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green-fifteen · 2 months

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Day 8: Slow Blink

Prompt: Smile Fandom: The Witcher (TV) Pairing: Geralt & Jaskier Summary: Jaskier discovers something interesting about his companion. Word count: 1,404 read on ao3 instead

written for @fluffyfebruary

Jaskier had been traveling with Geralt for four years when he finally learned something absolutely fundamental about his friend. The witcher might disagree, but to Jaskier this was the most important discovery he'd made since he'd found the man himself.

It was a hot day and they were stuck in mud up to their ankles, trudging through some hovel right at the edge of a wide river.

"Why are we here, Geralt?" Jaskier had whined, lifting his hat to wipe the sweat from his brow. His companion had only grunted and walked on. "Geralt. Geralt! You know, I'm sure Roach would have a thing or two to say about you dragging her through this mire. We could catch a disease! What if we all get a parasite! And for what!"

He looked over at the horse in question to see what she thought of the situation, but Geralt moved in front of him to feed her a treat from the saddlebag.

"Roach is fine," he said. She did look fine-- crunching down on the hard, rooty end of a carrot and somehow making it through the mud like it was water instead of awful sludge that was trying to take Jaskier's shoes off his feet every time he took a step. He stopped walking, overheated and annoyed.

"That's it!" he cried. "I'm finding an inn--" he looked around at the sad little huts and gardens. "--or a tree stump, or somewhere I can go and wait for you to come back. This is ridiculous."

Geralt looked at him and said, "Okay," and gave him a look that clearly meant, Why should I care? It would be hurtful if Jaskier hadn't spent so much time with him. Geralt never wanted him to come with him on Witcher business. By now the bard was good at convincing himself it was solely because Geralt cared so much for his health and well-being.

Rolling his eyes, Jaskier made to turn around and stride away, forgetting for a moment that his shoes were firmly stuck in mud. He felt his bag drop first as he flailed his arms to steady his balance, and then he was tipping backwards as if in slow motion, gazing up at the unfairly blue sky as he finally landed on the ground. His lovely linen shirt squelched into the ground as his legs bent at the knee, his shoes still planted.

Roach stepped away, alarmed. Geralt patted her side reassuringly while his gaze was on Jaskier, who blearily noted how fetching his yellow eyes looked against the summer sky. As he watched, the witcher closed his eyes and opened them again, too long to be a blink but too short to be anything else.

Furrowing his brow, Jaskier stuck out an arm to Geralt, who sighed but heaved him out of the mud. His clothes and shoes left the ground with an awful sucking noise.

Subtly, he watched the witcher's face as he dragged himself back into order, wiping mud from his elbows and the backside of his satchel. After a few seconds, Geralt blinked, short and unremarkable. Jaskier was tempted to call it a fluke-- after all, blinking slightly longer than usual could mean anything, or nothing at all. On top of that, the bard was frustrated with Geralt, covered in mud, and wanted nothing more than to strip all his clothes off and plunge into a cold bath.

He simply said, "Right, well. I'll see you when you're finished, I assume." He tried to be subtle as he took Roach's sack of treats from the saddlebag, but it didn't work. The horse nosed at him and the witcher tilted his head and frowned even deeper.

"So you both come back," he quipped, trying to sound like he was joking even though he wasn't. "I'll just be taking this with me on my quest to find suitable lodgings. Don't be out too late, dear." He stuffed the sack into his own bag and carefully marched away.

Two days later, Geralt came back to the little riverside town, smelling truly awful and with the head of some hideous swamp-thing strapped to his saddle. Jaskier had been fortunate enough to find an old, unused stable and made himself a nice little bed out of smelly hay. He hadn't felt inspired to play (he wasn't sure anyone there would be able to pay him for the privilege) so he worked on composing new songs instead as he waited for the witcher to return.

When he did, Jaskier didn't notice at first, too busy staring into the distance and counting off lines of metered verse. He was sitting on a boulder on the riverbank with one foot on the ground and the other propped up on his seat. He had nothing with him but his lute and his leather-bound notebook.

He jumped when he felt something shove his shoulder. Roach was behind him, Geralt looming above on her back. He sprang to his feet.

"Geralt! The Lady Roach!" he said, then stopped. "What is that smell?"

Before Geralt could answer (or, more likely, not answer), Roach pushed him again with her nose. Then she pushed him again and he stumbled to keep his balance.

Geralt made a noise that might have been a sigh. "Where are her carrots, bard?"

Jaskier was trying to pet the horse into submission but she wasn't interested in being mollified and began to nose her way into his jacket.

"Is that what this is about? I have her little bag in the stable just there--," his voice cut off with a warble as Roach took a step forward, shoving Jaskier along with her, and he lost his battle to stay upright. For the second time in three days, Jaskier watched the earth turn to sky in front of his eyes as he fell backward, this time directly into the river.

When he came up spluttering, he saw Roach pawing the ground and the witcher standing next to her and staring at him. When their eyes met, Jaskier glaring in disbelief, Geralt closed his eyes again in that same long blink as before. Then he turned his head to look at Roach and did it again at her.

Jaskier stood up and dripped, looking around at the river. The water was cool and relatively clear. "There isn't an inn here, Geralt," he said. "This is probably the best place to bathe for several miles." He did want to grumble a bit at the hair plastered to his face and the soaked feathers in his hat, but the water felt like heaven in the summer humidity.

"Also, I can smell you from here."

Geralt huffed and looked away, but he tied Roach to a log and undressed. As he waded into the water and felt the grime and sweat wash away from him, he did it again. One moment his face was hard as the steel of his sword and the next his whole expression seemed to soften and his eyes fell closed, then opened again.

Jaskier felt epiphany close over him. Oh. He was reminded of the cats his sister had kept growing up. Their nurse had told them to watch and listen whenever they could because not every creature used words like they could. Pay attention to everything else, she'd said, and you'll get the message anyway.

Jaskier was paying attention. He was paying the most attention. He thought he might have just made the discovery of his lifetime. Namely, that the witcher Geralt, White Wolf and the Butcher of Blaviken, smiled. Not only that, but he did it often.

After that, Jaskier was on the lookout for Geralt's peculiar little smile. Unfortunately, he saw it most often directed toward Roach or whenever Jaskier managed to embarrass himself somehow. It wasn't until they'd been traveling together nearly ten years that he started to see it more regularly even when he hadn't just fallen over a tree stump or ripped his trousers.

When they met that spring, Jaskier spotted him at the stables before Geralt had turned around.

"Geralt!" he shouted, joy making his limbs feel light. He had stopped resisting the urge to hug Geralt somewhere around their seventh year, so he didn't hesitate before throwing his arms around the witcher, who simply looked down at Jaskier and blinked, long and slow.

He couldn't wipe the beam from his face for days.

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annmarcus63 · 6 months

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An ugly, translucent shape opened at the gates of Kaer Morhen. A portal. Mercenaries and a mage, the firefucker. The witchers defend their home and their cub, but they're too many. Ciri gets badly wounded and Rince is about to drag her through the portal, away from her home, away from her family. Geralt feels terror, they can't take her. The wizards fight with all their might, eliminating them one by one in a matter of second. A defeated Rince mocks them and before fleeing, he reaches into the portal to pull out a person who instantly falls to the ground.

"This one sang beautifully, witcher. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't have found Princess Cirilla. And her blood" the mage's face twisted into a crooked smile as he looked at his blood covered dagger. Blood holds power, especially Ciri’s. But before Rince can escape, Lambert appears out of nowhere, taking him by surprise to cut off his head instantly.

On the ground there's a shaking figure.

A pair of frightened eyes looks around. Jaskier. Geralt had not seen the bard for years, he tried not to think about him either. But Ciri is wounded, bleeding and whimpering for Geralt because it hurts too much. The witchers carry the princess inside without looking back, to the shaking man on the ground. Geralt and Eskel heals Ciri as much as they can. She's going to be alright.

Later, he sees Vesemir, through Ciri's bedroom window, approaching a shrunken figure at the stables and after a few breaths said figure following the aged witcher inside the fortress.

Jaskier is there the next morning, sitting in the dining hall, shoeless and wearing simple clothes that are too big for him. But he doesn't want to see him, he can't, Ciri almost died because Jaskier was the one who gave the information to Rince. With a shrinking heart, Geralt turns away to find something to occupy his mind while Ciri recovers.

Guilt is eating Jaskier up, even the pain cannot compensate for his heavy conscience. He hides his hands in a pair of thick gloves that rub against his burned skin, but it is worse to have them exposed. He had never been to Kaer Morhen before, but he had never imagined it would be like this. He never imagined he would be an outsider, a traitor.

