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theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction · 1 year

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Whoreson Prison Blues

Pairing: Jaskier x Reader (Ft. Geralt)

Warnings: Violence, language.

Inspiration: Season 2

Summary: Imprisoned and alone you find yourself bonding with your cell mate only to realise that this wasn’t a mere stranger.

It wasn’t exactly how you planned the day to go but there weren’t any regrets. Being beaten and thrown into a cell was a common occurrence recently, in fact you still had bruising from the last entanglement with the knighted patrols.

The third day had nearly passed and a guard tossed a small bowl of water into the cell which spilled onto the floor. He jeered through the barred doors and then turned away when he heard a commotion. To you, it sounded like two guards struggling to detain another unfortunate individual.

“Well, well. Looks like you have a friend.” The duty guard chuckled and then disappeared from sight to open the cell door on the opposite side of the brick wall. There was a harsh shove and somebody hitting their knees on the floor.

“Maybe this will make you think twice about helping the elf-bastards.” A second guard laughed.

The cell doors slammed and you heard the keys jangle as the lock was fastened. Still cackling, all three sounded like they were jesters and decided to walk out and celebrate their win privately. This worked in your favour allowing you to plan an escape until you heard a small mumble through the crack in the wall.

“Reminder to self, file a complaint for these hideous cells. Oh, great - an audience of rats.” The voice sighed.

You didn’t know why but the stranger made you smile. “The rats are pretty decent company.”

“That’s funny. I had a friend who would have said something like that. They were a real badass. We used to travel with this broody, moody, muscled fellow who liked to act complicated.”

Hold on. Now that you listened to the voice more carefully, it began to match a face that you hadn’t seen in months.

“Jaskier?”

“…Yes?” The bard replied. “Who’s asking?”

“Y/n - you wonderful singing fool!”

“And how do I know that you’re who you say you are and not some trick by the guards to lure out information?”

You rolled your eyes but commended that he was being more aware of people in strange lands. The bard used to be far too trusting.

“Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount of Lettenhove. Original composer of Toss A Coin To Your Witcher. You have a tendency to woo married women - even tried your luck with me too. You tried to kiss me after getting drunk in Cintra and then again when we were dealing with that werewolf-“

“Okay, you’ve made your point. I can’t believe you’re here. What are the chances?” Jaskier wondered aloud. “What have they got you in here for?”

You paused for a silent second and stared at the metal cuffs around your wrists. It was probably best not to get into detail about what you had done to wind up on the hate radar of this town.

“Better question, what are you in for?“ You deflected.

Thankfully, Jaskier didn’t hesitate to answer and if he was curious, he chose not to follow up on it. He let out a long sigh and you could imagine the look on his face.

“I helped a wanted criminal escape.”

You laughed at the idea of the humble bard being involved in something so prickly. Jaskier didn’t appreciate the reaction and there was a scoff. “It’s true! I’m very close with the Sandpiper.”

The Sandpiper was a name not loudly spoken, so you figured that he wasn’t telling tall tales.

“Alright, I believe you. You’ve been wandering very interesting circles. The Bard and the Piper - you must tell me of the stories one day.” You smiled and rest your head against the stone wall.

Your stomach began to rumble just as the main doors swung open and two guards walked in. You heard a metal tray clattering and recognised that it was the final meal of the day. When the guard approached your cell, you watched as he entered and carelessly tossed the tray down. You had refused to eat anything that was given in fear that it had been poisoned by one of the many people you had pissed off.

You could hear Jaskier trying to salvage what hadn’t touched the floor and was about to tell the guard to jump off a cliff when a round ball of stale bread flew and hit you in the face quite harshly. It rolled off your lap and settled on some hay. You turned to the guard and glared daggers.

“Eat that or get a taste of my blade.” He threatened.

With a huff, you chose to ignore the guards presence all together. It wasn’t long before he left and you took up the measly portion that was more dirt than bread and tore off a piece.

“This isn’t so bad.” Jaskier commented. “Could use some seasoning.”

You stared at what you were eating and wondered if it was hard enough to concuss the guard on duty…

“So how’s the broody fellow?” Jaskier wondered.

At first, you frowned but then remembered who he was referring to. The Witcher who took a lot of patience.

“I don’t know. We parted ways not long after you left. He was being increasingly difficult so I told him as much.”

“How did he take that?” Jaskier wondered, knowing exactly how the man could behave.

You exhaled. “He told me to ‘fuck off’ and left me in a swamp.”

The memory of that day was leaving a bitter taste in your mouth…or maybe it was the bread. Either way, you didn’t want to clutter your mind with something useless.

Jaskier seemed to have silently agreed.

“Well, screw Geralt. We don’t need him.” He said and began tapping on some spoons.

There was a loud clang against the cell bars as the guard slammed his palm across it to get the attention of them both.

“Will you both shut up? You sound like fucking spurned lovers.”

Jaskier laughed at the thought and you were glad that he was fated to be your cell partner. As the guard piped down, the rats scurried over to the bards cell where the spoons clanged a little louder and with a bit more rhythm until Jaskier had a catchy tune.

“It's been a long time travellin'

On roads that lead to nowhere

With hopes and dreams that always rot…” he began to sing softly, pausing every so often to form the artful words.

You waited for the next bit but he seemed to have a bit of a block. Without thinking, you leaned back and looked at your surroundings.

“Sometimes it takes a prison cell to remember how shitty the world is.”

“Oh, that’s perfect!” Jaskier told you and began tapping again.

“Sometimes it takes a prison cell,

The tricks and tales, the traitors' tell,

To help you see that freedom is all you've got.

So lock me up and sock me up,

And throw away the key.

Go fuck yourself, you whoreson.

'Cause you're through fuckin' with me.”

Jaskier was a bard of many talents and you had missed him all because of a falling out with a mutual friend. It must have been the exhaustion of being locked up that you started singing along to the song just to keep occupied.

“Go fuck yourself, you whoreson! Cause you’re through fuckin’ with me.”

A few more rehearsals and you and Jaskier had the duty guards on edge each time you switched shifts. They might be brutes but you couldn’t help but credit their creativity with the death threats.

Another day passed, you were still locked up, Jaskier was now doing solo renditions for the rats, and the bread hadn’t improved in taste or quality. You began to think of a way out of the cell and devised the start of a plan that included stealing the keys with Jaskier’s help. It wouldn’t be easy but if you got your hands on a sword, the guards would be unmatched in skill.

Then, there was an unexpected commotion in the hallway during Jaskier’s song.

“Fucking hell. You know what? We’re trying to rehearse in here.”

You heard the bard complain and then apologise to the rats for the interruption. “Good sir. You would not know talent if I shoved it up your … Geralt.”

You scoffed to yourself and wondered if Jaskier had finally gone mad. “I thought we agreed never to mention that broody grouch ever again?” You called out.

There was silence to the question and some soft talking that you couldn’t quite understand but Jaskier’s voice rose for a second. Then there was a shuffle of feet and you were drawn to your own cell door where a familiar man with white hair and broad shoulders showed his face.

Geralt unlocked you door and walked in. He bent down and worked his Witcher magic to free you of the cuffs.

“I’d say I’m shocked to find you here - but I’m not.” He said, helping his friend up.

You rubbed your wrists and dusted your pants. You looked at the man and shrugged. “You know how it is - chaos doesn’t just come in the form of magic.”

Geralt smiled and you couldn’t help but notice that something was a little different about him - like he was content, almost happy.

“I have no right to ask this of you but I could use your help.” He requested.

You could very easily have told him to shove off and be rid of the man for the rest of your life but Geralt was a friend through so many difficult quests. Plus it wouldn’t hurt charge him the fee of one apology.

“Just to be clear, I’m pissed at you for about a million things but I can’t resist a call for help.” You told him honestly and raised a finger. “One condition, Jaskier comes along.”

As if on cue, the bard walked in. “Say no more, I have no plans to leave. Oh…” his eyes travelled to the locks and chains laying on the floor. “Why the fuck were you chained up?”

Clearing your throat, you pointed to the exit. “Story for the road?”

Masterlist here

#theladyofmanyfandoms #theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction #gif is not mine #jaskier x reader #jaskier imagine #witcher imagine #witcher x reader #geralt imagine #geralt x reader

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thelostgirl21 · 3 months

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Me, when I finally started coming to terms with the fact that Liam Hemsworth was going to be playing Geralt of Rivia in the next seasons of "The Witcher":

Well, at least we already know he can bury his fish and the Honest Trailer Guy would totally suck his dick, so...

...maybe it'll be okay?

Look, more seriously though, as long as he's a dork that can manage to pull off looking both threatening and like a giant puppy at the same time got good chemistry with the rest of the cast, especially Joey Batey's Jaskier, I'll miss Cavill (as I've absolutely adored him as Geralt, and find the way he moves in a fight with the grace, fluidity and agility of a dancer absolutely mesmerizing!), but will still probably manage to adapt to the change, and continue to enjoy the series regardless.

