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fandom-junk-drawer · 1 year

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The Witcher Headcanon - Mistakes

(More Feral!Jaskier)

Jaskier usually spent his winters in Kaer Morhen. He liked the illusion of solitude, where he could drift around the endless corridors, letting his mind wander and invent scenarios that he could use to inspire ballads and poems.

He could stay up into the wee hours every night, scribbling away in his notebook as the muses whispered to him in the quiet of his small room.

He could sleep late into the morning after the muses finally allowed him to sleep, and then drag himself down to the Great Hall for some strong tea and whatever was left over from breakfast.

He could spend a few hours with his Witcher friends, laughing, telling stories, and helping with chores. Witnessing the brotherhood humans didn't think them capable of.

He could stare out the window, singing softly to himself, working out a tune or the lyrics to a song.

He could scribble down random thoughts inspired by watching the sun move over the landscape, or from the feeling of the snow falling on him, or the sounds and sights he experienced while riding with Geralt in the woods around the Keep.

The way the snow clumped on a branch, the sound of Pegasus's hooves in the snow, the crisp chill of the air on his cheeks, the silence of the woods as the snow fell around him, all of it was fodder for his creativity.

He could live in a room that was a mess of scattered piles of parchment organized in a way that only he understood.

He could forget to eat, and comb his hair, and shave, and change his clothes for days at a time. There was no one there who would care if he let his personal standards of grooming slip.

He could live his lonely, tortured artist aesthetic to his heart's content.

But then, one winter, his pleasant routine was interrupted. There had been a few times when the subject of Jaskier being able to defend himself had come up. He had always bushed the conversation off.

Bards were an important part of society! They were the Keepers of History! News Bringers! Stewards of The Arts! King-Makers! They were practically a protected species! Besides, who would dare harm a bard who is friends with a whole pack of Witchers?

Inspite of his protests, Jaskier still found himself being pushed out to the training grounds at the ungodly hour of almost noon. Coen was determined to teach him at least some basic sword skills.

Jaskier had stood there shivering, and holding the wooden training sword out at arm's lenght as if it were a snake that might curl up and bite him. He'd whined and complained while Coen showed him how to hold the sword, and adjusted his stance. Jaskier continued to natter on as the Witcher took him through a few basic moves.

Coen had tried giving Jaskier different weapons. The bow had been a bad idea. Jaskier's aim was so bad it was almost comical. Coen hadn't even dared to think about handing him an axe, or a spear.

Coen found himself growing incresingly frustrated with the bard as the weeks went by. Jaskier showed very little improvement. He spent the majority of the training time whining about training, making jokes, and putting in lackluster effort.

Jaskier had shown only mild interest in each of the weapons. It was the novelty and an interest in the physics and mechanics of the weapon that grabbed his attention. When it came to seriously training with one, the fun went away, along with Jaskier's interest.

The other Witchers would sometimes come along to watch and offer unhelpful advice, make jokes, and try to encourage Jaskier.

Lambert could always be found watching the awkward training sessions. It was good entertainment. And then things got really interesting.

Coen was chasing Jaskier around the courtyard, trying to get him to use some of the moves he'd been showing him. He was usually a patient teacher, but Jaskier had a knack for being incredibly irritating.

Maybe it was the way he acted so fussy and prissy, as if his hands were too delicate to hold a training sword. Or the way he babbled ceaselessly, making jokes or complaints. Or perhaps it was how he seemed so flippant about being able to defend himself, as if he refused to acknowledge the imprortance of it.

Coen finally lost his patience. He started getting into Jaskier's space, pressuring him. The bard had squeaked and backed up, swinging his wooden training sword wildly. He'd yelped as Coen smacked him with his sword, giving him a surprised look. He'd backpedaled, holding his arm, and Coen had hit him on the thigh, then sent him sprawling to the ground.

Lambert had stood up, uneasy as Coen swung down at Jaskier's head, growling at him to get up as the bard scrambled frantically to get out of the way.

"Get up you lazy s*d! Do you think this is a game? Do you think I'm doing this for fun?" Jaskier had swallowed, twisting up to his feet and yelping again as Coen hit him across one shoulder. He was covered in bruises, some old, some very new, and they ached in the cold. He barely got his sword up in time to haphazardly block Coen's next swing. The Witcher contined to go after him, "Stop running away and start fighting back!"

"Coen, stop! I don't want to-!"

"Geralt and Yennefer aren't always going to be there to do the fighting for you!"

"Coen," Lambert said, an odd note of warning in his voice. "He's a bard, not a Witcher. He hasn't been in anything more dangerous than a drunken bar fight."

"And that's why he needs to learn how to actually fight! He might be able to handle a drunk, but a sober enemy is another matter! He can't spend every fight he gets in flapping around uselessly like a terrified chicken while Geralt or Yennefer do the fighting!"

Coen went after the bard, driving him around the courtyard, not letting up. Jaskier frantically stumbled back, parrying and trying keep his feet. His mind was a storm of panic. He needed to get away from Coen fast, or things weren't going to end well. He desperately looked for an escape route, tried cricling to the doors to the Great Hall, but Coen was always there, blocking his way.

The bald Witcher pushed him towards a corner. Jaskier yapped as Coen hit him hard on the side then shoved him into the wall.

"Coen, back off! He's-!," Lambert warned, having seen a familiar look in Jaskier's eyes.

"F**k off, Lambert!"

"No, you ar*ehole, listen-!"

"I said to f**k off!"

"Fine. It's your funeral," Lambert muttered, crossing his arms and leaning against a training dummy.

"Coen, stop!" Jaskier pleaded, a weird edge to his voice.

"Or what? What are you going to do? Go crying to Geralt or Yennefer? You think an enemy is going to politely wait until they get there?" Coen growled, shoving him roughly.

"Please...just stop..." Jaskier had said quietly. Tears started welling up in his eyes.

"Don't start that crying sh*t! You aren't getting out of this!"

Coen shoved Jaskier into the wall again and cuffed him hard on the ear. Jaskier let out a surprised sob, trying to curl in on himself, one hand going up to hold his ringing ear.

"Yennefer is going to-!" Jaskier began.

Coen slapped his hand down and grabbed his jaw, pinning his head to the wall. "Going to what? Be mad? Go ahead and cry for her, I'll kick her a*se around the yard too!"

And that was when Jaskier snapped.

He twisted and bit The forearm Coen was holding him with, the shoved the Witcher away.

Coen saw the flash of the push knife barely in time to avoid being gutted. He staggered back, bleeding but with his guts still on the inside.

Jaskier switched the push knife to his off-hand, scooped up his dropped training sword, and slammed the pommel hard into the crest of Coen's hip bone. Coen cursed and went down as pain exploded in his hip.