He finds a pretty good room, it's small and only has a hole in the wall, so it's not so cold. The wolves are uneasy, uncomfortable with his presence and he totally understands it. Geralt has barely given him a glance. Eskel is kind, he smiles at him whenever they run into each other and even gives him a pair of boots and a cloak.

The day after his arrival he spends the day working on the stables, cleaning and feeding the horses, it's not an easy task due to his damaged hands but he can manage. In the afternoon, Jaskier goes inside and sits down in front of the fire in the hall to warm his freezing bones. Not too close, of course.

Geralt and Lambert enter speaking in hushed voices, Jaskier makes himself as small as possible so as not to attract attention. He's the prey. They are talking about Ciri, she is apparently well and that is reassuring. And suddenly...

"Shh, It's not safe to talk here." It takes him a few seconds to register what Lamber said. Jaskier looks up to find two pairs of yellow eyes, predator's eyes, looking down at him with weariness. Something breaks inside him, something essential, it could be his core, his heart at the very least. In a hurried move he stands and leaves the room to find another place to get warm.

At night the pain is too much to bear. He can't sleep and he's so damn tired so he cries for a while until he decides he’s had enough. He leaves his room barefoot so as not to alert the witchers and a single oil lantern to light the dark corridors of the keep. He wanders around for a while until he finds the lab, surely there must be something here to help ease his pain? he sniffs every jar and bottle whose contents seem familiar when a voice calls "If you smell that one you'll die" Jaskier yelps, turning around.

Vesemir is at the door

"I...I...I wasn't doing anything wrong, and maybe that's not the smartest thing to say. I'm sorry, I’ll just...go"

"...what do you need?"

"Something for the pain" The witcher approaches a cabinet

"What kind of pain?"

Jaskier is biting his lips to decide whether to tell the truth or... "Bard" Vesemir scolds him.

"...burns" Vesemir stops to turn to look at him, his heavy eyes landing on the gloves on his hands. The witcher resumes his search and in a couple of minutes spent in silence he hands Jaskier a vial full of white stuff.

"Thank you" Jaskier smiles sincerely.

"Put shoes on or you'll lose your feet too"

He cries all the way back to his room.

The salve helped a little, but he still couldn't sleep. He's so tired and he doesn't want to be here anymore. He wonders if the snow is thick enough to kill him if he leaves in the night.

It's hard to peel potatoes and Eskel notices upon entering the kitchen. "Are you ok?" says signaling the odd way in which he's holding the knife. Jaskier smiles at Eskel with a nod, afraid that if he speaks he won't be able to stop. The witcher is handsome even with the scar that splits his face. He has a quiet air about him that makes the bard sure that if they had met in different situations they’d surely be good friends.

"You should go to the springs, the one in the middle will help you heal. Just don't go to the one on the right or you'll be burned alive" Jaskier flinches "Thank you, Eskel. I'll be sure to save you an extra portion of broth." the witcher laughs and pats the bard's shoulder before leaving. Jaskier wants to ask about Ciri but knows he has no right.

Geralt is watching over his cub when he hears a door opening outside followed by unsure steps. Jaskier. He still hasn't decided if having the bard here is a good idea, he doesn't trust him, not quite. Eskel says he is too hard on him, also says he's injured to some extent. Geralt makes sure that Ciri is completely asleep before he follows the bard. He's in the springs. It is too late at night for another witcher to be there too, so Geralt decides that this may be the perfect opportunity to finally talk to him. To question him about his betrayal, even if it pains Geralt to know the answer. But he stands frozen in the entrance, Jaskier's back is turned to him, naked. Hand marks decorate the bard's back, ugly burns across his arms that have not fully healed.

Something breaks in Geralt and he is overcome by an unbearable grief and anger towards himself, towards Rince. The witcher watches as Jaskier removes one of the gloves. How had he not noticed the gloves? To reveal a completely burned hand, missing pieces of flesh and blackened areas beyond repair. The bard is weeping quietly, even the touch of the air causes him immense pain. Geralt gulps, wishing he could rewind the time, lift Jaskier off the ground and ask him if he was all right. He wants to turn back time to never shout those cruel words at him on the mountain.

#geraskier #jaskier #the witcher #geralt of rivia #geralt x jaskier #the witcher netflix #hey it's me again #with yet another angsty prompt #In this one #Yennefer doesn't save Jaskier from the hands of the firefucker #our baby bard is hurting #as in all my stories #i'm sorry

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welikeimagines-andfandoms · 6 months

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Kinktober Day 8: Master and Slave- Jaskier

Summary: it has been far too long since Jaskier visited you and that deserves a punishment

Word count: 3,150 words

The bard and the Witcher had been travelling for a lot longer than either of them cared for. Tired, hungry and honestly a little smelly, all they wanted was a nice bath, a feed and maybe a pint, or five. At this point honestly any town would do, they just hadn’t come across one in a long while.

As they trod down the road, the path felt familiar to Jaskier. He swore he’d been here before. As he passed a little abandoned cottage he knew exactly where they were going towards. He’d been to this town years ago and he knew an inn keeper who was very hospitable.

Thoughts of you shooting through his mind made his dick instantly become strained in his pants. He was sure Geralt could smell the aroused on him at this point.

“There’s a town about 30 more minutes down the road. I know we wanted to get back sooner but surely a night or two couldn’t hurt.” Jaskier told his friend as his horse began to catch up with Roach.

Geralt was hoping to make better time but honestly the bard was right, they were in need of a good rest and getting off this road.

“Fine.” Was all Geralt grunted out as they continued on.

*********

Riding through the town to find the stables, Jaskiers eye catches a glimpse of your tiny inn. He hoped and prayed you’d have a room for him and the Witcher, not just so he could sleep in an actual bed for once but so he could feel your touch again.

They managed to find a stable to keep the horses in for a couple of nights. Jaskiers heart beat faster and faster as he and Geralt approached your inn. His racing heart must have sounded like a loud speeding drum to the Witcher.

As Jaskier walked through the front door memories of that wonderful couple of nights he spend with you raced back. All of a sudden he was desperate to have your hands around his throat again and your hands brutally tugging on his hair. He wanted you to hurt him, punish him; he could practically hear your words of degradation as his pants began to become tighter again.

They approach the clerk desk to inquire about a room for the night, before Geralt had the opportunity to ding the little bell, you had already appeared. Giving Geralt a smile and welcoming him as he inquires about the room, your gaze never leaving the Witcher’s.

Jaskier started to get antsy as you put all your attention on Geralt, you hadn’t even glanced at him, though you gave very intense eye contact and even pushed your chest forward as you spoke to Geralt. Jaskier was so desperate, he wanted your attention so badly. He stood there awkwardly moving from foot to the other as he played with his fingers and giving you big puppy dog eyes, feeling like a child needing a teachers attention.

You knew Jaskier stood there, you knew the moment he walked into your inn, you wanted to make him sweat, wanted to get him all needy before you’d even touched him. You did make sure to touch the Witcher however, lightly touching his fingers with yours when you handed him the key and even squeezing his bicep as he went to go up the stairs from the entrance.

“Are you bard by any chance? Sorry I didn’t catch your name.” You ask, playing dumb.

“J-Jaskier, me Jaskier, Uh- ah, ye-yes. I’m I’m a bard.” Jaskier stammered out, all of a sudden extremely nervous as all your attention was zeroed in on him, you still refusing to touch him though.

“Good, I have an event tomorrow night and our bard cancelled on us. Would you meet me here after you’ve put your things away and we can discuss it?” You ask him, body now extremely close to his and yet still not touching as you hold an intense gaze and a cheeky smirk.

“O-okay.” Jaskier stammered out once again.

“Good.” You simply said, lightly touching Jaskiers forearm and quickly prancing away, making sure to move your hips a bit more than necessary.

That small touch of his forearm was enough to make Jaskier almost cum on the spot. Looking to his Witcher friend, he found him with a smirk on his face as they both head up to their seperate rooms.

*********

Only a few minutes later, Jaskier was back down the stairs and in your front lobby, waiting for you, already trying to be your good boy.

“Alright, bard, follow me.” You stated as you walked past him and led him out the door. Walking ahead of him as you lead him to the barn behind your inn.

You didn’t say a single word on the short walk there, not even a glance over your shoulder.

As you got in the barn you were quick to grab a wooden chair and sit right down on it, making your breasts bounce as you did, Jaskier definitely noticing.

“Close the doors.” You said to him with a stone cold face. He knew he was in trouble and he couldn’t be happier.

“On your knees, in front of me.” Came your next command as the doors were quickly closed.

Obediently he dropped to his knees right between your split legs. Taking your hair down and loosening your bodice top, you leaned back and roughly grabbed onto his hair, pulling him closer to you.

