#jask fucking LEAPS and takes them both to the ground

[valdomarx]

Untouchable

Octoberfest day 31: cursed

“Fuck! Geralt! Help!”

Geralt rolls his eyes as Jaskier comes skidding to a halt in front of him. He dreads to imagine what trouble he’s gotten himself into now.

“Something terrible has happened! I had an, umm, unfortunate encounter with a sorcerer.” He blushes, pink creeping over his cheeks. “And he put some horrible curse on me and portaled away, the bastard.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow. “Hmm.”

“And now I can’t touch anyone. Look!” Jaskier holds out a hand to stop a passerby. He goes to shake the confused man’s hand, but the moment their skin makes contact Jaskier gives a yelp of pain and leaps back.

That reaction isn’t feigned, Geralt is sure, even as the man gives them both an odd look and leaves.

“When you touch someone, does it hurt badly?”

Jaskier’s bottom lip wobbles. “It really does.”

He sighs. A lack of touch might be a mere annoyance for him, but he knows it’s more than that for Jaskier. “I’ve heard of a mage who specialises in lifting curses. But he’s all the way in Kovir, and that’s no small journey.”

Jaskier turns big, pleading eyes on him. “Please, Geralt, I’ll do anything. You have to help me.”

As if he could ever refuse him anything. “Alright,” he grumbles. “We’ll head to Kovir.”

-

At first, Jaskier appears as bright as ever. Yet as the days pass, more and more often he chews his lip in a nervous habit, and he rubs his fingers together when people come too close. He smells of anxiety and restlessness.

Each evening, once the dinner has been eaten and the sun has set, they lay out their bedrolls by the embers of the fire. The scent of anxiety is replaced by one of loneliness and Jaskier will curl in on himself, like he’s trying to make himself smaller. It’s sad, how much lesser Jaskier seems to feel without touch.

Geralt is used to being shunned, to going months without a friendly clap on the shoulder or shake of the hand. But Jaskier isn’t, and the curse is taking a toll on him. Geralt wishes he could help, that he could provide some comfort, but he knows right now all he can cause Jaskier is pain.

-

They need coin for their journey, so Geralt takes jobs along the way. He’s on a contract to clear a nest of nekkers and he has, for some unknown reason, allowed Jaskier to accompany him. Jaskier had wheedled and pleaded and in the end Geralt had found himself unable to say no.

It should be fine. A nekker nest is an easy job, and as agile and springy as the creatures are, they’ve no stamina and they’re easy to kill.

That must be why he allows his concentration to slip when he’s approaching the nest, his eyes darting to the side to check Jaskier is safe behind a rock. The momentary slip lets one of the foul little things bounce up to him and sink its teeth into his gauntlet, more of an annoyance than a real threat. He shakes it off with one hand and uses the other to cut more of the creatures down with his silver blade. His gauntlet goes flying, but no matter, he can collect that later.

He rounds on the last few of the creatures who are nickering angrily. As he circles them he sees Jaskier peeking his head over the rock and then creeping closer, trying to get a better look.

Fuck. He kills two of the nekkers quickly, but the last three have picked up on Jaskier’s scent and are eyeing him with interest. Geralt sees two leaning back on their hind legs, preparing to leap at Jaskier and cut him to shreds with their sharp claws.

He has a split second to make a decision: Grab Jaskier and risk hurting him himself, or leave him where he is and watch the creatures go for his chest. It’s no choice at all really, so Geralt sends up a quiet word of apology and grabs Jaskier firmly around the neck with his ungloved hand and shoves him out of the way.

The last two creatures leap into the air, but with their target gone they’re easy prey. Geralt cuts them down with minimal effort and turns, expecting to see Jaskier writhing on the ground in pain.

He’s not though. He’s sat in the mud with a puzzled expression on his face.

“That didn’t hurt,” he says, seemingly mystified. “Well, being thrown to the ground was not the most delightful experience, but when you touched me - it didn’t hurt.”

That is strange. Geralt had been sure he’d triggered the curse.

Jaskier gets to his feet and regards Geralt quizzically. Very carefully, he reaches out and touches his fingertip to Geralt’s bare hand. He doesn’t flinch back or gasp in pain. Instead, he takes Geralt’s entire hand in his own, and a beautiful smile blooms over his face.

“I can touch you! But how?”

Geralt stares down at their joined hands, unsure why he feels unsteady. “Witchers are immune to magic?” he guesses. “I suppose that could be -”

He’s interrupted by Jaskier throwing his arms around him and hugging him close, happy little sounds of joy and relief spilling from him. “Oh, Geralt, thank the gods, I was losing my mind.” He snuggles deeper against Geralt, rubbing his face into his neck and hanging on tight.

“Oh. Well.” It seems the only thing for Geralt to do is to hug him back, so he puts his arms around his shoulders and draws him in.

-

Jaskier keeps touching him all the rest of the day. Whenever he bumps their shoulders or grabs Geralt’s hand, he breaks out into a wide, goofy smile, like it’s novel and fun every time.

Perhaps the curse has worn off? The next traveller who passes them by, Jaskier finds an excuse to stop him and shake his hand. But the moment their hands touch, Jaskier yelps in pain.

He’s still cursed then. But he can touch Geralt. Strange.

And Geralt can’t help but indulge him, even though he knows Jaskier is touching him because he’s the only option, not because he really wants to. He reminds himself that Jaskier would surely rather be off with some pretty lady, not grasping at a crotchety witcher for comfort.

But still, every time Jaskier brushes their hands together and smiles, he feels a little wobbly inside.

-

That night, he watches as once again Jaskier curls in on himself, small and sad by the fire. The further north they travel, the colder the weather grows, and the more distressed Jaskier becomes.

“Hey.” He keeps his voice soft, and Jaskier turns to look at him with big, wide eyes. “Join me?” He lifts a corner of his bedroll and waves him over; an offer, not a command.

Jaskier immediately scurries over and burrows into him, all hands and hot breath and happy murmurs. He settles into Geralt’s chest with a contented sigh, and Geralt wraps his arms carefully around him.

This, at least, he can do. Jaskier will find someone else to warm him soon enough, but for now, he has Geralt.

-

Geralt is on his way back from a job when the sound of raised voices makes him quicken his step. Outside the inn where he’d left Jaskier, he spots a distinctive bright blue doublet in the midst of a gang of angry-looking locals. They’re poking at him and taunting, and Jaskier is gasping in pain.

“Look at this precious little thing,” one of them sneers. “So delicate he can’t even bear to be touched by us lowly folks.”

The man reaches out and grasps Jaskier firmly around the wrist, and Jaskier screams, raw and excruciating. The sound reaches into Geralt’s chest and twists painfully, and he breaks into a sprint.

The next thing he knows, the man is on the ground before him, sobbing as Geralt twists his arm to the point of breaking. The others have fallen back, trying to hide behind each other, and Jaskier stands off to one side cradling his wrist.

“You don’t touch him,” Geralt growls, and the man before him pales even further. “Understood?”

The man nods frantically, babbling apologies, and as much as he’s tempted to break a few bones to drive home his point, he knows Jaskier wouldn’t want that. He drops the man’s arm and snarls, “Go.” He and his friends beat a hasty retreat, leaving the street empty but for him and Jaskier.

“Jask,” he says, and it breaks his heart to see Jaskier so pale, a tear running down his cheek. “Are you alright?” He’s wracked with guilt - he should have been here to protect him.

Jaskier smiles sadly. “I’m fine. My own fault, really.” He reaches out as if to touch Geralt’s hand before faltering, unsure.

He’s clearly in need of comfort, so Geralt pushes his own uncertainties aside and steps closer. He brings up one hand to wipe away the tears from Jaskier’s cheek, and cradles his face as gently as he can. “It’s okay,” he says in the tone he uses to reassure Roach when she’s frightened. “I’ve got you.”

Jaskier blinks up at him with watery eyes, but his smile is more genuine now. “Yeah,” he sighs softly. “Yeah, you do.”

-

Jaskier still insists on performing as they travel, and as much as the thought of him among all those grasping hands sets Geralt’s teeth on edge, he does understand. For all the times that he’s been injured and insisting on continuing to work, it would be hypocritical of him to deny that to Jaskier.

He sways carefully around the tavern as he plays, and to a stranger he’d seem relaxed and at ease but Geralt knows him well enough to see the anxiety in his rigid movements. Each time a hand reaches out toward him he flinches, though normally he’d be luxuriating in the attention.

Each flinch has Geralt’s grasp on his mug of ale tightening, until the wood is groaning beneath his hand and he has to shake it loose lest he crack the mug and send ale flowing over the table.

Jaskier can take care of himself. He’ll be fine.

-

He certainly does seem fine, and by the end of the evening he’s caught the attention of a pretty girl with voluminous curls spilling out from the dainty handkerchief tied around her head. When Jaskier is done with his performance she buys him a drink, and she leans over the table to giggle as they speak in low voices.

Geralt watches from his corner table and scowls. He tells himself his foul mood comes from concern for Jaskier, from worry that this woman might hurt him unintentionally. He almost has himself convinced it’s true.

There’s no point skulking in the shadows all night, he knows, so he finishes his ale and heads upstairs to their room. As he lays down, the bed feels strangely empty without Jaskier’s bustle and scent and colour. Wondering when he became so damn soft, he slips into a meditation.

-

It’s not long before he’s revived by the sound of Jaskier creeping into the room and hurriedly undressing.

Geralt rubs his eyes, dispelling the lingering wooziness. “I thought you’d spend the night celebrating,” he says, trying to keep his voice light. “With that nice young lady.”

In the low light, he sees Jaskier shrug. “It got rather awkward when she kept trying to touch me and I kept having to run away.”

“Too bad.”

“Yeah.” He settles into bed next to Geralt. “It’s just -” Geralt can smell the mixture of exhilaration, arousal, and frustration on him. “It’s frustrating. Wanting something and not being able to have it.”

“Hmm.” Geralt knows that feeling all too well.

“I’m -” Jaskier turns his head away a fraction, and Geralt can see a blush spreading over his cheeks. “I’m not used to going so long without… you know. It’s making me antsy.” He rubs the palm of one hand against his crotch, shifting awkwardly in the bed.

“Hmm.” He inhales again, and the scent of arousal is sharper, more prominent. He rolls onto his side, tentatively places a hand on Jaskier’s thigh. “I could help,” he offers. “If you want.”

He’s expecting to be told no. He’s expecting Jaskier might even push him away, disgusted. He’s not expecting the way Jaskier sucks in a breath, the way the scent of arousal blooms, the way Jaskier squims beneath his hand.

“You’d do that for me?” Jaskier’s voice is breathy.

I’d do anything for you, he thinks but doesn’t say. Instead he places his hand on top of Jaskier’s and guides it to the fastenings of his trousers. Jaskier unlaces himself in a clumsy rush which Geralt can’t help but find endearing, and then he’s working his cock free, rubbing gentle strokes with their two joined hands.

It’s nice like this, where Geralt can let Jaskier guide him, show him what he likes. His fingers tease along the soft skin on the underside of his cock, the delicious slick at the head. As he strokes, Jaskier shakes in his arms, gasping and writhing. When he comes, it’s with a soft, gentle sigh of contentment that Geralt wants to bottle and keep forever.

Jaskier makes a tokenistic effort to wipe himself down with a shirt and collapses back into bed. “Should I…” He chews his bottom lip. “Would you like me to return the favour?”

Geralt’s cock is pressing against his trousers like iron, and Jaskier must be able to feel it. But he didn’t do this with the expectation of recompense. He just wants Jaskier to feel good.

“No, it’s okay,” he says softly.

“Oh,” Jaskier sounds disappointed, almost. “Okay.”

They fall asleep like that, curled up close together, but a feeling of uncertainty hanging between them.

-

In the weeks after that, Jaskier takes to touching Geralt even more. They sleep close together every night, and they find pleasure in each other when they need to. Geralt makes his peace with this unspoken arrangement: he is a hand to Jaskier when he needs it, and Jaskier returns the favour as a politeness.

The first time Jaskier kisses him while they rut together, his heart is fit to burst out of his chest. Trading favours is one thing, but the surge of love and heat and affection that erupts in his chest when Jaskier brings their lips together can’t be denied. He could kiss Jaskier every single night and never tire of it, he thinks. Late at night, as they move together, Geralt feels himself falling.

It’s not everything he wants, but it’s enough.

It has to be enough, because soon they’ll make it to Kovir, and then they can lift the curse, and then Jaskier won’t need him at all any more.

Geralt catches himself wishing that the curse won’t be lifted, and then he’s disgusted at himself for being so selfish.

-

Kovir is beautiful. Sharp, snow-dusted mountains dart up into the sky, and great rivers flow with fresh water through green, lush lands. The city of Pont Vanis is breathtaking, with spire towers reaching up toward the heavens and rich mosaics of glasswork covering every surface. Each new corner seems to hold some elegant delight of artistry, and Jaskier grabs his hand to pull him along each new street to behold some fresh wonder.

But they are not here for gawping, Geralt tells himself, and he steers them toward the address of the mage he’s heard is an expert in curses.

Once inside, the Koviri mage stares at the pair of them.

“A curse, you say?” He raises an eyebrow.

Geralt stands protectively behind Jaskier, ready to leap to his defense should the mage prove troublesome.

“Yes. Whenever anyone touches me, I feel horrendous pain.” Jaskier grimaces. “Except for Geralt. For some reason, he can touch me and it’s fine.”

The mage nods. “I see. Did you perchance anger a magic user?”

“Ahh.” Jaskier looks at his feet. “Well. There was a mage whose acquaintance I made. He seemed… less than happy when I declined his offer of companionship.”

The Koviri mage shudders. “What monsters southerners can be. Cursing someone because they rejected you, what hideous behaviour.”

Geralt is warming up to this mage already.