Lambert ran to help, yelling for Jaskier to stop, and had to twist abrutly to the side to avoid the thin throwing knife that whistled past him. The little sh*t had throwing knives too?! F**k!

Coen kicked Jaskier away from him, groaning as the pain in his left hip flared sharply. Jaskier rolled in the snow, gained his feet, and jumped on Coen.

He was going for another push knife when Coen smacked him hard on the side of the head with the flat of his sword.

Jaskier reeled, disoriented, and dropped his knife. Lambert kicked it away, and helped Coen pin Jaskier face down on the ground.

The bard was still trying to fight them, even though his head was swimming from the blow.

"What the f**k?" Coen panted, checking his bleeding stomach, leaning heavily on the struggling bard. The wound wasn't too deep, but it would need stitching. His hip, on the other hand was killing him. "What the absolute f**k?"

"I told you to leave him alone!" Lambert panted back. "Did you think I was joking? You alright?"

"Yeah, just a cut and I think I have a hip pointer. Mother of-! Yeah, " Coen said, lightly touching the large hematoma on his hip, "It's definitely a hip pointer. F**K it hurts like a b*tch!" Coen paused as something Lambert said caught his attention. "You knew this was going to happen, didn't you, you ar*ehole!"

Lambert shrugged. "I tried to warn you, but you know, sometimes you just have to learn from your own mistakes."

"You're such a jacka**!"

"Calm the h*ll down, you daft b**tard! " Lambert snapped at Jaskier, who continued to desperately struggle and snarl. "We aren't trying to hurt you!"

"Aww, f**k, he's bleeding!" Coen said, spotting the bloody bruise on the side of Jaskier's head. He scooped up a handful of snow and gently pressed it to the lump. Jaskier flinched, then got quiet, distracted by the coldness of the snow. He lay still, letting the cold soothe the intense ache in his head. His head was swimming, and he felt nauseated. Familiar voices were talking to him. His bruised brain recognized the faces leaning over him. Friends! They looked worried...oh d*mn, something was wrong with him!

Lambert and Coen cautiously rolled him onto his back. Jaskier blinked and squinted, then reached for his head with a pained moan. "Shhhh, here, Songbird," Lambert said, holding a fresh handful of snow to his head wound.

Jaskier flinched and clutched at Lambert's sleeve, fear and confusion swirling in his dazed, unfocused eyes. "Easy, easy! It's alright!"

"We should probably get Geralt."

"He's going to be p*ssed!"

"You want to get Yennefer instead?"

"F**k no!"

"Eskel?"

"He went out hunting,"

"D**n it!"

Jaskier, throughly concussed, disoriented, scared, and in pain, called for the only person his foggy brain could remember at the moment. Unfortunately, his bruised brain was having trouble matching a name with Vesemir's face. What was it again? Oh, Yeah!

Jaskier's mouth worked for a second, and then he whimpered, "pA!!!"

Lambert and Coen felt the panic only older siblings feel when they 'accidentally' cause their younger sibling to start crying. Lambert slapped a hand over Jaskier's mouth and hissed "No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no! Shh, shh, shh, shh, shh! You're okay! Shhhhhhhhhh! " He and Coen sat absolutely still. Listening.

"It wasn't very loud...maybe he didn't hear...."

Vesemir: *busy roasting some venison*

Vesemir: *hears The Voice Crack*

Vesemir's brain: *Mental image of baby!jaskier*

Papa Vesemir: I must go! My adopted grandpup needs me! *yeets his hand embroidered "I'll Feed All You F**ks' apron and flies to the courtyard*

Coen and Lambert were just about to relax when Vesemir was suddenly there, looming over them. And if that wasn't bad enough, Geralt appeared barely a second later with an unhappy growl.

Lambert looked at Coen and knew he was thinking the exact same thing: Oh, we're f***ed!

Coen was lectured by Vesemir as his injuries were treated, while Lambert escaped the dressing down because he was considered an innocent bystander who'd tried to help. He spent his time helping Geralt clean up Jaskier's head wound and get him to drink a watered down healing potion to take care of his concussion.

Coen had limped in later, to see how he was doing, and found out that Geralt, Aiden, and Lambert all knew about Jaskier's feral side. They showed him their scars from their encounters, except for Lambert ( because his weren't in a place that he could exactly proudly display), and Aiden, who didn't have any scars because he had been present when Geralt had gotten his.

They then swore him to secrecy, as was the tradition now. Eskel would have to find out on his own not to f**k with the bard.

#the witcher #the witcher headcanon #the witcher netflix #twn #geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #geraskier #vesemir #coen #lambert #eskel #kaer morons #bamf!jaskier #feral!jaskier #mistakes headcanon #jaskier whump

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solcorvidae · 3 months

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Dear Fellow Traveller (But Tonight, I Still Dream Of You)

-3,022 words-

Warnings: Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions of Violence Other Tags/Warnings: Blood and Torture, Burns, Vomiting, Delirium, Asphyxiation, Hallucinations, Post-Mountain Fic, Burn Butcher Burn And Its Consequences, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort

Time and time again, Jaskier cried out for Geralt, begging the universe to tell him he needed help, dreaming about how the witcher would tear down the door and kill the mage that did this to him, how Geralt would cradle Jaskier's limp body and look down on him with sorrow, his golden eyes stinging as Jaskier's distant gaze met his own; maybe he would finally get an apology. Maybe Jaskier would forgive him. Hell, there's nothing in this damned world that would stop Jaskier from crawling his way back to the man who he, oh so, burdened with his presence. Some nights, Jaskier wondered if it was destiny. Maybe he was born to be broken. Maybe Jaskier's life's purpose was to relentlessly forgive everyone who had ever wronged him, no matter how horrendous the deed. Most of all, perhaps, he was destined to become a travelling troubadour in all versions of himself, all lifetimes converging into this single rotten truth. Of all lives he could have led, the only oneness between them was that he would meet Geralt of Rivia, the Butcher of Blaviken... his White Wolf. Truth be told, if it wasn't for Geralt, Jaskier wouldn't have ever endured such pain. If it wasn't for Geralt, Jaskier would be some nobody performer playing at backwater inns, making less than his worth in crowns and peddling for coin with his esteemed education, refusing to return to the courts of Lettenhove. If it wasn't for Geralt, Jaskier wouldn't know what trust and companionship are. If it wasn't for Geralt, Jaskier wouldn't be Jaskier; he wouldn't have written Toss a Coin, he wouldn't have travelled the Path, and Jaskier wouldn't have ever met half the people he presently knew and loved. But Jaskier would always forgive him, always run back to him, and always allow him an indefinite number of chances because Geralt was the defining feature in Jaskier's life; Geralt was his constant, his consistency. For all of Jaskier's adult life, it has always been Geralt. Jaskier's eyes were glassy and distant, almost indifferent to the crunch of bone and the searing pain in his head as his neck once again whipped to the side. He could no longer make out the words the mage had been saying. His head spun, and a rush filled his ears. Blood poured from his nose, filling his sinuses with the acrid stench of his own blood. It dribbled over his open lips and down his chin, spattering onto his already filth-ridden clothes as he panted labourously. With every intake of breath, Jaskier could feel his chest and throat gurgle and bubble. Where was he?

