger has a very normal face, he could have passed them on any street and never noticed them, had it not been for three things.

There are two very prominent scars on their face, one on each side. On their left side the scar runs from the side of their mouth to their ear, on their right the scar runs from the edge of their eye to their hairline.

The third is their eyes. Geralt could only catch a few glimpses of them here and there, but they are clearly red. The stranger looks up then, catching him looking. From the resigned look on their face it's hardly the first time this has happened.

"What happens?" Geralt can't stop himself from asking. He's not normally one to ask about scars, having many himself, but he can't help but wanting to know more about this mysterious stranger.

"It was made by a terrible monster that is long gone I assure you." By your answer he gathers the question is another regular occurrence. Geralt hums.

"So what are you doing out here?  Not many travels through these parts when they do not want to meet what goes in the night." Geralt has already talked more than he does for a week often.

"I am an alchemist of sorts, I travel and gather ingredients to sell, and sometimes I make things. I won't bother to ask what you do, as that is already clear from the second I laid eyes on you." They finish skinning their last hare, and stands up. They rummage through some bushes until they find a thick stick that they put their now skinned hares on before sticking them over the fire. They don't sit down again.

"And what is your name?" You grin.

"I thought you would never get there." You do a mock-bow and give him your full name.

"And what is yours dear Witcher?"

"Geralt of Rivia."

"Nice to meet you Geralt." Geralt grunts, seemingly done talking for the night. Which is fine by you, he had actually been more talkative than you expected from a witcher. Instead the two of you sit in silence while you roast you hares and Geralt stars skinning his se he can roast his as well.

When you have both eaten, you lay down and roll over to your back with a sigh. Geralt watches you settle down, seemingly frowning. You pull your hood down over your eyes.

"Good night Geralt." He grunts, you must really have used up all his words for a while. You slip into sleep not long after.

Geralt stays awake for a while after you have fallen asleep, unsure of what to make of you. After some time he settles down as well, keeping his swords close in case you should have some not so smart ideas during the night.

*****

When Geralt wakes, it is early. The sun is barely creeping above the horizon, and the grass not near the fire is damp with morning dew. Geralt looks across to where he expects to find you sleeping, but there is nothing there. He sits up. There is no sign or trace of you anywhere. There is no tracks, no smell, no sound, nothing.

Getting up, he spots two hare-skins draped over one of his saddle bags. He grabs one turning it over in his hands. The skin is whole and unbroken, in excellent condition to be sold for a few coins.

Taking another look around, Geralt can still see no sing of you. He has no idea when you left, but you must have been quiet, since he was far from a heavy sleeper. He hums and starts preparing to travel once more.

When he gets up on Roach, he checks one last time for you. there is truly no signs of you ever being there. If it weren't for the hare skins he thinks you might have been some sort of fever dream or illusion. 

[cacti-are-like-flamingos]

Texted Love

Henry Cavill x Fem!Reader

Part 3

Central Masterlist | Texted Love

"Please welcome back... Henry Cavill!" Graham announced, watching as the tall and burly man walked onto the stage wearing a black on black suit, the first two buttons of the collared shirt left undone, revealing a bit of his strong collar bone and unruly chest hairs. Going over to him, the two men hugged each other, muttering soft and polite greetings before pulling away, heading towards their respective seatings. Norton in his black cushioned bucket chair and Henry along side the other guest stars on the strangely shaped red couch.

The interview started as like the many others before, with questions about the guest stars participation in the latest new series or social events or just some funny things that were rumored to have been done or said by the guest. Already a handful amount of minutes had gone by, the show was due to end in about 30 more when the talkshow host decided to bring back up the subject about Henry and the lovely (Y/n).

"So Henry, have you got an update for us?" Henry furrowed his brows in confusion, not truly understanding what the older male was trying to imply. It took him a moment or two to finally understand. No one would know, except himself of course, that the smile that arose to his lips wasn't because it was a funny situation or because he was shy about it. No, it was because he had instantly pictured you in his head, the thought of you causing a bubbling warmth to flood his stomach.

"Ah yes...What would you like to know?" Henry asked, a fond look in his eyes.

"Have you guys been talking?" The actor nodded making the host squeal out of joy; fangirling. The action causing many chuckles. "Ooo, do tell." The host spoke.

"Oh, uhh, well we've been nonstop talking with eachother since," he chuckled under his breath, the veins in his neck seemed to become more visible due to it," she told me to 'hit her up'," his said, air quoting the phrase with both his hands index and middle fingers," on instragam."

"Have the two of you met yet?" A guest star asked.

"No, we haven't unfortunately. Her schedule and mine contradict a lot. So we make due with a lot, and I mean, A LOT of texting and face timing."