“Let me see what I can do.” The mage closes his eyes and reaches out his hands, holding them a few inches from Jaskier’s chest.

He opens his eyes again and squints curiously. “Strange. I can’t feel any curse upon you.”

He reaches out, and pokes Jaskier in the chest. Geralt leaps forward, ready to defend his bard from this onslaught, but he’s stopped in his tracks by Jaskier’s voice.

“Huh.” He sounds perplexed, not pained. “That’s odd. That didn’t hurt at all.”

They reason perhaps it’s because the mage is a magic user too, so they bring in the mage’s servant. He touches Jaskier’s hand and again he’s fine. Then they try the washerwoman next door. That’s fine too.

The mage shrugs and smiles. “It seems that the curse has worn off. Some weaker enchantments only last a matter of days.”

Jaskier’s eyes go wide. “You mean… all this time, I’ve been fine? I could have been touching anyone?”

The mage hums, eyes sparkling. “So it appears.” He looks at Geralt, and his gaze is penetrating. “Perhaps it has not been such a loss for you though, hmm? There are many paths to knowledge.”

-

They stagger out into the weak Koviri sunshine and Geralt is consumed with guilt and relief and worry. Surely Jaskier will hate him now. Hate him and leave him, now they’re no longer tied together.

“Jaskier-” he begins, just as Jaskier turns to him to say, “Geralt-”

They stare at each other a beat too long.

Geralt’s shoulders slump. Let the end come if it must. “Go on,” he says, bracing himself.

“Thank you.” Jaskier is giving him that soft, quiet smile that he loves. “For taking care of me.”

That doesn’t make any sense.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out. “I should have known better. I understand if you want to leave.”

Jaskier shakes his head and takes his hand. “Come on.” He leads Geralt toward one of Kovir’s elegant public parks. “Let’s walk.”

-

They stroll beneath a series of wooden archways, woven thick with roses. The sunlight peeks through in dappled spots on the springy grass.

“I don’t regret it,” Jaskier says. “These last weeks. I don’t blame you. You’ve done nothing but try to help me.”

“But you could have been with anyone.” Geralt’s stomach twists at the thought he’s been keeping Jaskier against his will. “You could have touched anyone. Kissed anyone. Found anyone else to bring you pleasure.”

“Oh, Geralt.” Jaskier stops and tenderly brushes a stray hair from Geralt’s face. “I didn’t want anyone else.”

Geralt barely dares to breath. Hope rages within him, frothing and exuberant. “You mean-”

“I didn’t want anyone else then, and I don’t want anyone else now.” He leans in and presses the softest kiss to the corner of Geralt’s mouth. “I always just wanted you.”

His heart feels like it could beat out of his chest. “So you’ll stay with me? Even now?”

Jaskier strokes one finger down his cheek, and his entire world narrows to the joining of their bodies. “Always,” Jaskier promises. “There’s no one I’d rather be with.”

#obsessed with touch... me... hahaha. it's fine i'm fine. #geraskier #the witcher #my writing #octoberfest #we did it folks!! 31 fics in 31 days!! #i enjoyed writing this one especially

[contemplativepancakes]

five times geralt saw jaskier naked on accident + one time it was entirely on purpose. ~6k. Read on AO3 here!

i.

“Get back here, you mangy knob!” echoes down the hallway, and Geralt pauses on the way to his room. 

It’s been a long night, and Geralt would like nothing better than to collapse into bed, but trouble has a habit of following Jaskier like flies to shit. He’s the whole reason Geralt even has a bed for the night, so Geralt sighs and follows the shouting. 

He wishes he could say he’s surprised when he rounds a corner and Jaskier runs head first into him, but honestly, it’s nothing short of expected. What does throw Geralt for a loop, though, is the fact that Jaskier is completely naked, expanses of smooth skin exposed as he sprawls back on the ground in a very undignified manner, clutching his nose. 

“Fuck, Geralt!” he cries, but it comes out garbled. “You broke my nose!”

The man who was chasing after Jaskier comes to a sudden halt, panting in front of them. “He slept with my wife!”

Geralt frowns. “Are you sure it was him?”

The man gapes and gestures at Jaskier’s nakedness. Geralt curses Jaskier for being so obvious; it makes his job much more complicated. 

“Maybe he can give you some tips on how to satisfy her so she doesn’t feel the need to look elsewhere next time,” Geralt suggests, one hand coming up to casually rest on the hilt of his dagger strapped to his belt. 

“It’s all about the tongue,” Jaskier pipes up in a nasally tone, and Geralt rolls his eyes. 

The man’s eyes dart from Geralt to Jaskier, and back to Geralt before a look of realization crosses his face and it drains of color. “You’re… the butcher of Blaviken?”

“That’s him! So you’d best get back to your chambers if you want to keep all your limbs!” Jaskier crows, but only half of it is intelligible through the hand he’s holding to his nose. 

The man looks like there’s something else he wants to say, but he bites his lip and retreats, after one last withering glance at Jaskier. 

Geralt turns to Jaskier, suddenly very aware of his lack of clothing. “Will you ever learn?” he asks in exasperation. “I’m not always going to be around to clean up your messes, you know.”

“I’m fairly certain you have a much longer life expectancy than me,” Jaskier lisps, looking up at Geralt with doe eyes. 

Geralt sighs and sticks out a hand to help Jaskier up. 

Jaskier takes it, his fingertips lingering on the soft flesh of Geralt’s forearm, and heaves himself up. His hand stays on Geralt’s arm, and Geralt drags him back to their room. 

“Sit,” he says gruffly, rustling around in his pack for a clean rag. 

He steps over to the wash basin and dips it in before walking back to over Jaskier. He wipes the blood away from Jaskier’s nose gently, but an observer wouldn’t think so from the way Jaskier winces and groans.  

Geralt sighs. “Serves you right.”

“That’s just cruel, Geralt.” Jaskier squirms on the bed, pulling a corner of the blanket over his lap. 

Geralt resolutely focuses on his face. He squints at Jaskier’s nose, which is just the slightest bit crooked. “This is going to hurt,” Geralt warns. “One, two.”

Jaskier yelps as Geralt sets his nose back into its proper place, finishing up dabbing the blood away before he packs Jaskier’s nose full of gauze. “There,” he says. “Good as new.”

There are tears welling in Jaskier’s eyes from the pain. “I don’t know if I’d go that far,” he says weakly. 

“Maybe you’ll be able to go more than a week without cuckolding another husband this time.”

Jaskier lets out an indignant snort. “Hey, sometimes I just sleep with the husbands themselves. Then I have to watch what I eat, though,” he blathers on, and Geralt is honestly impressed with the lengths of his chatter even when Geralt imagines it must be painful to speak. “Have sex with one wrong person, and all of a sudden everyone and their mother is trying to poison you.”

Geralt’s not sure how to respond. 

Jaskier sighs and turns over in the bed. “Good night, Geralt.”

“Try not to drown in your own blood.”

“Always nice to know you care.”

And then, almost too softly for Jaskier to hear, “Good night, Jask.”

ii.

Geralt jerks awake and sits up in his bed roll. The fire is crackling happily, a far cry from the smoldering logs Geralt would have expected. He looks around, and Jaskier is gone. Normally, this would worry him, but if Jaskier took the time to stoke their fire, that probably means he hasn’t been eaten. Most likely. 

The slight chance that something untoward has happened propels Geralt out of the warmth of his blankets. He tugs on his boots and follows the faint scent of Jaskier, a warm mix of wood smoke and contentedness, these days. 

His nose leads him to the river bank, and he hovers right on the edge of the tree line, scouting for any possible dangers. He doesn’t see any, but as he does his sweep, his gaze catches on Jaskier’s bare back and lingers there. There’s a smattering of freckles that Geralt can just barely make out, until they disappear when Jaskier dunks his hair under the water. 

Geralt knows that he should stop just standing here, should either reveal himself or just slink back to their camp and start packing things up, but he finds himself rooted in place as Jaskier rubs a rag over his shoulder blades. 

Geralt is half tempted to offer his help in reaching Jaskier’s back, but he knows how that would probably be received. 

Geralt is transfixed as Jaskier begins to sing, and he sinks down to sit with his back to a tree to listen. Jaskier is always wanting his opinion on his songs, so surely he’d be fine with this, right?

It's not fair, oh, it's not fair how much I love you

It's not fair, 'cause you make me ache, you bastard

And he'll say

Oh, how, oh, how unreasonable

How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do

I'll spend my days so close to you

'Cause if I'm stood here, then I'm stood here

And I'll stand—

Geralt’s jerked out of his trance of listening to Jaskier sing in his honeyed tones by a disturbance in the water, and Geralt focuses in on the ripples that are starting to froth before a drowner emerges, its scaly skin glistening in the morning light. Jaskier screams, and Geralt leaps from his hiding spot, unsheathing his sword. 

Jaskier turns to look at the new disturbance with wide eyes, minutely relaxing when he sees it’s Geralt. Geralt jumps into the water, landing on the drowner’s back. It jerks and bucks, deceptively strong as it tries to toss Geralt off. Geralt hooks his hands around its neck, his sword gripped precariously. 

The drowner gives one last shake, and Geralt goes flying, his sword falling with a splash. There’s a clawed, webbed hand on Geralt’s head, forcing him under the water. He thrashes, trying to get free, but to no avail. Geralt keeps his mouth tightly shut, and his lungs start to burn as he continues to fight. 

Bright spots start to dance at the edge of his vision, getting darker and fuzzier now, and Geralt knows he’s right on the verge of losing consciousness. He’s unable to stop his gasp for air, but only water finds his lungs. He’s resigned himself to this being the way it ends when suddenly the grip goes lax and he’s able to propel himself to the water’s surface, gasping for breath. 

“Geralt? Geralt?” comes a worried voice, floaty and distant sounding. “Geralt, are you okay?”

There’s a pounding on his back, and water dribbles from his lips. A litany of curses follow and sharp tugs on his arm that lead him back to the bank. 

Geralt coughs and splutters, more water escaping him as he finally registers Jaskier pacing around anxiously... completely naked. Geralt chokes, and Jaskier is there in an instant, a warm hand on his back, rubbing in soothing circles. 

“You’re okay,” he croons with a gentle pat. 

Geralt doesn’t feel okay. He feels like he about died and is seconds away from doing it again via spontaneous combustion at the sight of all Jaskier’s skin on display. Geralt picks a spot on the distance and fixes his gaze on it. 

“Good thing you were around,” Jaskier says finally, and Geralt burns in shame at the thought of why exactly he was there. 

He’s lucky Jaskier isn’t running away in repulsion, like he would be if he knew the truth. 

Jaskier asks him if he’s okay yet again, and Geralt grunts. 

“Oh, goody, you’re well enough for monosyllabic conversation. Back to normal, then.”

Geralt grunts again, and Jaskier laughs, a delightful trilling thing. 

“Oh, here you go,” Jaskier says, handing Geralt back his sword that’s covered in monster guts and ichor. 

Geralt’s eyes do not bug out as the realization hits him. “You… you?”

“Well, it was drowning you! I couldn’t just stand around, now could I?”

“I...suppose not,” Geralt mutters, but in actuality, he can count on one hand the number of times someone’s actually come to his aid while he was fighting a monster. The most he can wish for is someone who won’t recoil as they patch up his wounds later. 

“Are you sure you’re alright? You’re acting a bit,” Jaskier pauses, “distracted.”

“I’m fine,” he says gruffly. 

“Well, I guess it’s not every day you have a near death experience,” Jaskier muses, “Oh, wait.”

“Maybe if I didn’t have to save your sorry ass so often.” Geralt shoves at him and instantly flushes red as his hand touches Jaskier’s bare skin and he registers again that he’s naked. 

“Put on some clothes,” Geralt mumbles, averting his eyes. 

There’s a heavy silence as Geralt waits for Jaskier to say something in response, some sort of rib, but nothing comes, just the soft swish of fabric as he gets dressed. 

Geralt grits his teeth. 

iii.

Geralt trudges down the rocky path, Roach just behind him. The trail from Kaer Morhen is downright treacherous at the best of times and fatal at worst, so Geralt would rather walk than risk Roach making a wrong step and sending them both pitching off a cliff. 

Not that that would be entirely unwelcome, after the winter Geralt has just endured. Eskel and Lambert took great pride in elbowing Geralt and making him the butt of their every joke, saying in glee that they could smell the longing drifting off of him. 

“Is Geralt in loooove?” Lambert had sang, until Geralt shoved him off his chair to shut him up. 

Lambert tumbled to the floor with a clatter of his armor, but he still wore his unbearably smug expression. Eskel had looked at him with soft eyes. “You could have brought them here, you know. I want to know whoever can make you happy.”

“Yeah, we all know how impossible that is for Mr. Melancholy,” Lambert said. 

Geralt shakes his head and puts his focus back on putting one foot in front of the other. The other witchers had endlessly pestered him about his plans for the spring, but Geralt hadn’t wanted to tell them. He likes Jaskier being just for him, and he had waited impatiently for the snow to melt in the pass. He was the first to set out, and he valiantly tried to ignore Lambert’s snickers as he left. 

Geralt is headed to Oxenfurt. He and Jaskier hadn’t made set plans to meet up, because it normally doesn’t take too long for them to accidentally on purpose run into each other, but this year, Geralt doesn’t want to wait. The winter had stretched out into much longer than normal, with biting cold and piles of snow, so Geralt is more than ready to be warm again. 

When the path finally stops twisting and turning, Geralt mounts Roach and picks up their pace a bit. It’s certainly only because he’s eager to sleep in a bed, never mind that he’s been sleeping in one all winter. 

Geralt pulls his hood up against the early spring chill and soldiers on. 

-

When Geralt finally arrives, several days and sleepless nights later, it’s just before dawn. Jaskier has always had a proclivity towards nocturnal behavior, with only Geralt’s need to be up and moving at first light tempering it, so Geralt doesn’t think Jaskier will mind the intrusion. 