Continue Reading on AO3...

#Title: Dear Fellow Traveller by Seawolf #major character death #graphic depictions of violence #just... be careful loves #whump #witcher whump #jaskier whump #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #ao3 author #archive of our own #sol scribbles #Spotify

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geraskierfanficprompts · 10 days

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Prompt 5

Everything that can go wrong one night, goes wrong, and it's just annoying inconvenience after annoying inconvenience. Jask falls and drags Geralt down with him, Jask gets them kicked out of an inn, Jask spends their last coin, Jask complicates the fight and accidentally gets Geralt injured, etc, etc, and eventually Geralt snaps at Jaskier for getting in the way and making things harder. They get into a big fight over it, and Jaskier even gets a second room to sleep apart. They are still on icy terms after the argument, until Jaskier starts realizing he doesn't.. feel well.. In fact he feels quite awful. Jaskier shortly realizes that he's getting ill. But he's terrified to tell Geralt, in fear of this being the straw that breaks the camel's back. What if Geralt really leaves him after this? What if this is the last thing that Geralt can handle is Jaskier delaying them getting new contracts because he's ailing? So he does what every smart honorable self-respected bard would do. He pretends nothing is wrong and prays it goes away on it's own. It isn't. It's getting way worse. Geralt can smell something off with Jaskier's scent, and is getting worried. He keeps asking Jaskier if he needs breaks or help doing things (Jaskier is convinced Geralt is just proving he can do everything without Jaskier, and that stopping for breaks will show Geralt how shit a travelling companion he is) Geralt just needs to get them to a town so he can pamper Jaskier with his favorite sweets, a warm bath, and a nice bed, and then ask him when he feels most ready to tell. But then Jaskier suddenly just.. Collapses.

He's walking alongside roach like always, only for him to suddenly roll his eyes back and just.. fall to the ground. Geralt is of course, freaking out- Geralt picks up his bard and makes an abrupt camp to check on him. Holding Jaskier so close, he can smell the fragrance of illness, muffled and muddled by Jaskier's soaps and perfumes. His bard is sick. Geralt, loving his bard unconditionally, treats and watches over Jaskier until he awakes. Jaskier, when he finally returns to consciousness, immediately begins begging Geralt not to get rid of him, not to leave him behind, that he's barely even sick, that he can keep going, just keep him, please. Geralt is horrified Jaskier thinks he could ever be left behind by Geralt, and they make up and kiss and say "i love you" idk.. think it'd be kinda gay...

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icarustica · 1 year

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⁠♡ wip wednesday

summary: angsty, whumpy, no real resolution, 700ish words

♡♡♡

“You will do what you are told!” shouted Geralt.

“There it is,” Jaskier said quietly, stepping back, leaves crunching under his foot. The forest was quiet as he swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing. The silence was suddenly deafening, the peace in the dappled light of the forest like an unwelcome, scratchy blanket.

Geralt’s breath came short and fast in his chest, a rabbit’s pace that matched the speed of his heart. “What?”

“I will do what I’m told,” chuckled Jaskier. He flickered between Geralt’s eyes like he was searching for something. “I really am your whore, huh? For everything except… well, except whoring.”

Geralt blinked, anger rising up in him again. “I don’t–”

“If not, then one step above,” Jaskier snapped suddenly, fire flaring back up in his eyes. “You know nothing of friendship. Friendship is not this, this…” he spluttered for a moment. “Weighted give and take. I give you everything, Geralt, my care, my coin, my humiliation, all for what? A couple of songs? I could write a dozen ditties about the Countess and be brimming with riches within the week.”

Geralt’s face heated. He’d pondered that before, how attractive the thought of running off to some noble must seem to Jaskier, being surrounded by lovely adorers every minute, draped in fancy clothes and fed with all the fruit and meat he desired. How dismal travelling with Geralt must seem compared to that reachable paradise.

“You think saving me from your monsters is payment,” Jaskier spat. “And perhaps it is. For playing at bars where every drunk blacksmith paws at me like a whore just to pay for our meals.”

Geralt flinched.

“And maybe your protection covers the work I’ve done to fix your reputation,” he continued, eyes blazing. “And if we’re being generous, it probably also covers the beatings I’ve taken for what I couldn’t fix.”

Beatings. Geralt had never thought… sometimes Jaskier would come back from a night somewhere away from their shared room covered with bruises and stumbling like a drunk. Oh, I just found a convenient ditch to rest my head in for the night, don’t worry your pretty little head about it. Lying. He’d been lying.

“But what your protection does not cover, Geralt,” Jaskier snapped, “is the things I have paid to earn your friendship instead. Cleaning your armour. Stitching your wounds. Buying you things at the market just to cheer you up.”

Geralt swallowed. He opened his mouth.

Jaskier’s eyebrow quirked up, a challenge.

He shut it again. It was unfair, asking him to battle words with Jaskier, a man who played with them for a living. Especially when he couldn’t figure out the feelings to inspire the words in the first place.

“The witcher’s whore,” Jaskier repeated quietly, like he was testing the words in his mouth or telling a story. “Does what he’s told.”

Geralt stepped closer, growling under his breath. "Stop."

Jaskier would have normally backed down. De-escalated things with a joke, but today his chin jutted upward. Today fire brimmed in those blue eyes. "Yes sir," he bit out.

“Jaskier," he warned.

"General Geralt, sir," he continued. "My most excellent warlord!"

"Stop."

"Oh great Butcher-"

Something snapped, the words torn out of him: "Fucking stop!"

“Oh, yes, master,” mocked Jaskier, equally as loud, hand flourishing like he was about to bow.

Geralt’s face heated even more, helpless anger clawing at him. It felt wrong. Everything felt wrong - the skin on his body, the woods crashing with wind around them. “Jaskier, I am not your master, you are not my whore, I–”

“You like it,” he snarled, bitter like gin. “You like being the man in charge, the martyr at the head of the battle. So much responsibility, and oh, only you can bear it.”

“Jaskier.”

Jaskier snapped down into a full bow, hand across his pleated red chest. “Yes, sir! Am I dismissed, sir?”

“Stop it.”

“Yes sir, of course sir,” he mocked, looking to the ground as if chastised.

Geralt let out a frustrated growl, somewhere between a cry of anguish and a sob.