You lean forward, coming extremely close to his face, you pull his hair back. You can see his breath speeding up and gulping as his body quaked.

“Now, little slave of mine, you’ve been very naughty.” You growl at him, pulling his hair harder.

“I’m sorry, mistress.” He moaned out.

“It’s been so long and you haven’t visited me, my little slave.” You tauntingly sway his head side to side.

“Mistress I’m sorry, please let me make it up to you!” He gasped and moaned desperately.

“Oh no, little slave. You’d like to eat mistresses pussy. Oh no, little slave, you’re going to get a proper punishment. I’m going to punish you properly and you’re going to take it. You’re mine, slave!” You gruffly scold him.

“If you take your punishment like a good boy then mistress might ride you and might even let you cum.” You look down on him with a cheeky smile, hand now removed from his hair and instead place on either side of his face, gently stroking his cheeks.

“Now go be a good slave, lock the barn doors and strip down for me.”

Jaskier was quick to lock the large doors and was even more quick when removing his clothes. He stood in front of you awkwardly for some time. You just watched him, wanting to make him more and more nervous. You could see the way he shuddered for the slight chill of the night and how hard he tried to always bring his eyes back to you.

“Hands and knees in front of me, head facing the door.” You finally spoke, causing Jaskier to relax a little. As before he was once again quick to obey orders, on hands and knees, perfectly in front of you.

Leaning down you admired the almost too eager bard beneath you. Taking your hands you laced them in his gorgeous brown locks once again, slowly pushing his head down into the rough ground of the barn. As his head went down his behind pushed up and out.

Once he reached the ground you replaced your hand on his head with your boot, pushing his head further into the rough ground. As your boot pushes down harder he lets out a mix of a grunt and a moan.

You push the chair further forward so you can lean over him, your hand snaking along his right hip. Feeling his trembling form underneath your hand just made you more excited.

“Now, little slave, you haven’t returned to me in about 2 years so that’s about 24 months. How about because I’m feeling generous, we round it down and say that I give you 20 slaps. How does that sound?” You ask him seductively as your hand begins to stroke his cheeks.

“Yes, mistress. Twent-ty would be goo-ood.” Jaskier stammers as he realises just how many that is. It scares him a little but the thought of your hand coming down on him so many times and the feel of your words and the sting of your hits just excites him so much.

“You know it’s difficult punish such a dirty little slut. Your cocks already so hard it’s digging into the dirty. You’re a filthy boy, slave and you’re going to take your punishment. You’re also going to count for me. I do worry though, I mean twenty I’d such a big number for such a stupid little bard. Do you think you’ll be able to count that high.” You taunt him, knowing he loves your harsh words.

“Y-yes mistress, I’ll count each one for you. I’ll be a good boy.” You complies, almost begging for you to begin.

“We’ll see.” You simply say as the first blow hits him.

“One, mistress!” Jaskier yells out.

He continues calling out with each blow. His words becoming more stammered and indistinguishable with each hit.

By the time your last blow lands and the final number falls from his lips, he’s a a crying and babbling mess. His ass red and body quaking much more than when you began.

Releasing your boot from his head you lightly drag his head up off the ground. Dirt is caking his face as it’s mixed with his tears and perspiration. Lightly brushing away the dirt on his face and hair, you cradle his sweet face.

Jaskier looks at you with a dazed face and glassy eyes. Lightly you wipe away his tears and kiss his sweet face.

“You took your punishment so well, my good boy.” You encourage him, your once cruel words now becoming soft and kind.

“Thank you, mistress.” He gently whispers back with a dizzy smile.

“Do you want mistress to ride you now? Show you how good she can make you feel?” You ask him gently as he begin to stroke his face.

Even in his dazed state he still lights up as the promise of you riding him, meeting you with a boyish smile. Seeing you on top of him, staring intently into his eyes as you draw his pleasure out from him.

“Yes, mistress.” He answered softly.

“Okay then, my good boy, let’s get you dressed and we’ll go inside. A nice comfy bed for my good boy to pleasure his mistress.” You sweetly tell him, now helping him to his feet.

Dressing him together you both show your more softer sides of times like this. Gently putting on his clothes, especially his trousers, as you both stop often to kiss and hold one another.

Once Jaskier is dressed and checked in on you take his hand and lead him back to your little room right next to the front desk. Luckily it was later in the evening and it was not likely that there would be any new visitors, and ones you did have were all sleeping or busy in the tavern.

Lightly pulling on Jaskiers hand you directed him into your little bedroom attached to the clerks desk. Once you were in the room you situated yourself at your desk and stared at Jaskier intently.

“Take off your clothes for me, Jaskier. Nice and slowly.” You told him, beginning to loosen the bodice of your dress to free and play with your breasts.

You watched him intensely with every move of his body as each item of clothing was once again removed, and like the good boy he is, neatly placed them on top of your dresser.

By the time he was completely naked, one of your feet was already on a small stool as you lightly rub your clit, giving Jaskier a nice little show. He stood there looking between your eyes and your fingers as they spread your wetness across your pussy. His eyes so desperate and needy, his cock bobbing with excitement.

Looking directly into Jaskiers eyes, you hold his gaze intensely, feeling like he could cum just watching you alone. Before he could get too excited, you stopped abruptly, taking your foot off the stool and throwing the skirts of your dress back down as you stood.

“Lay on your back on the bed. Hands above your head and don’t you dare move them.” You ordered, now standing directly in front of him, grabbing his face.

“Yes, mistress.” He moaned as his eyes fluttered close.

Once you released his face he ran to the bed and followed your instructions exactly. Seeing the handsome bard laid out on your bed, cock rock hard and twitching, made your skin tingle and your pussy throb.

Slowly you began to strip out of your own clothes. First putting your leg up on the desk and throwing your skirts up your leg as you began to untie your boots. Next you teasingly removed your skirts, slowly and methodically as your eyes raked over your little bard.

Jaskier looked at you hopefully, internally begging and waiting for you to climb onto his lap. A frown formed on his face as instead of making your way to the bed, you went to your dresser drawers.

“I got a couple new toys for us since your last visit,” you tease him as you pull out a mouth gag and pieces of rope to show him “I’d hoped you’d be around again and I remembered how loud and fidgety you were last time, my little slave.” You tease him seductively.

Slowly you begin to approach the bed and just like he’d been waiting for you crawled up his body, leaving kisses and love bites all up his legs, thighs, stomach and chest. Finally finding your spot on his lap you begin to teasingly rub your wet folds on his hard cock, causing you both to moan.

“Palms together and mouth open.” You ordered as you continued grinding on him.

Reaching down you plunged your tongue into Jaskiers waiting mouth, kissing him in a heated and almost feral attack as you quickly replace your mouth with the gag. Once fastened behind his head you grab at both of his cheeks, squishing them and tauntingly moving his head side to side.

“Such a pretty little slut. Only good for taking orders and filling my pussy.” You taunt him with a wicked smile, lightly slapping his face before tying the rope around his hands and to the head board.

Sitting back you stopped your grinding and looked at the bard in front of you. Spit falling out of his mouth and covering his lips, trying so hard to stop himself moaning. Strong arms pulled all the way up and tied above his head. Sexy little bard in your bed and he was all yours, he’d do anything you said and would beg you to use his body just for your own pleasure.

“You ready, whore.” You whisper in his ear, hand coming down to twist and play with his sensitive nipple.

“-es -issess” he mumbled through the gag. Coming up from his ear you lightly kiss his face as you position yourself over his cock.

You begin to slowly tease him again, lowering and grinding on him at a maddening pace. You knew how you tortured him. As his eyes begin to close you slam your hips down, causing his head to fly back and a loud gagged cry to escape him.

“Fuck, that’s a pretty sound.” You smirk down at him, pressing your hands into his chest as you bounce on his cock.

He’s a drooling and moaning mess, trying to hard to keep his eyes on you. He needs you to slow down, already feeling too overstimulated, but you don’t. You could see he was close already.

“You better not fucking cum yet, you whore!” You growl at him as your bouncing continues, hard and unrelenting.

“-lese” he begged through his gag, tearing now falling down his face.

“Can’t even hold your cum, huh? Such a desperate little whore. Can’t even make mistress cum first. Maybe I should bring that Witcher down here, he could make me cum.” Hearing this Jaskier moans even louder.

“Aaaww, does my little slave like that idea? Want to embarrass you? See the big strong Witcher fuck his mistress right in front of him? Fuck, might even tie you to the chair, force you to watch. He could fuck me for hours and not cum.” You taunting continues as you ride him hard and stare right into his eyes.

“Mistress will let your hands go so that you could touch her clit. If you touch her anywhere else then I won’t let you cum. You understand?” You ask grabbing his face once again.