Geralt ties Roach to a hitching post, promising to come back and find her a stable once the sun breaks over the horizon, and then he wanders until streets start to look familiar, and Jaskier’s cozy house comes into view. 

Geralt steps up to the door and knocks, and he definitely does not try to tame his hair into some semblance of kempt or get an anxious churning in his stomach at the prospect of seeing Jaskier again. There’s no answer to his knock, so he tries again, but Jaskier still doesn’t materialize. Geralt tries the knob, and to his alarm, it’s unlocked. 

His first thought is one of panic—what if something’s wrong? Jaskier wouldn’t just leave his door unlocked; someone could walk right in and steal his lute. Geralt opens the door quietly and creeps through the dark house. There are no immediate signs that there’s anything amiss. There are only three rooms, and Geralt eases the bedroom door open to peek inside. He’s immediately arrested by Jaskier sprawled out naked on his bed. 

Geralt takes a hurried step back, but not before his eyes dart all over Jaskier’s body. He’s just taking stock of any new injuries Jaskier might have incurred while Geralt wasn’t around to protect him from the wrath of cuckolded husbands, that’s all. Jaskier looks paler and more gaunt than he was when Geralt left him, but Geralt supposes that’s just a side effect of winter. 

Geralt retreats slowly, locking the door behind him and resolving to come back when the sun is high in the sky. 

Geralt stumbles onto the street, the early morning light making everything washed out as he scuffs his boots along the ground. He meanders back the way he came, deciding he’ll stable Roach and then see about something for breakfast. He hadn’t felt hungry in his haste to get to Jaskier, but now that his enthusiasm has been tempered, he’s starving. He tries to remember the last time he stopped to eat something more substantial than whatever he could pull out of his pack. Two, three, days ago, maybe? 

Roach comes into view, pawing her hoof against the dirt impatiently. Geratlt huffs a laugh as he walks closer, untying her reins from the hitch and clicking his tongue as he leads her in a direction that he’s getting a big whiff of horse from. 

Geralt leaves Roach at the stables, with his usual stern frown at the stable boy and a chastisement to Roach to be good as she nips at his shirt. 

Roach taken care of, he sets off to look for something to eat, wondering if it’s too soon for Jaskier to be up yet. His eyes flicker shut for a moment as he thinks of the Jaskier’s robe, and how if he goes right now and knocks on his door, he might answer wearing that and nothing else. 

Although, if he does that, even Jaskier might be able to smell the lust rolling off of him. 

Geralt sighs and continues his trudge, until he stops in his tracks and redirects his path. He looks up at the sun’s position in the sky. It’s been long enough. Surely Jaskier is wearing actual clothes by now?

Geralt walks back to Jaskier’s home, the path turning from dirt to cobblestone as he gets closer. There’s a patch of grass peeking between the stones with three orange wildflowers growing in it. Geralt stoops down and picks them without thinking too much about it. 

Geralt carries the flowers loosely in one hand down at his side. When he reaches the steps leading up to Jaskier’s door, he pauses to steel himself, to try to prepare himself for if Jaskier’s whole chest is on display in his robe, but he’s interrupted by an obnoxious throat clearing. 

Geralt whirls around to glare at the person, but he’s arrested by the sight of a man scowling right back at him. “Hope you’re not planning to bother some nice girl, Witcher. Like anyone would ever want you.”

Geralt glances down at the flowers in his hand, and then back to the man, mouth flapping uselessly. He has a point. 

“She’s probably just too scared to tell you to fuck off,” the man sneers, and Geralt’s fingers itch to pull his dagger from his belt, but he restrains himself. 

He surreptitiously looks around for a place to drop the flowers. The man is right; this is a terrible idea. What is he hoping to accomplish with this? Just to make Jaskier smile? He’s an idiot. 

A door slams open, and then, “Well, I have no such qualms. Fuck off.”

Geralt turns around to see Jaskier—and thank fuck he’s wearing clothes this time, but he’s wearing that ridiculous lavender robe, with his leg jutting out right below where it’s knotted together. Geralt desperately averts his eyes, turning back around to frown at the man, but he’s disappeared. 

He looks at Jaskier, then, drinking him in after a winter apart. Jaskier makes a pleased hum in the back of his throat. “For me?” he asks, holding out his hands for the flowers. 

Geralt hands them over without comment, but he can’t hide the smallest of smiles as he follows Jaskier into the house, Jaskier chattering away about everything Geralt missed. 

And, gods, did he miss a lot. 

iv.

When Geralt bolts awake this time, Jaskier is gone again. Geralt would be concerned that just anyone could sneak up on him while he’s sleeping, but he knows his body has started to become in tune with the sound of Jaskier and it no longer deems it necessary to rip him from his sleep for just Jaskier padding around. 

Still, Geralt wipes the sleep from his eyes and slowly gets up to start disassembling their camp. Jaskier will be back soon, and then they can be on their way. Geralt casts his eyes to the horizon, noting the first rays of morning peeking over it. 

 Geralt ambles over to where he had tethered Roach to a tree and scratches his fingertips over her neck. She headbutts his other hand, impatiently waiting for her breakfast. Geralt huffs a laugh. 

Geralt has everything packed up and he’s been leaning against a tree impatiently for three minutes when he starts to get worried. Who knows what could be in these woods? There could be any number of things looking to make a meal out of Jaskier. 

Geralt paces in a circle around their doused fire. On one hand, Jaskier could be doing something like taking a shit somewhere, but on the other hand, he might be hurt. 

Geralt freezes when he hears a faint strangled cry, and his feet are moving even though his mind has barely registered the sound. Geralt crashes through the underbrush, uncaring about how much noise he makes or the thorns that tear against his skin, until he skids to a stop in front of Jaskier. In front of Jaskier, who locks eyes with him while his cock is in his hand and comes with an aborted gasp. 

Heat burns up Geralt’s face. “Sorry, I—” he cuts himself off and flees back the way he came. 

He berates himself as he walks back to their camp. They haven’t been in a town in over three weeks, why was that not what he expected? In all honesty, that’s why he hadn’t gone after Jaskier immediately, but after he heard him shout all of the thoughts of restraint flew out of his brain. The only thing he could focus on was Jaskier needing help. 

Geralt tries not to dwell on the thought of how Jaskier’s cock had looked, flushed and jutting out proudly. Geralt pulls Roach’s brush out of the saddle bag and works her over carefully, making sure every hair is going the same way and helping her shed her thick winter coat. 

By the time Jaskier stumbles back, Geralt had thought he had managed to put the incident out of his mind, but the sight of Jaskier proves him wrong. “Ready to go?” Geralt grunts. 

Jaskier opens his mouth and shuts it with a click of his teeth. “What are we waiting for?”

Geralt swings himself up onto Roach, and doesn’t let himself look back to make sure Jaskier follows. 

v.

Geralt’s eyes crack open as the door to the inn room squeaks. He grunts in displeasure at being disturbed, and then remembers Jaskier is supposed to be with the barmaid and bolts upright. The door is just out of view from the bed, so Geralt eases himself out of bed and picks up the dagger. He creeps to where the wall juts out and then jumps out on the other side, revealing himself. 

“Is that a knife or are you just happy to see me?” Jaskier laughs nervously, and Geralt sheepishly drops the dagger onto the chair as his eyes widen. 

“What is with you and always being naked?” Geralt growls in frustration, trying not to look at the creamy expanse of Jaskier’s skin, marred with freckles instead of scars like Geralt’s. 

Jaskier’s brows pull together in confusion. “What?”

“Nevermind. Just—what is going on?”

“Ah. Right. That. I got…kicked out.”

“Did she have a husband?”

“Um, yes, yes, that’s exactly right. He did not appreciate the soiling of their marital bed.”

Geralt rolls his eyes fondly even as a pang of longing lodges itself right between his ribs. He doesn’t stop to examine it for too long. 

Geralt turns his back and slips back over to the bed. The one bed, because he had thought he would be alone tonight. Geralt sighs. 

There’s a quiet swish of fabric as Jaskier pulls on some clothes. “That was one of my favorite shirts, and now it’ll probably end up burnt or some other ridiculous thing.”

The doublet in question was a gaudy scarlet thing with obnoxious gold threading and beading sewn into it. The light always caught on it just wrong to shine into Geralt’s eyes and give him a headache. “What a pity.”

Jaskier shoves at his shoulder as he clambers into the bed without a second thought. Geralt swallows hard at the dip of the lumpy mattress, at the body what so close to his all of a sudden. Jaskier’s heartbeat thuds, and a peculiar smell drifts off of him that Geralt can’t quite place. 

Geralt turns over so that he’s facing Jaskier. “What’s wrong?”

Jaskier buries his face into the pillow. The one pillow, that he tugs away from Geralt. “Nothing,” he says, heaving a dramatic sigh. 

“Hmm. Well.” Geralt pauses and tries to think of a way to respond that won’t have Jaskier calling him an emotionless boulder later. “If you want to talk about it, I can listen.”

Jaskier lifts his head up from the pillow to meet Geralt’s eyes. “Wow, I didn’t know that I was speaking to anything other than the wall when I talk to you.”

Geralt yanks the pillow out from under Jaskier and hits him with it. “Shut up.”

+ i.

Jaskier sighs as he unfurls his bedroll. He’s been unleashing heavy sighs about once an hour for the past week, and it’s driving Geralt up the wall. He’s asked Jaskier if everything was all right four separate times now, and Jaskier has brushed him off each time. 

“Jaskier, just tell me what’s the matter,” he begs after Jaskier sighs as he returns with water from the stream. 

Jaskier plops the bucket down right next to the fire, and some splashes out and douses the small smolder Geralt had got started. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt growls before Jaskier can even react. 

“Fine! You want to know what’s so wrong? It’s you!”

Geralt rears back, blinking rapidly. He wants to make a beeline for Roach and try to get the feeling of Jaskier’s eyes boring into his out of his mind as soon as possible, but he can’t just leave Jaskier high and dry out here all alone. Geralt shakes his head and turns away. 

“Wait,” Jaskier’s hand comes around to clamp onto Geralt’s wrist. Geralt nearly shakes him off, but then Jaskier is saying again, “Wait. That’s not what I meant.”

Geralt meets Jaskier’s eyes cautiously and arches an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation. 

Jaskier rubs the back of his neck. “You know I got kicked out of that room the other night.”

Geralt grunts. “For cuckolding the husband?”

“Well, yes, but not exactly. I lied. There was no husband. Turns out some people aren’t all that impressed when you say the wrong name in the heat of things.”

“Jaskier, what does that have to do with—” 

“It’s you, Geralt,” he whispers. 

“Oh.”

Geralt is taken aback. He’s never had this happen with a human before. It’s… hard to imagine that a human could see him as anything other than repulsive, something to be tolerated just to part him from his coin. 

“And now I see that I’ve made a complete and total mess of things. I’m sorry, I’ll just—”

As Jaskier’s grip on his wrist loosens, Geralt takes Jaskier’s hand instead. “You haven’t made a mess of anything.”

Jaskier’s eyes widen before he reaches the hand Geralt isn’t holding up to cup Geralt’s face. Geralt turns his head to nuzzle into Jaskier’s hand, and Jaskier leans forward to press his lips to Geralt. Their fingers become untangled as they move on, Jaskier’s coming up to twist in Geralt’s hair, and Geralt’s stroking across Jaskier’s cheek bone. 

When they pull away, Jaskier lets out a disbelieving chuckle. “Wow. It seems like I could have saved my hand some work while we were on the road.”

Geralt rolls his eyes at Jaskier’s crudeness. 

“Come on, you know that was funny,” Jaskier wheedles into his ear. 

Geralt pushes him aside and crouches down to rebuild their fire. “You’re rarely funny.”

Jaskier claps a hand over his chest and splutters. “Okay, still incredibly rude. Nice to know some things never change, I suppose.”

Jaskier huffs and walks away, going over to feed Roach while Geralt attempts to find some kindling that isn’t damp. 

A smile tugs at Geralt’s lips. 

When the fire is roaring once again, Geralt wanders over to where Jaskier is now sitting against a tree. 

Geralt sits down beside him. “I do think you’re funny sometimes,” he admits. 

“You’ve already wounded my pride, Geralt; it’s too late.”

“And so if I offered you a… hand, you’d turn me down?”

Jaskier jerks his head up and turns to Geralt. “That is not what I said in any way, shape, or form.”

“Hmm.”

In the end, it doesn’t happen that night, or the day after that. It’s when they’re finally at an inn that Jaskier pounces on him. Geralt has barely shut the door to their room when Jaskier is on him. “I’ve been so patient,” he whines. 

Geralt raises his eyebrows, unconvinced. “All you had to do was ask.”

“Geralt, you’re impossible,” Jaskier huffs in exasperation. “Well, I’m asking now.”

Geralt kisses him, slow and sweet, and Jaskier groans his eagerness into his mouth. 

Jaskier’s fingers fumble with the clasps of his armor, until Geralt laughs and takes it off himself. When he turns back around after carefully setting all the pieces on a chair, Jaskier is already naked, and finally, Geralt allows himself to look. He drinks it in, notices the tiny scar Jaskier has on his thigh, rakes his eyes over Jaskier’s chest. He moves closer so he can comb his fingers down the hair between Jaskier’s pecs, and he preens at the attention. 

Jaskier reaches down to undo his trousers, and Geralt steps out of them. He takes off his shirt, and sheds his smallclothes, looking back up to see Jaskier staring at him. His soft expression turns into a self satisfied grin as he hums to himself. 

“What?” Geralt asks, already sure he doesn’t want to know the answer. 

“Nothing. Okay, fine, just—the carpet matches the drapes, is all.”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “It’s a mutation. Do you think I would choose for it to be white? What were you expecting?”