“Shall I clean your boots, sir?” Jaskier snapped, eyes glinting through his hair as he looked up, still half-bent into a bow. “Your armour? Shall I find you another whore to spend the night with?”

Geralt marched forward, vibrating with anger. “Fucking stop,” he growled, close to shouting. “Just– just stop–”

“Apologies, sir, I’ll do better, shall I take your belt for lashings?”

“Fucking hell, Jaskier!” Geralt grabbed his shoulders, determined to shake out whatever the fuck was making him talk that way.

Jaskier pulled his collar into his hands and kissed him.

Geralt had good reflexes and bad instincts. He pressed into it without a moment’s hesitation, drowning in Jaskier’s scent, the feeling of his soft lips opening to him, the warmth of his body pressed against his own.

Jaskier broke it, leaning back only an inch. “There,” he whispered. “Now you can take that from me too.”

♡♡♡

I'll probably never finish this, but i like where it was going!

⁠♡icarus

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #jaskier the bard #jaskier witcher #witcher #the witcher (tv)#the witcher #geralt of rivia #angst #whump #angsty #jaskier whump #geralt whump #unfinished #fanfiction #fanfic #fanfic author #ao3 author

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shy-urban-hobbit · 7 months

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Aiden sighed as he settled back in the grass, basking in the midday sun whilst his horse grazed nearby. After almost a week of camping, he was pretty sure he only had a day, two at most before the Dyn Marv Caravan passed close enough for him to join the clowder for the winter. It was a trick all Cat’s picked up after a couple of years on the path and missed opportunities to go home because you were restless. Pick a stretch of road and hunker down until you hear the calls. They still liked to remind Schrödinger of the year he missed them because he got distracted by a pretty shepherdess and was helping her ‘tend her flock’, as it were.

He smiled to himself as he closed his eyes and started idly listing off the various birds he could hear. Something he’d always found calming. Wood pigeon; obviously. A blue jay, a couple of crows making a din about something further into the trees, a linnet.

He tensed when his sensitive ears picked up a distinctly human call. Somebody somewhere in the woods was singing. Aiden relaxed when it didn’t sound like they were getting any closer (further away if anything) before frowning. He couldn’t make out the words but from tone of voice alone it was apparent his mystery serenader was pissed. He winced in sympathy for whoever or whatever had earned such ire. His musings were interrupted by the sharp crack of wood breaking, followed by the singing rapidly turning into a shriek. He whistled 'stay' at his horse, hoping the flick of an ear was acknowledgment and not a fly before leaping to his feet and grabbing his swords before sprinting in the direction the noise had come from.

The groans of pain and multiple (very creative) curses were both a blessing and a curse. It was providing him with pretty clear directions but who knew what else they’d attract. It wasn’t long before he found their source though. A pit trap, the branches and bracken laid over the top destroyed. He made sure to make his footfalls louder as he approached.

“Hello, is somebody there? Oh Gods, if there is, please be an actual person and not some sort of liche or something.” The voice only sounded slightly shaky, which could just as easily be down to the scent of pain as well as that of fear.

“No Liche around these woods. None I’ve seen anyway.” Aiden said as he peered over the edge. It was deep, and the earthen sides were totally smooth, with not even a decent sized tree root visible, whoever had dug this wasn’t taking any chances.

A young man sat on the pit floor, blinking up at him with wide, blue eyes. A light pack on his back and a lute laying next to him, his hands grasping his left ankle. His gaze fixed on Aiden’s swords from where they peeked over his shoulder, “Wait. Armour, two swords…Witcher?”

Aiden nodded, mentally preparing himself for having to convince him to accept help from him.

“Oh, thank fuck.” The man’s shoulders sagged as he gave a relieved sounding laugh, “For a minute there I thought I was in trouble. Jaskier the Bard.” He inclined his head and Aiden got the impression it would be a full bow if he were standing, “Be a dear and help me out?” Aiden blinked down at him. Shit, he was definitely concussed.

After Jaskier had assured him that no, he hadn’t hit his head, but he had buggered up his ankle somewhat, they came up with a system. Jaskier passed his lute and pack up to Aiden, the Witcher feeling guilt spring up at the flash of pure hurt in the human’s eyes when he half-jokingly asked “’How do you know I won’t just leave you there?” He held his tongue as he hung as far over the edge as he dared and offered Jaskier his hand so he could haul himself out with Aiden’s help. He looked anywhere but at Aiden as he sat and tried to wipe the dust and mud off his bright red doublet. He immediately reminded the Witcher of a cardinal bird.

Aiden cleared his throat awkwardly, “Your ankle, think you can walk on it? I can help you back to your camp or horse if not.”

Jaskier shook his head, “Don’t have either I’m afraid. I’ve been travelling incredibly light as of late, I don’t know if you’ve tried it, but it’s been surprisingly freeing not being weighed down by useless stuff, you know.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call a bedroll useless.”

Jaskier waved a hand, “Debatable. I-fuck!” Aiden caught him by the arm as his ankle immediately buckled underneath him when he tried to stand, “No, walking’s not happening. Sorry.”

“Nothing to apologise for. Lean on me.”

“Where are you taking me?”

Good fucking question, actually.

Aiden really didn’t have time for this. He couldn’t leave a defenceless human hobbling around on an injured leg, but he couldn’t exactly risk an outsider encountering the Caravan either. There was a reason they stayed off the main roads after all. He tried to sketch a basic map in his head: This should be just about manageable.

“My camp. We’ll use my horse to get you to the nearest town and you can make your own way from there yeah? Unless you know of anywhere else nearby, where were you heading?” The nearest town was about a days ride away, if he rode through the night after dropping Jaskier off he should hopefully be back in time to catch the Caravan.

“I…no,” and there was that hurt again, “I have nowhere to be and nowhere to go. Such is the life of travelling Bard.”

“Easy, Sparrow.” Aiden cooed as he helped Jaskier up on the saddle, the Bard holding his lute in his lap and muttering something about how it must be some unspoken Witcher tradition to name your horse after another animal.

“Know many Witchers then?” Aiden asked

“Just the one, we travelled together on and off for a time, he’s a Wolf.” Aiden felt ice go down his spine. Fuck. A certain, tolerable raven head being the exception, if he was going to end up with some possessive fleabag accusing him of kidnapping, Aiden was cutting ties now.

“Where are they now?” Aiden tried to keep his tone light. If Lambert had lost another brother, he wouldn't know until he made it back to his own home for the winter and the thought that Aiden would know before the poor sods family momentarily settled heavily in his chest.

“I don’t actually know. We had a bit of a disagreement a while back. Which school are you by the way, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Aiden fished the snarling cat head from out of his tunic, which was met with raised eyebrows and an “…Ah.”