Besides, looking at some of Liam's most recent roles / pictures, I really have no problem imagining him as Geralt even without the white wig.

And he's also like, a really tall guy (6'3")!

So, I'm really starting to be more and more curious to see what he'll be able to bring to his portrayal of the character...

#Liam Hemsworth #Geralt of Rivia #The Witcher #Geraskier #Jaskier #My Posts #My Thoughts

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inexplicifics · 6 months

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Hey, Inex, I hope you’re doing well.

I just got some upsetting news. Any chance you could throw a fluff snippet my way?

Best wishes

I'm sorry I didn't get to this sooner, dear; I've been low on brain and oomph these last few weeks.

Hopefully some of the ask meme fills I've been posting have helped.

As for other snippets, hm.

I'm not sure I have a snippet, but please imagine Nosy the cat learning that if he stands on Quiet-Thunder's shoulder he can be tall, and also pounce down upon any prey he sees like unto a bolt from above.

Aubry is absolutely delighted that the cat has chosen to ride on his shoulders, and sews thicker bits of canvas into his tunics so that the little sharp claws don't dig into him.

Jaskier thinks this is the cutest thing he's ever seen.

#questions answered #accidental warlord au #cats of kaer morhen #aubry of the wolf school

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iridescent-petrichor · 1 year

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and i’ll run (love run)

Pairing: Jaskier x Reader

Warnings: none

Words: 4.1K

A/N: i started this almost a year ago lol but i never had the motivation to finish it, but now that i did im rlly happy with it!!!

“Hey, buttercup?” You asked, turning to the boy next to you, grass stains spotting your knees, leaning back on the ground of the meadow, breeze flowing just enough to rustle your clothing. “Do you ever wish you could see the world?”

“All the time, dear heart.” The young prince, Julian Pankratz, replied, grinning at you. His hair was all ruffled and his clothes had smudges of dirt – if his parents had seen they’d have his head.

“We should get out of here. Run away somewhere and just…” You gestured to the open field in front of you, waving vaguely. “Go.”

“My parents would send every guard after me the second I wouldn’t show up for dinner.” Julian laughed. You could see it in his eyes, though, that he wanted it more than anything. To leave and never come back and have the freedom of someone who didn’t have anyone to answer to. You wanted it to, with him by your side.

“Then we’d go farther than they could follow us. Travel the world, just the two of us.” You relished in the daydream, closing your eyes for a moment to imagine what it would be like.

“Just the two of us.” He repeated, allowing a dreamy smile to grace his lips, losing himself in the thought.

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “The two of us… forever.”

Leaving Aretuza was a tiring, difficult journey. You were battered and exhausted, trudging through the deep forest until you could see the all-too-familiar buildings standing tall on the horizon. The only thing keeping you going was seeing the boy plaguing your mind for years.

When your house came into view, you felt your heart swell. There were new cracks on the walls, clear signs of age since your departure. You finally made your way up to the front door, knocking steadily before standing back, nervously wringing your hands together.

Watching your father’s expression turn cold when he saw you wasn’t quite how you were expecting the reunion to go, but you still had to find answers.

“Y/N.” His voice was monotone, revealing no emotion in his tone.

“Father.” You forced a smile, jaw clenching when it wasn’t returned.

“You shouldn’t be here, you know you aren’t welcome in this town anymore.” He said, stepping outside and closing the door behind him – it was clear you wouldn’t be spending any time in your childhood home.

“I-”

“You should get going before someone recognizes you.” He continued, folding his arms across his chest.

“Where’s Julian?” You cut in, taking a step towards him. Even if he didn’t want to see you after all these years, you needed to know he was okay.

“He’s gone, Y/N.”

You froze, heart sinking into your stomach. Everything you’d fought for…

“What?”

“He left years ago, not long after you did.”

“I didn’t leave, you let that witch take me away!” You raised your voice, anger getting the better of you.

“You don’t belong here, Y/N, you should go.” Tears stung your eyes as your father spoke, nodding as you backed away from your house, gaze dropping to the ground.

“Right.” You cringed at the way your voice cracked, turning away and walking back in the direction you came.

When you glanced up to the castle you felt a tug at your heartstrings thinking about where Julian could have gone – it almost made you want to make the trek up to the castle and demand answers from his family, though it was unlikely how pleased they’d be at your presence.

He was gone for good, so if you were to find him, you knew you had to search elsewhere.

Julian ran through the town, weaving through crowds of people to get to your house. He had gotten a lute and decided he was ready to travel the world. He hadn’t thought through the logistics of leaving – all he knew was that he wanted to see the world with you by his side. He could perform for people to make money, it would all be perfect.

By the time he reached your front door, it was nearly impossible to wipe the smile off of his face. He reached up, knocking steadily before standing back proudly with his lute in hand.

“Julian.” Your mother greeted, smiling down at him. There was something behind her eyes he couldn’t quite decipher, and her smile seemed forced, but it wasn’t nearly enough to dissuade the boy.

“Is Y/N here?” He asked, smile faltering when your mother began to frown.

“She’s… left.” She said, giving him an apologetic look.

“What?”

“She’s gone, Julian.” He stood frozen in place, trying to blink back the tears stinging his eyes.

He nodded solemnly, gaze falling to the ground as he turned away from your house, the feeling of loneliness sinking into his bones and broken heart for good.

Ever since leaving your hometown, you tried to do what you’d planned to do all along.

You’d traveled far from your home, and even after years of being on your own, you found yourself searching for a familiar face in a crowd. You don’t even know if you’d recognize him if you saw him anymore; you hadn’t seen him since you were kids.

While you walked through a forest, straying off the path long ago in favor of trying to clear your mind, you found yourself thinking of Julian again.

The only thing that snapped you out of your daze was a low growling behind you. You jumped, spinning around to see a creature ready to pounce. Every spell you’d ever learned left your mind as you tried to focus on what to do.

It lunged for you, and you jumped back, instinct taking over as you used your magic to fling it away from you, keeping your arms raised in defense even as it left your line of sight. It was still nearby, only hidden by the trees around you.

That was when you heard the distinct slicing of flesh, and a faint thud onto the forest ground.

Hesitantly, you ventured further into the forest where the sound came from, only to find a man stood above its corpse. He held a sword close to him, dripping with the blood of the thing that tried to kill you.

“You should be more careful around these parts.” He said simply, giving you a once over.

“I could’ve handled it.” You breathed, stepping over its head to stand next to the man. He loomed over you; he was certainly an intimidating figure.

He nodded and began to walk away, not saying anything more to you.

“Wait!” You sped up to catch up to the man, speed walking to match his pace. “You’re a witcher aren’t you?” He hesitated, glancing at you once before looking back ahead of him, grunting in acknowledgment.

“I owe you one.” You finally slowed, allowing him to continue his journey alone. “Until we meet again, witcher.”

The man stopped for only a moment, turning to you. “Until we meet again, witch.”

Years had passed since you’d met the mysterious witcher, but you’d heard of his legacy. A white-haired witcher killing people in Blaviken. It made you wonder what his motives were – he didn’t seem like the type to kill innocents when you met him. Plus, it wasn’t uncommon for unpleasant rumors to spread that were bred from hatred.

But you pressed on your own journey, finding yourself in Posada when you heard whispers of a devil terrorizing the people’s crops. It was a long trek, so you let yourself relax for a night, making your way to the local tavern. Maybe you’d even gather more information on what this devil wants.

Upon entering, you ignored the bard desperately singing to a crowd of annoyed patrons. You weaved past drunk men and grimy tables to an empty spot in the back corner, only to find it was already taken.

“Witcher.” You spoke, approaching the man with confidence. He looked up, brows furrowed.

“Witch.”

“Care for another drink?” You asked, glancing down at his nearly empty cup.

He nodded curtly, and you tossed your stuff down and turned away to the bar.

By now the bard had stopped singing, wording his disapproval at the patrons who were tossing bread at him. You almost laughed at the sight, briefly wondering if Julian had kept pursuing music. He’d been saving up for a lute before you left, and had countless journals with song lyrics scattered through them.

After grabbing two cups of ale, you began to make your way back to the witcher. Surely he was here for the devil of Posada as well.

You almost stopped when you noticed the bard had taken a seat next to your things, enthusiastically trying to speak with the witcher. You strained to listen to their conversation over the noise of the tavern, only catching the bard’s words as you approached.

“You must have some review for me. Three words or less.”

Noting the witcher’s lack of vocabulary, you spoke up, grabbing the bard’s attention.

“They don’t exist.”