"That's good, great way of communicating despite circumstances. Tell us, have you learned something new about (y/n)? Like any weird habits?"

An instance quickly popped up in his mind, a chesire grin on Henry's face.

"Actually yeah. Here's the thing, (y/n) likes to send me strange things at like the most ungodliest of hours." The audience laughed, huge beaming grins on their faces. Graham sent the male a hesistant look, anxious of what was to come one could say.

"What-hahaha. What do you mean? What has she sent you?" Shifting about his seat, the raven haired male wet his lips, a smirk coming about them.

"Hehehe. She, for some reason, likes to send me a lot of gifs of those, uhhh, I don't know what they're called. Uhh, it's like a tomato from a kids show. And like it has a confused face."

"What the fuck...?" Another guest star quietly muttered under their breath, but loud enough for the microphone and the people on stage to catch. Henry tried to surpress another wave of laughter as he continued to elaborate more on the bizarre subject.

"Yeah, so she'd send them at like 5 in the bloody mornin', which is actually her midnight back in the states."

"Is-" Graham cleared his throat, eyes twinkling in amusement, "Forgive my bluntness, but is she drunk at that time? Does she drink by then?" A whole roar of laughter and claps erupted from the audience and stage. Shaking his head, soft black curls fell upon his glistening forehead, his smirk widening.

Henry quickly added, "Actually, I've asked her that question like once but she said that even she's surprised she isn't drunk."

"And does she do it like every day?"

"Soemtimes its back to back. But then it stops for a while and then starts up again."

...

Instagram 11:50 pm

(U/n): (henrycavill): You just had to out me to the world didn't you? 😒

(henrycavill): (U/n): What? It was funny

(U/n): (henrycavill): smh

(U/n): Wonder what else you gonna spill about me

(henrycavill): (U/n): oh i don't know...maybe your obsession with Star Wars fanfiction? Figure that'll catch the media's attention quite nicely won't it?

(U/n): (henrycavill): 😧

(U/n): (henrycavill): Wow. We really going there. Okay, okay.

(U/n): (henrycavill): Pay attention to my next interview. I think you'll find something of great interest.

(henrycavill): (U/n): Oh? What is it?

(U/n): (henrycavill): Not gonna say. But I'll give you a hint.

(henrycavill): (U/n): Ooo a hint

(U/n): (henrycavill): I hear your sarcasm so freakin loud rn. When we meet imma slap you hard core

(henrycavill): (U/n): As if you could reach

(U/n): (henrycavill): Psst I don't even gotta reach. All i gotta do is grab you by the tie and pull you down to my level.

(henrycavill): (U/n): oh? how kinky of you

(U/n): (henrycavill): darling that's vanilla compared to my other kinks ;)

(henrycavill): (U/n): And just what are your other kinks? 😏

(U/n): (henrycavill): Bondage~

(henrycavill): (U/n): Really now? You like to be tied down and called a good girl? 😏

(U/n): (henrycavill): Nope. I like to tie you down and make you beg for me to call you a good boy. 😏

(henrycavill) still typing...

(U/n): (henrycavill): Gtg see ya babe! Remember watch my interview! Bye💕

...

"I literally cannot believe you actually just said that to him." Terry stated, eyes wide and glassy as he took yet another swig of his liquor. A pink blush flourishing a the apples of his freckled cheeks. Laying beisde his seated body, you buried yourself deeper into the velvetness of your fuzzy blankets, a content smile on your glossed lips. A bottle of vodka in your hand.

"Me neither. Future me will most likely either regret it or be proud of me? Question mark." You said, your eyes still glued onto the tv. Ah, Reid found another body.

"What do you think his reply is?" You shrugged.

"I dom't really care man. Actually I do care but I want to ignore my anxiety for as long as I can so Imma act like I don't care."

"But you do care right?" You briefly looked his way.

"...Yes."

"Do you like him?" You drank.

"If I say it, it becomes more real. So I'm just gonna ignore that question."

"But you do. What's so wrong about liking a person?"

"Are you gonna drink that or am I going to have to drink it for you?"

...

His mind didn't know how to react to her text. But his body did. Almost instantly did a sudden discomfort form within his pants, a tightness. His whole body felt as though it was near a furnace, his cheeks warm and pink. His imagination was running wild. He could see so many fantasies, all runnung parallel to each other. Each equally pleasurable.

You really were a minx.

He continue to try and formulate some kind of phonetic response to your message, but to no avail. Ten minutes had gone by when all of a sudden his phone's screen lighted up, illuminating his face in the room filled with pure darkness.

Instagram 12:00 am

(U/n): (henrycavill): his name is Bob the Tomato from Veggie Tales. Night 🌙💕

"Yep. She's a keeper." Henry muttered, a small smile on his lips as he put his phone away to sleep at last.