“Still happy with our plan?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Jaskier sounded genuinely confused.

“I can guess what your Wolf told you about my lot. If you’d rather take your chances, I can leave you with some basic supplies.”

“Dear, if I paid attention to every single thing I got told about Witchers, my life would have taken a very different direction. You’ve given me no reason not to trust you so far. So, hop up and let’s go.”

“Self-preservation isn’t a phrase you know very well, is it?”

“We’ve a passing acquaintance at best. Speaking of, may I know the name of my rescuer and escort? Unless you don’t mind me calling you Dear for the entire trip.”

“I’m Aiden.”

Read the rest on my A03!

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #aiden centric #witcher aiden #aiden/jaskier friendship #witcher jaskier #jaskier #jaskier whump #dyn marv #cat witchers

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beth--b · 1 year

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All Fall Down

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

Characters: Jaskier, Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon

Prompt: Exhaustion

Tags: Exhaustion, jaskier whump, post season 2, post relationship but also pre relationship

Word count: 1355

Chapters: 1/1

Completed: yes

Summary: After the fight with Deathless Mother Jaskier is exhausted but ignores his own needs until he can't ignore them anymore.

Link: read it on ao3 here

@jaskierwhumpweek

Jaskier felt like he could sleep for a fucking year.

He had never been so utterly exhausted, so thoroughly wrung out in his life.

The sleepless nights helping elves as the Sandpiper, the fucking torture, going to prison, and let's not forget the Deathless Mother and Ciri's possession. The terrible loss of so many Witchers from a place that should have been safe, from their home.

Yet, he knew he could not rest, not yet.

There was work to be done and he needed to pull his weight. The Keep had already been half ruined even before hell had been unleashed upon them, now the main hall of the Keep was almost destroyed.

So he pushed aside the way his limbs felt so heavy he could hardly hold himself up, the way his eyes burned even when closed, and set about helping wherever he could.

He found himself helping Lambert move broken furniture, helping Coen collect medallions from the fallen witchers. He found himself on hands and knees scrubbing blood from the floor. Until finally, he found himself face to face with a Cintran Princess, turned Witcher trainee who was looking as though she would burst into tears at the slightest provocation.

" Ciri?" Jaskier asked after a few moments silence, "Ciri are you alright? Actually, of course you aren't. Stupid question to ask you at a time like this. I know there is no way that you could possibly be alright my dear, but is there anything I can do to help you?"

Ciri looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers together in what must have been a nervous habit. Finally she seemed to steel herself and faced him once more.

"Could you sing for me?"

Jaskier gave the girl a tired smile and nodded.

"Of course. How about we head to your room and I'll sing you a song or two to help you sleep?"

"Thank you, I'm not sure I can sleep after…well, after all that, but thank you."

She led Jaskier further into the keep until she opened a door to a small, freezing cold room.

Jaskier looked appalled at the freezing room and shook his head in mute horror.

"This is your room?" he finally asked, the words hard to get out from sheer disbelief.

Ciri just nodded.

"Right, we are going to find GeraIt."

Jaskier set off back towards the hall where he had last seen Geralt. By the time they found him, Jaskier was feeling his exhaustion deep within his very bones, his vision beginning to go hazy around the edges. But he was determined that Ciri would not spend another night in that freezing closet of a room.

"Geralt we need to talk about Ciri's sleeping arrangements," the bard said, coming to a stop before the white haired witcher.

"Not really the time Jaskier," Geralt replied as he hefted more broken stones into his arms to be moved to a pile with other rubble and debris from the fight.

Jaskier followed Geralt, determined to help Ciri in any way he could.

"No Geralt, that girl has been through enough, please do not tell me you think her room is acceptable?"

Geralt sighed and turned to face Jaskier knowing the bard wouldn't let this go if he didn't.

"Ciri is sleeping where all trainee Witcher's have stayed, Jaskier. It's what she wanted."

Jaskier ran a hand down his face, his exhaustion forgotten momentarily in exasperation.

"My dear, she may wish to be a Witcher now but she was a princess up until recently. A very fucking traumatised one at that. The poor child needs a room that is not half filled with snow. How she hasn't fucking frozen to death I don't even know. Now tell me where she can sleep?"

Geralt looked guilty for a moment as though he realised he should have done better. He simply nodded once then turned on his heel and left the room, Jaskier and Ciri following.

Jaskier wasn't really aware as he followed Geralt down various passageways, lost in exhaustion he only came back to himself when Geralt stopped to open a door to a bedroom.

The room was cold, because of course it was, but the windows were intact and there was a small hearth. Geralt set about lighting a fire while Jaskier helped Ciri into the small bed, the girl looked ready to fall asleep on her feet.

Once Ciri was settled Jaskier tucked her in and promised her a song the next day.

Ciri nodded sleepily, murmured a thank you and closed her eyes.

With Ciri as good as asleep, both men left the room quietly.

Back out in the hall Jaskier's own lack of sleep caught up with him, the bard stumbling as he tried to set off back down the hall.

Strong arms caught him around the waist, stopping him from falling face first to the stone floor.

"Jaskier, you alright?" GeraIt's voice rumbled in his ear.

Jaskier tried to answer but he couldn't seem to find the words, his ears were ringing and his vision had gone fuzzy. He faintly registered Geralt's startled cry of 'fuck' before everything went dark.

When Jaskier woke he was not in the room he had commandeered when he arrived at Kaer Morhen. No, this room felt far more lived in. He was covered in warm furs, there was a fire crackling in the small hearth and there were a few personal items around the room, a few books and some very familiar swords hanging on the wall. He was in Geralt's room.

Just as he reached this conclusion the Witcher in question opened the door. He had a tray in his arms with what appeared to be a mug of tea and a bowl of porridge.

"Geralt? What happened?"

Instead of answering, Geralt just sat the tray on the bed within easy reach of the bard then moved to sit in front of the fire.

He watched in silence as Jaskier drank his tea and ate his breakfast. When Jaskier was done Geralt retrieved the tray, placing it near the door before coming to sit beside Jaskier on the bed.

"What happened is that you pushed yourself so far past your limits that you passed out. You were out for the rest of the day and night," Geralt paused as though he was debating whether or not to say something more. Finally he seemed to reach a decision, reaching out for the bard's hand and giving it a light squeeze. "You scared the shit out of me Jask, please don't do that again."

"Sorry my dear, there had just been so much going on…it's been a long few days. Months really if I'm honest. Smuggling elves, torture and prison followed by a crazy night of possession and monsters really takes it out of a man," Jaskier explained, fighting back a yawn despite the apparently long sleep he had just woken on.

"Wait, torture and smuggling elves? What the fuck?"

Jaskier looked at Geralt in confusion, "Didn't Yennefer tell you I was in Oxenfurt?"