Gag in mouth and your hand roughly grabbing his face he can’t really produce many words but you do get an eager nod in return.

“Good.” You reply harshly as you undo the knots on his hands.

One of his hands landing beside him on the bed as the other reaches for your clit. Rubbing it with the same harsh pace as your thrusts you cum also immediately.

“Oh fuuuuckk!” You scream out. “Cum, Jaskier, cum for me!” You shout as your orgasm pulsates through your body.

Almost immediately Jaskier cries out through his gag, head thrown back and tears falling from his eyes.

Slowing your movements you watch the bard with fascination and care, making sure he was okay but also relishing in his stupid blissed out state.

Your thrusts come to a halt as you gently reach up and remove his gag, kissing his swollen lips and the tears that have fallen down his face.

“You did good, baby boy. Mistress is going to get up now but she’s just going to get a nice cloth to clean you up and another blanket.” You tell him, stroking his face, making him rub his face into your hand.

Slowly you rise off his softening cock, causing him to whimper out. Going to the corner of your small room you wet a little cloth with water from the basin and pick up a nice big warm blanket.

Returning to the bed you gently wipe him and yourself clean, making sure to be gentle and soft. Once you were sure he was okay you placed the blanket over the both of you.

“Do you think a swollen ass and I drained cock would be a good enough excuse to convince Geralt to stay here a couple more days?” He asked lightly chuckling as he drifts off to sleep.

#jaskier #Jaskier imagine #Jaskier x reader #witcher #witcher imagine

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anyanpre · 1 year

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Time to start shitposting my geraskier ideas, starting with

Higher vampire!Jaskier AU

Jaskier getting totally devastated after The Mountain Bullshit and he wants to drunk his heartbreak away, but there is tiny caveat — since he’s a higher vampire he can’t really get drunk on alcohol, only on human blood. Oh well.

A month and something after The Mountain Bullshit Geralt gets a contract from a relatively small town — people fainting at night, feeling drained and weak, no one’s dead yet, but it was getting worse. Geralt strongly suspects a vampire and goes hunting.

Geralt didn’t manage to catch vampire mid feeding, but follows their trail — smell of blood, alcohol and something disturbingly familiar — to the cemetery, but instead of a dangerous beast Geralt finds a very drunk, very pissed off bard screaming at the night sky.

Jaskier thinks that Geralt is there to kill him, obviously, and goes all “well, what the fuck you waiting for, witcher?! Go finish this already!”, to which Geralt can only reply “what the fuck Jaskier, I’m not gonna kill you”

And then they kiss

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #listen i have THOUGHTS but i can’t write fics #the witcher

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wannastayugly · 1 year

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Second and final part of this thing I wrote about the Storyteller showing itself to Jaskier as Geralt. TW for hurt character, but they're fine! Thank you very much for such a positive feedback! I'm very insecure about my writing, but I really love putting these little stories in the world and knowing you're enjoying them makes everything better!

Jaskier sits on the stool letting out a low groan of pain. He holds his chemise over his lap with both hands and keeps his eyes there, missing the warmth of it as a cold breeze invades the room and touches his exposed injured back.

It's been two months since Jaskier met the Storyteller. Two months of new poetry and ballads he has still not sang to anyone and which are fated to remain only as a collection of words in his notebook, ready to feed the fire.

"Jaskier?" Geralt's voice fills his ears with kindness, and Jaskier looks up as the witcher walks closer and touches his shoulder. He holds a wet towel and a bowl of salve, but Jaskier's attention goes to the blood stains on his black shirt. "Are you alright?"

Jaskier gives an insincere, almost inaudible positive answer and looks away. He remembers the monster's claws hurting his skin and the terror in Geralt's voice when he called his name. The singer had saved the witcher that morning, decided to give his life for him in his foolisher impulsive act of the season. But, together with the pain, Jaskier found a mad and surprising bit of relief when he realized there, again on a bloody floor, that whatever the Storyteller had meant when comparing him to Éile, his story would never follow the same tragic path, for Jaskier would never, in any reality, have the bravery to be the one killing the man he loved instead of letting himself be killed.

"Jaskier."

"Yes! Yes, I am fine." Geralt doesn't buy it. He slips his hand from Jaskier's shoulder to his neck and gives him an unpleased look. He can tell he has a fever by now, although the touch also leaves his cheeks warmer.

Touch. That's something Geralt only offers him every now and then, and Jaskier appreciates the attention now.

While Geralt starts taking care of his wounds, he thinks about the ballads he composed about the bard and her witcher, and how the simple act of writing those two words together in a song made him feel exposed. Every verse of fear, of desire or sorrow, spoke about his own heart. Forbidden to be heard, those words burn in his chest just like the soft touch of Geralt's calloused fingertips do now; like the wood that burned between them during the cold nights among trees and starry skies.

He closes his eyes, wanting to lean into the touch, clutching the fabric in his hands.

"I read your new songs."

The confession comes to wake him up like a bucket of cold water. His blue eyes go wide, his face is molded in shock and the world stops for a second, almost making him wonder if the Storyteller has frozen time again.

"What"

"Some days ago. Didn't mean to." Geralt continues. There's a bit of guilt and discomfort in his voice this time. Done cleaning Jaskier's wounds, he now applies salve to them, lessen the pain; his fingers now travelling the bard's lower back. Jaskier wishes he could still focus on them. "Witchers don't lose control like that. In case you've ever wondered."

"What- shut up"

"The stabbing bit was concerning, though."

"Shut the fuck up!" For Geralt's surprise, Jaskier's tone rises with rage, and, enduring the sharp pain of his damaged flesh, the bard stands up and finally faces him. Geralt stands still, a perfect portrait of regret. He still holds the bowl, unsure about what he should do with it. Now, it's Jaskier's eyes that burn. "You didn't have the right! You weren't- you-"

For a moment, Jaskier's own screams reminds him of their last major fight.

Caingorn.

He remembers letting out a confession when not even him knew what it was. He remembers Geralt's words stabbing him and pushing him away, and how he wished something would come from the woods and eat him alive while he walked down the mountain alone, feeling like he was leaving shards of his heart behind.

"Jaskier, look at me!"

Jaskier doesn't notice the tears rolling down his chin. Panic has now invaded him, bringing all his worst fears into his mind like a sadistic devil and enjoying his shivers when making him travel between all the reasons why he could now lose the little he had and was grateful for.

Not again, he mourns.

Geralt finally leaves the bowl aside and approaches him, too unsettled for a supposed emotionless man. Although the bard takes a step back, he doesn't want to avoid Geralt's closeness. Never really did.

Don't leave me alone again.

"I'm sorry, bard." Geralt's embrace is loose, careful not to touch him on the wrong spots. Jaskier groans in frustration when he sees himself hiding his face on the pale neck of the man who now caresses his hair.

"I didn't want this", Jaskier murmurs.

"I know."

He punches Geralt's chest softly. His eyes shut. Fear now gives space to shame, although he doesn't know exactly what he is ashamed of. I hate you, he thinks. A silly thing to say. Just like the Storyteller, Geralt has already known his truth for a long time.

"I love the fuck out of you, too."

Saying that, Geralt breaks the embrace to cup his face, presses their foreheads together and smiles. Gets lost in the eyes that stare back at him. A love song in blue and golden shades.

It doesn't take much for their lips to meet in an intense, rushed act. Jaskier digs his nails into the other man's skin and every bite, every touch on his exposed skin after that is like a fever dream.

"I should've done this a long time ago" the witcher would whisper breathless into his ear after a while; his hand slipping into Jaskier's now unbuttoned trousers, "right in the first time I heard your heartbeat run. Right in the first time the temperature of your body rose and you smelled like this."

That day, having Geralt with, on, in him; being allowed to taste his sweat, smiling against his lips, feeling his scars under his fingers and laughing of his concerned expressions when he'd touch the wrong places, Jaskier found himself alive for the first time in a long while. And in Geralt's arms, he contemplated in awe his own story, the most fascinating poem he had ever written.

#geraskier #jaskier the bard #geralt of rivia #fic

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melinoiaagesander · 2 years

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Second to last chapter! :)

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #geralt x jaskier #jaskier the bard #netflix the witcher #the witcher #the witcher netflix #my fic #fanfic #fanfiction #lily lavender chamomile #angst #sad geralt #emotionally constipated geralt of rivia #heartbreak #ao3 #ao3 feed

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xieyaohuan · 1 year

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A Love-Hate Relationship (Squealing Santa 2k22)

A/N: Happy holidays, @amazingmsme! Hope you enjoy the fic! Big thanks to @hypahticklish for hosting this year's @squealing-santa (it's my first)!

