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Imagine being Jaskier's performing partner, and him waking up in bed to find you already up
TW: cursing, allusions of sex, slight SA, Zoltan being amazing, protective Jaskier
Jaskier let out a slight groan as he woke up, the brightness of the sun shining through his closed eyes. Shivering slightly at the feeling of the wind against his bare skin, he pulled the cloth covers up over his torso, but to no avail. He scrunched up his nose at the idea of the morning coming, and let out another groan as he rolled over in bed. He let his arm out to take his lover into his arms, but his hand only fell upon cold sheets. He furrowed his eyebrows, finally opening one eye to look over at the bedding and see that she was nowhere to be found.
Blinking both eyes open, he looked around the room, only to see her sitting in front of the vanity, only in his chemise, brushing through her bed-headed hair. He lay his head against the pillow once more, simply watching her as she smoothly brushed the comb through her now tamed hair, humming little things to herself with her sweet, sweet trobairitz voice.
He recalled the day he met his beautiful love. They were to perform at the same lord's house for his daughter's birthday, and apparently his wife wanted the two of them to be the main acts of the party. Jaskier was at first furious to be placed alongside another performer, believing the stage only had room for him, and he certainly was no gentleman towards her when they first acquainted each other during the party. She had put him in his place soon after that, and as she performed, even his pride could not hide his admiration for the beauty in her voice as she sang a lovely little song, however slightly indelicate, about a young woman who meets a blacksmith on the road while heading back to her lordly betrothed sitting in waiting. However, after many meetings, each one bringing Jaskier closer and closer to the brink of insanity with his own feelings of lust and love for her, they drew together at what was once called the Rosemary and Thyme, now labelled the Chameleon and owned by Jaskier and his good friend, Zoltan, during a night in Novigrad.
There they stayed, and there they sang together. She, playing the harp, joined with his voice and his lute beautifully in a way that Jaskier had never thought to be possible. Whenever a night of rest or recreation was required, they would call in an old friend, Pricilla, to take over for the night. The young trobairitz was skilled in the lute, and was a certain crowd pleaser, her lovely, soft voice matching the loveliness of her features.
After a long night of passionate lovemaking, Jaskier was still feeling the exhaustion as he gazed up at his love in nothing but his chemise. His eyes traced her long, smooth legs that peaked out from the fabric. "My dear, thought I do adore the sight of you in my clothes, I do have need of them today," Jaskier spoke from the confides of the bed, and reveled at the smile that creeped onto her face as she looked at him through the mirror.
"I don't know. I thought they looked better on me," she jested, finally turning her head so he could catch her gaze, instead of being forced to do so through a mirror.