The bard turned, fully facing you with eyes that shined with intrigue. “What don’t exist?”

“The creatures in your song,” Geralt said, taking one of the drinks from your hand.

The bard’s attention turned back to Geralt, curiosity growing by the second. “And how would you know?”

His eyes darted to Geralt’s swords, and to your bag that still sat next to him.

“Oh, fun. White hair, big old loner, two very… very scary looking swords. I know who you are.”

Geralt gave you a look, downing the drink and beginning to stand. You step behind the bard, grabbing your bag and doing the same, tagging along behind him.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the bard scrambling to his feet, following the two of you.

“You’re the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia.” When Geralt didn’t respond, he yelled out again. “Called it!”

As you saw someone begin to approach Geralt, the bard caught up to you, the curious twinkle still present in his eyes.

“So, you’re no Witcher. Who are you, exactly?” He asked. You stopped, not expecting him to acknowledge your presence.

“Just a mage.” You respond.

“Whoa,” A smile crept its way onto his face. “That’s magnificent.”

You nodded, your smile looking more like a grimace as you remembered all that was taken from you to get to be the mage you were today.

“I’m Jaskier.” He continued, holding his hand out to you.

Jaskier.

It was a beautiful name that fit the man before you in a way you couldn’t describe.

“Y/N.” You said, taking his hand, surprised when he pressed a feather-light kiss to yours.

When he looked back up at you, he paused, staring into your eyes with an unreadable expression.

“That’s a nice name.”

Before he could say anything more, you turned away, side-stepping past the man that was speaking to Geralt as he walked back to his spot at one of the tables. “What did he want?”

“There’s a devil terrorizing the crops in Posada.” You could hear the skepticism in his voice, but a job was a job.

Not far from the castle was a meadow. You found it one afternoon after you took a wrong turn, seeing a young boy the same age as you standing right in the middle of it. He looked so at peace, you were worried about disturbing him. Still, you walked towards him, almost entranced by his presence.

He turned, hearing the rustling as you stepped closer.

“Who are you?” He asked, eyes wide with curiosity.

“Y/N.” You replied, a small smile on your face.

The boy grinned, walking towards you. “That’s a nice name.”

Finally, he stood right in front of you, only a couple of inches taller.

“What’s your name?” You asked, in awe at how blue his eyes were.

“I’m Julian. Julian Pankratz.”

Defeating the “devil” didn’t go as you and Geralt had planned, but you both managed to make it out with all of your limbs intact.

…As did Jaskier, who decided to tag along.

He halted the constant strumming of his new lute, speeding up to walk beside you.

“So,” His voice was meeker than you expected, not as confident as the boisterous personality he displayed to his audience.

“Was your first adventure to your liking?” You ask, giving him a smile. You had to admit, things were more fun with company.

He hesitated, nodding before he opened his mouth again. “Yeah- uh, yes it was quite thrilling.”

The look in his eyes made you stay quiet, watching intently as he ran his thumb over the callouses on his fingers.

“Where are you from, Y/N?”

You kept walking, balling your hands into a fist while you stared at the road ahead. “I don’t like discussing the past, Jaskier.”

“Right, of course, yes.” He nodded along, glancing at you for a moment before following your gaze. “But if you were to talk about the past…?”

You gave him a look, gaze hardening, and he shut up immediately.

This time he kept pace with you, going back to strumming his lute and crafting a new song about the frightful devil of Posada and the white wolf that heroically saved the day. You grinned when he got to a verse about a beautiful mage with a mysterious past.

That’s how the three of you lived for the next couple of months. You’d travel through towns in search of monsters to destroy, letting Jaskier take creative inspiration and tell the people about your brave adventures. Wherever Geralt went, the two of you followed, growing closer by the day.

On this day, like many others, it was just you and Jaskier. After a couple of jobs, Geralt made it obvious when a job didn’t require your skills.

He’d been gone since morning, leaving the inn before you or Jaskier were even awake, finally bursting through the door a little past noon. You looked up from your spot on the edge of the bed, Jaskier stopping his music playing to let the witcher speak.

“We have a new job.”

“Already?” You asked, standing.

Geralt nodded, not saying another word.

“…Okay?” Jaskier gently set his lute down, looking at Geralt expectantly.

“Gather your things, we’re going to Lettenhove.”

You froze.

“Lettenhove?” Your voice overlapped with Jaskier’s, the both of you giving Geralt an incredulous look.

“We’re leaving soon. Be ready.” And with that, Geralt left the room.

Once you were on the road, Jaskier was trailing after Geralt.

“So… what job are we… exactly… doing?” The bard asked, setting his lute aside in favor of wringing his hands together. You barely noticed how nervous he’d been, too focused on your own fears.

“Tracking down a missing prince,” Geralt said.

Oh fuck. Julian.

“What?” Jaskier’s voice shook, and you sped up to match pace with him.

“Could make for a good song?” Your own voice felt distant. “A lost prince?”

Jaskier nodded halfheartedly, eyes glazed over. The two of you walked together in silence the rest of the way, your mind running at a mile a minute and your heart beating out of your chest.

By the time Lettenhove came into view, it was well after dark. It was silent, all the townsfolk having gone to bed hours ago. For a moment, your mind went to your parents, asleep without the faintest idea of how close to home you were. You knew Jaskier was exhausted, but for the first time in his life, he was silent, walking beside you, his eyes never leaving the castle in the distance.

“We’ll meet with the king and queen in the morning. For now, we find a place to sleep.” Geralt said, not looking at either of you.

Your heart sunk to your stomach. Not only was going back to Lettenhove dangerous enough but letting Geralt drag you along to see Julian’s family again?

“You coming?” Jaskier’s voice brought you out of your daze enough to realize you’d stopped walking. Looking up at him, you forced a smile on your face, nodding.

“Yeah. Just… taking in the sights.”

You caught up to Geralt and Roach, Jaskier trailing behind you.

Geralt managed to get two rooms for the night – you and Jaskier in one, him in the other. That was the way it often went, with you and Jaskier sharing a room even if you could afford to get three. You were comfortable with Jaskier in a way you swore you wouldn’t let anyone be since losing Julian. It scared you a little, being around him. It almost felt like a betrayal, like one day Julian is gonna appear out of the blue and you wouldn’t have been loyal to him.

Loyal? He left too, he has no say over what’s loyal. Don’t be stupid, Y/N.

You shook the thoughts from your head, following Jaskier to the room you were sharing for the night. He seemed more uneasy than usual, even refusing to perform at the tavern before going to bed.

When you reached the door to your room, you stopped, looking at the empty street.

“Y/N?” Jaskier asked, now standing at the foot of the bed.

“I’m gonna scope out the area.” You muttered, not looking back as you turned and walked down the road, the gravel under your feet being the only sound.

The castle rested at the highest point of the town, and as you made your way up the hill, you remembered the countless nights you snuck out of your bedroom to see Julian. The route felt so familiar you could’ve done it blind, even now.

When you were younger, you made the climb up to Julian’s bedroom with ease, clambering up the stones with all the confidence of every reckless child. Now, however, looking up the side of the castle made your heart stop. Taking a deep breath, you reached out, relying on muscle memory to climb up the wall.

Halfway up the wall, your foot slipped on a pile of moss that had grown in your absence. Your heart skipped a beat, and you cursed under your breath, scrambling to regain your footing.

“Fuck this.” You whispered, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment, taking another deep breath before you continued your journey – much more carefully.

Your hand finally found the windowsill, hoisting yourself up and inside the room.

It was deathly quiet. Like all life was sucked out of it.

“Hey, Julian,” You said under your breath as if he was still with you, running your hand along an old, dusty bookshelf. “I’ve been looking for you, you know. All over. I’m traveling with a witcher and a bard. You’d love them, you really would.”

Blinking back tears, you began pacing around the room.

“I miss you, Julian.”

Suddenly, the floorboard under your foot creaked. You froze as if someone would hear it and arrest you for trespassing.

After a silent moment passed, you looked down at the floorboard, stepping on it a couple of times to test how loose it was. Leaning down, you began inspecting it, prying it up to find a homemade secret compartment.

“Oh, buttercup, of course.” You grinned, pulling a small journal out and taking a seat.

Flipping to a random page, you furrowed your brows, focusing on the words on the page. It was pieces of lyrics, out of context and unfinished.

“I’m weak my love, and I am wanting.”

“She’ll destroy with her sweet kiss.”

“Her love’s as unfair as a crook. It steals all my reason, commits every treason of logic, with naught but a look.”

Your eyes wandered to the bottom of the page. He seemed to be theorizing stage names. Buttercup was written, but he crossed it out in favor of…

Jaskier.

Your blood ran cold, your heart dropping to the floor.

Julian, your Julian was…

“What are you doing in here?”