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer

Prompt: Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer Geralt/Jaskier Jaskier/Yennefer ~Jaskier accidentally lets it slip that he likes being tickled & they take advantage ~ Geralt & Yennefer have fun bullying their favorite bard & turning him into a giggly puddle

Word count: ca. 1400

It’s early in the morning when Jaskier wakes up.

He yawns, stretching his arms above his head as he exits the tent. The air is crisp, and he can feel the grass crunching underneath his boots.

Geralt and Yennefer are already outside, sitting in front of the fire, warming their hands, drinking tea.

“Good morning!” Jaskier announces. “Another beautiful day!”

Geralt grunts something unintelligible that sounds suspiciously like “Morning.” He looks grim as usual, but Jaskier has known him long enough to know how to read his face; he’s in a better mood than most days.

Yennefer is scowling at Jaskier from underneath the hood drawn deep into her face, her hands wrapped around a cup of tea. Do you ever shut up, bard? Her eyes say.

“Good morning to you as well. Did you have sweet dreams?” Jaskier gives her his most cheerful smile. “I slept wonderfully,” he continues without waiting for a reply he knows won’t come — Yennefer is not a morning person.

He trudges over to Geralt, who is stirring the fire with a stick.

“What are your plans for today? Kill a koshchey? Slay a striga?” Jaskier is hardly paying any attention to the steady trickle of words pouring out of him like a waterfall. “Banish a banshee? Mangle a mamune? Tickle a kikimora?”

Geralt tears his eyes away from the fire, glaring at him. “I wasn’t tickling that kikimora,” he grunts.

Jaskier grins. He’ll never get tired of reminding his friend that his fight with the monster just a few days ago certainly looked like a tickle fight.

“Oh, but would you like to though?” He asks. He just can’t resist; Geralt is too easy to tease.

Geralt exhales forcefully, not dignifying his question with a reponse.

“Or perhaps you’d like to be tickled by a kikimora?” Jaskier offers. “Perhaps some other monster? Oh let me guess-“

“Don’t like getting tickled,” Geralt cuts him off gruffly.

“What?” The bard feigns shock. “You don’t like being tickled? That’s unheard of.”

Geralt only scowls at him in response, but Yennefer looks up, suddenly interested in the one-sided conversation that annoyed her so much just minutes ago, her deep purple eyes meeting Jaskier’s. “So you like being tickled?” She asks, and Jaskier swears there’s a hint of a smile on her face.

“Of course I like being tickled! Everyone likes being tickled,” he proclaims, perhaps a bit too carelessly, he thinks in hindsight.

“You do?” She gets up, taking a step towards him.

Jaskier gulps. He’s only now noticing the look in her eyes, that dark, amused sparkle that suggests she’s not trying to make polite conversation with her question.

He can feel his cheeks blushing slightly. “Maybe… just… just a little bit?” He ventures, shrinking back as she takes another step towards him.

The truth is, Jaskier has a love-hate relationship with tickling. He’s so ticklish it’s invariably unbearable while it’s happening, but he’s also irresistibly drawn to the thought of somebody’s hands dancing over his helpless body, finding all his sweet spots, making him laugh uncontrollably until all he can do is beg them for mercy.

“Hmm,” Yenn says. “Just a little… I see.”

“I… I think I better go… feed Roach! Yeah, yeah, I gotta feed Roach, he’s not had breakfast yet, I bet he’s really hungry, wouldn’t want to let him starve, would we,” Jaskier awkwardly attempts to change the topic. He’s trying to squeeze past Yennefer, but his legs have turned to pudding.

Perhaps it’s because he’s dealing with an ancient mage thrice his age who likes power just a little too much and has a loose moral compass around wielding her own. Or perhaps, it’s just her eyes and the thought of what awaits him next that are freezing him in place. All Jaskier knows is that he can’t move, and it’s beginning to dawn on him that, perhaps, just perhaps he has made a mistake with his overly honest admission.

“He likes being tickled. Did you hear that, Geralt?” Yennefer is beaming, all the morning grumpiness wiped off her face, replaced by a devious smile.

Geralt looks up, rolling his eyes. “It was hard to miss.”

Her smile is getting wider. “I say we should verify.”

Before Jaskier fully realizes what is happening, she has pushed him to the ground, straddling him. He tries to wiggle out from underneath her, but she’s effortlessly pinning him in place with just her knees.

“Oh, damn.” He chuckles nervously. “I’d completely forgotten that you’re so much stronger than you look.”

Yenn does not respond, but her hands are hovering over his stomach, wiggling slightly, and just seeing those hands is turning Jaskier to jelly.

“Wait, wait, wait!” He wails. “I’m not ready! I’m not-”

Before he can get out another word, she’s attacked his sides.

Jaskier lets out an involuntary eeeeeek, trying to suppress the giggles welling up inside of him as her hands move down and start squeezing his hips.

When Yennefer unbuttons his doublet and pulls up his shirt, scribbling her fingers directly over his exposed skin, he can’t hold back anymore.

It’s just too much.

Jaskier throws his head back and starts laughing. All his efforts to fend off her hands are failing. She’s too fast for him, her fingers alternating between tickling his stomach, his ribs, his sides.

“Help!” Jaskier manages between bouts of laughter. “Geralt, help! Help me!”

He knows he’s made another mistake when he catches a glimpse of his friend’s face. Instead of telling Yennefer to cut it out so he can continue to drink his tea and stare into the distance in peace, Geralt gets up and walks over slowly.

He grabs Jaskier’s wrists and pins his arms above his head effortlessly with just one hand, leaving his other hand free to-

“Nohohohh,” Jaskier squeals. “No, no, no, NO! Wait!”

His protestations are falling on deaf ears as Geralt’s hand starts dancing over his belly, finding Jaskier’s most sensitive spots with surprising ease, the bard’s pleas drowned out by hysterical laughter.

“I think we have a sweet spot riiiight here!” Yennefer is digging her fingers into his lower ribs while Geralt is pulling up his arms up, stretching him until he can't move a muscle, and somehow, that’s making the tickling so much worse.

Being immobile and so completely at the mercy of his friends is doing something to Jaskier’s brain, making him panic, screaming at him to escape at all cost, his dignity be damned.

“Alright, alright!” He cries between giggles. “Please! Plea-plea-pleheahease!!”

“Please what? ‘Please don’t stop?’ ‘Please tickle me some more?’” Yennefer is pinching his thighs, sending jolts through his entire body, making sure that all that comes out of Jaskier’s mouth is more desperate laughter.

“Hmmm…” Geralt hums, his face still a mask. “I think you do like getting tickled.” He turns his head to Yenn. “What do you think? Is he enjoying it?”

“Oh, just look at him,” Yennefer says, laughing now, “he’s loving it!”

Jaskier can feel his face flush, and it’s not just from all the uncontrollable giggling and squirming. He is loving it, in a twisted kind of way, but there’s also something about hearing those words said out loud that’s making him flustered.

“I’m sorry!” He squeals, not quite sure what he’s even apologizing for — teasing Geralt a little too often? Talking too much? Being so deadly ticklish? “I’m sohohohohorry!”

“Oh, are you now?” Finally, there’s a smirk on Geralt’s face, and between fits of helpless laughter, Jaskier can’t help but feel proud to have made his friend smile.

They take turns pinning and tickling him until Jaskier can’t tell up from down and left from right.

“Stop!” He cries, his legs kicking helplessly. “Mercy! Mehehehehehercy!”

“But I thought you liked it so much,” Yennefer teases. “Why would you want us to stop?”

***

When they finally do stop what feels like hours later, Jaskier collapses on the ground, gasping for air.

He’s still panting minutes later when Geralt and Yennefer have returned to the fire and resumed drinking their tea, but there’s a content smile on his face. “I can see why you won that tickle fight the other day, Geralt,” Jaskier calls. “That kikimora didn’t stand a chance.”

Geralt glares at him, but then his glower turns into a mischievous grin. “Oh, you do love it, don’t you?”

“Nononono wait no wait wait!” Jaskier squeals as Geralt pins him to the ground, attacking his ticklish belly once more.

It’s only the morning, and it looks like it’s going to be a long day.

#squealing santa #squealing santa 2k22 #gift exchange #the witcher #tickle fic #jaskier #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #lee!jaskier #ler!geralt #ler!yennefer #mine

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d-andilion · 1 year

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in perpetuity

another one for @whataboutthebard!

prompt: whump - forced marriage and forbidden love

(geraskier, T, prince!jaskier, knight!geralt, secret relationship, angst, i hurt myself with this one folks, 2.9k, read on ao3)

As a child, Geralt dreamed of becoming a knight. He saw himself atop a noble steed adorned in gleaming steel armor, flying the colors of a great house. His sword would be the bringer of justice, the upholder of order. In the name of his liege, he would protect the innocent and drive out evil from the shadows. He would be a peacekeeper. A hero.

