#jaskier angst

[astaldis]

Whumpy, Angsty & Smutty and miscellaneous Jaskier Fics Masterpost

The first four ones have the smut, te ther fics the angst and whump. Enjoy!

Smutty 🌶️

Shimmering Scales and Stormy Seas

This is the story of Jaskier's first time. Decide yourself if it is true or just a tall tale. (With accompanying 'art': Shimmering Scales and Horny Bard)

E; Words: 800; Chapters: 1/1

Oh, the Waves

On the beach you meet a stranger with a weird instrument. It is Jaskier, the man of your dreams. Or is he a dream?

E; Words: 1,341; Chapters: 1/1

Magenta Monster

Jaskier has the most amazing sex with a very weird, magenta-coloured monster.

E; Words: 415; Chapters: 1/1

'Of Tulips and Tits' or 'The Magic of Chocolate Mousse'

Jaskier and Yennefer return to their cottage by the sea for a little holiday twosomeness. As it turns out, the bard cannot only make the best ever mousse au chocolate, but also knows a more than exciting way how to eat it.

E; Words: 1,646; Chapters: 1/1

More Mousse Magic

There is still some mousse au chocolate left in the bowl and Yennefer is not finished with Jaskier quite yet.

E; Words: 568; Chapters: 1/1

Whumpy or Angsty 🩸

Where The Tulips Grow

Geralt, Yennefer, and Ciri learn that Jaskier has gone missing under suspicious circumstances. Circumstances that hint at a kidnapping. Yennefer leaves Geralt with Ciri and goes to save the bard. But not all goes as planned. The hero becomes the damsel in distress and Jaskier has to save the day. (Post-season 2)

Yenskier; M; Words: 23,951; Chapters: 9/9

A Recipe for Disaster

While Geralt's company is staying in Beauclair, another festive event is coming up. However, not all is going as planned. Will his friends be able to rescue their bard?

T; Words: 3,504; Chapters: 1/1

Help Me, He Whimpers

While collecting firewood for the campfire, Jaskier goes missing in the forest. When Geralt finds him, a surprise is waiting for the Witcher. And it is not a nice one.

T; Words: 2,167; Chapters: 1/1

Sleep now

Jaskier has a terrible nightmare. Geralt soothes him. But was it really just a nightmare?

M; Words: 423; Chapters: 1/1

Silence

It is quiet. Not a single sound. Eerie. Absolute silence. But should he not hear twigs crunching under the soles of his boots? The autumn wind whispering in the trees' orange and yellow leaves that lend a golden glow to the picturesque landscape? Birds twittering in the bushes and sheep bleating in the distant meadows? How can there be this deep and utter silence? And why is he alone? Where is everybody? Milva? Regis? Cahir? And, most of all, Geralt?

T; Words: 800; Chapters: 1/1

Where is Jaskier?

While the Hansa is on their journey searching for the druids of Caed Dhu, Jaskier goes missing. Geralt is worried, very worried.

T; Words: 9,054; Chapters: 7/7

Out Of The Blue

While on their search for Yennefer and Ciri, the Hansa makes camp in a glade. Suddenly, they are under attack, and it is neither by Nilfgaard nor by troops from the north.

T; Words: 4,202; Chapters: 2/2

Don't Despair, Friends

On their journey to rescue Ciri, the members of Geralt's Hansa have to eat all kinds of grub. One day it has rather unpleasant consequences. Luckily, they have Regis.

T; Words: 400; Chapters: 1/1

This fucking hurts!

Jaskier has a little mishap. It hurts. How lucky that he has friends.

T; Words: 735; Chapters: 1/1

Is that normal? - Or: A Lesson in Botany

While on their mission to rescue Ciri, Jaskier makes the acquaintance of a plant. Geralt is not happy. Fortunately, they have Regis, the higher-vampire-barber-surgeon-herbalist with them.

T; Words: 1,071; Chapters: 1/1

"Ouch" Says The Bard

"Ouch!" he exclaims, flinching back from her ...

T; Words: 150; Chapters: 1/1

Too Close

"Geralt, I've found something. Look, isn't it a darling baby?" Jaskier beams at the Witcher from where he is kneeling next to a bush on the edge of the forest. "No! Don't touch it, whatever it is!"But it is too late ...

T; Words: 1,860; Chapters: 1/1

Once in the Greenest Green Meadow

Jaskier is bitten by a very strange creature that not even Geralt has ever seen or heard of before. There are unexpected repercussions.

T; Words: 2,324; Chapters: 2/2

What the Blub?

Jaskier drinks from a well and swallows something fishy. How lucky that Geralt is there to help his bard.

