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Jaskier sat cross legged opposite Geralt on the forest floor. It never ceased to amaze him, the trust that Geralt put in him. It had taken a long time for Geralt to meditate in front of him. He knew that the witcher was at his most vulnerable when he was meditating and in all honesty he’d never really expected this much from the man who couldn’t even admit they were friends.
But Jaskier knew better.
Geralt didn’t show his affection and love for others through words, not like Jaskier did. Jaskier was all words. There was rarely a moment when Jaskier wasn’t making some sort of noise. If he wasn’t talking or singing, then he was humming under his breath or scratching his quill against the pages of his notebook. Geralt on the other hand seemed to struggle express himself in words, at least to other humans. He had no problem wittering away to Roach when he thought that Jaskier wasn’t listening.
Geralt showed his love by sharing his coin, food and lodgings, by buying Jaskier new shoes when his were worn through, by making sure he carried healing supplies that weren’t lethal for humans. Geralt cared. He just spoke a different love language to Jaskier, and that was alright.
Jaskier gently reached out to cup Geralt’s cheek. The small frown on Geralt’s face softened under his touch. It wasn’t enough to pull the witcher out of his meditation but there was a trace of a smile tugging at his lips. Jaskier returned it fondly, even though Geralt couldn’t see him, before moving so he was sat behind Geralt. He sang a ballad of a fair maiden who fell in love with a monster under his breath as he began to comb out the tangles from Geralt’s hair with his fingers. Once that was done he got to his feet and began his hunt.
Geralt only stayed still long enough to do this when he was meditating so Jaskier always took complete advantage of the situation. It didn’t take long for him to have a decent bunch of wildflowers in his hands. He tried to pick the blue varieties but he hadn’t been able to resist a small collection of buttercups.
Everyone would know the witcher was his.
He carefully sectioned Geralt’s hair and his tongue slipped between his teeth as he began to weave a small braid along the side of Geralt’s head. Once he was satisfied with his work he moved on to repeat the process on the other side. He pulled both sections together in a simple plait on the back of Geralt’s head before tying it off with Geralt’s preferred black hair tie. He then carefully threaded the flowers into the braids until Geralt looked like the prettiest princess of the woods.
Jaskier pressed a kiss to the nape of Geralt’s neck then wrapped his arms around Geralt’s waist. He rested his head on Geralt’s back and closed his eyes. The witcher might be at his most vulnerable but Jaskier was there to make sure no harm came to him. Geralt would laugh if Jaskier ever voiced that particular thought aloud but he loved Geralt and he would protect him to the best of his ability, even if Geralt was a big old scary witcher.
“Did you put buttercups in my hair?” Geralt’s voice was hoarse and barely above a whisper but it still startled Jaskier.
“Maybe?”
“I can smell them.” Geralt mumbled.
“Oh?” Jaskier felt his cheeks heat up but Geralt squeezed his hand gently.
“Smells good.”
“Hmm.” Jaskier agreed and smiled against Geralt’s back.
By the time they reached the next town, three days later, Jaskier was smiling smugly as the townsfolk whispered and chattered amongst themselves pointing at the witcher who walked beside the bard.
The witcher with buttercups in his hair.