“You’re no fun,” Jaskier pauses. “What color did your hair used to be?”

Geralt stops and thinks. “Brown, probably? I don’t remember.”

Jaskier whistles. “That’s terribly sad. Do you think your childhood would make a good ballad? I bet it would.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt grits out. 

“Okay, okay. Insensitive, I apologize.”

Geralt pulls back, but Jaskier winds his arms around his shoulders and keeps him in place. “I’m sorry,” he says again, rubbing his nose against the delicate skin of Geralt’s neck. 

Geralt shudders and lets Jaskier distract him. It’s not like his childhood is something he particularly likes to dwell on, especially when there’s something much better for him to focus on in the form of Jaskier’s swelling cock judging against his hip. 

Jaskier presses up close against him, bracketing Geralt against the door and putting his palm flat over Geralt’s heart before he kisses him again. 

Geralt lets the sensation wash over him, the pleasant feelings and the vibration that sends a thrumming through his bones. He walks Jaskier back to the bed and lays him out, crawling on top and straddling him. 

Jaskier sucks in a breath. “Gods, Geralt. You’re beautiful.”

A hot blush rises to Geralt’s face and he turns away, but Jaskier takes his wrist. 

“Don’t mock me,” Geralt mumbles. 

“Darling,” Jaskier says, sitting up and taking both of Geralt’s hands in his. “I’m not.”

Geralt doesn’t know how to respond. He looks down at his body, littered with scars, some pink and small and some, long healed, white and wicked looking. “Hmm.”

Jaskier sighs and tugs Geralt in for another kiss, before he maneuvers Geralt so he’s the one laying down. Jaskier works his way down Geralt’s body, lingering on each scar until Geralt squirms uncomfortably beneath him. 

Jaskier huffs a soft laugh as he makes it to the soft inside of Geralt’s thighs, and Geralt starts squirming for a different reason. A whine comes from the back of Geralt’s throat as Jaskier continues to ignore his cock, throbbing and painful at this point. 

Jaskier finally has pity on him and takes him in hand, making Geralt sigh and his eyes flutter shut. Jaskier jacks him quickly, bringing Geralt to the edge faster than he would like to admit before he backs off and moves his hand. He goes back to tracing Geralt’s scars, his fingertips finding the one that cut through the muscle of his leg and healed jagged and rough. 

He hovers over a different one, looking up at Geralt with a question in his eyes. Jaskier’s wheedled most of the stories of his scars out of him, but this one—Geralt huffs. “I tripped over a rock and fell right onto a very pointy root,” he admits. 

Jaskier’s lips quirk up into a grin, and Geralt is about to chastise him for laughing when Jaskier directs his attention back to Geralt’s cock. 

Geralt gasps as warm heat envelops him, and his hand comes down to tangle in Jaskier’s soft hair. Jaskier’s other hand comes up to stroke the part of Geralt’s shaft not in his mouth and scoots further back to trail his fingertips over Geralt’s balls and ghost over his perineum to his hole. 

Geralt shudders at the feeling, and Jaskier pops off of him with a wet sound. “Can I—?”

“Yes, yes, please,” Geralt babbles. 

Jaskier disappears for a moment to rummage through his pack, and Geralt tries to slow his pulse. His heart is practically trying to thud out of his chest compared to its normal steady pace, so he sucks in a deep breath through his nose. 

Jaskier returns and settles himself between Geralt’s legs. Geralt lets Jaskier position him until his knees are bent and his feet are planted on the bed on either side of Jaskier. Geralt swallows past the lump forming in his throat as a wave of vulnerability crashes down on him. 

Jaskier must be able to sense his skittishness, because he takes Geralt’s hand in his and rubs soothing circles into it with his thumb. With his other hand, he rests the pad of his pointer finger against Geralt’s hole until he slips it in, a second finger quickly joining it. 

Geralt can feel himself tensing up, but he tries to relax, tries to let himself give in and just be boneless. 

Jaskier stretches him out until Geralt whines in anticipation. Jaskier chuckles and pats his clean hand on Geralt’s thigh. “I seem to recall you saying I was the impatient one?”

“Jaskier,” Geralt growls. 

Jaskier laughs again. “Fine, fine. I truly don’t understand why people think you’re so frightening.”

Geralt could list a few reasons, but he doesn’t want to kill the mood. He just grunts at Jaskier until he finally shuffles closer to Geralt and presses inside of him. 

Geralt’s head thumps back against the mattress as he squeezes his eyes shut, adjusting to the overwhelming fullness and the way the feeling radiates through his stomach. 

Are you good?” Jaskier whispers. 

Geralt nods, one of his hands finding Jaskier’s and tangling their fingers together, while the other grips the sheets as Jaskier begins to thrust.

He starts out slow, almost too slow for Geralt to bear, each slide dragging inside of him and creating delicious friction while the head of Jaskier’s cock nudges his prostate.

Geralt hums. 

“Let me hear you,” Jaskier says into his ear. 

Geralt looks off to the side, but Jaskier puts a finger on his chin and tilts his head back. “You’ve never been shy; don’t start now.”

Geralt stays sullenly even quieter than before, deliberately slowing his breathing. 

Jaskier laughs at his obstinance. “No performance review for me?”

“Just shut up and fuck me,” Geralt says breathlessly. 

“Who am I to say no to that?” Jaskier asks, and then there’s no more talking for a while, just gasps and moans as Jaskier slams into Geralt at a pace that leaves them both panting. 

Finally, Jaskier shudders to his climax and wraps a hand around Geralt’s weeping cock to bring him over the edge with him. 

Jaskier slips out of him and collapses onto the bed beside him, draping his leg over Geralt’s thigh, his fingers meandering their way again to the forest of scars that live on Geralt’s skin. 

“You’re lovely. Do you believe me yet?”

Geralt gives an unimpressed hum. 

“Well, lucky for you, I have the whole rest of my life to make you see reason.”

Geralt likes the sound of that.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #ficlet #fanfiction #contemplative writing #5+1 fic

[jaskierswolf]

Jaskier’s A-Z of Animals

Summary: “I have an idea!” Lambert announced loudly, his words slurring slightly. He’d clearly drunk too much white gull.

Jaskier flicked his ears and tilted his head. This could only end terribly.

- Or Lambert suggests a game of Guess the Animal.

Previous Story (but this can also be read alone)

_________

Jaskier purred happily as Geralt’s fingers threaded through his fur. The fire was roaring in the hearth and Jaskier delighted in the prickle of heat against his feline body. The witchers were all drunk as skunks but Jaskier hadn’t felt like joining in with their merriment. Their witcher booze did strange things to his head and he’d vowed to bring his own store of ale or wine along with him next time.

Lambert was pontificating loudly, swishing his hands about and rambling on about some stupid humans he’d met on the path. Apparently they’d tried to swindle him out of his coin after a contract. Jaskier yawned and flicked his tail, hissing gently. He’d seen enough of that behaviour over the last few months with Geralt. Luckily for Geralt, Jaskier the mutant dog/wolf companion had been incredibly efficient at persuading the more nefarious humans to relinquish their coin. Geralt scratched him behind the ears. Jaskier meowed and rolled onto his back so that Geralt could scratch his belly.

The witcher chuckled. “Always so needy, you bastard.” He murmured fondly but his fingers still moved to Jaskier’s soft fur on his underbelly.

Jaskier hissed and grabbed Geralt’s fingers under his claws. He didn’t draw blood but Geralt should know better than to call him needy. That just wasn’t fair.

“Jask.” Geralt warned and pulled his fingers away.

Well now, that wouldn’t do. He yowled loudly and tilted his head, widening his eyes as he peered up at his witcher.

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Stop scratching me then.”

Jaskier mewed and rolled back over so he could climb up onto Geralt’s shoulder. He nipped at Geralt’s ear gently.

“I have an idea!” Lambert announced loudly, his words slurring slightly. He’d clearly drunk too much white gull.

Jaskier flicked his ears and tilted his head. This could only end terribly.

“Spit it out, Lambert.” Geralt grumbled.

“Fuck off, patience, White Wolf!” Lambert glared at him and tripped over the rug. He almost fell flat on his face but Jaskier was quicker. He leapt to the ground, shifting mid leap into a wolf. Lambert fell against him and laughed. “I found a Jaskier!”

Eskel snorted. “You didn’t find him. Geralt found him and then he shagged him.”

Geralt groaned. “You guys are drunk.”

“Yeah, well, You’re not drunk enough!” Lambert mumbled into Jaskier’s fur.

He howled and wagged his tail.

“See, Jaskier agrees with me!” Lambert grinned. “Who’s a good boy? Are you a good boy?”

Jaskier barked, turning so he could nuzzle against Lambert. He wrinkled his nose as the scent of white gull hit him. Gods it stank, especially in this form. He really didn’t know how the witchers could bear it.

“He’s not actually a dog, Lambert.” Geralt sighed wearily.

Jaskier turned to Geralt and growled. He was a good boy! Geralt was just a grumpy witcher.

“Fine. Whatever.” Geralt rolled his eyes but came over to join them on the floor.

Jaskier wagged his tail and then sat in Geralt’s lap. Geralt huffed but rested his chin on Jaskier’s back. Lambert continued to scratch him behind the ears and he was in heaven. It really was a dog’s life at Kaer Morhen.

“I want a go.” Eskel whined. “Geralt always gets a go.”

“Get your own.” Geralt grumbled and buried his face in Jaskier’s thick fur.

Geralt was apparently a sleepy drunk this evening. Jaskier liked that, Geralt was always more cuddly when he was tired, but he was also being a grumpy bastard and needed to learn to share. Jaskier rolled his eyes and leapt from Geralt lap. He jumped at Eskel, putting his paws on the man’s shoulders, and licked him in the face.

“Puppy!” Eskel laughed and scrunched his nose up as Jaskier continued to lick his face.

“What was your idea?” Geralt asked Lambert.

“My idea! Guess the animal!” He yelled.

Jaskier sat back down and barked. He assumed he would play a part in this game. He growled quietly, a low rumble in his chest. The witchers knew that he didn’t enjoy being treated like an experiment. He didn’t want this game to turn into a test of his abilities like it had beenat Lettenhove. He shifted again into a mouse and scurried back to Geralt. The room blurred as he shifted and he used his whiskers to guide him as he buried into Geralt’s shift.

Geralt snarled at the redhead. “Lambert!”

“What?”

“He’s family, not a toy.” Geralt’s voice rumbled in his chest and Jaskier could feel the vibrations. He squeaked and nuzzled Geralt’s chest.

“I know!” Lambert whined. “But I thought…”

“You don’t think!” Geralt snapped. “That’s your problem.”

Jaskier squeaked again. He wanted to know Lambert’s reasons. He wanted to trust them. They were Geralt’s family and they’d be nothing but accepting of his gifts.

“I thought!” Lambert continued loudly. “That he knew he could trust us. I thought that it could be fun for him too, he could show off a bit and he knows none of us care what he can and can’t do.”

Jaskier considered that carefully and shifted back into a cat. He poked his head out the top of Geralt’s shirt.

“Jaskier!” Geralt grumbled.

He chirped happily. The temptation to shift back to human was almost too much. Geralt saw him naked all the time. He was allowed to enjoy the thought of ripping his boyfriend’s shirt to shreds, but instead he ducked back inside the shirt and crawled out the bottom.

When he was seated back in Geralt’s lap he shifted to human.

The others yelled and pretended to cover their eyes.

“I’m in.” He announced, not bothering to cover himself and batting Geralt’s hands away. “But I reserve the right to stop at any time. The moment I feel like it’s more than a fun game then I’m out. Got it?”

Lambert grinned and extended his hand. “Deal.”

They shook on it.

“Game stops once I turn into a wolf. No questions asked.”

There was a mumble of agreement.

Jaskier thought about his knowledge of animals. It wasn’t complete despite what the witchers may think. Some animals came easier to him, the wolf and the cat for example. He found mammals easier in general. He supposed the genetic make up was closer to his human form. He was also limited by what animals he knew. He’d spent a lot of time in his youth studying books on animals. They were the only books his parents had allowed him to have in his dimeritium prison of a bedroom. For years the books had been his only access to his abilities outside of the controlled ‘sessions’.

He would start easy enough. He gave Geralt as quick kiss on the cheek and winked before letting the magic loose once more. His skin rippled back into ginger fur and his bones crunched as he shifted in Geralt’s lap.

“FOX!!” Lambert yelled. “Aww look at you. So cute.”

Jaskier let out a screeching bark and trotted over to the redhead with his bushy tail trailing after him. He nuzzled against Lambert’s open palm and shifted again.

He slithered to the floor with a hiss. Reptiles were probably his least favourite animal so he was eager to get this out of the way. The room lit up in infra red and he flicked his tongue tasting the air as he familiarised himself with the room in this form. The witchers ran cooler than humans and it was difficult to make them out with the fire drawing his eye from the corner of the room.

“Snake!” Lambert shouted again and Jaskier turned to hiss at him. He slithered up the witcher’s arm and curled around his shoulders, flicking his tongue in Lambert’s ear. “Get off.” He grumbled. “Next one!”

Jaskier shook his head and hissed.

“We have to be more specific?” He heard Eskel ask.

He nodded. He’d chosen this particular snake for a reason. The scales were distinct, yellow and bristly. He slithered back to the floor and curled up into a ball.

“Umm… Viper?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier nodded again and hissed.

“Prickly viper!” Lambert tried.

“Spiky viper?” Eskel guessed.

Both good guesses but not quite right. He hissed and shifted to human, lounging extravagantly on the rug. “Spiny bush viper, found in desert regions.” He accidentally hissed on the ’s’ sounds and grinned sheepishly. “I saw a picture in a book when I was younger. ”

Before they could question him further he shifted again, blue and orange feathers rippled out this time instead of fur. He flitted between the witchers landing on each of their heads, and he suddenly had an overwhelming craving for fish, he was starving! He  He wondered if there was any in the kitchens. He was sure Vesemir wouldn’t mind if he went for a snack.