T; Words: 700; Chapters: 1/1

I'll let the sea birds cry

Jaskier walks along a lonely beach, remembering his lost friends.

T; Words: 1,125; Chapters: 1/1

And We Fall Into Each Other

In the chaos of the attack on the refugee camp by the Chotla, Geralt and Jaskier got separated from the others and ended up as prisoners of Marshall Vissegerd who orders them hanged as spies. Is this the end of Geralt's mission to find Ciri? It almost looks like it - until Redania shows up.

M; Words: 2,338; Chapters: 1/1

Dreams

When Geralt is gone, all that is left to Jaskier are dreams.

T; Words: 123; Chapters: 1/1

Heat and Dust

It has been the hottest, driest summer in the Lyrian Plains since ever and monsters born of heat and dust are haunting the fields around the small villages. Fortunately, Geralt of Rivia is already on his way. At the tavern, a surprise is waiting for the thirsty Witcher.

T; Words: 4,880; Chapters: 1/1

'Toad' or 'A Very Unusual Pet' Chapter 12 & 13

A variation on Rience torturing Jaskier for information.

Ysgith Chapter 2

Geralt and his company stick to the original plan and travel through the Ysgith wilderness. Maybe not such a good idea after all ...

To Kiss or not to Kiss Chapter 3

Jaskier and Geralt's escape from the Redanian army camp from Season 4 Episode 4.

Into the Fog

As their ferry glides down the Yaruga through the mist, Jaskier shudders. But it's not only because of the weather.

T; Words: 555; Chapters: 1/1

Miscellaneous

A Lesson in Zoology

After Geralt has left, Jaskier gets the information about what happened on the mountain from the others. Then there is one question that he needs to ask the dragon before they part ways, a rather personal one.

T; Words: 900; Chapters: 1/1

Yuletide Delight

Regis visits Jaskier at the Chameleon in Novigrad. But he is not only there to say hello to an old friend.

G; Words: 2,237; Chapters: 2/2

Of Dandelions and Violets

Jaskier has a Valentine's date - but of course, nothing goes according to plan.

T; Words: 1,231; Chapters: 1/1

Candles

A year has passed since the events at Stygga Castle and Geralt, Yennefer and Ciri remember their fallen friends.

T; Words: 1,100; Chapters: 1/1

[blooms-in-april]

I'm thinking sad Jaskier thoughts.

It takes a while for Geralt to realize the music is gone. Oh Jaskier still sings- for their supper, for Ciri when she's sad, to entertain Kaer Morhen on late card playing nights. But the music- the music is gone. No more of the mindless humming as he walks, no more parsing over rhymes by the fire, no more harassing Geralt for his thoughts on such and such melody. Jaskier sings like a wind-up music box, only when requested, cranked for it, and snapping shut into silence like the sharp closing of a lid.

Yennefer snorts at his concern. "It took you this long to notice?"

Geralt grunts. She smiles, sharp and bitter. "You always were slow."

"How do I fix it?" Geralt snaps. He is not here to be mocked or play games.

"Can you fix it?" Yennefer asks. "I don't know."

Geralt doesn't know either. All he can do is try.

One of the mages had left a god's damned harpsichord in their tower room. It takes Geralt weeks- lugging the ornate monstrosity down from the mages tower, finding schematics in the library for the damn thing, undoing by sheer will the rot and moulding of a hundred years on the instrument. He spends his evenings waist deep in the guts of the instrument, swearing over chords and tuning and keys.

Jaskier's silence, now that he notices it, gapes like an open wound, bleeding wherever he goes. It stains memories of years past, of a cheerful smile and conversation given to him so freely, so easily, not a hint of subterfuge or awkwardness or fear. Now Jaskier only says good morrow if Geralt says it first, only speaks when spoken to, only smiles when Ciri is looking his way.

Geralt polishes the harpsichord until his fingers blister and his nose stings from the smell. He paints the elaborate carvings with pure gold leaf. He spends hours tightening strings trying to get the thing in tune. He worries over it like a child, because he doesn't know what else to do.

"What do you think?" He asks Eskel as they carry it carefully down to Jaskier's room.

"It's very nice." Eskel says diplomatically. "I'm sure he'll appreciate it."

"Appreciate it?" Geralt doesn't want appreciation. He wants that soft tone back in Jaskier's voice when he speaks to him. He wants Jaskier to speak to him, to turn to him free and easy with something to say.

"He'll like it," Eskel says, "Just-"

He turns, his soft eyes full of warning. "Just don't put all your hopes on an old harpsichord."