Witchers were not knights. Vesemir spent decades drilling that fact into Geralt’s head. He killed monsters, yes, but his protection extended to whoever paid him. Innocence and wealth rarely came hand in hand. Too often, the lords he had once wished to serve and the knights he’d idolized were the monsters no one could fight, much less a lone Witcher. Still, Geralt did the job he’d been trained for and took contracts for the smallfolk when he could. It was all he had.

When the monsters died out, Geralt and his brethren were left with only their swords. Just steel now. The silver, they buried in the rubble at Kaer Morhen. Witchers were no longer needed, but mutants made good mercenaries. It wasn’t so different, really. Geralt swung his sword for the rich and powerful, and was paid well for his trouble. And when the odd penniless farmer with hungry little mouths to feed offered him shelter to drive off a stray wolf or a few bandits, he did what he could.

Geralt never expected to bear the knighthood the nameless child he once was dreamed of. He didn’t want it, not anymore. Taking orders from spoiled shitheads for a living was grim enough without pretending he deserved a commendation for it. Every knight he’d ever met was a pompous moron who’d never seen a real fight. The last thing Geralt wanted was a place among their ranks.

Then he took a contract from King Arthur Pankratz.

It was an unusual contract. Geralt typically found himself handling border disputes or guarding wares for trade, half a world away from seats of power. He rarely had cause to meet the nobles that employed him, but this one brought him to the steps of Lettenhove Castle. Some sort of epidemic had swept their tiny kingdom the winter prior, crippling their defenses. Geralt and the few hundred others who accepted King Arthur’s contract were to serve as palace guards and city patrol until more citizens could be recruited and trained.

The work was dull but the wage was more than fair and the barracks were far finer than his usual accommodations, so Geralt was happy to sign away twelve months of his service. He even earned himself some extra coin and palace lodgings to help train the new recruits. It was shaping up to be the best year he’d had in half a century.

Prince Julian arrived a few weeks after Geralt did. The king’s youngest spent a few years touring the world after he graduated from the Continent's most prestigious institution, but his father had called him home in the wake of their kingdom’s recent turmoil.

Geralt didn’t think much of the news. Julian had three older siblings in the palace and Geralt could count the times he’d seen any of them on one hand. The few veteran guards Geralt worked with on training duty were sure the prince would find a way out of the castle as quickly as he’s come, but they warned Geralt to be wary. Prince Julian—Jaskier as he insisted on calling himself—was made of trouble, they said. Better safe than sorry.

The day they met, Geralt didn’t even realize he was speaking to a prince. No one bowed to the fop in a sunny yellow ensemble as he marched onto the training grounds, a lute slung over his back and a crown of dandelions in his hair. No one seemed to blink an eye as he meandered lazily between sparing circles and drill sessions like he belonged there. He wore no gold or jewels, sported no attendants or complement of guards. He looked like a bard if Geralt had ever seen one.

The bard eventually made his way to where Geralt stood supervising his recruits, flashing Geralt a grin that dripped confidence and scanning him up and down with bright blue eyes.

“Now you look interesting,” the bard drawled. “I love the way you stand there and brood.”

“Fuck off, bard,” Geralt replied. There was a choking sound to his left and the guard beside him started to cough vigorously. Geralt shot him a curious glance and turned back to scrutinize his recruits.

The bard just laughed. “Come on now, I’m sure you have a few stories to tell. I’ll give you one in return if you like.”

“Busy,” Geralt barked.

“What about later, then?” the bard asked. He was close enough now that Geralt could feel the heat of his body along his side. “I’d be happy to find somewhere more… private to chat.”

Geralt was never the most sensitive man, but he knew when he was being propositioned. Credit where it was due, the bard had balls. Geralt leveled him with a stony glare. The bard could certainly have fallen into the vague category of Geralt’s type. Tall with broad shoulders hidden beneath artfully tailored fabric, an undeniably pretty face, eyes that could set him apart in a sea of faces. And he had this spark about him, a fire burning under his skin that made him a beacon Geralt didn’t want to resist.

Geralt hadn’t realized he was about to accept the bard’s offer until much later. Regardless, he never got the chance. A harried palace attendant interrupted whatever little moment had bloomed, panting her way across the courtyard.

“There you are, your royal highness!” she called between harsh gulps of air. “You will be late for the council briefing. We must go at once!”

Prince Jaskier breathed a disappointed sigh. “To be continued,” he muttered for only Geralt to hear. Then he turned on his heel and followed his attendant, to her palpable relief.

Geralt had been sure he would be executed, but no one came for his head that day or any day after. The other guards assured him that Jaskier was unlikely to demand retribution for Geralt’s disrespect. On the contrary, the prince had taken a shine to him. The trouble would come, they warned, when that shine turned into something a little more tangible. The prince didn’t mind sleeping with commoners, but his father was far less forgiving. It simply wasn’t worth the risk.

But Jaskier kept coming back. To the training grounds, to Geralt’s patrol routes, to the canteen where the guards took their meals. At first, his constant chatter was infuriating, but Geralt came to find it almost soothing, a rhythm he could sink into and even find a bit of comfort in. Before long, Jaskier coaxed stories out of Geralt too; about monsters, yes, but about him, about his path as his life. He found himself telling Jaskier more than he’d ever told anyone besides his brothers.

The spoiled, reckless royal Geralt envisioned Jaskier to be disappeared day by day. Jaskier could be impulsive and sometimes even careless, but more than any of that, he was free. His heart flew on a summer breeze and his smile carried pure sunlight. He was warmth given form like nothing Geralt had ever known. Inescapably beautiful.

Falling into bed together was a terrible idea, and Geralt knew that. By the time he finally gave in, he knew it didn’t matter if he fucked Jaskier or not. It was too late to save anything from breaking. Geralt was already completely, enduringly in love with him.

When Geralt’s contract with the king ended and Jaskier begged him to stay, he didn’t even think about saying no. Where would he go without Jaskier anyway? Who would he be there? How could he fight another bandit or guard another wagon of grain when he knew what it felt like to hold the sun’s fire in his hands without burning?

To stay at Jaskier’s side, Geralt swore himself to his service. A loyal sword to guard the prince’s back and keep his council, in perpetuity. Forever. It was the only vow Geralt had ever made and he intended it to be the last. By the law of the land, a royal sworn sword became a knight the moment his vow left his lips. Geralt’s dream finally came to pass.

His fantasies had never been quite like this.

In one of Lettenhove’s many fine receiving halls, sunlight pours through high stained glass windows onto a sorry scene indeed. Jaskier is slouched in his chair, golden crown crooked atop his head as he glares down from the raised dais he occupies. Geralt stands at Jaskier’s right hand as he always does, trying with limited success to focus on scanning the room for potential threats. The lord kneeling below them, whose name Geralt forgot moments after he heard it, has been droning on for what feels like days.

Knighthood is very little like Geralt’s childish imaginings. There’s no armor or billowing cape to start. Geralt flatly refused to wear them in any context that wasn’t ceremonial. He’s not letting Jaskier be run through by an assassin because his sworn protector was too slow under four stones of armor to save him. When they’re off palace grounds, Geralt wears a better-kept version of his old leather armor. Most days, he dresses in a fine but flexible doublet with his sword at his hip.

There isn’t a great deal of fighting either. Outside of the training grounds, Geralt hasn’t seen a real scrap since before he took his vow nearly three years ago. The vast majority of his days are spent like this: following Jaskier as he goes about his business through the castle, watching his back and offering input on matters when requested.

As of late, their time has been occupied by more and more lords and ladies of who-fucking-cares, coming to make their bid for the hand of their prince. King Arthur let it be known a few months back that his youngest child would marry by the end of winter. Now the leaves have begun to turn and the castle is filled to the brim with would-be suitors.

Jaskier has been notoriously hostile to every single one of them, but no one has yet been deterred from trying. The current Lord Whatshisface has been walking them through his entire family tree to illustrate what a strong couple they would make for the better part of the last hour. Even the lord’s own staff look to be flagging; the knight on his left has yawned three times in the space of a few minutes. The lord starts up on a tangent about his sixth cousin’s great-great-grandmother, and that seems to be the limit for Jaskier.

“Fuck’s sake, I can’t take another minute of this,” Jaskier says.

The lord blinks stupidly. “Your royal highness?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so bored in my entire life! Were your born this way or did you have to work at it?”