Geralt must have recognised the animal instincts taking over and he caught Jaskier gently in his hands. Jaskier fluttered his wings angrily in Geralt’s hands and chirped loudly, trying to find an escape from his prison.

“Kingfisher.” Geralt said softly in a whisper. “Next one, Jask.”

Jaskier chirped again but let Geralt’s rough soothing voice ground him. He shifted in Geralt’s hands, his wings growing and the feathers disappearing until was a fluffy bundle in Geralt’s palm.

Geralt slowly opened his hands and Jaskier flinched away from the light. This choice had been logical in the darkness of Geralt’s hands but the bright light of the room was almost too much. He fluttered up to the ceiling, dipping a few times as his wings felt heavier than expected. It was time to rest. He felt incredibly tired all of a sudden. He curled his wings around him as he found a nook to rest in.

“Did anyone see that?” Lambert asked. “The bugger moved too fast.”

“You’re just getting slow in your old age.” Geralt laughed.

“I’m younger than you, old man!” Lambert grumbled and Jaskier heard the two witchers start to brawl.

“Jaskier!” Eskel called. “Come down and control your boyfriend.”

Boyfriend.

Geralt.

Jaskier closed his eyes and jumped from his hiding place. Shifting again mid-air into a kestrel, but for the first time in a while the shift didn’t come easy. He almost dropped to the ground before he managed to find the energy to flap his wings.

He’d done too many shifts too quickly. Cat. Wolf. Mouse. Cat. Human. Fox. Snake. Human. Kingfisher. Vampire Bat. Kestrel.

Fuck.

He’d hadn’t even noticed it had been so many.

Even back at Lettenhove he’d struggled with ten at a time. The most he’d pushed it before had been fifteen and that had almost killed him. It had been years since he’d tried. He could stay as any form for as long as he liked but too many consecutive shifts were exhausting. He’d forgotten about that. He usually settled after two or three, six at a push. There wasn’t much need to keep flitting about in different forms.

He tumbled to the ground, crash landing on the rug. The noise broke up the fight between the two grumpier witcher and Geralt scooped him up in his arms. “Jaskier, what’s wrong?” He murmured and he stroked a finger along Jaskier’s fur.

“Too much white gull!” Lambert slurred. “Drunk birds can’t fly.”

Geralt snarled at Lambert but didn’t answer him. “Can you shift to human?” He asked quietly.

Jaskier considered it. His wings felt limp but nothing was broken. He was just tired, he needed a nap and food… gods he was so hungry.

“Jask, don’t sleep. Not yet. I need to know you’re ok.” Geralt was obviously worried and Jaskier felt a little guilty for forgetting his own limits like that. He should have known better.

He’d just been swept up in the witchers’ joy and laughter, knowing the excitement they felt had nothing to do with wanting to use and abuse his abilities. The tasks had been so similar to those he’d performed at Lettenhove but the warmth and affection of the witchers had been the opposite of the calm calculated coolness of his parents.

Geralt needed to know he was ok. He needed words.

That meant he had to shift.

He let his magic go one last time and collapsed against Geralt’s chest. “Fuck!” He groaned. “Game over.”

And passed out.

________

When he awoke he was covered in furs and wearing one of Geralt’s black shirts by the feel of it. Geralt’s shirts were rougher fabric than his own. His whole body ached and he felt liked he’d run through one of the witcher obstacle courses, twice. Geralt’s fingers were in his hair and he could hear him bickering with Lambert.

“Well how was I supposed to know?” Lambert grumbled. “It’s not like I purposely set out to hurt him.”

“Again.” Eskel chimed, clearly amused by the entire argument.

If Jaskier’s head hadn’t been quite so sore he probably would have laughed. He’d underestimated the blond witcher when he’d first arrived at Kaer Morhen. He’d been taken in by Eskel’s kind and gentle personality. He’d hadn’t noticed the glimmer of humour underneath. Eskel seemed to thrive in chaos. He enjoyed gently pushing and teasing his fellow witchers until they were almost at each other’s throats and Vesemir had to calm everyone down. The others hadn’t even seemed to realise that it was Eskel manipulating the entire conversation. Jaskier had a huge amount of respect for Eskel as a result.

“Again.” Geralt growled.

Jaskier knew his witcher was about two seconds away from brawling with Lambert again and he took pity on the redhead. He groaned dramatically and snuggled further into Geralt’s lap.

“Jaskier?” Geralt’s hands stopped in his hair.

“Morning…” He mumbled.

“What happened, pup?” Jaskier blinked a few times and then opened his eyes. Vesemir had joined them… oh and they were in his bedroom.

“Shifted too many times.” He muttered. “Forgot to take a break.”

“This has never happened before.” Geralt hummed thoughtfully.

Jaskier tried to sit up but his head span so he flopped back onto Geralt’s lap on the bed. Geralt was sitting up against the headboard and Jaskier had essentially been using him as a pillow, not an unusual occurrence. The others were crowded around the bed. He felt a pang of guilt. He must have really worried them for them to all be here.

“Not for years. When was the last time you’ve seen me shift more than…” He pause to think “six times?”

Geralt just hummed a response.

“Yeah, didn’t think so.” He grumbled. “Now can everyone please fuck off, I’m tired.”

The witchers all grumbled and began to filter out of them room. Lambert mumbling what could have been an apology as he left.

Jaskier’s stomach rumbled noisily. “Oi! Wait! On second thoughts! Lambert, darling, dearest witcher. Have we got any fish?”

Lambert groaned and stalked out the room. “I’m only doing this because I almost killed you, wolf.”

“Again!” Eskel pointed out with a laugh.

“Fuck off!”

Jaskier grinned and cuddled up against his boyfriend. Family, you couldn’t live without them.

_______

Next Story!

#the witcher #geraskier #geraskier fanfiction #shapeshifter!jaskier #shifter!jaskier #geralt of rivia #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geralt/jaskier #witcher eskel #witcher lambert #kaer morhen #wolfie's witcher writing #jaskier pankratz #jaskiers a-z of animals

[dont-tempt-me-frodo]

The Last Kiss

So this is entirely @dapandapod‘s fault and I hope you're happy :(

(Major Character death, TW: blood and gore)

Their first kiss had happened in a tavern in Kovir.

Jaskier, high off an exhilarating performance, and more than a little drunk, had stumbled into Geralt’s lap. The warm, affectionate look the Witcher gave him stirred something so deep inside him and ached through his chest and before he could stop himself, he had pressed a soft kiss to Geralt’s lips.

They had both brushed it off as a drunken mistake but Jaskier couldn’t help the pang of hurt that followed him around in the weeks that followed, couldn’t help but remember the way Geralt stiffened under his touch, the unreadable expression on his face after.

He had been in love with Geralt for years now and it was just another reminder that Geralt didn’t feel the same way.

Their second kiss happened in the middle of a marsh in Velen.

They were just passing through, following a lead on a contract in the next town over when a thick fog wreathed around them and Geralt leaped off Roach, brandishing his silver sword.

Before Jaskier could ask what was going on, the Witcher grabbed him by the scruff of his doublet and practically threw him off the road into a patch of reeds as the mist swirled and solidified. Three Foglets, gangly, bony, impish creatures with blueish grey skin and a mouth full of teeth, lunged at Geralt. Roach took off with a terrified whinny and Jaskier could hear the swish of a sword meeting flesh as he clambered to his feet and crashed into a fourth Foglet. His yelp was cut off as strong clawed fingers wrapped around his throat and hoisted him into the air. Gasping for the breath being choked from him, Jaskier struggled in the monster’s grip. The Foglet had a gleam in its beady eyes and it gnashed its teeth at him.

There came a grunt and a hiss of a blade through the air and then the Fogelt’s head tumbled from its shoulders. Jaskier fell heavily to the ground, lungs burning as he gulped for breath. He was pulled to his feet and there were hands on his cheeks and lips against his own and his eyes widened in shock.

“Are you okay?” Geralt’s amber eyes stared at him.

The Witcher was covered in Foglet blood and swamp muck, panting hard as he studied Jaskier’s face.

“Uuhh,” Jaskier darted his tongue across his lips in an attempt to ground himself. His heart was pattering frantically in his chest. Geralt’s hands were still cupping his cheeks, thumbs brushing back and forth across the soft skin.

“Jaskier,” the Witcher prompted with a frown.

“You-you kissed me,” the bard stammered.

Geralt’s expression softened and he smiled.

“Yes, I did. And I’m about to do it again.”

Jaskier whimpered against Geralt’s mouth as the Witcher planted a chaste kiss to his lips. His hands came up to curl around Geralt’s neck. Heat sparked through him, prickling his skin, tingling through every nerve and cell of his being.

It was hot and it was sweet and it was about goddamn time.  

Jaskier very quickly lost track of how many times they kissed after that.

Apparently after his fumble in Kovir, Geralt had been thinking about the kiss a lot and it had taken him a long time to puzzle through the new emotions, eventually coming to the realisation that he cared about Jaskier in a way that went beyond friendship.

Jaskier was just glad he didn’t have to pretend anymore. Now he could be openly affectionate with Geralt without the fear of being pushed away. He could tell him he loved him and know that Geralt wouldn’t laugh at him.

Geralt took a while to get used to the touching and declarations of love and enthusiastic fondness but he was happy. Happier than he could ever remember being in his long life.

Their last kiss happened in a ruined fort deep in the forests of Nazair.

The werewolf Geralt had been paid handsomely to dispose of had taken Jaskier to its lair in an attempt to bargain for its life.

Geralt had been willing to talk to it, maybe even cure it. But it had crossed a line that there was no coming back from.

The unbridled fear for Jaskier’s safety hurts more than Geralt ever thought it could. The negotiations with the werewolf were to buy time so that he could work out where it was keeping his bard and the best way to kill it quickly. Unfortunately, the beast had a temper and when it wasn’t getting what it wanted, it lunged at Geralt.

The fight was brutal and messy.

Geralt stumbled away from the slumped body of the werewolf clutching a hand against the gash across his stomach in an attempt to stop his guts spilling onto the floor.  

The blood loss was making him nauseous and lightheaded. Or maybe it was the fact that his gloved fingers were pressed against his exposed organs. He knew the wound was bad. He knew he didn’t have much time to find Jaskier and free him before he succumbed to the injury.

He found Jaskier chained to a wall a little further into the fort. He was dirty and bruised but he was alive.

The colour drained from Jaskier’s face as Geralt shuffled over, yanking the chain and breaking its hold of the bard with what was left of his rapidly depleting strength.

Jaskier tumbled forwards, wrapping his arms around Geralt as the Witcher sank to the floor.

“Geralt,” Jaskier choked, cradling Geralt to his chest as tears brimmed in his eyes.

Geralt managed a grunt, a trickle of blood bubbling between his lips. Jaskier tried to inspect the wound but Geralt hissed.

“Ger-fuck-Geralt, Geralt there’s so much blood. What do I do? Tell me what to do!” Jaskier’s voice broke as he wept, his whole body shaking.

Geralt just shook his head and Jaskier pressed a hand on top of Geralt’s to add more pressure and try to slow the bleeding.

“You’re going to be okay. Everything’s going to be okay,” Jaskier’s pitch went up a note, nearing hysteria.

“Jaskier,” Geralt rasped, “Jask listen to me.”

“Nononono Geralt, please.”

“Take-take Roach. Take my medallion to Vesemir. Tell him what happened. He-he can help you,” the Witcher grit his teeth against the pain.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Jaskier wailed, tears dripping off his nose and splashing onto Geralt’s cheek, “I was supposed to grow old with you by my side. You were supposed to be there with me always. Be the last person I see before my many years finally catch up to me. We… we were going to get a small cottage by the coast. I was supposed to spend my days writing music and you, fuck, you were supposed to take up fishing or something. It can’t end like this. Geralt please.”

“I love you Jaskier,” Geralt said softly, a sorrow in his eyes.

“Don’t. Don’t say that like its goodbye. You’re not leaving me Geralt. You cant-“

“Jaskier-“

“I love you too. I love you so much-“

“Jaskier please. Please. Just kiss me.”

Jaskier swallowed thickly and leaned down to press his lips to Geralt’s. Their last kiss before Geralt took a shuddering breath, and then he was gone.

impalaloompa on ao3

#dapandapod #the witcher #geraskier #major character death #my writing #this hurts #jaksier #geralt #geralt of rivia

[mypoisonedvine]

Can I please request the smut prompts "Does it hurt? Tell me to stop if it hurts." + "Let me show you how much I've missed you." + "Are you sure you've never done that before?" + "I wanna take my time with you tonight." with Jaskier x female reader, where it’s the first time, the reader has had sex, so she’s losing her virginity to the bard she loves. Thanks so much!! 💕

Aww this is so cute, the irony that this came in surrounded by the filthiest, dirtiest prompts ahdjghgashd this is so precious and it turned out even fluffier than i intended OOPS

As you finished your journey back home, you convinced yourself that you wouldn’t make a fool of yourself when you saw him again.  You’d been away for four months, helping your aunt care for her farm, and to say you thought of Jaskier every day would’ve actually been an understatement.  Still, you wanted to be proper about it and not come across as desperate, so you decided you’d give him a friendly hug, a peck on the cheek, and tell him that you’d missed him.  Very professional!  

But then you’d seen him waiting for you, and he’d seen you, and he smiled like you were the greatest thing he’d ever seen and you smiled back because he truly was the greatest thing you’d ever seen and that whole plan went out the window.

You lept off your horse and dashed to him, leaping into his arms.  He held you tightly and you’d forgotten how strong his arms were, how warm it felt to have him near.  You felt like you couldn’t ever hold him close enough to be satisfied.