Lambert snorts, "Too little too late!" He laughs. And Lambert has always been hateful, more so since Aiden was lost, but the words feel true.

Jaskier smiles when he presents him with the harpsichord. He exclaims and laughs and claps his hands. He extolls its virtues, coos over its decorations, fusses over it with all the enthusiasm of a performing parrot. He pulls Ciri onto his lap and guides her hands on the keys, composes a little ditty on the fly for Yennefer, plays something sweet and sad that makes Lambert turn his face away. In all the merriment and gratitude and excitement, he looks Geralt in the eyes only once. Once, upon the first shock of the present. Once, with eyes wide and open, like a wound.

Geralt lingers as the others go off to bed, watching as Jaskier slowly fades as his audience wanes.

"Thank you, Geralt." he says. "It is truly a magnificent present. And far more than I deserve."

Do not thank me is what Geralt wants to say. Do not thank me, not when I have done this to you.

"I didn't do much," is what comes out of his mouth. "It was already there."

Jaskier does not look at him. "If this is an apology-" he says, "I do not need it. You were tired and upset. You spoke your mind. And nothing you said was- untrue. From a certain point of view. You do not need to absolve your guilt to me."

"Jaskier," Geralt says. "I'm sorry."

"And I forgive you." Jaskier says "I forgave you even the moment you after spoke. I don't think I would be myself if I could do otherwise."

It is done. The gift given, the apology accepted. And yet the silence still sits heavy in the air. It is not fixed. It is still broken. It is still out of tune and all of Geralt's twisting and tunings have not set the melody to rights.

"Why are you still like this?" He says. Jaskier stiffens. The words are wrong again, he's done it again, and he could scream with frustration, like a child who keeps swinging the sword and cutting himself on the dulled edge.

"Do you know the Countess de Stael bought me a Stradivarius once?" Jaskier said. "You don't know what that is. A fiddle, rarer than rubies. There were only twenty ever made. It sings like nothing else. She presented it to me on a bed of velvet, and told me she loved me. She told me to stay. And I would have."

Jaskier plinks a few idle notes. "She kicked me out a month later. Too mouthy. Too tacky. Too gauche. She had found someone better. She took back the Stradivarius and handed it off to her new minstrel."

"What I am saying, Geralt-" He says. "What I am asking- Is that you not do things you do not mean. That you not give me false hope. That you stop trying to make me love you, because I already do. I already do and it hurts. It hurts so much."

[dandelions-and-lutes]

Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely adore immortal!Jaskier and non-human!Jaskier aus.

HOWEVER

They can NEVER beat the angst of an ordinary human Jaskier’s angst, especially after s1ep6. He’s surrounded by extraordinary people, his best friend even, who pushes him aside for an enchanting sorceress. From his point of view, Jaskier has absolutely nothing that can compare to the rest of Geralt’s lovers. And nothing is more heart breaking, more world shattering, then the realization that the life and relationships you had built around yourself for 22 years just… isn’t welcome to you.

[ray-the-rat-king]

A lil angst idea I thought of last night lol, this poor man has to suffer through my angst 

Song- empty bed by cave town 

[desparadowriter]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 11/11 Fandom: The Witcher (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Reader, Jaskier | Dandelion & Reader Characters: Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Valdo Marx Additional Tags: Fluff and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Heavy Angst, Canon-Typical Violence Summary:

Legend told of a creature who haunted the night. Like the plague, it would slither into homes and prey on the unrighteous, sometimes undeserving, but always unsuspecting folk of the Continent. Some said it was a monster born from the Conjunction, others a vengeful spirit once wronged that now sought violence for eternity. But neither was true of course, you were alive, human, and simply carried out ‘tasks’ that others were too scared or stupid to do themselves.

- Chapters to be published weekly.

And here it is - The Final Chapter

I want to say a huge thank you to everyone who has read this series, especially those who reblogged and/or commented. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed seeing your reactions! This series was such fun to write and even more so to share with you all.

Until next time <3

[desparadowriter]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 10/11 Fandom: The Witcher (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Reader, Jaskier | Dandelion & Reader Characters: Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Valdo Marx Additional Tags: Fluff and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Heavy Angst, Canon-Typical Violence Summary:

Legend told of a creature who haunted the night. Like the plague, it would slither into homes and prey on the unrighteous, sometimes undeserving, but always unsuspecting folk of the Continent. Some said it was a monster born from the Conjunction, others a vengeful spirit once wronged that now sought violence for eternity. But neither was true of course, you were alive, human, and simply carried out ‘tasks’ that others were too scared or stupid to do themselves.

- Chapters to be published weekly.