You jumped, dropping the journal and looking up at Jaskier- Julian standing in the doorway. Slowly, he shut the door behind him, the rusted hinges squeaking with effort.

“Julian.” The recognition in your voice makes him freeze, his jaw tensing. He folds his arms together, staring you down.

“What are you doing in here?” He repeats, voice laced with venom.

“Buttercup, I-” You begin to stand, reaching out for him when he steps away.

“You don’t get to call me that.” You feel your heart shatter in your chest. “Where were you? I waited for you, you left. Did you ever even care about me?”

“Julian, I love you.” He looks away, shaking his head. His anger was suffocating, pent up after years of waiting only to explode in front of you.

“You promised me! You promised we would travel the world together and you left! I waited for you every day! You don’t get to say you love me, not after you were gone for years!”

Before you could say another word, Jaskier storms off, slamming the door behind him and marching through the halls you once knew like the back of your hand. You stood there in shock, the silence ringing in your ears and your heart smashed to pieces on the floor.

It felt like hours passed before you slowly made your way back out of the castle, leaving the way you came. You trudged down the streets of Lettenhove, taking a long look at the inn in the distance before you turned the opposite direction, walking to the entrance of the forest on the outskirts of town, following the path known only by you and Julian.

“Come on!” Julian grinned, pulling you by the hand towards the outskirts of town.

“Where are we going?” You asked, nearly tripping over an exposed tree root.

He ran through the forest, weaving around trees and bramble until he stopped at a cliffside, turning to you with a triumphant grin.

“It can be our spot! Untouched by anyone else!” He let go of your hand, spreading his arms to present the view behind him.

“Whoa,” You gasped, stepping up to the edge of the cliff, staring out at the sky. “How did you find this?”

“Went exploring. Wanted a quiet place to… breathe.” He absentmindedly kicked a rock, eyes fixed on the ground.

“It’s beautiful.”

You stood at the cliffside, fighting back tears. Gently, you sat yourself down, legs hanging over the cliffs as the inklings of a sunrise crawled into the horizon.

Hearing the distant footsteps makes you tense. You don’t turn around, knowing there’s only one person who’d come looking for you out here.

When Jaskier got back to the inn, he quietly slipped into his room, practically jumping out of his skin when he saw Geralt standing in the middle of the room.

“Don’t-” He held his hand over his chest, catching his breath. “Don’t do that!”

“You’re an idiot.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes, straightening up. “Thank you so much for your much-needed wisdom, care to elaborate on what I did this time?”

“She cares about you.” He said simply, watching Jaskier collapse onto the bed.

“Geralt-”

“Whatever you did-”

“Why do you assume it’s my fault?” Jaskier sat up straight from his spot on the bed, staring down the witcher. Geralt gave him a pointed look, and Jaskier sighed.

“She loves you, Jaskier. You have to be a fool not to see that.”

Without another word, Geralt made his way out of the room, leaving Jaskier alone with his thoughts.

“I always loved this view.” Jaskier’s voice is quiet, barely audible above the wind rustling through the trees.

“Did Geralt send you?” You asked, not looking at him. If you did, the guilt in his eyes would’ve surely killed you.

“He… knocked some sense into me, yes.” He sat next to you, gauging your reaction before he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close.

“I tried to come back.” You whispered, eyes glazing over when you remembered how hard you fought to get home.

“I know, love.”

“You were already gone,” You continued, staring out at the sky. “I kept looking for you. Every day I searched for you, that’s how I met Geralt.”

Jaskier smiled, his eyes lit up in a way that made your heart flutter. “I love you, my dear heart.”

You turned to face him, his face inches from yours. “I love you so much, buttercup.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes, a blush painting his cheeks as he turned away from you.

“I will never tire of hearing you call me that.”

“I will never tire of saying it, buttercup.”

#jaskier x reader #jaskier imagine #dandelion x reader #dandelion imagine

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fangirleaconmigo · 1 year

Note

What is Posada remix about, please?

Hi Nonny! Posada Remix is my multi-dimensional fic about book!Geralt coming through a portal into Netflix world and falling in love with Jaskier.

It’s called Posada Remix because the first Geralt Jaskier meets in Posada is from another dimension. And I rewrote the scene from the show, imagining it with another version of Geralt

Excerpt:

———

“I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood.”

Geralt’s eyes snapped into focus.

A young man, tall and slim, of…probably eighteen or nineteen stood in front of him. He was stylish, in a colorful matching set of doublet and trousers.

Geralt thought of his friend Dandelion. The poet would kill for an outfit like that.

The stranger was leaning against a beam, but the way he clutched his liquid courage contradicted the ease he was trying to project.

He looked like young men do when they are trying very hard to seem like they are not trying hard at all. Eagerness simmered under his eyes and he flicked his head so the soft brown tendrils settled away from his face. It was one of those gestures you did without thinking.

He began chattering about wanting some kind of review for his music. Geralt wished now that he’d been listening to it so he could give him a kind word. After all, this man had approached him eagerly when no one else would approach him at all.

“You don’t want to keep a man with…bread in his pants waiting.” The man said. His slim fingers gestured towards his pants. He swallowed and waited to see if the joke would be well received.

Geralt chuckled. He saw the man’s features relax almost imperceptibly. His face shifted into a sunny smile.

There was something about that smile that rocketed straight to Geralt’s chest. It felt entirely new yet somehow familiar. Safe, maybe?

Yes, he was pretty. But also…open. It contrasted like day and night to the expressions on the rest of the patrons. In fact, Geralt was almost taken aback. Strangers didn’t often look at him that way here or anywhere.

Geralt wanted to bask in the sweet nervous swagger of this man. But he couldn’t. This stranger would soon figure out that he was talking to a witcher. And though Geralt had just met the man, he knew he didn’t want to be around when he did. Geralt had been through too much that day already. He just didn’t have the stomach to see a look of disgust creep over those hopeful features. Not today.

“I’m here to drink alone.” Said Geralt. His voice was thin and unconvincing, even to his own ears.

“Good. Yeah. Good.” Said the man. The words indicated agreement, but the man did not leave. In fact, he lowered himself into the chair opposite Geralt, uninvited.

Geralt cut him off gently. “Young man.”

“Jaskier.” Said the man. “Bard. At your service.”

That part sounded like innuendo. No, Geralt was probably reading into it.

Geralt tried again. “Please. Before you get too comfortable. You should know that you’re talking to a witcher.”

——

You can read the rest on ao3.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #posada remix #descarada writes geraskier

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bisexualbob-the-ghost · 1 year

Text

I’ll never understand in Witcher media when Geralt defends some townsfolk by killing some dude in the tavern and they’re all “stay away from me!!!”

Like imagine your in your local Applebees and some thugs are harassing/threatening all the patrons. And some a-hole has you pinned up against a wall with a knife to your throat.

Then out of nowhere the super tall, beefcake that wandered in 10 minutes ago and ordered a beer slice thru them all like they’re papier-mâché.

Then as you’re slumped against the wall in a daze he walks over to you while wiping blood from his sword with, like, a bar rag and grumbles “You ok?”

?!!?!!?!!!

Like, the only person in canon that makes any any sense is Jaskier, because if I saw that shit I, too, would become that guys best friend/possible lover and dedicate my life to following him around and writing songs about how awesome he was.

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #witcher geralt #geraskier #i guess?

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kuwdora · 1 year

Text

A Drowner's Dozen

Jaskier and Geralt, gen grief/mourning, hurt but not really comfort, character study. ~6k and set early season 1 ao3 link After Geralt finishes a mundane contract, Jaskier reflects on mortality and rewrites a song in the process.

The evening fire licked at the warm summer air, contributing to what should have been a calm and serene atmosphere. Frogs chirped in their steady chorus, calling out to each other as the night pulled its blanket of darkness over the land. Jaskier was carefully wiping his hands clean after half-eating his meal and there was a restlessness itching beneath his breastbone, an unexamined sorrow he’d been unable to pull free.

The last several days hadn’t been particularly difficult insofar as Geralt had taken care of a large nest of drowners for the village of Ordul. Meanwhile there hadn’t been much of an appetite for Jaskier’s own services. He’d performed at the Famous Hog and he expected to be able to lift their dreary spirits. There’d been countless villages where he’d done so before, ones that had been suffering under one pest or another that Geralt had easily and sometimes not-so-easily dispatched. It would be a cause for merriment and such once the horror was over. But the deaths in the small community had a lasting impact and the people were not ready to move past their grief.

Jaskier had played into that, his own heart rending in two when he looked into the eyes of a couple who lost their child, a little girl Anna, and into the eyes of another family who had recently lost a brother and grandfather. Jaskier had seen so much more death and grief since he’d started following Geralt, more than he could have imagined, and it never got any easier.