“I’ve missed you dearly,” he told you, and you were so distracted by the smell of him (rosin, cedar, sweet wine, and honeysuckle) that you forgot to reply.  “I was afraid I’d forget what you looked like, you were gone so long.”

“Did you?” you asked.  He pulled back from the hug and examined you for a moment.

“I was afraid the absence had driven me mad, because I kept thinking to myself ‘there’s no way she was as beautiful as I’m imagining.’  But now that I look at you… I could’ve never imagined something this perfect,” he beamed.  You felt your face get hot.

“Jaskier, you’re too kind,” you replied softly.

“I’m really not.”

“You’re flattering me, because you’ve missed me so much,” you offered instead.

“Poetry, sure, but not flattery,” he winked.  You kissed him, and the second your lips touched his you knew that this was a different kiss.  Not nearly as desperate or happy as you would’ve predicted- not that it was undesperate or unhappy, it was just… thoughtful.  Contemplative?  You hadn’t realized that was an option for kisses.  You wondered if he noticed how different this kiss felt, too.

 As you rode your horses back home, you were able to catch him up on everything you’d done in four months, and he told you not only what he’d been up to, but all the gossip about what everyone else had been doing.

It was when you got inside that the conversation slowed down and stopped altogether.  You felt slightly anxious- mostly in a good way, but still- to the point that you had to talk yourself into kissing him again.  It wasn’t that you didn’t want to, because you definitely did, but you knew that this kiss would be different, maybe even more different than before.

As he returned the kiss, you felt his hands trail down your back.  He’d done that before, and you’d always liked it, but this time it was even more intense.  You felt an urge to lift your legs and wrap them around him, even though that would just pull you both to the ground.  Instead, you stepped back towards the nearby table and sat on it, which gave you the balance you needed to straddle him while you sat.  He moaned ever so slightly against your lips and it was the most gorgeous sound.

His hips pressed against you and you felt that he was hard-- more than ever, you craved him, and his body, and to feel his skin on yours.  In pursuit of that goal, you rubbed yourself against him and though it was all through clothes, his length was pressed against your folds and it was the best feeling and you had to moan aloud.

“Don’t do that,” he whimpered.

“You don’t like it?”

“I like it too much, my resolve can’t take it,” he explained.

“Maybe I want you to give in,” you replied with a smile, snaking a hand down his chest and finally rubbing your palm against the hardened shape through his trousers.  He moaned your name and you were sure no sound was sweeter.

“Let me show you how much I’ve missed you,” you requested softly.  He looked a little nervous.

“Are you sure?” he asked delicately. “I thought you were waiting for the right person.”

“You are the right person,” you smiled.

“...but are you sure?” he asked again, and you laughed, pulling him back into the kiss.

You were ready to do it on the table but he had other plans, carrying you to the bedroom and laying you on the bed.

His body weighing down yours was such a wonderful feeling, but it made it sort of hard to breath, so you rolled him over onto his back.  This gave you a wonderful idea; you slid down until you were hovering above the opening to his trousers, working on the lacing.  You reached inside and took his length into your hand, but as you opened your mouth, he stopped you.

“Oh, you don’t- you don’t have to do that,” he stuttered.

“I know, but I want to,” you smiled.  Before he could keep reminding you that you didn’t have to do this, you experimentally licked the head.  It didn’t really taste like anything, just skin, so you wrapped your lips around it and he made the softest, loveliest sound.

With a little patience and diligence, you were able to get most of him down, and though it was a peculiar feeling to have something so large in your mouth and pressing into your throat, you felt your own arousal growing just from feeling of pleasuring Jaskier.  He was certainly having a good time, as you could tell by the way his fingers weaved into your hair and his breathing was heavy and fast like he had just run a few kilometres.

“Are you sure you’ve never done that before?” he asked with a chuckle.  You smiled, pulling back.

“Yes, but I definitely want to do it some more." 

"I love that idea for another evening, but right now I really need to touch you," he explained.  Liking the sound of that, you came back up and let him undress you, though you wouldn’t let anything too exciting happen until you got him out his clothes as well.  You’d seen him undressed once before (an unfortunate, hilarious, and secretly sexy accident when you thought the inn room was empty), but you hadn’t gotten a good look, out of respect.  He was more muscular than his doublets would have one assuming, though the amount of chest hair was very much in line with the tufts always peeking out from his collar.

“You’re so perfect,” he hummed as he climbed back on top of you.  

“You can quit buttering me up, you’ve already got me naked,” you giggled.

“I apologize in advance for saying this but, you’re going to be a lot more buttered up by the time I’m done with you,” he smiled.

Your laugh was cut off by his kiss, and you felt your hips bucking up to try to reach his, but he pulled back.  This time it was his turn to slide down your body, and you felt your breathing pick up as he got closer and closer-

The second you opened your legs for him, his lips were wrapped around you.  His mouth was so warm on your skin, and his tongue explored areas you had no idea were so sensitive.

“Jaskier,” you moaned.  He hummed against you and it just made everything more intense.  It was a unique sensation, totally incomparable to anything you had experienced before.  Then his tongue pressed inside you.  And that was enough to get your back to arch off the bed, your hands pulling his hair.

“Fuck!” you yelped.  You felt him smile against you, and he even grazed against your bud with his teeth, but he didn’t stop. 

There was a burning heat in the pit of your stomach, and you felt like you had no concept of space or time, just your desire for him.

“Jaskier, please, please make love to me,” you begged.  He stopped, but didn’t move up.

“Don’t rush me: I want to take my time with you tonight,” he explained.

“See, that sounds nice and all but I’ve been waiting since I was a teenager for this so I’m getting pretty impatient,”“If you’ve been waiting all those years, you can wait another few minutes,” he frowned before getting back to work.  You begged and pleaded for more but he kept his resolve, only licking and sucking on you harder in response.

You knew you could come, but you wanted it to be with him inside you, properly.  You did your best to hold it back, though he certainly didn’t take any pressure off.

“Inside me, please, I need you,” you whimpered, and finally it was enough to get his attention.

“You’re sure about this?  I’d be perfectly satisfied if we stopped now, you don’t owe me anything,” he reminded.

“Perfectly satisfied?  Jask, your cock’s left a wet patch on the quilt,” you observed.

“I mean, I’d probably have to get myself off a few times to even have a chance at sleeping tonight, but I wouldn’t bother you about it,” he clarified with a smile.

“I want more.  I want as much of you as I can have,” you announced.

“Alright,” he whispered, and climbed back up until his face was just above yours.  You sort of hoped he would kiss you, but then again, the way he was looking at you was sort of unforgettably wonderful.

One hand reached down and you felt skin against yours, the tip of him prodding against your entrance.  You bit your lip, and finally, his hips moved forward.  He didn’t have to push in very far for you to feel resistance, your body struggling to accommodate him.

“Fuck,” he whispered, slowing down 

“More, please,” you demanded.

“Not yet.  Give it a moment,” he soothed.  As he moved deeper, you felt the soreness move into a burning feeling, and you whimpered.

“Does it hurt?  Tell me to stop if it hurts,” he rushed.

“It does hurt.  But please don’t stop,” you requested.

“I can't tell if you're being kinky or romantic," he smiled.

"I don't see why those have to be mutually exclusive," you smiled back.

He moved in deeper until he was inside you completely and you had to force yourself to breathe slowly to manage the discomfort but it was worth it, not only for the way you felt but the way he was looking at you.  All he had to do was move back and in again and already the pain washed away and all that was left behind was pleasure.  You’d never felt so full, and even as you still felt so much pressure against your walls, it was just the right amount to make you realize why people were always going on and on about this.

“Julian,” you moaned without even really intending to.

“Gods, I don’t think I’ll last very long with you feeling like this and looking like that and talking like that,” he laughed.

“I don’t mind if you don’t last long,” you smiled, “I have nothing to compare it to.”

“Yeah well, I’m not really shooting for ‘she liked it because she was too inexperienced to know it sucked’ here,” he sighed.

“Just move, please,” you whimpered.  He obeyed, but reached down to rub at your clit while he did it.  You yelped, but melted under his touch.  His thumb pressed harder against the bud and you felt your inner muscles clench around him.  He winced.

“Fuck,” he whispered.  So you did it again.  And that must have been the end of his tolerance for teasing, because he sat up, draped your legs over his shoulders, and thrusted into you roughly.  You cried out but it was good, it was so so good, and you wanted more.  Your prayers were answered instantly as he built a deep but not-quite-rushed pace.  You threw your head back and gripped the covers for stability.

“So gorgeous,” he mumbled, almost to himself.

“Please don’t stop,” you whimpered, though you weren’t too worried about that happening.  You just needed to be completely sure that he would take you to the end of this, which you felt yourself rapidly approaching.

“You’ll come just from this?”

“Yes, Jaskier, please,” you sobbed.

“Of course I won’t stop, darling.  Fuck, I don’t think I could if I wanted to.”

“It feels so good,” you moaned.  Everything overwhelmed you: his moans, his hands on your hips, his movements inside you.  You hadn’t realized you were holding your breath, having gone totally silent, until it all released at once and you came hard enough that you couldn’t tell if your eyes were shut or if your vision had just gone blank.  You felt him pull out of you and you almost protested, but then you got to watch his face as he came, somehow a mixture of tensed and relaxed even though that sounds impossible.  He thrusted against nothing as he spilled onto your stomach and you felt your breathing start to slow back to normal.

And he looked at you, and you looked back at him, and you both started laughing.  And you sat up and kissed him, and you kept smiling and laughing.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips.

“Let’s do it again,” you replied.  Because what better way to say ‘I love you too’ than that?

#jaskier x reader #my writing #jaskier smut

[the-winter-witcher]

🥀Echoes {26/30}

Flowers Of Evil Masterlist

Pairings: Geralt x f!reader x Jaskier, Shelley x f!reader

Summary: Justice has finally caught up with Shelley...

Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, torture, pain, blood, guns, knives, degrading language, threatening language, dismemberment, death

Word Count: 2.3k

A harsh cry breaks through the ringing in your ears and you realise loosely that it’s Jaskier. The shock of hearing his pained shout brings you back to your senses and you find yourself hitting Shelley hard over the head with the hilt of your knife, just once is enough for him to go limp in your grip.

“Jask, shit, Jask, are you okay?” you drop Shelley to the floor unceremoniously, both you and Geralt leaving him behind as you run to where Jask is leant against a tree for support. He’s still standing and you take that as a positive, though when your eyes track down to find the wound you can’t help but let out a sob. Blood is saturating the leg of his trousers and you can clearly see where the bullet has entered.

“Did it come out, fuck, did it come out?”

He mumbles something back that’s barely audible through his laboured breathing and Geralt is quick to wrap his arms around Jask and gently set him on the floor so that he doesn’t waste any more energy trying to stay upright. He’s growing pale rapidly and the darkening pool of blood on the ground beneath him has fear spiking in your veins.

“It’s still in” Geralt confirms your fears and you can hear the strain in his voice.

“Can you get it out?” “Not here- maybe back at the house? Should have something”

“Geralt, that’s- fuck- okay, you go. I’ll take care of Shelley”

“I’m not leaving you with him”

“And I’m not letting him go, so you have to Geralt”

You can see him debating it in his head, the chances of Jaskier surviving if he stays, the chances of you getting hurt if he goes. He looks like he’s about to say something when Jask makes a choked off sob from where he’s still cradled in Geralt’s arms and it makes his mind up for him. 

“Be safe, okay? You need me just call me, just, just make sure the bastard pays for what he’s done. Please” 

You take the chance to hold him while you can, your arms wrapping tightly round his broad waist and pulling him close as you bury your head in his chest. 

"Just make sure Jask is okay, please, I couldn't bare it if-" 

“He’ll be fine, I promise you, I won’t let anything happen to him” Geralt presses a fierce kiss to the top of your head, inhaling deeply as he does, and you know he’s terrified of leaving you here alone after what’s just happened. 

“Thank you, now go, go, get him safe” it takes all of your strength to let go of Geralt. 

He’s careful as he lifts Jask into his strong arms and you don’t miss the concern that paints his features as he gingerly positions Jaskier’s limp body so as best to avoid any further trauma. You take the chance to press a soft kiss to his forehead, a murmured “I love you” against his hair, and then Geralt is carrying him away and you’re left alone with Shelley.

You take a steadying breath as you fight back the tears that are threatening to spill, you know now isn’t the time for this, you have a lot to do before Shelley wakes up, and you’ll be damned if you let this bastard see you cry. It’s hard work without Geralt to help you with the heavy lifting and you find yourself tiring as you drag Shelley’s still limp body through the forest clearing; you strain as you make slow progress on your mission and by the time you have him suitably restrained to a tree you can feel the sweat trickling into your eyes from the exertion. Fucking built bastard. After checking the ropes a few times for strength you make a quick run back to the tree where you’d left your tools, before settling in to wait for him to wake up. You lose track of time as you sit resting against the same tree Jask had been not even an hour before, your mind caught up in the haze of emotions that wash over you. Every few minutes you find yourself pulling your phone out, desperate for any news at all on his condition as you wait. 

After what feels like hours you finally see Shelley stir with a groan, and you practically leap to your feet to get to him. His eyes are wild and frenzied as he sees you approach and he starts to strain desperately at his binds in a futile attempt to get away.

“I told you to pray it wasn’t me Shelley” there’s no joy in your voice as you drop to a crouch in front of him. His face somehow grows paler as the realisation truly hits home for him. He’s stuck, no way out, and he’d made things worse for himself, “I want you to be truthful with me, just like I’m about to be with you. It won’t make it any easier on you, you have no hope of that after what you’ve done, I just want to know why”

He doesn’t attempt to answer for a few moments and you feel white hot rage bubble up in your veins at his silence. A snarl tears from you as you pull your knife from it’s strap on your chest and press it against his thigh in the exact same spot that Jaskier had taken the bullet.