"Yes but she just said you were in trouble, I found you in a prison cell Jaskier and assumed that was the trouble."

"Ah well that makes me feel a little better actually. I did think you might have wanted to know about what happened with the whole torture thing but you never asked and quite frankly I didn't want to think about it," Jaskier looked at their still joined hands and tried not to think about his time with the fire mage, barely suppressing a shudder.

"I won't push but you can talk to me when you're ready. I know I fucked up after the dragon hunt but I don't want to lose you again."

"Thank you Geralt, maybe not now but soon. Now I'm still tired and you look wrecked. Will you join me for a little while?"

Geralt nodded and climbed under the covers, wrapping his arms around the bard. They had a lot to talk about but for now they would just enjoy being in each other's company once more.

#jaskierwhumpweek #jaskier whump #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #witcher fanfiction #my fics #geralt of rivia #jaskier #cirilla of cintra #ciri #kaer morhen #exhaustion

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watch-that-writer-burnnn · 2 years

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Be gentle with me

Pairing: Jaskier x reader

Prompt: "I need you to wake up because I can't do this without you"

Summary: reader wakes up beside an unconscious Jaskier after the pair are attacked. Angst, followed by fluff.

Warnings: angst, unconscious/injured Jaskier and reader, some blood, prelude to smut

Words: 930

A/n: I'm highly sleep deprived and don't even know what I'm writing anymore. Hope you enjoy! Please feel free to let me know if I've made any mistakes in the warnings.

Your vision swam as you opened your eyes, waking from unconsciousness. You blinked slowly as your head rolled limply on your shoulders, confusion creasing your brow. Where were you? Captured and held prisoner, or left somewhere to succumb to your injuries?

The room - or, rather, the shallow cave - around you gradually came into focus, and thoughts flooded back to you. The ambush, a fight, the bard...

"Shit! Jaskier!" you yelled, the memory of his bloodstained face crashing into your mind as you threw your head back, crying out in pain as it connected with the cold rock wall behind you. Your groan of agony twisted into a gasp, as you noticed the nearby form of the bard lying unmoving on the rough stone floor, his back to you.

You did your best to crawl towards him, whimpering as you fought to ignore the agonising throb of pain in the side of your head.

Reaching his side, you ran your hands through his soft brown hair, scared to turn him over and examine the extent of his injuries. This was all your fault.

"Jaskier... Jaskier... Jask!"

Your patience eroded as the bard gave no response, and panic began to clench your throat.

"Oh gods, Jask... Please... Wake up!"

You grasped his shoulder, gently shaking him. Still no response.

Choking back a sob, you struggled to flip your friend onto his back. This was tricky in your weakened state, and he was heavier than he looked.

You cried out softly at the sight of his usually pretty face beaten and bloody.

Fluffy fringe matted with a dark liquid, one cheek swollen and bruised, soft lips cut and dripping with blood...

You swallowed, forcing yourself to do what you'd been avoiding - you lowered your head to his side, eyes level with his chest and watching carefully for any sign of movement.

It seemed like an eternity before you finally spotted the barely perceptible rise and fall of his chest, visible through the low cut of his undershirt - his doublet must have been stripped away by your captors. You too were left only in your undershirt and pants - robbed and left to die, with no weapons and no sign of Jaskier's lute. He would be devastated when he woke up, you thought, eyes skimming across his battered yet strangely peaceful face. You reached down, tracing first his cheekbones, then lips with a shaking finger.

"Jaskier... Wake up, Jask. Can you hear me?"

You sobbed in defeat, burying your face in his chest, tears seeping into the soft hair there.

"Jaskier. Please. I need you to wake up. I need you to wake up because I can't... I can't do this without you!" you yelled, helplessly slamming your fists into the ground.

You slumped over his prone body and the tears continued to flow, fueled by the guilt of your failure to protect your helpless bard. You slipped a hand into his own, gently squeezing his cold, limp fingers.

A small groan shook you from your dark thoughts. Your head shot up and your hands rushed to either side of his face.

"Jaskier!"

"Hey..." he strained to form the words, grimacing in pain as he did so.

His mesmerising blue eyes began to scan your tear streaked face, his expression brimming with worry as he asked, "Are you alright?"

"Am- am I alright?" you couldn't help but laugh.

"My sweet bard, if only you could see yourself right now- and you still think to ask if I'm alright?"

Jaskier didn't respond, instead attempting to sit up. You slipped a hand around his waist and one behind his neck to help support him, his pained whimpers making you flinch.

You sat facing each other now, his warm breath tickling your face, and you noticed Jaskier's gaze flick to your lips. You couldn't help but let your eyes drop to his mouth, and before you knew what you were doing, you'd pulled him closer, lips tingling as they brushed his own. Jaskier seized his chance, dragging you in for a passionate kiss, his warm lips working against your own, leaving a slight taste of iron from the cut on his lip. You deepened the kiss, shuddering as he pulled you into his lap, allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist. You moaned into his mouth as he ran his fingers down your back, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake and causing you to arc your body against him. Jaskier moaned, hungrily engulfing your lips with his own and shuddering with the pleasure of your touch as you began to grind your hips into his.

Gods, you'd both wanted this for so long.

What you first took to be a pleasured whimper from the bard, as you ran your hands up his shirt to massage his back, quickly turned to one of pain. You pulled back, remembering his injuries, and mentally kicked yourself for being so selfish.

"Oh, Jaskier I... I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have done that. Are you alright?"

To your surprise, the bard flashed you a grin, before pulling you in for a kiss.

"Much better now."

You smiled into his mouth as he hummed contentedly against your lips. Before either of you had the chance to lose yourself in the other, Jaskier pulled back, stroking your hair and neck and making you shiver.

"Just one thing, love... If we are going to do this, just... Be gentle with me, would you?"

You pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.

"Of course," you mumbled against his skin, heart pounding. Despite your injuries, you couldn't help but feel a little glad the two of you had been left alone together.

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hannibard · 6 months

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I'm just a tad obsessed

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astaldis · 22 days

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Issue no 27 - Lullaby for Yennefer

From Chapter 7: Bard Comfort of "Where the Tulips Grow."

Fandom: The Witcher (TV)

Whumpee: Yennefer of Vengerberg

Caretaker: Jaskier

"Grit your teeth, Yen, this is going to sting." Yennefer gives a curt nod. She has lived through worse in her long life, much worse. Moreover, to her own surprise and against all reason, she trusts 'doctor' Jaskier. As a lutenist he has dextrous, sensitive fingers, hasn't he? Surely a lot more so than Geralt. Jaskier is an artist. He will be good and gentle with a needle, too. Like he is with everything he does.