So he’d played all the sad songs he knew and then he played the hopeful songs and music that heralded better days ahead. The air was still heavy with despair by the end of the night. Jaskier had used some of his coin and ordered pitchers of ale for the room and continued to play on with quiet, soothing melodies until they fell asleep in their seats or they dragged themselves home.

When Jaskier had been putting away his lute, Rodel, the proprietor whose face was deeply lined with age and sagged even further with the weight of his own grief, brought him an oversized mug of ale and plate of food. Rather than returning to the emptiness of his own room or checking in on Geralt who was no doubt appreciating his solitude after a straightforward conclusion to his contract, Jaskier had slung his lute case over his shoulder and brought the food and drink outside.

He’d sat atop a barrel, trying to clear the tacky sensation of grief from his lungs and heart and picked at his food, his eyes roaming over the thatched homes where the people would be sleeping amidst their loss.

The next morning he and Geralt had left the broken people in their fractured village and moved on to the next hamlet, the next monster. It was an endless, relentless pursuit of story and coin. It was exactly what Jaskier had been looking for when he began following the witcher. And yet he’d played for hours for the people of Ordul and was pretty sure he didn’t provide the people much comfort despite his best efforts. That bothered him, it bothered him more than he knew how to admit. Maybe there was nothing he could have done differently, but the pain still occupied his mind.

He’d filled up the space between him and Geralt with his idle chatter, hoping he could jostle his frustration loose after a long day of walking and talking at his taciturn companion. It was to no avail.

By the time they’d made camp it was beside a wide tableau of tall grasses and reeds, birch and alder that lined the tributaries feeding into the lowlands. Jaskier had a difficult time appreciating the landscape. The way the mellow sunset reflected off the water was a thing of beauty; the silhouette of birds in the sky with the encroaching sounds of the evening was poetry. It was all beautiful poetry laid out before him, but Jaskier found himself bereft of the words the moment was begging him to find.

He looked over at Geralt who in his quietude was finishing his own meal. “If I go for a little stroll, is anything going to jump out and eat me? Do drowners, I don’t know, link all their nests so that they become large and out of hand like we saw back there? Do they migrate for their next meal?”

Geralt didn’t bother looking up from his food and he looked as relaxed as Jaskier had ever seen him. Without his armor and forgoing whatever intimidating sentiment one held about witcher’s eyes and Geralt’s stark white hair and scars, Jaskier never understood why people couldn’t see the profound loneliness the man carried with him. Or how Geralt seemed so unconcerned by said loneliness.

“You’ll be fine. Tonight at least,” Geralt added.

The low, flat affect usually didn’t bother Jaskier that much, as it had become a familiar sound. A sound he could spend time deconstructing and search for potential meaning beyond the delivery and openly tease at the man beneath the witchery demeanor. But tonight, at least, it irritated him a little more than it should.

read the rest on ao3

#hurray for remembering to crosspost things here #geraskier #jaskier #geralt #the witcher netflix #the witcher #witcher fic #heyooo remembering to crosspost old fic here on tumblr #my fic #my witcher fic

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on-a-lucky-tide · 2 years

Note

hello imtyping through barely open eyes because my alarm JUST went off but. i would like to know about The Fairytale AU 💕💕💕💕💕 thank u :)

It's a collaboration! Eskel/Geralt/Jaskier. My Collab partner convinced me it should be an arranged marriage au.

“Huntsman?” The man asked. Eskel did not look up. He knew better than to meet the eyes of a member of the court, with the scars on his back enough to remind him should he forget, and he forced his chin down. Too much was at stake for his instincts to be mistaken as insolence.

“Yes, m’lord.”

“Ahh, well. We have a long journey ahead, and we shall be in close quarters throughout. Your name?” He paused. “You do—I mean, that is to say, you—“

“Eskel, m’lord,” Eskel replied.

“I’m… Jaskier. Viscount de Lettenhove, and the King’s appointed representative on this mission. I am responsible for—”

There was a murmur and a bark of laughter from over their shoulder. “Slept with the king’s sister and her handmaiden, I heard.”

“Haha, yeah, noose or the Wilds. I’d’ve taken the noose. Boy’s gonna get ripped to shreds.”

Jaskier clenched his teeth and stared straight ahead. Not through fear, Eskel imagined, but because he was fighting the urge to shout back and defend his honour. Such men—boys, for this child could be no more than eighteen summers—rarely feared the standard retribution of a sarcastic word, because there was always a defence standing at his elbow, shortsword at his hip. Where they were heading, Jaskier would have no such protection. Only the soldiers that stood leering at his back, and the Huntsman, unknowable and untrustworthy. The boy had a little sense then; an easy victory now would cost him a hard loss later.

Eskel examined the rings on Jaskier’s fingers thoughtfully, picking out the most expensive gems and marking the lack of calluses on the boy’s fingers, and then the expensive cut of his boots and cloak. It had been treated with dwarven oils, Eskel noted. Such a thing was hard to come by for even a nobleman, let alone one so far from home. Speaking of which. “Where’s Lettenhove? Never heard of it,” Eskel asked.

“Oh, it’s—uh, a little coastal province some leagues north. It was claimed during the Northern Wars and bestowed upon my family for loyal service to the Crown. Why—it’s a most industrious place, spices and fish, you know, I’m very surprised a man so well travelled has not happened upon it. I hope your knowledge of the Wilds is as superior as they say. Come then, let our adventure begin.” Jaskier tapped the heels of his expensive boots into the flanks of his priceless horse and rode ahead.

Eskel considered Jaskier’s back for a moment before he followed. The boy talked too much. That was a mistake most people made when they lied. They over-embellished the details, fearful that your mind might wander and fill in the blanks with unpredictable presumptions. Bad liars couldn’t adjust, because their narratives were built on foundations of sand.

As they passed through the tall, iron gates, Eskel retraced the march of his battalion down the coasts of the northern provinces. It had been many years since he had fought; every scar on his body was a mark of his survival and a memory to haunt his dreams.

He remembered the empty fishing boats bobbing in the blood-soaked harbours and the rank smell of rotting fish, the broken sloops and the burning—everything had been consumed by fire, and the overwhelming smell of death. Such scenes were seared into his subconscious; every footstep through hell an anchor in his memory. He had walked that coastline for months. And yet, not once had he stepped foot in the province of Lettenhove.

#fairy tale au #wip game #geraskier #jaskel #gerskel #cw jaskier

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astaldis · 1 year

Text

Shimmering Scales and Stormy Seas

Prompts: Shimmering scales, mermaid, seduction

Rarepair Bingo Challenge: Type in a new pairing

Fandom: The Witcher (all media types)

Rating: Explicit, No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: F/M

Relationship: Jaskier/Mermaid

Additional Tags: First Time, Oral Sex, Sex with a mermaid, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Smut

Words: 800

Summary: This is the story of Jaskier's first time. Decide yourself if it is true or just a tall tale.

Warning: slight NSFW under the cut!

“Mm, you taste good, human," she says in this euphonious version of the Elder Speech he only understands half of, if he understands it at all. However, it is so melodious and pleasing to the ear that she could say something like ‘I’m going to eat you neck and crop’ and he would still find it sexy as hell. Anyway, even if she were going to eat him alive, there is nothing he could do about it, mesmerised as he is by not only her exceptional beauty and her sing-songy voice, but also by what she is doing. He cannot really see it at the moment for her flowing, celadon green hair is all over his lower body - his very naked lower body - but he can feel it. And how he can feel it! Her lips are of the same light green colour as her nipples, and they are moving up and down his cock in a way that gives him the holy shivers. Who would have thought he would end up lying on the beach at dawn having his first time with a fucking mermaid? He definitely did not imagine anything like it when he rowed over to the island to have a look at the famous mermaid rock. Just for curiosity’s sake, of course, and because of the heartbreaking poetry of the legend, not because he believed for one second that mermaids actually exist. Now he does. And how they exist!

Continue reading on Ao3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/46510078

@smubbles-etc

@witchermonstermayhem

@cake-shop-rarepair-bingo

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cap-sweet-and-salty-sadness · 1 year

Text

timeless light of his wide eyes

Geraskier, Different First Meeting, Nymph Jaskier, Size Difference, 5k, PWP, E

Thanks to @borealwrites for the Monster March prompt list!

Read on AO3

Geralt was in the midst of undressing when a bush shuffled behind him, and he turned to see a tall masculine humanoid staring at him from the treeline. He seemed curious of him rather than hostile. It might have been partially because he was standing half naked and bloodied.

He slowly finished removing his chest plate and put it down with the rest of his amour. He wasn't sure if he ever met this species before, but he was beautiful. Taller and bigger than humans, their skin was various hues of greens, going from mint to basil. They were much taller than an average human, well over two metres, with a wider face and more prominent features.