“I’m sorry, I never-”,

“Never what?” you growl, viscous and sharp, as the knife slices a thin, deep cut, “fuck, and to think I felt bad about what I did to Renfri” 

His eyes go wide for a second as he contemplates what that could possibly mean and you shoot him a sadistic grin in response, “She was strong willed, I’ll give her that, could’ve made it so much easier on herself if only she did as she was told, but she didn’t want you to hear her in pain. Stupid bitch”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing compared to what I’m going to do to you”

“Please-”

“You tried to take everything from me, and for what? Was it fucking worth it?” the knife twists deeper and Shelley howls in pain. 

“I thought- I thought” his words are cut off by another cry as you pull your blade out and leave the wound gaping and open, gore now flowing thick and fast to the dull forest floor beneath.

“You thought what?”

“I- If you didn’t have them, you would come back”

“Come back? To what?”

“Me” it’s a whimpered confession, born of loss and sorrow, and if the situation had been different you’re sure you might even be able to feel some sympathy towards the deluded idiot. But right now, with the splattering of Jaskier’s blood not even 10 feet away and the hilt of the knife you’d used on Geralt still firmly in your grip, all you can feel is anger. You can’t help but to laugh, a hollow, empty bark that shows your incredulity at just how stupid this man could be.

“I’m not even going to entertain that with a response”

“Please, need you to know-”

“All of this for some deluded daydream. You had years, Shelley, years to reach out to me before I found Geralt, before I found my home. You let me think you were fucking dead until you got jealous? Fuck you” Rage permeates every word as you let the full extent of your fury be known, “I wasn’t expecting something so fucking stupid from you. I assumed Stregobor had some hold on you. But this? Of your own volition?”

There’s nothing else you can say right now, no way that words can express the pure hatred you feel for the man currently bound and bleeding at your feet, all that you have left to do is make him feel as much pain as you had before you end him. Your thoughts jump back to the bag at your side and an absolutely sickening grin creeps across your face.

“Do you want to see your precious Renfri one last time? I’m not even sure why in the fuck she was so loyal to you, not after what you just told me”

“Renfri, she- she’s here?”

“Of course, she’s going to watch what I’m about to do to you. Say hello Shelley, I’m sure she’s missed you”

His face grows even paler, though you’re not sure if that’s because of the blood loss or the head that you’re slowly lifting out of the bag to greet him.

“Now, she’s just gonna sit right here,” you set the severed head down on a tree stump close by, eyes pointed directly at Shelley’s now trembling figure, before heading to collect more tools from your collection, “while I get the information that I need from you”

He swallows thickly as you crouch down next to him to assume the same position you had been in previously and you’re thankful that he seems to have realised there’s no use in pleading with you. Smart man, just not when it really counts.

“I only have one very simple question- where is Stregobor?”

“I don’t know”

“Wrong answer” you hold up a small metal object just quick enough for him to see, before plunging it deep into the knife wound and he howls with pain as the jagged edges rip into the tender flesh, “try again”

“I don’t fucking know, fuck, I swear, please-” 

“Wrong,” you twist the top of the metal device, “fucking,” you twist again, “answer” each twist causes the device to spread out, opening up the knife wound and tearing out new chunks of skin and muscle with each movement, “I know you know what this does, and I know that you aren’t going to enjoy it if I have to use more of them on you, so I’ll ask again. Where is he?”

“I swear, I fucking swear, I don’t know”

“Always were a stubborn fuck. No matter, I have plenty more toys where that came from”

The next one sinks into his shoulder, but unlike the one embedded deep in his thigh, this one cuts deep and encloses a thick swathe of muscle, before being ripped out violently. The spray of blood left in its aftermath has you smiling sadistically at Shelley who’s already starting to go limp in his binds.

“No, uh uh, you aren’t getting out of this so easily” another quick spear of the now dripping weapon into his other shoulder has him practically wailing, “I can do this all day, Shel, so you might as well save yourself the effort of trying to hide this from me”

“I- fuck, fuck, okay, I know where he is”

“I’m waiting”

He shakily breathes out the words that you so desperately needed to hear from him and you quickly text the information across to Geralt while it’s fresh in your mind.

“Well done,” you get back to your feet with a smile and begin to tidy up your supplies, “took less time than I thought”

“I- are you, are you letting me go?” The hopeful lift to his strained words has joy practically soaring through your veins.  You can’t wait to crush that from him. But not yet. 

“Well you did give me what I asked for. Do you think we’re even?”

“I don’t- uh- no, no I don’t”

“Good, glad we agree” before he can say anything else you pull your gun from it’s strap and aim.

“That,” you shoot his unmarked thigh, “is for Jaskier” he can’t hold back his scream of anguish as you inflict more pain on his already wrecked body, “and this,” you fall back to the now familiar crouch and slide your knife quickly and deeply between his ribs, “is for Geralt”

“P-Please, just, just kill me, fuck”

“You don’t deserve that luxury, not after what you did to me, to them, no. This is going to be as painful as I can make it,” your hand reaches down to put pressure on the head of the metal pear still stuck in his thigh and he hisses, a sickly sweet noise to your ears, before ripping it out in one fluid movement, “you’re fucking lucky Geralt isn’t here with me or I’d be ripping your damn ribcage open and pulling your lungs out like you deserve” 

“Please” his words are hushed and you know he hasn’t got much longer left, not with the blood loss and the toll the pain will have taken on his body.

“Luckily for you I’m not strong enough to break ribs with my own hands, so this will have to suffice” you smile sweetly at him as you pull your knife out from its resting place in his chest and ever so slowly press it in, a fresh wound opening right next to the previous one; you repeat the motion over and over, new incisions lining his chest and welling fresh fountains of blood, until finally you feel him still beneath you. 

A quick press of your fingers to his neck confirms he’s dead, no pulse to be found, and you let out a sob you didn’t even know you’d been holding in. Your hands shake as you grab at your phone to call Geralt, to let him know that clean up is needed asap and that it’s done, and the sound of his voice on the other end of the line helps to ground you from the spiral that you feel is fast approaching. He won’t be long, he says, Jask is currently being treated by the best private doctor that money can buy, he’ll tell you more when he sees you, and despite his words not being as hopeful as you’d liked his tone is reassuring and comforting in the way that only he can be.

You settle against an unmarked tree with a sigh, fighting the tears that are threatening to overtake you, and wait for Geralt to arrive.

#🥀 #flowers of evil #jaskier x reader x geralt #geralt x reader x jaskier #xreader #jaskier x reader #geralt x reader #witcher #the witcher #dark geralt #dark jaskier #dark au

[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

Hii idk if you take request but if you do can you write some fae jaskier au? The reader and him are both faes and they live in the woods next to a village. And they are like constantly having sex loud and it causes some magic that effect the villagers. So can you write some smut (maybe with sub.jask pls) in the woods and at the end geralt founds them bc the villagers sent him to check it out cus they tought its a monster XD and he goes like ' fuck i knew it'

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Fae!Jaskier x Fae!ReaderWord Count: 724Rating: MTaglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mynamesoundslikesherlock @magic-multicolored-miracle @ultracolorfulnerdcollection @mlleecrivaine @writingstudent @coffee-and-stories a/n: I hope I was able to capture sub Jask well enough for you. Hope you enjoy it!

Every season had its charms but spring held a special place in your heart. Something about the world shaking off the bitter cold months and life brimming anew made your romantic heart sing. Being a fae meant a natural connection with nature, plant and animal alike, and feeling the stirring of a thousand creatures coming back to life stirred you deeply. From your sanctuary deep in the forest on the outskirts of the little village you watched over you enjoyed the cool, night breeze that smelled of growing grass. The only sounds around you were the melodic chirp of the crickets and Jaskier’s muffled moans beneath you where you straddled him and pressed your core against his face, glorying in the ministrations of his talented mouth. Though a fae prince, an esteemed being compared to your humbler position, when you were together like this the roles slipped seamlessly into a reversal that fit you much better than the social hierarchy tried to force you into. You ground against his face, his nose pressing against your clitoris in little circles while his tongue traced and teased your entrance. You leaned back and reached behind you, grasping his hardened length and enjoying the vibrating hum of his moan against you. You stroked him gently and his mouth grew less graceful and more hungry, thrusting into your hand as he sucked on your tender nub until you cried out his name. You lifted off of his face and as you moved to take him inside of you, you appreciated the beauty of his face, glistening in the moonlight with your slick, red lips puffy and pale blue eyes blown wide with lust. He shuddered as you lowered yourself onto him and you had just nestled against him when you heard it.

The quietest snap of a twig but still heard by you and Jaskier who looked up as you did. You stayed where you were but you listened intently.

“Fuck.”

Leaping off of Jaskier you spun around to find a familiar face.

“Geralt!” you cried, “Care to join us?”

“I should have known it’d be you two,” he groused. Jaskier stood, unabashed by his nakedness as he stood next to you to address your friend.

“What brings you around here?” Jaskier asked.

“You two,” he replied. You shared a confused look with Jaskier and turned to face the witcher again.

“So… that’s a yes to joining us, then?” you asked.

“I’ve been sent to slay the monster making the terrible noises in the forest, wreaking havoc on the village with its magic,” he bit out. Your brow furrowed in confusion and then you realized what he was saying.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, “Oh dear.”

“What magic?” Jaskier asked.

“It seems the townspeople have been…. Exceedingly distracted,” Geralt answered.

“Well that’s hardly on us,” Jaskier argued.

“They’ve been too busy fucking to do anything else,” Geralt growled, “Your… shenanigans in this forest has sent out some sort of effect so everyone else feels compelled to do the same.”

“Shenanigans?” you echoed, eyebrow cocked in amusement though he glowered.

“Look, keep it down and do it farther away if you have to but don’t make me come back here,” Geralt growled.

“Or what?” Jaskier asked, “You’ll punish us?”

“Hmm…”

“Well thank you for the warning, Geralt, last chance to join us?” you offered. Geralt maintained his stoic glare but you saw the way his eyes dropped to your naked bodies and you felt the indecision for just a moment before he grunted a final time and turned to stalk away from the forest.

“Ah well,” you said with a sigh, “He probably wouldn’t play nice anyway. Unlike you, my love, you know how to play the game and follow all the rules, don’t you?”

You addressed the question to Jaskier as he fell to his knees, gazing up at you with those soft, blue eyes, eager to serve you again.

“Yes,” he replied breathlessly, kissing his way up your thigh and gently parting your legs so he could continue his ascent.

Geralt didn’t stick around to collect his pay in the morning, knowing well enough to get as far away from the village as he could before he too fell prey to your magic. Let another witcher try to sway you, Geralt knew when he was in over his head.

#Fae!Jaskier x Fae!Reader #Fae!Jaskier #jaskier smut #jaskier imagines #reader request

[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

*tosses coin to my writer, o valley of plenty* if I may get a little Jask fic where the reader is cursed to be extremely ugly, and is ashamed and hides in a cloak/helmet/whatever to hide her face. Obviously shes in love with him, but theres no way he would ever love someone so hideous. Inevitably, one day someone sees her without the mask, (I dont care who, it can be anyone, even Jask) and they end up talking feelings and shame and all that good stuff.

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Jaskier x ReaderWord Count: 2,236 Rating: Ga/n: I love the concept of a reader being cursed and bonding with Jaskier over emotions instead of the usual “you’re hot, I’m hot, let’s fuck” (though my catalogue supports that I am not against this particular trope at all). I had a bit of a dilemma when trying to figure out how to approach because I am very cognizant of the way ugliness is socially constructed and I didn’t want to put a bunch of features on blast that someone may recognize in themselves and feel shitty about. Fanfic should either make you happy or sob or sigh but it should never make you feel bad about yourself. So I put a bit of a spin on it and I hopethat’s ok. I think I’ve still got the core of what you’re asking for here and I hope I handled it well. Thank you for coming to my TEDtalk.

There were those who spurned fairytales. They dismissed the stories of fairy godmothers and curses as children’s tales, moralistic tools for discipline. You knew better. You knew all too well how real fairy godmothers were, and how vicious they were when their charges were mistreated. You’d never been able to glean from your father what act he committed to enrage the fairy so but you knew the fallout. Your mother died in childbirth and you, against all odds, stubbornly clung to life and survived. Another punishment had to be handed down and the curse was placed. When you looked in the mirror you saw someone plain. Features indistinct and uninteresting, a canvas of a person. 

You were the lucky one. When others looked at you, they saw the face of the ugliest creature their imaginations could conjure. The fairy had been clever, knowing all too well that beauty was in the eye of beholder and that the only way to ensure your misery and loneliness was to make sure that every eye that beheld you saw something so uniquely gruesome to their own taste that they could not look past it. Your father was included in this and though he denied it you knew between that and losing your mother he was not able to feel or express love for you as he would have been if you weren’t so repugnant in his eyes.

You took to traveling and healing, still clinging to life like you had in your infancy, still determined to fight for your space in the world. Travelling meant you never had to get to know anyone too well or get too close. You’d tried using paints as other ladies did if they wanted to change their appearance but this only seemed to intensify the revulsion you inspired. You ended up wearing a heavy, hooded cloak and a kerchief about your mouth for extra measure. You were an intimidating figure but you tried to balance this with a soft voice and greater skill in healing. If you could offer something to people, you could briefly get the interaction you craved. But you always kept travelling and you rarely ran into the same person twice.

Until Jaskier.

You met him the way you met most people; providing a service. He’d come by your wagon in a rough state, explaining as you cleaned up his wounds that he’d gotten into a disagreement during his performance the night before. He was charming and kind, only asking about your odd attire once and then leaving it be when you made it clear you didn’t want to discuss it. He paid you more coin than you would have asked and you felt grateful that you’d had the chance to meet him and knew it would remain an encounter you kept close to your heart the rest of your days.