Geralt contains a snort as the lord begins to flounder, sputtering in place of a reply. Jaskier stands and removes his crown, then drops it in the hands of the nearest servant with none of the delicacy required for a thousand-year-old family heirloom. Geralt follows Jaskier dutifully, a smug grin on his lips, as Jaskier marches down the steps of the dais and out of the receiving room without sparing the lord another glance.

They’re quiet in the halls—too many ears with ulterior motives to speak freely—but the moment they’re back in Jaskier’s rooms, he sprawls over the settee and begins his tirade.

“Can you believe that bumbling idiot?” Jaskier groans while Geralt makes a quick round of the room. He doubts very highly that someone is snooping behind the drapes, but being overly cautious is part of his job description. “I mean, honestly, do you think they breed them to be this dull? Is there a secret storehouse of mind-numbingly boring people with impeccable manners that I don’t know about?”

Geralt doesn’t reply. Jaskier doesn’t really need him to at this stage of ranting. Instead, he pokes his head into each chamber in Jaskier’s rooms as part of his rounds. When he returns to the sitting room, Jaskier has thrown his doublet across the back of the settee and his boots are somehow on opposite sides of the room

“What did you think of that one?” Jaskier asks. Geralt snorts.

“Useless popinjay like all the rest of them.”

Jaskier laughs at that. “At least he kept any miserable excuses for poetry to himself. What was it the last one called me? Lady Whatsername?”

Geralt remembers that exchange all too well despite every attempt to forget it. “‘Julian,’” he recites, “‘my dewy frog in the shining swamp of desire—’”

“Oh dear, that’s quite enough, thank you,” says Jaskier with a face like he’s smelled something awful. “And my father genuinely expects me to marry one of them. Lucky for me, I have no intention whatsoever of going through with it.”

The temperature in the room seems to drop a few degrees. It’s suddenly unbearably quiet, the sort of quiet that starts to scream after a while. They don’t often discuss what King Arthur’s winter deadline means for them. There isn’t much to talk about from Geralt’s perspective. He can’t do anything to stop it.

Jaskier has made his intention to frighten his suitors away very clear, but his father doesn’t seem to ever run out of options to put in front of him. His only other coping strategy seems to be statements of denial, each one a little less confident than the last. In the spring, his voice was sure and his eyes burned with defiance. Now, with the autumn treeline visible from his window, he makes himself small.

“Jaskier,” Geralt tries tentatively.

“I won’t do it,” Jaskier snaps shakily without looking up. His hands ball up into white-knuckled fists in his lap. “He can’t force me.”

Geralt takes a deep, slow breath. Inhale. Exhale. “You well know that he can. And if he has to, he will.”

“He can’t!” Jaskier cries into the blaring silence. He makes a sound somewhere between a sob and a snarl as he tries to breathe. “It isn’t… It’s not fair.”

Jaskier looks up at him then, and Geralt wishes he hadn’t. His blue eyes sparkle with unshed tears. He looks helpless, furiously helpless, and there’s nothing Geralt can do about it. The vow Geralt took to protect him is meaningless here. He can’t save Jaskier from this.

Geralt traces the curve of Jaskier’s flushed cheek as gently as he can with his rough, calloused fingers, and Jaskier leans into the touch. Anything Geralt could say feels woefully inadequate right now, so he says nothing.

Jaskier stands, fingers curling tightly into the front of Geralt’s doublet. His eyes search the empty space in front of him for something he can’t seem to find. An answer, a hope, a prayer.

“My great grandfather’s younger sister married a knight,” he says. “There’s precedent.”

“It isn’t the same to them. You know it isn’t,” says Geralt evenly. Most knights hail from noble families. The gaping loophole in their code of fealty is the only reason Geralt is standing here right now. Jaskier’s father would never let him marry a commoner, a Witcher, knight or not.

Jaskier barks a hollow tearful laugh. “So you are good enough to die for me, but not good enough to love me?”

Geralt takes Jaskier’s face with both hands wordlessly and presses a kiss to his forehead. Jaskier trembles under his touch. When Geralt pulls back, Jaskier’s eyes bore into his, and Geralt can see Jaskier’s heart breaking in them, though he still hasn’t shed a tear. His prince, so beautiful, so brave.

“What happens to you, then?” Jaskier asks. “When I’m marching down the aisle with my useless popinjay, where will you be?”

“Guarding your back, the way I always have.”

“And then?”

Geralt brings their foreheads together, his nose brushing Jaskier’s.

“I swore you an oath of fealty,” he says. “Not the kingdom, not your father, not the gods. You. I’m not proud, Jaskier. I don’t need to be your husband to stay by your side. Whoever you marry, it doesn’t matter. I’m yours. In perpetuity.”

The echo of Geralt’s vow hangs heavily between them. He made it selfishly, as means to dig out a place for himself in Jaskier’s life, but Geralt still meant every word of it then and he means it now. Jaskier’s eyes flutter shut, but Geralt keeps looking. He wants to drink in every detail of what it feels like to hold his prince, his bard, his sun, in his arms.

“We could run away,” Jaskier whispers wistfully.

Geralt knows Jaskier doesn’t mean it. For all his fury and threats, Jaskier loves his family and his people. He would never abandon them, not for anything.

“Alright,” Geralt whispers back. “Where?”

“Anywhere. The coast.”

An image comes to Geralt’s mind. Jaskier, shirt billowing in the ocean breeze, bare feet sinking into the sand. The sunset casts him in shades of gold as he laughs without a care in the world. He is safe. He is happy. He is free.

Geralt closes his eyes on that faraway dream.

“The coast it is.”

w.a.t.b. masterlist

#whump the bard #geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #my fic #mine

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thedemonofcat · 6 days

Text

Whenever Jaskier gets what he calls inspired, it's difficult to halt his composing frenzy. This sometimes results in Jaskier neglecting basic needs like eating and sleeping for days on end, solely focused on filling his notebook. In such instances, Geralt becomes concerned for his bard and attempts to ensure Jaskier takes care of himself.

Getting Jaskier to sleep proves challenging, with instances where Geralt has had to resort to spoon-feeding him. During one winter at Kaer Morhen, Geralt's absence on a trip with Ciri prompts Jaskier to once again succumb to inspiration.

The other witchers are baffled by Jaskier's relentless writing, unable to elicit any response from him. They speculate that Jaskier might be cursed, prompting one of them to seek Geralt and Ciri's assistance while the rest try to break the supposed curse.

#the witcher netflix #the witcher #geralt of rivia #joey batey #jaskier the witcher #henry cavill #the witcher jaskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #fic ideas #kear morhen

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beth--b · 1 year

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stubborn as a mule

Jaskier had always been a stubborn, willful child. As he had grown older that had never really changed, though he had learnt to pick and choose his battles.

He would always fight to ensure Geralt was treated fairly, or at least paid fairly for his work. He'd be as stubborn as required for that particular endeavour.

He would not argue however, if Geralt told him not to feed Roach too many sugar cubes.

He'd just be careful to ensure Geralt was out of earshot when he did it next.

Geralt knew of course that Jaskier was stubborn as a mule.

Which is why when the bard began to come down with a cold he knew not to mention it. That did not mean he would ignore it, or let the idiot cause himself harm by arguing with Geralt about how he was 'fine' when he was clearly anything but.

They were heading up the path towards Kaer Morhen. They had made good time, and it was a warmer than average fall so they had not been in a huge rush. When he noticed Jaskier seemed a little slower than the previous day he decided to pay a little extra attention.

After Jaskier stopped his usual running commentary Geralt began to plan.

He let them travel on until it was close enough to lunch to reasonably call for them to stop.

read it on ao3 here

"Come on Jask, we'll stop here for lunch," Geralt led Roach to one side of the path and dug through the saddle bags for some jerky. He handed some to Jaskier without a word and proceeded to find a fallen log motioning for the bard to sit beside him.

Jaskier looked ready to argue but instead he just closed his eyes briefly before sitting beside Geralt on the log. They ate in silence, Jaskier slowly moving closer to Geralt's warmth. By the time they were done eating he looked ready to fall asleep, head resting on an armoured shoulder. Despite knowing how the afternoon would likely play out if he let them rest too much longer Geralt still took his time to get some water for himself and Jaskier, to check Roach's saddle and saddlebags were secure, and finally to feed Roach a slightly shrivelled apple, the last in their packs.

With no more reason to stall Geralt headed back on the path, Jaskier following behind.

The day wore on, and apart from being abnormally quiet and a little slower than usual, Jaskier didn't seem any worse off.

They made camp in a small shelter that had been used by many a Witcher before. It wasn't much but it was dry and the biting wind that had picked up as the evening wore on was far less bothersome than it otherwise would have been.

They ate some dried fruit and nuts, along with some more jerky for supper and as soon as he could reasonably do so Geralt climbed into their shared bedrolls laid out on the earthen floor.