A moment passed and neither moved. Perhaps they had intending on swimming in the pond, the day was warm enough for it. Sensing no hostility from them, Geralt removed his trousers and padded in the water. He would wash himself and then leave, no need to intrude longer than he needed to. He took his shirt to clean his face with, using the relative safety of the distance between them to momentarily block his vision. The friction hurt his head wound but nothing he couldn’t handle. He pulled the fabric away at footsteps coming closer. The creature was approaching slowly, his body language open. It could've been a subterfuge, Geralt’s dubious mind provided, nerves raw from today’s events.

He said something in Elder Speech, his voice flowing beautifully, to which Geralt could only understand "hurry ".

"I only want to clean up, and then I'll leave," he replied in Common, rubbing his hands into his shirt.

The creature frowned and shook his head, his brown hair catching the light. He was barely wearing anything, which was fairly distracting. The loincloth made out of leaves and tree roots wasn't leaving anything to the imagination. Encountering this gorgeous non-human wasn’t how Geralt had expected the day to go.

"You speak Common?" At Geralt's nod, he grinned. "Excellent. I haven't had the opportunity to practice in a long time, or to meet a human before, so do excuse my eagerness."

"Not a human, otherwise I wouldn't be standing here."

"Right, right. My name is Jaskier, and you are?" This sudden loss of mysticism calmed Geralt's suspicion as well as his ardour, and he turned back to his previous task.

"Not staying."

"What an odd name, but then again, I have an uncle whose chosen name is Dick. He always liked human names too much." When Geralt didn't reply, Jaskier continued, "My siblings and I saw you coming in and take care of your, uh, big pet. Is your hair naturally pink, or is there that much blood in it?"

Geralt continued to wash his chest, his head throbbing still. "Roach is a horse."

"You say the oddest things." There was a pause when Geralt didn’t reply. Jaskier turned to Roach and started to make his way towards her, making Geralt suddenly alert and tense.

"Don't touch my horse," he warned him.

"Peace, friend. I only want to heal her," Jaskier gently said. “You can assist if you doubt me, but that you might distract me." He openly ogled his chest and down where the water hid his lower half.

Geralt pushed back his wet hair, the only sign he was getting agitated. He should've chosen a different spot, or lead Roach away as soon as the non-human stepped into the glade.

"Fine," he conceded with a small sigh. He walked out of the pond and joined him. Jaskier didn't deflect his large blue eyes, not that Geralt wasn't also taking his own fill of the tall tankard of ale that the creature was.

Read on AO3

#geraskier #gerlion #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher #twn #monster march 2023 #my writing

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piceuscelus · 1 year

Note

Still Hera!

Also maybe Jask also gets magic'd to have the body shes always wanted 👀 and geralt is the only person she trusts enough to take that next step with

combined the two prompts you sent,

and it got Softe.

skating in just under my tumblr post limit, can be found on ao3 here, but full fic below! trans woman jaskier, magical transformation/grs, geralt being a fucking sap

When Geralt makes it back to their room, Jaskier is still standing in front of the large mirror she borrowed from the innkeeper, seemingly entranced as she pets over the flare of her hips. A fair bit of progress, Geralt supposes; when he’d left to haggle for supplies, his bard hadn’t even made it past her cheekbones yet.

He’s careful to broadcast his approach, letting his boots fall heavily on the old wood floor, so that Jaskier doesn’t startle when he appears behind her. She still flinches, just a little, clearly not really scared so much as unexpecting – she’d heard him, then, just hadn’t been paying any attention to where he was.

He wraps careful arms around her belly, slipping them under her own so he isn’t disturbing her own explorations. She leans back into his embrace easily, sighing and tipping her head to nudge it against his cheek.

She’s just as tall as before, and still recognizable, overall, as the famous Jaskier the Bard, but aside from that – and the internal similarities, Geralt knows magic can only do so much – she looks…almost nothing like she did before. Before, she was nearly as broad as him and fairly rectangular in build despite the appearance lended by her carefully-tailored clothing, and her chin and chest and body were covered with hair that was unmistakably masculine, at least to the usual observer.

Now, though. Now, thanks to Yennefer and Triss’ experimentation, and some alchemy of Geralt’s own, Jaskier is shaped much, much differently. She’s not quite an hourglass, not as severe as that, but the dip in her waist is obvious, compared to the width of her hips and her chest. And instead of dark, coarse hair from her ankles to her nose, she’s instead got a fairly sparse smattering of lighter, softer hair on her legs and between them, and nothing but peach fuzz everywhere else. Everything else about her is softer, too – the curves of her body and her skin, the edge of her jaw and her cheeks.

Geralt loved her before, of course he did, and he did his damndest not to shy away from that, but. He has to admit that having her like this – like she really wants to be, the image of her matching who she really is inside, to her own specifications – it’s even better than he could have ever imagined.

And, despite Jaskier’s earlier, slightly awestruck teasing, it isn’t just because of her tits.

(Though, he does have to admit, looking at their reflections in the slightly-cloudy mirror, the tits are very nice.)

“Yennefer and Triss did a good job,” he says, instead of that, because he’s entirely unsure if Jaskier will take a comment like that well at this exact second.

Give her a few days to get used to the newness and it’ll be fine, he’s certain. Right now, though.

“You did, too,” Jaskier murmurs, and she’s tipped her head back up but is still letting him hold her weight as she goes back to tracing the new shape of her hips with her fingertips. Even her voice has changed, just slightly, but Geralt notes that despite that and everything else, her hands haven’t changed much at all; her palms are still wide and a bit square, fingers long but a little bulky, a signature of the strength and stamina in them, and the fingertip calluses are unchanged, as well.

“I hardly did as much work as them,” Geralt protests, mostly for the sake of conversation, flattening his palms over her belly to feel for himself. He knows, of course, that aside from some shifting of bones and muscle, her internal body looks the same, but it’s hard to believe that, when he feels over her, because the outside is so thoroughly changed. It hardly matters, but the thought sticks in his mind like a burr.

“Hush,” Jaskier says, and it’s half-reprimand and half-laugh as she turns her head to nudge at his again, a little harder this time.

Geralt just turns his head, as well, so he can catch her mouth, and even though the kiss is chaste and sweet, he catalogs the differences here, too – how Jaskier’s mouth is no different, but he swears that his bard tastes sweeter, now.

Maybe that’s just the happiness he can smell radiating off of her, getting stronger the longer she’s in this body, her body.

“Since when do you tell me to stop talking?”

Jaskier huffs against his mouth, mutters, “Don’t you start,” and kisses him again.

Geralt grins.

– – – – –

It’s only three days later that Geralt wakes up to the muffled sound of Jaskier whining.

At first, his heart spikes, eyes flying wide, expecting the worst, but it only takes that single beat for him to take in reality – the inn room they’re still safely sequestered in, the low-burning fire safely contained in its hearth, and, most tellingly, the familiar-but-also-new scent of arousal flooding the air.

For being woken up in a shock, he puts the pieces together fairly quickly. He’s careful, then, as he turns over, moving slow and deliberate so he doesn’t shift the bed with it. He’s reasonably certain Jaskier is too distracted to see him moving, and he’s right, when he finally settles onto his side, slightly propped up on an elbow to see better.

Jaskier’s eyes are closed, head thrown back and her lip blanched white where she’s biting it. It’ll swell something fierce when she lets it go, he knows. As for the rest of her, well – she’s covered by the sheets, but between the low light from the hearth’s embers and his mutated sight, he can see just well enough to catch the indistinct shifting of her arms under the fabric, how her chest rises and falls rapidly with each muffled whimper.

His cock twitches against his thigh, but he ignores it. He wonders, fleetingly, if Jaskier might have trouble getting herself off in this new body, but the thought is quickly tossed aside – even if Geralt didn’t already know how startlingly good in bed Jaskier is, he’s heard enough of the gossip from barmaids and noble daughters to guess that even with any newness of it being her own, Jaskier definitely knows her way around a cunt.

That’s proven a handful of moments later, too, as Jaskier sucks in a sharp breath and goes bow-string tight, heart hammering loudly enough that if her whining hadn’t woken him already, the sound of it would definitely have done the trick. The sound she makes when that tension snaps, pleasure visibly flooding through her as she trembles under the sheets, rapidly takes Geralt from half-hard to blindingly hard, enough that it actually aches a little.

Still, he keeps his hands to himself, even as difficult as it is to remember that while he’s previously had blanket permission to join in Jaskier’s little sessions, that might have changed like so much else has. Instead, he hums, low at first and then louder, shifting closer in a way that makes the bed rock just slightly.

Jaskier squeaks, neck cracking lightly as she whips her head to the side, and Geralt doesn’t resist the urge to reach out now, just to get his hand on her neck and rub at the knob of her spine. She huffs, but turns to let him do it, relaxing from the moment of wide-eyed fright.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, and she just wrestles one of her arms out from under the sheets to wave it dismissively between them.