And then you saw him again. This time he caught you unawares, out on a very rare excursion away from your wagon to get some supplies. You’d never had someone see you a second time and look so happy about it. He joined you on your shopping, haggling with the shop owners and asking you for advice on the songs he was writing. He tried to get to know you a bit more, asking about how long you’d been traveling and why you’d chosen healing as a profession. It was easy to talk to him and you almost forgot he couldn’t see the burden you hid beneath your wrappings. He walked you back to your wagon, even going so far as to help you up into it, his hand grasping yours lightly to support you. Your touch starved skin tingled for hours in the spot his hand had been.

The third time you saw him was the worst day of your life. You’d known you were taking a risk by leaving the wagon without the hood and mask but you tried to convince yourself that you were only going down to the river for a moment to bathe. It was early winter and you knew no one would be around, smartly tucked up in their houses with their loved ones and fending off the frost. The water stung your skin but you enjoyed the sensation, happy to be free of the heavy clothes for these moments.

And then you saw him.

You clamored out of the river but you’d only pulled on your dress, still scrambling for the cloak when he stopped in his tracks. Confusion followed by recognition followed by even more confusion washed over his face and you felt your heart break as he cautiously approached.

“Y/N?” he asked. There was no point in pretending, the cloak and kerchief were in hand.

“Jaskier,” you said. You stood across from each other in silence for what felt like ages. You weren’t sure what you were expecting him to do. Not everyone who saw you was cruel, some were just afraid which was almost worse. Jaskier just looked confused and intrigued. His eyes kept traveling over your face like he was trying to commit it to memory.

“Say something,” you said finally, your voice choked with repressed tears. He walked towards you slowly as though he were trying not to spook a horse. By the time he reached you the tears fell from your unblinking eyes. You kept looking for the moment he would turn. The revulsion that would shatter the lovingly preserved memories of him forever. He reached out and brushed away the tears and then reached down and took the cloak from your hands. You stood unmoving as he gently wrapped the cloak back around you, lifting the hood to cover your half-frozen hair. He held the kerchief in his hand but didn’t cover your face, just fidgeted with it as he worked to form words.

“So this is your deep secret,” he said. You nod, unable to form words.

“I’m disappointed.”

The words broke your heart.

“I thought it would be that you were a murderer or a dangerous fugitive,” he continued.

“What?”

“Well, I mean, unless, are you?” he asked.

“No,” you answered.

“Ok so you wear the cloak and the kerchief and the layers and things because…” his voice trailed off, leaving the question open for your answer.

“Because I’m hideous,” the words are like ashes in your mouth but you’re accustomed to the taste.

“According to whom?” he asked. You scoffed incredulously.

“Everyone. Literally everyone. That’s how it works.”

“That’s how what works?”

“The curse.”

“You’re cursed? How fascinating.”

His words anger you and you fear that he’s mocking you, that maybe the kindness he’s shown is just an act and that this a fresh way to experience cruelty. You thought you’d seen them all.

But you tell him the story. You tell him about the curse and your mirrorless childhood and the moment you saw your face and the worse moment when you began asking people to describe you and learned the true nature of the curse, far beyond the loss of a mother or a plain face. You don’t know when you both sit on the ground but at some point you’re there next to each other, leaning against the wheels of the wagon as the words continue to tumble out of you like a dam that’s finally broken. No one has ever heard this much of you, seen this much of you, or sat this long with you in your life and you stop caring how he’s going to react at the end. This isn’t about him anymore, this is about you releasing all that you’d carried and all that you’ll carry with you for the rest of your life. When you’re done you notice he’s taken your hand at some point and his thumb is softly rubbing soothing circles around your knuckles.

“So now this is my life. I stay hidden for my sake as much as everyone else’s. I heal because it’s better than sitting locked up in a house all my life and because it helps me feel… well, just that I suppose. It helps me feel. I would rather feel those brief moments of connection than stay numb my whole life,” you say. You’re startled to see there are tears in his eyes and he pulls you into a hug, not sure if he’s comforting you or himself but you hug him back though you’re long out of practice.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs into the hood of your cloak, “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Everyone has their curses I suppose,” you mumble, a little embarrassedand uncertain how to respond.

“Yes but the worst part is it’s all so stupid. So people find you ugly, so what? What could that possibly have to do with your worth as a person?” he asks.

“It’s easy to say that when you’re beautiful,” you say bitterly.

“Beauty doesn’t secure your place in people’s lives. It sure as hell doesn’t make them want you around either,” he says. “But tell me you realize this can’t keep on forever.”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“Well this… lonely existence, it’s miserable. No offense. Even you said as much. Are you really going to just hide yourself away forever?”

“I didn’t… I don’t see any other option.”

His hand is warm as it gently cups your face and your heart nearly leaps out of your chest.

“Take me with you,” he says.

“What?”

“Take me with you. I make a better travelling companion than most think. And I can help! Not with the healing and such but… listen, I had a friend who was treated much the same as you describe and I was able to help… bridge the gap between him and the people around him,” he says.

“How did you do that?”

“I wrote a song. Now, I’m not suggesting I write a song unless…” his voice trails off and he waggles his eyebrows winningly but your stony face is answer enough.

“Yes that’s what I thought. In any case with me by your side your loneliness is eased and if being there doesn’t communicate a more welcoming message I can at the very least defend your honor.”

You laugh, the sound foreign to your ears.

“And how will you do that?” you ask.

“I… will figure that out!” he vows.

“Can I ask you something,” you ask, growing serious again and avoiding his eyes.

“Anything.”

“What do you see? When you look at me? What do I look like?”

He considers the question and then pulls out a journal and quill from his travelling bag. You try to lean over and see what he’s doing but he pulls the journal away from your sight, tsking at you and telling you to be patient. Your stomach twists in knots as he glances between the journal and you and just when you’re about to lunge for it, he makes a final flourish and hands you the book.

A sob wracks through your body the moment your eyes meet the page and a trembling hand covers your mouth.

“I’m not an excellent artist but I don’t think it’s so bad,” Jaskier says, concern furrowing his brow. You can’t form words for a while, the jagged sobs seemingly endless as Jaskier rubs your back, confused but trying to be supportive until your sobs break into something that sounds a little less heartwrenching and then breaks into laughter. You look at him, eyes shining with tears and something else, something a bit more hopeful and new.

“It’s me,” you whisper, pointing to the drawing. The drawing of the face you saw in your reflection as a child, just older. The face no one has ever seen until this man who’s looking at you like you’re insane but also very relieved that you’d stopped crying. Well, not entirely, but they seem to be happy tears now.

“Yes I know,” he says.

“No, Jaskier, Jaskier, it’s me,” you can’t explain what this means just yet. There aren’t words and you aren’t sure you understand yet yourself.

“I see you,” he says, wiping away some of the tears again, leaning in closed to rest his forehead against yours, “I see you.”

There are those who spurn fairytales. They dismiss the stories of destiny and of a love that cannot be repelled by curses or the weight of a life heavy with trauma. You know better.

#jaskier x reader #jaskier imagines #long post #fanfiction #reader request #Anonymous

[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

Okay so I know you've done a similar fic with reader defending Jaskier in a bar, however I'm still a sucker for overly protective babies. I've always loved the idea of the smaller person picking a fight and quickly being overtaken by the stronger, and just when the stronger person tries to gloat... tiny one HEADBUTTS THEM IN THE JAW AND KEEPS GOING. You think you wouldnt mind doing another "reader defends Jask's honor" where the reader is 90 lbs of unbridled rage, like an infuriated kitten? 😂

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Jaskier x ReaderWord Count: 1,461Rating: T for swearing and some mild violenceTaglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak a/n: I will never tire of defending our boy pls/thx.

As days went, this one was about par for the course. You’d been working at the tavern for a couple of months now and it wasn’t unusual for a travelling bard to pop by in the hopes of earning some coin. Some of them were received very well, others not so much. The first time the crowd had turned especially ugly on a performer you’d been horrified and complained to the owner that something had to be done to make sure that at the very least they weren’t pelted with food. The owner had dismissed you, stating they all knew how this worked, bards and patrons alike, and to keep passing out ale and keeping your nose down. You’d done just that but it was wearing on you quickly and you knew you were just one more rude patron from snapping.

You were immediately worried when the bard came through the door. First of all, his clothes made him stand out like a sore thumb. Then there was his somewhat foppish posturing and way of talking that amused and, if you were totally honest, somewhat charmed you but put the rest of the people off. When he performed you could tell he had great talent and hoped that may keep people calm and for the most part it did. Until it didn’t.

“Fuck off!” a voice cried from the crowd. You knew the it well. He was one of the regulars, always an ass to you and the other staff and the first to try and start a fight.

“Oy!” you snapped, “Listen quietly or feel free to leave.”

You couldn’t tell who was more surprised, the bard or the man. It bought you some quiet though and the bard quickly continued performing his song, a bawdy number about a fishmonger’s daughter that you knew you’d have stuck in your head for ages.

“You can pull on this horn!” the same man yelled, gesturing crudely.

“One more outburst and you’re out of here,” you warned. You could feel your face growing hot with ill-concealed rage at his rudeness and at the way the man smirked as though you were a gnat he could just swipe away or ignore. The bard played through your yelling and you prayed his song would end soon. His voice rose in the final notes and a chunk of bread sailed through the air and thwapped him right in the nose.

“Right that’s it,” you heard yourself say as you hurled yourself over the bar and stormed over to the man who’d thrown it. He hardly registered you until you punched his shoulder to get his attention.

“Get out and don’t come back,” you demanded. You knew he was taller than you even sitting but when he stood and hovered a good foot above you, some part of you, some much more logical part knew you should be scared. But that part wasn’t in control right now.

“You need to mind your manners,” he said.

“Hey now you really don’t,” you hear the bard saying but you grip the man’s collar and surprise both of you again when you’re able to wrench him towards the door before he gets his bearings and halts your progress.

“Alright I was trying to be a gentleman but I guess there’s only one way to teach you respect,” the man says and swings a heavy palm towards your face. You dodge it but the attempt cuts through that final strand tethering you to your sanity and you leap at him, fists colliding with nose and chin and chest. He swears and you feel two strong arms capture your shoulders, lifting you off the ground and shaking you like a ragdoll.

“Now,” he says, pausing when you stop swinging at him, “You know bet-”

His words are cut off as you headbutt him in the jaw and he drops you. You fall to the ground in a heap, not sure if the blood running down your forehead is from you or him. He roars and stumbles a bit, disoriented by the attack, and you rise back up and shove him towards the doors. He tries to right himself and swipe for you again but you parry his arm and land a punch in his gut so quickly and so hard you knock the air out of him for a moment.

“Have. Some. Manners. You. Horse’s. Arse,” your words are punctuated by your fists but he finally seizes one of your hands, capturing your tiny fist in his very large one that he begins to twist, sending shooting pain up your arm. It’s reaching the point where you know if he keeps twisting it’s going to break when there is a loud crack and the fist loosens. You pull back and then look up just in time for the man to fall to the ground unconscious. Standing behind him is the bard, his beautiful lute broken in half and dangling from his hands. He looks at you with wide eyes full of surprise and concern and you wipe at your face, blood rubbing off on your hand as you do.

“You’re fired,” you hear the owner call.

“I quit,” you yell back, not sure what you would do but knowing anything would be better than working for someone who stood idly by in the face of bastardry. You nod at the bard and wince when you try to move your wrenched arm. You head out the door, stepping over the felled man as you do. You’ve only just crossed the threshold of the tavern when the bard stops you.

“Are you alright?” he asks, eyeing your forehead and face and glancing down at your already purpling wrist.

“Oh yeah, occupational hazard and all that,” you answer glibly.

“It was very noble of you to defend me but I fear it’s come at a great cost to your health as well as your livelihood,” he says, gesturing to the tavern.

“It wasn’t right for him to yell those things. You’re a beautiful performer you know. I mean, your music is beautiful,” you say and you hope he doesn’t notice the blush that comes over your face at the slip.

“I’m Jaskier,” he says, extending a hand and then awkwardly retracting it as he realizes your arm is too hurt to shake.

“Y/N,” you say with a little nod, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Is there a healer nearby? Somewhere I can take you?” he asks, walking by your side as you begin to set off down the road.

“I’ll deal with it,” you say bravely though you’re trying very hard not to cry from the stinging.

“I have a better idea. I have a companion, he’s currently away but he should be returning by nightfall. He could heal you and then you could travel with us until we find you a new place of employ, one more deserving of you,” Jaskier suggests. From anyone else you would immediately dismiss the offer, believing they were only making it out of obligation, but there is genuine eagerness in Jaskier’s eyes and you can tell that he means it.

“Ok,” you relent. You tell yourself that you’re excited at the prospect of a qualified healer helping you instead of your own fumbling attempts and the opportunity to travel and find better work than you’ve been left with in this tiny shithole town. You tell yourself that it has nothing to do with getting to spend more time with the handsome bard who would break his instrument to help protect you and thought you were deserving of better things. Who even in this brief time you’d known him, made you feel like you should want more for yourself.

“Excellent! Now, first things first,” he says and pulls off his doublet revealing a very fine undershirt below, allowing you to see the shape of his surprisingly muscular frame as he twists the garment in his hands into something more like a rope.

“Now hold still, I will be gentle but it may hurt a little,” he says as he gingerly lifts the arm with the injured wrist and wraps the doublet around it, tying it around your neck.

“What is this then?” you ask, distracted by the sudden closeness of him and the way his arms wrapped around you as he adjusted the makeshift sling.

“That will keep it steady so it doesn’t swing around as we walk. And I think we may want to do that soon because that man won’t be asleep forever and I only had the one lute,” Jaskier explains. You walk together towards the edge of the village and an unknown future that you can already tell will be filled with plenty more excitement.

#Anonymous #jaskier x reader #jaskier imagines #drabble #reader request