It does sting when Jaskier carefully cleanses the injury with a cloth soaked in hot water, of course it does, and even more so when he pours copious amounts of a cold liquid onto it that smells like some very strong spirit. Judging from the deep sigh he gives while doing so, a spirit he is loath to part with, but still he does, for her. Yennefer clenches her teeth as hard as she can and only gives a low groan at the burning sensation that radiates from her side into her whole body. It does not get any better, either, when Jaskier starts to insert the first stitch, then the next. She tries to concentrate on his gentle voice that accompanies every stab of the needle with soft, soothing words. To her amazement, it helps a lot more than expected. It is almost a bit like magic. Perhaps it is magic after all? Jaskier's very own, very personal magic? A magic she could easily get lost in. Yennefer sighs. Maybe this is exactly what she should do, get lost in his voice and his touch and forget about the pain and the world and just fall asleep to the gentle lullaby he has begun to sing to her. Or is it a love song?

"He watches the morning light catch on her raven hair. Curves of her lips promisin' a life that they will share. Two lovers intertwined in the light of a winter's dawn. As the rubble of war sweeps down through the valley. So, stay with me, oh, lover, my heart's filled with worry. Stay with me, oh, lover, the borders are burning. And war is yearning to take you away from me. And to bury you deep in the clay down below. So, come to me, oh, lover, my heart is still burning. Come to me, oh, lover ..."

Jaskier keeps on singing the song of the Lark, the elven warrior who killed both an Empress and her lover to save to world. A hauntingly sad song, but still full of hope and love and yearning. The song the mysterious shape-shifting elven storyteller taught him along with the tale of the Seven. He keeps on singing until the last stitch is done and the wound dressed in fresh, clean bandages, until Yennefer relaxes in his arms and falls deeply asleep to his tune with a little smile on her lips, a smile as sweet as the promise of spring. Tenderly, Jaskier tucks the blankets around his sleeping beauty and kisses her good-night on the cheek. Then it is time to finally see to his own leg. No, wait. A disturbing image springs to his mind all of a sudden. Fuck! Almost worried out of his mind for Yennefer, he totally forgot about her, imagine this! His lute, she is still out there. Possibly lying broken beyond repair in the dark and rain. A jolt of panic grips the bard. Looks like he is not quite done rescuing loved ones yet, no. He has to get to her immediately. And yes, don't laugh, his lute is a she and she has a name, too. However, her name is his secret, and it will remain a secret as long as he can sing. So, hopefully until the last breath he breathes on this continent. Preferably in the far, far away future.

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bananapeel5127 · 1 year

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Baby,,, baby boy

#jaskier #the witcher #jaskier whump #joey batey

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whump-kia · 8 months

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part three of not a fandom blog but. but.

guyyyyyys. GUYYYYS. do you hear the wheeze in his voice. do you see him reaching for geralt in fear, do you see the blood dripping from his lips I am inSANE about this scene I am LOSING MY GODDAMN MIND

#whump #whumpblr #whump prompt #whump community #fandom whump #the witcher #the witcher spoilers #the witcher whump #jaskier whump #blood #blood tw #coughing up blood

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fandom-junk-drawer · 1 year

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The Witcher Headcanon (Modern AU) - Teething

Jaskier, likes to have fun. Everyone does. But sometimes, he goes a little too far. When the I'm-bored-let's-do-something-fun part of his brain turns on, he often gets into trouble, and takes Geralt along with him.

Because Geralt, no matter how mature and rational he is, always loses all his common sense the second Jaskier gets involved. Jaskier comes up with a brilliantly irrational idea for something fun, like sticking firecrackers in anthills, or tying a Halloween prop skeleton to the ceiling fan and turning it on high, and Geralt's brain is suddenly comprised of a single dustbunny and an obscene amount of blind trust.

Jaskier: "Do you want to go to the pool and put floaties on our feet to see if we can walk on water?"

Geralt *brain functioning at the same level as a common whelk*: "I'll get the floaties!"

Zero consideration is ever given to all the ways these ideas could go wrong. Jaskier just sometimes forgets that Geralt is a Witcher, and is much stronger than a regular human bean. With much faster relfexes.

Jaskier also regularly gives in to his intrusive thoughts. Which is how he decides that tickling a Witcher would be a good idea. Jaskier had the upper hand at first, having the element of surprise. And then Geralt, in breathless desperation, had twisted and...kicked.

He'd caught Jaskier right in the mouth. There had been blood. So much blood. It had been running from between Jaskier's fingers where he had one hand clamped over his mouth as he'd slowly tried to stand up, dazed and in so much pain he couldn't even scream. Geralt had grabbed him, pulling his hand away from his mouth.

He was missing most of his teeth on the left side, and the rest were broken.

F**k

The box of dumba** band-aids wasn't going to fix this.

Yennefer had been able to stop the bleeding and heal the empty sockets. She'd had to use a spell to numb his mouth and remove the broken and shattered teeth.

Repairing a few damaged teeth with magic was fairly easy. It didn't require much Chaos, but creating a whole new set of teeth? That was beyond what Yennefer could do all in one go

It would have taken several months to replace all his teeth. So, she came up with a spell to convince Jaskier's body to just grow more. Jaskier had expected to wake up the next morning with his teeth all grown back, but no. Apparently, it wasn't going to be that easy.

A week later, he woke up, gums a little sore. He put it down to soreness left over from being kicked in the mouth by a massive Witcher boot. A few days later, and the soreness had become more intense. He didn't mention it to Yennefer, not wanting to constantly whine about the same thing every day.

The pain put him in a bad mood and made him just want to hide in bed. He'd gotten more irritable over the following two days, snapping at Geralt and Yennefer and keeping to himself more. Yennefer had sensed his discomfort and gone to check on him. She had gone into his room, brushing soothingly at his mind as she ran her hand up and down his back. He was sweating slightly but didn't feel as if he had a fever. She had a suspicion of what was wrong.

"Your mouth hurting you, Nightengale?" She received an irritable grunt in reply. "You should have said something! Here, let me see." Yennefer carefully pressed her finger into his mouth and lightly ran it over his gums. She could feel two small bumps on his lower gums and two on the upper ones, right at the front.

Ah, just as she thought. Yennefer pressed her finger down on the bumps, rubbing gently, and Jaskier's breath hitched, then he realxed, biting down on her finger with a soft moan of relief.

"Your teeth are coming in." Yennefer said, rubbing the sore gums

Jaskier pulled away with an incredulous squawk of "You mean I'm teething?! Teething? Like babies do?!"

"Did you think they were going to just pop up overnight?"

Jaskier :*irritated, embarrassed gumbling*

He rubbed a hand through his hair in frustration. "Doesn't that take months? I'm going to be f***ing teething for months?"

"It won't take months," Yennefer assured him, playing with the hair at his temple, "They'll come in four at a time, with two days between. That way, you get a break between the sets."