“I woke you up,” she says, and she can’t possibly know that, not for sure, but it is true, so Geralt lets it go.

“It’s fine.” He ducks a bit closer and rubs their noses together, then decides to take a bit of a chance on teasing. “Having a good time without me?”

Jaskier squeaks again, but this time it’s an offended noise, and she shoves at his chest even as the offense collapses into giggles. He doesn’t let the force push him anywhere, instead just grinning and pressing closer instead, worming his other arm under her neck so he can wrap it around her shoulders and squeeze her into him.

She huffs, but doesn’t fight him, instead just grumbling playfully as she snuggles in closer.

“Yes, for your information,” she finally answers, and Geralt laughs and kisses her head.

“Good.”

– – – – –

The next time he’s woken by Jaskier’s whining, it’s because it’s his name.

This time, there’s no moment of alarm, because he wakes up to Jaskier in his arms, her back pressed to his chest as one of her hands works between her legs. He is a little startled to find that his cock is already twitching between them, but it’s not really that shocking.

He makes a low, garbled noise where his face is buried into Jaskier’s hair, and she gasps out a, “Sorry, sorry, I’ll – ”

He may still be mostly asleep, but he knows exactly where that sentence is going, and he’s not interested in hearing the end of it. He slides his hand from her hip to the back of hers, trapping it between her thighs, and rasps, “Don’t stop on my account, little lark.”

The sound she makes in response to that is filthy, pitched and breathless. He nuzzles at her ear and then mouths down the curve of her neck, feeling her hand shift under his palm as she goes back to fingering herself. He mostly pretends his mouth isn’t watering at the thought of tasting her, but can’t help the way his own hips hitch, grinding him against her lower back.

She just presses back into the pressure, though, so he thinks that’s fine.

“Geralt, Geralt, fuck,” she pants, and he just hums encouragingly, mouthing his way back up to her ear. She shudders when he sucks at her earlobe.

“Missed hearing you like this,” he murmurs, and his tone is the same low, rough one he always uses in bed, but it’s more confession than dirty talk. “Missed feeling you, too.”

Jaskier just whimpers and turns her head, catching his mouth. It’s messy, with the off angle, and her clear distraction, hand moving faster between her thighs, but he doesn’t mind at all. He sucks at her swollen bottom lip – she’s been biting it again, then – and then kisses down her chin, the lack of prickling hair novel when he’s surrounded by her familiar scent. She gasps and tips her head back, giving him more room, and he drags his mouth down her throat again, to her collar, and then back up, dragging his canines along the spots he knows will make her shudder.

Of course, she never disappoints, shivering and whining his name in increased desperation. “Geralt, I – please, oh, fuck, please?”

The hand she’s not working between her thighs finds his, and all of her movements are fumbling and graceless, but it’s easy to understand what she wants when she shoves his hand between her thighs just to pull her own out of herself.

“Yeah?” he asks, mostly just to hear the way she whimpers and feel how she nods rapidly. He grins and kisses her cheek, starting with just petting at her slick folds, the basic shape familiar but the specifics of her entirely new. She makes a breathless, eager little noise and shifts, rolling both against and into him. He pulls back just enough to let her settle, and takes his fingers away from her cunt just long enough to pull her leg up and over his own, spreading her out for easier access.

It’s heady, how wet and swollen she is, how her hips jerk up, against his touch, her body and her greedy little sounds telling him exactly how much she wants. He rubs his fingers through her folds, up from her entrance to tangle with hers at her clit, then back down to press one fingertip just inside her.

The whimper he gets for that is loud and demanding, the most familiar sound he’s heard her make so far, and without even thinking his body is responding, a chuckle rumbling from his throat as he slowly sinks that finger into her properly. For a split second, he worries that it was a mistake, her sob making his heart skip, but then the sound is morphing into a near-wail of familiar pleasure, and he stops worrying.

“Good, fuck, you feel so good, Jask,” he murmurs, half-babbling as he fucks her with that finger and then, when she makes another demanding sound, a second. “So perfect for me, sweet little cunt, gods.”

And he thinks he ought to be worried, about jumping right into the same filth he would murmur to her before, but she just jolts and moans, the fingers on her clit moving faster. He shifts the arm under her shoulders so he can wrap it around her, palm landing on her chest. She gasps when his palm skates over her nipple, so he does it again, and then twists his wrist to pinch at the little nub, too.

Her cunt clenches hard around his fingers, a gush of slick adding to the small puddle she’s forming underneath them on the bed. He just tugs at her nipple and bites at her throat, curling his fingers up to see if he can’t find that little spot, if she even has it, and –

“Geralt!”

It’s clear the orgasm surprises both of them, her breath stuttering and outright stopping for a worrying second as Geralt suddenly finds his fingers unmoveable. Geralt takes it in stride, though, just curling his fingers further so her clenching prolongs it, forcing them harder against that sensitive little spot, and soon enough she’s making a shattered sound and squirts, making a proper mess of the bed.

Geralt just growls and pivots on his elbow so he can drop her to her back and lean over to catch her mouth all without taking his fingers out of her cunt. Her arms come up around his neck, one hand tangling in his hair while the other anchors itself at his shoulder, nails a deliciously sharp threat against his bare skin.

“Good girl, fuck, you’re so gorgeous like this – always so fucking gorgeous,” he murmurs when she rips her head back to breathe. He just ducks further down and sets to littering her throat with hickeys in the absence of her mouth. From there, he shifts to straddle her lower legs, still letting her clench desperately around his buried fingers, and drags his mouth over her collar and down to her chest.

“Perfect tits,” he praises, and it’s not new – he’s always told her that her tits are perfect, even when they weren’t in the shape she wanted them to be, but now. Now, it’s even more true, and the way she squeals when he bites and sucks at her nipples tells him she knows that, too. “You feel so fucking good, Jask – such a good girl for me, sweet little needy cunt and perky little tits – ”

“Geralt, Geralt,” Jaskier is rasping it, breathless and voice wrecked, and Geralt shifts his hand just to press his thumb over her swollen clit. Her whining cuts in and out, then, pitched and so high in places that even with the changes in her voice it can’t take the strain, but still she pleads, “Pl-please, please, Geralt, fuck, oh my gods, please.”

“Tell me what you need,” he tells her, starting to rock his fingers in and out again as he rubs slow, hard circles over her clit. “You know I’ll take care of you, Jask.”

“Geralt,” she whines, but her hips are bucking up into his hand, and when he moves faster she’s moaning in a way that’s distinctly relieved.

“Is it this?” he asks, mouthing over her nipples again. “Want me to stuff this pretty cunt with my fingers? Make you come on them?”

She makes a broken little noise, thighs starting to tremble, and nods frantically. Geralt grins and bites just hard enough to leave a mark over the curve of her ribs.

“Good girl, taking my fingers so well – think you’ll take my cock even better, but that’s for later, isn’t it? You wanted this, so take it, Jask – there you go, ride my fingers, just like that.”

The noise she makes now is high and embarrassed, but it doesn’t stop her from doing exactly as she’s told, as she’s been doing while he spoke, rolling her hips into his hand and riding his fingers.

He stiffens his wrist and puts more focus into moving his thumb, rubbing rhythmically over her clit as her shaking worsens and worsens until it suddenly stops. He doesn’t stop, though, picking up the lost pace with his fingers and keeping his thumb moving at the exact same pace and pattern, and it takes barely a minute before he’s rewarded with Jaskier keening and coming, soaking his hand and the sheets as her cunt clenches at his knuckles like it could milk them for something.

He just lets it, sucking at the bruises he’s left over her ribs and tits, at her nipples, until she’s come down and is back to shaking, mostly in her hands as she uses the weak grip she still has on his hair to yank him upward.

“Good girl,” he praises as he gives her the kiss she’s looking for, easily shifting from straddling her to kneeling between her legs when she wriggles to try and get one around him, nearly kicking him in the process. “Fuck, Jask, you feel so fucking incredible.”

“Want – fuck, please fuck me,” is all Jaskier gasps out in response, and Geralt laughs, kissing her again.

“I am fucking you,” he teases, pulling his fingers out just to shove them back in, scrubbing over that sweet spot through the whole movement. The leg she has around him spasms, her heel coming down on his lower back sharply, and she bites at his lip.

“Want your cock, Witcher,” she says, all but a growl, and the aforementioned cock throbs and splatters precome all over her belly.

“You sure?” he asks, part facetious and more teasing, mostly serious. He pushes his fingers deeper into her again, spreading them apart to feel how tightly her cunt tries to keep them together, and she makes a warbling little sound.

“Yes,” she gasps, when she finally finds the breath for it again. “Fuck, yes, Geralt, please.”