With little else to do Jaskier followed, bard and Witcher curling up together under a pile of furs and blankets

"G'night love," Jaskier murmured, pressing a soft kiss to Geralt's cheek. Geralt pulled the bard a little closer and hoped he was better come morning. He had a feeling though that luck would not be on their side.

Geralt woke first, though this was certainly nothing unusual. He took a few moments to watch the sleeping bard, trying to figure out if Jaskier was doing better or worse. Though he couldn't say for certain, he was fairly sure the answer was worse.

Jaskier looked pale, far more than was usual for the bard. He was breathing through his mouth and his breaths sounded harsher than normal.

Geralt wanted nothing more than to bundle Jaskier up and put him on Roach for the rest of the days trek to the keep. He knew though that if he even suggested such a thing Jaskier would deny that he was feeling ill. As far as Jaskier was concerned he never got sick, So when he did he tried to act as though he were fine, until he could no longer keep up the act, or got better. Once Geralt tried to make him rest while he fought off a bout of the flu, suffice to say that Jaskier stubbornly refused to acknowledge that he was sick until he threw up and passed out. Geralt had no intention of letting that happen again.

Knowing he couldn't stall any longer if they wanted to make it to Kaer Morhen before nightfall, Geralt reluctantly woke the bard.

"Wake up Jask," he said softly, stroking his hand through brunette locks. Jaskier mumbled something unintelligible before groaning and turning to bury his head against Geralt's chest. Stifling a grin, Geralt sat up and pushed the blankets away, causing Jaskier to yelp and the cold air.

Jaskier glared up at him but Geralt just stood up and set about getting them some semblance of food from their dwindling supplies.

"When d' you think we'll get there?" Jaskier questioned as he finished up his food. He'd been to the keep several times before, but different weather could slow the journey. Geralt wanted to say they'd be there by lunch if they go moving now at a good pace, he also didn't want Jaskier to push himself too hard. Though the sooner he was warm in the Keep, the better.

"By dinner," he finally settled on.

Seemingly too tired to argue, Jaskier just nodded and helped gather their things up so they could get moving.

Within a few hours Jaskier was sniffling and had begun to cough. He tried to hide it in his cloak, though of course Geralt was aware. He was always aware of Jaskier.

The sky was beginning to darken, a storm rolling in. It would be a few hours before it reached them, but with Jaskier already ill he knew they needed to make it to the Keep well before the storm hit.

Despite knowing his stubborn bard would probably argue he needed to get Jaskier on Roach to help hurry things along.

Before GeraIt could voice his thoughts, Jaskier broke the silence that had fallen between them.

"Storm coming love, think we can beat it?" Jaskier asked, looking over his shoulder at the black clouds. His voice sounded rough, Geralt knew he could add 'sore throat' to the list of symptoms Jaskier was accumulating.

"If you ride Roach and we hurry we should be able to."

Jaskier seemed to contemplate this for a moment, a slight shiver wracking his frame as he slowed to a stop.

"Alright, if you’re sure," Jaskier agreed, tugging his cloak tighter around himself.

Geralt just nodded, taking Jaskier's hand he led him to Roach and let the brunette steady himself on Geralt as he mounted the mare.

With Jaskier on Roach, and of his own volition, Geralt was able to pick up the pace significantly. It was still a difficult path to travel but both Witcher and mare knew the way well. It was far more difficult with ice and snow to contend with after all.

Despite the increased speed the storm eventually caught up. Winds picked up, causing Jaskier to hunch over in the saddle, keeping his head down close to Roach's neck. He was freezing cold and was coughing harshly.

Geralt wanted to get in the saddle and help warm his friend, his partner, but he knew Jaskier would protest. He also knew it would be dangerous for Roach to carry them both in this weather. As the storm grew nearer the light had faded until it was hardly brighter than it would be as the sun began to set.

As the snow began to fall, they finally reached the gates.

Eskel was there, waiting just behind the closed gates, ready to help open them for the new arrivals.

While Geralt helped an unsteady Jaskier down from the saddle, Eskel waited to take Roach to the stable, leading the mare away as soon as the bard was on solid ground.

The weather was quickly getting worse and Geralt nodded to Eskel in thanks as he hastily led Jaskier to the doors of the Keep.

Once they were inside Vesemir greeted them happy to see they had made it safely through another year on the path, one glance at a still trembling Jaskier and he motioned them towards the roaring fireplace in the kitchen. It would be warmer there than in the hall and they could get Jaskier something warm to drink at the same time.

“Geralt, help him out of his damp gear and get him by the fire. I’ll make us all some tea,” Vesemir said, heading to the pantry to get tea leaves.

Wasting no time now they were inside he sat Jaskier before the fire and helped strip him of his outerwear and boots. He then removed his own damp gear and sat beside Jaskier, pulling the bard into his arms and helping to warm him.

Tea was ready before long and Jaskier gratefully accepted the steaming mug from Vesemir.

“Thank you,” Jaskier croaked out, looking almost surprised at how awful he sounded.

Geralt refrained from rolling his eyes. He loved the bard, truly, but one day his dogged refusal to accept that he was not above such things as illness would get the damn fool killed.

As Jaskier warmed up he began to drift off, head lolling against Geralt’s chest and the now empty mug in his hand dangling from lax fingers. Geralt retrieved the mug, passing it to Vesemir to deal with later, and stood, lifting Jaskier into his arms and with a quick thanks to his mentor he headed towards his room with Jaskier.

He had been correct in thinking that Eskel would take their bags up and get the fire going, the dark haired Witcher was just leaving the room as Geralt arrived.

“All set in there for you Wolf,” Eskel said, stepping aside so Geralt could enter the room.

“Thank you, I’ll find you later Eskel,” Geralt murmured, not wanting to disturb the sleeping bard in his arms. Turning away from his brother, Geralt entered their room.

The room was small and sparsely decorated, though not as much as it had been before he met Jaskier. A handful of books on the shelf, a few small trinkets from various places they had been together. Some spare lute strings left over from Jaskier’s last visit. There were furs on the bed and a small desk and wooden chair to one side of the room. A trunk for their clothes at the end of the bed. Their saddle bags and Jaskier’s lute case had been carefully placed in one corner to be sorted out later.

Laying the sleeping bard on the bed, Geralt stripped out of the rest of his clothes. Opting for some clothes from the trunk rather than those in the saddle bags, he changed into a pair of soft sleep pants, one of the few indulgences he allowed himself for winter in the Keep. He contemplated leaving Jaskier to sleep as he was, but the bard’s clothing was still slightly damp and wouldn’t help whatever illness he had already picked up. Finding another pair of sleep pants and a worn chemise he roused Jaskier just enough to get him changed. The bard let out a deep barking cough, rubbing at his chest before falling asleep one more.

Geralt was worried.

He knew he should have pushed Jaskier to rest more, to acknowledge that he was feeling poorly, but he hadn’t wanted to waste time with the arguments that would have followed. He just hoped that Jaskier didn’t end up too sick.

It wasn’t too late in the day, having Jaskier ride had saved them some time, but he chose to lay down beside his bard regardless. Jaskier could use the warmth, and Geralt would be able to keep an eye on him.

Without meaning to Geralt had fallen asleep.

He was woken by Jaskier when the bard had an awful sounding coughing fit that left him gagging at its intensity. He quickly helped Jaskier up and rubbed his back through the fit. When Jaskier was done he fell into Geralt’s arms and buried his head in the Witcher’s chest. Geralt could feel the heat that radiated from him. Wonderful, he had a fever now as well as a cough.

It was long minutes later when Jaskier finally pulled away and looked at Geralt, his face was pale, cheeks flushed with fever. Tired eyes looked glassy and his nose was red, probably from the bard rubbing at it when Geralt hadn’t been looking.

“Geralt, I don’t feel well,” Jaskier said softly, almost like he was expecting some kind of negative reaction from the Witcher. Probably because everytime Geralt suggested he wasn’t feeling well in the years they had known one another, Jaskier would argue, deny and disagree until he was blue in the face. Geralt just felt relieved though that maybe this time he would be able to take care of the man before him without all the usual drama.

So rather than argue, or tell Jaskier he had known for over a day that the bard was falling ill he simply pulled him into his arms, kissed his over warm forehead and lay back on the bed, pulling Jaskier with him.

“Alright then, we’ll speak with Ves and get something to help. Just let me know when you feel up to it alright?”

Jaskier nodded against Geralt’s chest and relaxed. For once allowing Geralt to care for him without argument.

#febuwhump #febwhumpday11 #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #sickfic #sick jaskier #jaskier whump #soft geralt #kaer morhen #vesemir #Eskel #Roac my #roach #my fics #fanfiction #the witcher

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