Wait she never gave the hint? Oh well. It'll just have to be a surprise then.

...

"You really had to send him that?" "Shut up and drink up your vodka." "Is that a threat?" "Fine. Give here then!" "No, no, no, no, no, no! Sorry! Sorry! Look! Morgan's on the screen!"

...

(A/N): This could've gone so many different and not so innocent ways but I'm a crackhead so...!

Wished 🌟 @nothernlights19

Hope you enjoyed!

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

Character: Jaskier

Prompt: 56. Those period shirts with the puffy sleeves and the deep v and one staring at the other like… oh no he/she’s hot.

Note: Lil’ Angsty + A lot of internal monologue + Female Identifying Reader

__________________________________________________________

You would like to state for the record that it really wasn’t your fault, not at all, not one bit. Could you truly be blamed for failing to distract that Lord Whaever-his-name-was because you yourself had been distracted by a fae, a beautiful creature of the mythical realms? 

Okay, so in truth Jaskier wasn’t a fae and he certainly wasn’t some mythical creature...or at least not to your knowledge. But he was beautiful and could anyone blame you for becoming distracted when you saw him with his doublet open, white billowing shirt underneath cut with a deep V, broad shoulders, and defined collar bones in plain view? No, you think, those shirts were made to be a distraction and he, given the way he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and threw you a wink before starting to sing, knew it. 

“Could you focus for one minute?” Geralt grunts at you and you pull your eyes away from the bard of your affections to stare up at the annoyed face of a Witcher who just wants this job done. 

“Sorry! I’m...maybe if you stopped bringing Jaskier along, I would be able to focus? How am I supposed to flirt with some creepy old man, when that specimen is dressed like that?”

All you receive is a raised eyebrow and pursed lips, “Alright! Alright! But, really? Can you blame me?” You gesture with an outstretched arm towards Jaskier. Whenever he sang his eyes seemed to twinkle a most ridiculous blue and he did this little smirk at every turn. It always felt like his eyes fell on you and yours certainly kept being drawn back to him even as you approached your mark with a sweet smile and a tittering giggle.

You weren’t that fond of distracting men or women or anyone really, especially because you felt like you were a rather awkward flirt and certainly not as proficient as some. 

You supposed that Jaskier leading you to distraction was actually rather helpful this time around. Your mark seemed convinced that your lightheaded-ness and soft eyes were for him and not for the man you kept seeking out over his shoulder. 

He just had something about him. Whether his silver tongue or the blue of his eyes, even the dark hair on his chest and curve of his forearm was attractive, something you would never have thought of before him. Somehow, Jaskier had sung his way into your heart and you doubted he even fully understood. You suspected he took your flirtatious comments as friendly banter, as jokes between friends and not for what they really were. The words of a woman desperate for his attention and affection. 

You giggled at the Lord’s jokes and nodded at the stories but you weren’t really listening to a word he said. Your focus flitted between Jaskier performing another raunchy ballad to a gathering crowd of admirers and Geralt, waiting for a sign that he was done and that by extension you could extricate yourself from this old, musty Lord’s side.

Suffice to say the moment you received a sharp nod from the Witcher, you excused yourself claiming your husband would be looking for you and that you enjoyed your time dancing with him. It was rather frustrating to see that the mention of a husband did little to curb his interest and you sought out your companions the moment his arm left your waist. 

Smoothing down the skirts of your dress, your eyes catch on Jaskier in his attempts to extract himself from the crowd he’d gathered and you gravitate towards him without thinking. Seeking out the blue of his eyes and the billowing fabric of his tunic. 

“Ah! There she is! My muse! What sweet beauty doth grace my presence once more!” It’s all a bit of a show, a way to remove himself from the unwanted advances of others without hurting their feelings. A subtle way of suggesting that his interests lay elsewhere. You oft wished that it wasn’t some big performance, that every time he called you his muse, his delight, the sweetest creature to bless his presence, that he meant it. That he truly felt that way. That you inspired him and inspired great feeling within him. Yet, still the wide smile and twinkling eyes caused a giggle to rise from your throat and a smile to twist at your mouth. Even when it was a performance, a show, you couldn’t help but revel in his attention.

As you left together in search of Geralt, arm in arm, you once more resigned yourself to the truth. That Jaskier was your friend and that you would never be for him what he was for you. Because he truly was a muse to you, some sort of ethereal being who inspired you to wax poetic, to capture his likeness in pencil on sheets of parchment. If you could sculpt, you would make statutes of him. If you could sing, you would sing ballads about his eyes and the breadth of his shoulders. 

You resigned yourself to the fact that you would always be just Y/N to him.