“Alright, little lark,” he murmurs, kissing her again as he finally pulls his fingers free. He uses the slick on his hand to wet his cock – as if he needs to help, with how much he’s leaking, gods – and carefully adjusts to press the head of himself to her grasping entrance. She just rolls her hips up, easing the angle, and tightens her legs around his waist, so he pulls back to let her breathe as he rolls his own hips in response, slowly but surely sinking straight into her.

Both of them make choked, desperate sounds about it; hers is more of a mewl, sex-soaked and needy, his more of a growl, almost more of a sensation in his chest than a real sound. Her arms loose around his shoulders tighten, pulling him closer in, and he has to adjust how he’s laying to keep fucking into her and also let her cling to him.

“So good,” he pants, “so fucking tight and wet and – fuck, fuck, perfect, Jask, gods….”

She just whines, something vaguely resembling his name, and clings even tighter.

Despite all of his instincts screaming at him to hitch her closer and absolutely rail her, he keeps the first few thrusts slow and deliberate, feeling out her new body for himself. She keeps mewling and clinging, not stopping him or pleading for more, so he keeps it up, trying to focus on how good she feels instead of how the slow pace is near painful.

And fuck, she does feel good. She always did, but like this – it’s so much easier to fuck into her pretty new little cunt, and she sounds like she likes it so much more, breathing scattered and hitching as she moans. She’s hot and tight and fucking soaked for him, and so much more sensitive, each thrust making her tremble.

That shivering only gets worse – better? – when he drops his hand between them again, pinching gently and rubbing at her clit. It’s a bit larger than average – side effect, Geralt thinks, of how imprecise the magic that changed Jaskier is – but frankly he loves it, likes that he can still feel her twitching and hard in response to his ministrations.

Also, it makes it much easier to work her up to another orgasm, hard and fast to counter how slowly and gently he’s fucking her. Her noises haven’t really coalesced into words, but occasionally he thinks he hears his name and pleas, and as long as they stay desperate and needy and she’s clinging to him like she’ll float away if she doesn’t, he just keeps going.

Of course, he didn’t really stop to consider how different feeling her come around his cock would be. Physically, he thinks it’s probably not that different – she clenches down hard and rhythmic, like always, and his cock flexes hard inside her in response, but everything else. The sudden rush of slick that makes the next several thrusts all but frictionless, the way she shakes her way through it and then shakes harder when he hilts himself and grinds into her, the sweet, high noises she makes.

“Good, good girl, fuck, fuck.” He shouldn’t be so close to spilling just because of that, but fuck, he really is.

“Please,” Jaskier finally gasps, after a few moments, and her eyes are half-lidded but her gaze is no less intense for it. “Please, fuck me – like, like before, want….”

She trails off, flushed face going somehow redder, and Geralt’s cock flexes inside her again. He ducks down to kiss her, sucking at her lips and tracing her teeth with his tongue before he’s dragging his mouth over her cheek and jaw, to her ear.

“Want it to ache, little lark?” he asks, because he had been prepared for a lot of things to change, when Jaskier did, but that doesn’t mean he’s forgotten what his bard liked – or likes, as it seems. “Want me to fuck you sore?”

She squeaks, but she’s nodding, and when he kisses her again she’s arching into him and moaning into his mouth when she clenches around his cock again.

“Sweet little thing,” he murmurs, nearly a purr, when he pulls back to let her breathe. “Sweet and filthy.”

“Geralt,” she whines. “Geralt, please.”

He just hums an affirmative, at that, busy with raising more livid marks on her throat, shifting to brace better on his knees as he hitches her hips higher into his lap. She whimpers at the shift, and then again, louder, when he rocks his hips back to test the angle.

“Yeah?” he asks, still biting at her throat. “That feel good?”

“F-fuck, Geralt – yes, please.”

“I’ve got you, Jask,” Geralt murmurs, and drags his mouth back to hers as he starts to move.

This time, he doesn’t hold back, instead just letting himself fall into the muscle memory of fucking Jaskier, reserving his actual focus for kissing her and his hands wandering over her body. She keens when he pinches at her nipples, so he stays there for a moment, sucking at her lips and letting her pour sweet, desperate little sounds into his mouth, all of them breathless enough that the obscene sound of him fucking her nearly drowns it out.

“So wet for me, little lark, feel so amazing,” he murmurs against her cheek, still tugging at her nipples as he babbles, and she just wails, nails digging into his back. “So godsdamned perfect, pretty little thing caught and squirming on my cock, fuck.”

“Geralt,” she gasps, thin and broken in the middle, and he just hums and moves one of his hands down her belly to trace the shape of her tips. Even just that makes her start to tremble, clenching hard enough around him that his rhythm stutters, and he’s murmuring half-wordless encouragement as he gets his fingers back on her clit.

This time, she’s shouting his name, garbled as it is, and only his years of experience with her in his bed keep her from bucking him off. He groans and rocks along with the way she jerks, then moves his other hand to her hip to force her back down into his lap, giving her no chance to escape the angle his cock is fucking her at or the pressure of his fingers at her clit.

That shouting devolves quickly into wailing, and then starts to fade out as Jaskier’s breath abandons her, head thrashing on the pillow as Geralt fucks a little faster, a little deeper. Each time he bottoms out inside her, her voice hiccups into a new pitch, and he’d be amused at how scattered his little songbird sounds if he wasn’t too busy holding on to his own orgasm with a vice grip. He ducks down to mouth over her ear, knowing that she’s never been able to resist how he talks to her in bed.

“C’mon, little lark, give it to me,” his voice is more growl than anything, but Jaskier just shudders against him at the sound, “wanna feel you squeeze tight on my cock – fuck you through it til you’re screaming.”

She makes a weak, jerky little sound, at that, almost his name, and it only takes a few more thrusts, after that. He grits his teeth against her throat and holds on through it, whining almost as loud as she does as she clenches around him, his cock feeling nearly sore with the pressure and how long he’s been holding back.

But he fucks her through it, like he promised, and only when she’s clawing at his back and babbling, “Please, please, feel – fuck, please fill me up,” does he let go of his control.

He worries, for a moment, that the way he fucks her after that might be too much, too fast and deep and hard and hardly any rhythm to be found, his hips stuttering as he rapidly approaches his own climax, but she just moans and clings somehow tighter, teeth digging into his shoulder as she squeaks and squeals. The sound he makes when he finally does come, grinding deep enough inside her he’s certain it’s got to ache with or without a womb, is more animal than man, a sharp, rumbling growl that feels like it’s yanked from his chest with a hook.

It’s fucking incredible, because of course it is, and Jaskier is making choppy little sounds as she gasps, babbling in between moans about full, and hot, and messy, fuck.

Geralt manages a chuckle, at that, still grinding into her through his own mess, shocks of pleasure rocking up his spine and making him shiver. He wraps his arms around her back and pulls, taking her with him as he collapses onto his back instead, grunting with the impact. Already, he can feel sleep tugging at him, but he does his best to keep his eyes open, to pay attention as Jaskier fumbles her way into sitting up where she’s still straddling him, his softening cock still stuffed into her cunt.

“Fuck,” she says, but she’s grinning with all of her teeth and her eyes are sparkling, and Geralt huffs another laugh, petting his hands up and down the curve of her waist.

“Everything you ever imagined?” he asks, and Jaskier snorts, doing a complicated little motion with her hips and clenching around him in a way that makes his cock throb and drool some more cum.

“More than,” she says, emphatic, and balances on his belly with one hand so she can drag the other up her own body to cup a tit. “Gods, it’s – it’s different, like this. Better.”

“Mm.” Geralt gives up the struggle and lets his eyes close, but keeps himself awake all the same, still petting her. “I’m glad.”

Jaskier just giggles, then, and when she shifts and lifts her hips, his cock falls out of her alongside a ridiculous amount of mess. They both groan, but Jaskier just plops herself right back down over his hips and then onto his chest, and he laughs, wrapping his arms around her.

“Clean up later?” he asks, and Jaskier makes an affirmative sound, nuzzling her face into his throat.

“...after another round. When you’re up to it again.”

He snorts. “Or maybe you’ll just start without me again, hm?”

“Is that permission?”

And fuck, that makes Geralt’s cock twitch, chubbing up all over again. Even with his drastically shortened refractory period, it’s actually a little painful.

“...do you want it to be?”

Jaskier just whines, but shifts and slaps at his side.

“Take your nap, Witcher, we’ll talk about it later.” Despite the exasperated tone, she’s wriggling to snuggle closer, stretching out her legs to tangle with his. He snorts.

“Whatever you say, little lark.”

#celus writes #dead dove #dead dove: do not eat #celus trans characters cw #celus transformation cw #that's about it this one is tame

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