And here he was, teething as an adult. It was awful. No wonder babies cried while they were cutting their teeth! The poor little b**tards!

The first four teeth were absolute h*ll. He hadn't known how bad it was going to be. Jaskier's gums were so sore. He hadn't known what to do, so he had just sat there and cried in his room.

Geralt felt terrible. It had been an accident, but still. He'd hurt his bard and there wasn't much he could do to help him. Or maybe there was...

He went out and did a little shopping. It involved uncomfortable assumptions and some awkward eye contact, but he'd managed. He walked out of the boutique with his fancy baggie containing some things that would hopefully help.

Jaskier was on the couch, trying to distract himself with his shows. He kept rubbing his gums like Yennefer had done for him the other day.

He vaguely registered Geralt sitting down next to him, too focused on the discomfort of his gums. He felt a warm hand touch his shoulder and squeeze gently. He turned and saw Geralt tenatively holding something out to him like some sort of peace offering.

It was flat, and shaped like a dinosaur with a hole in the middle. It took Jaskier a minute to realize it was a teething ring.

Jaskier had been too desperate for relief to turn it down. He threw his pride aside and just about snatched it out of Geralt's hand.

"That helping?" Geralt asked as Jaskier made little groaning noises as he chewed on the ring.

"Ohhhhhhhh, F***ing YES!" Came the muffled reply. Jaskier glanced toward the kitchen where Yen was making dinner, then gave Geralt a mischevious look. He nudged Geralt then started making loud moaning and slurping noises around the teething ring.

"Stop that right now or I will f***ing come out there and switch off your soul!"

"What?" Jaskier asked in an innocent tone, "I'm just soothing the pain in my poor gums!"

"You're being gross," Yennefer accused him, flapping a kitchen towel at him as she stalked over.

"Well, if me chewing on a teething ring grosses you out that much, I'll just have to find something else, " Jaskier sighed, feigning hurt. He turned to Geralt and said, "I need to rub my gums on something, so how about a blowjob?"

Yennefer slapped him on the back of the head with the towel. "You disgusting little w*nker!"

"Minger!"

"Plonker!"

Yennefer grabbed the teething ring away.

"Hey!" Jaskier sqwawked, making a grab for it, only to have Yennefer keep him at arm's lenght by means of a hand on his forehead.

"Calm your tits," She drawled, "I'm trying to cast a spell!"

Jaskier grumbled and flopped dramatically back on the couch to pout.

The teething ring was cold when Yennefer handed it back to him a few moments later. "That should feel better on your gums, dove," she said, dropping a kiss on the top of his head before returning to the kitchen.

The teething ring stayed cold, thanks to the spell Yennefer had put on it, so he didn't have to worry about having to put it back in the freezer. He spent the afternoon being in a much better mood now that he could numb the annoying pain in his gums.

Yennefer had told him that the constant pain would slowly get worse over the next four days untill the teeth erupted. She had been right. The pain had gotten more intense.

He was looking at his gums in the bathroom mirror when Geralt stuck his head in and came over to see, Yennefer at his heels. Geralt tilted Jaskier's head back and gently prodded at the bumps in his gums. "Looks like they are ready to break through," Geralt said.

Yennefer hummed her agreement after looking for herself. Jaskier smiled rakishly and said "You better ask for that blowjob while you still can, Geralt!"

"EwW, JuLiAN!" Yennefer groaned, swatting Jaskier on the arm while Geralt laughed.

They finally erupted later that day, and Jaskier was relieved. The pain rapidly diminished, and he enjoyed the next two days where he wasn't in constant pain.

The next four teeth were not as bad as the first had been, to Jaskier's relief. And the four after that were fairly easy as well. He found that he didn't always need the cold teething ring to help with the ache. Sometimes, it was enough just to bite on something.

He used the other teether Geralt had bought, the soft rubber one shaped like a giraffe. It squeaked when he chewed on the body, and he spent the next four days being an absolute menace by annoying the ever-loving f**k out of Geralt and Yennefer with it.

He figured out how to 'talk' with it, and attempted to communiate with Yennefer and Geralt soley through squeaks, in various 'tones of voice'.

Jaskier (getting griped at for something): *soft, sad little squeak*

Geralt and Yennefer: *dropping everything and rushing to comfort him*

While the last two sets of teeth had been pretty easy, Jaskier found that the molars would cause him the most pain, even more so than the first four teeth. It was awful. His gums ached so badly. They were red and sore, and the pain was almost maddening.

Yennefer had to get him a different teething ring; one that could reach the back of his mouth. He wasn't complaining about the pain, and that worried her. He would go on and on about a scratch, or a bruise, but when it came to more serious injuries, he would try to hide it. She had learned that the quieter he was , the more pain he was in.

He had been lying in bed all morning, pulling at his ears, grinding his knuckles into the sides of his jaws, and chewing on his fingers. He'd tried to keep his whimpering quiet, but Yennefer had heard him.

She found the perfect teether, and spelled it cold. It had worked, to Jaskier's relief. He'd laid in his bed, cuddled up with Yennefer, his head on her stomach, letting the cold teething toy numb the pain while she stroked his cheek and ran her fingers through his hair. "You're a hot mess," she murmured to him, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

Jaskier sighed softly as the pain ebbed away, and mumbled back, his Northern accent becoming more pronounced, "No am not, am a spicy disaster."

"That you are, Bardling."

Once he was feeling better, he emerged from his room and sat on the couch to terrorize Geralt and Yennefer with sex jokes and inappropriate gestures with his teething toy, which was shaped like a banana, and even had a peel. Every time one of them looked at him, he was making some kind of suggestive motion with it.

Geralt tried not to react to it, not wanting to encourage him, but Jaskier was very creative with his jokes and gestures. Geralt had completely lost his sh*t when Jaskier managed to get his attention, then held the banana teether at crotch level and started 'peeling' it.

Geralt outright guaffawed, and couldn't stop.

Yennefer yelled at him from the study, "Stop braying like an a**!", as she, against her better judgment, came to see what the fuss was about.

She regretted it instantly.

"Well, thanks, now I have cataracts! "

"Stop doing that!"

"And don't do that either! That's somehow even worse!"

"I don't care what it's called! Just stop doing-!"

"I hope you choke on your banana!" Yennefer spat over her shoulder as she gave up and swept out of the room while Geralt laughed so hard he snorted at Jaskier pretending to deepthroat the teething toy

Jaskier sniggered when she's gone, and went back to chewing, a smug look on his face.

Four days later and the whole teething nightmare was over and Jaskier was relieved. No more pain, or drooling, or being cranky, or not being able to sleep. Now he could focus on more important things, like his music and annoying Geralt and Yennefer.

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