It’s the final CYS Day! 

What a rush it’s been! Above is chapter 10 and shortly afterwards chapter 11 will be posted too, which will mark the end of the series.

See you soon x

[lumifuer]

wish on dandelions

Pairings: Jaskier x Reader

Words: 1226 Warnings: Angst, torture, pain, mention of past trauma A/N’s: It seemed like every Jaskier writer has already posted their rendition of the torture scene with Jaskier (you’re so skilled at this, too, omg), so I tried to connect it more with the games for a twist instead. I hope you enjoy! 

Summary: The witch hunters use Jaskier to hunt down his lover. 

The reality was going and coming back in waves, and it was harder and harder to tell it apart from his dreams. Jaskier regained consciousness, and the sharp sting of pain was the first thing that took possession of his mind. He struggled to keep his head up, his neck stiff and hurting from sitting in the same position for what seemed like days. He moved his wrists, and an overwhelming surge of despair flooded his body upon realizing that he was, in fact, still tied to this damn chair. The smell of old blood and sweat hit him, twisting his stomach, and he felt an acidic taste in his mouth. A quiet sob slipped through his dried lips.

"Awake already?" a voice spoke from the other end of the room.

The bard looked forward. The broad-shouldered man was sitting behind the sturdy wooden desk, leaning towards him with a condescending smile. The expression seemed grotesque, seemingly never reaching his hollow eyes. "Come on now, don't give me that look. Help me out, and you walk out of here today."

Despite the foggy state of his mind, Jaskier didn't need a lot of time to recognize the organization the man must have been working for - witch hunters. And what's even worse, it wasn't just a simple pawn. He was looking at Menge himself. The infamous tales of his hunts, public burnings and impalings of witches had reached every corner of the continent.

"I can't help you much without a lute in my hand." The snarky remark has earned him a hefty punch from one of the guards. Surprisingly enough, this didn't seem to please the man in command.

"Leave," he ordered without gracing his soldiers with a single look. The men did as they were told to without hesitation, clearly used to listening to their superior untroubled by second thoughts. Jaskier wouldn't expect a higher level of critical thinking within this organisation.

But the sudden lack of their presence didn't ease Jaskier's mind. The goon wasn't the one he should be scared of - that much he knew for sure.

When the door behind Jaskier's back closed with a loud thud, the man got up and let out an exasperated sigh. He looked at the bard and pursed his lips, considering his approach.

"See, I'm a busy man. And I don't like repeating myself," he began, leaning on his desk. "But I'm going to give you one more chance to walk out of here alive."

"I've already told you--"

"Don't play your silly games with me, bard. I want to know where she is."

Jaskier looked up, the forced smug smile evaporating into thin air. His eyes met the gaze of Menge, and for a short moment, he was able to see himself how the hunter saw him. A simple coward, strapped to a chair, left by his friends. Menge must have assumed he'd be talking by now, and rightfully so. But Jaskier knew the stakes. He could save his skin or try to save the one person he truly loved. He took a deep breath, preparing to keep his mouth closed for as long as possible. He made an oath to withstand everything they could try on him. And they've already tried an impressive amount of things to break him yet he wouldn't budge.

All of this didn't change the fact that he was in a miserable position. He couldn't fight, and even if he knew how to, he was still tied to an armrest with no clue how to escape. He had to control his thoughts, words and the rising panic taking control of his aching and exhausted body.

"So?" Menge raised an eyebrow, eyeing the bard.

"Fuck off," a drip of blood stained his pants. The thick liquid spilling inside of his mouth, possible aftermath of the punch.

Menge didn't seem impressed by the bard's relentless composure. He huffed and pushed himself off the desk, walking up to a wall. "I've heard a thing or two about you," he hummed as he took a lit torch off the wall. "Apparently, you're not a huge fan of fire."

'Give in, tell him something! Anything!' his mind was suddenly going wild, fueled by memories of pain and that horrible odour of burning flesh. He thought they were long gone, buried somewhere deep in memory, repressed by his psyche. But once again, they regained the power to cloud his conscious mind, sending him in the flight response. It took everything in him to keep his lips shut together, and instead of talking, brace himself for the familiar pain.

His senses were failing him, concentrated entirely on the flame dancing before his eyes. Menge kneeled in front of him, moving the torch closer and closer to his hands. He set the thing in a holder attached to the chair's leg, possibly designed with a thought of this torture in mind. Jaskier would never forget the enjoyment painting on the man's face as he was subjecting him to this torture.

His expression changed when he heard a muffled commotion right behind the door. His hand froze, the flame stroking the tips of Jaskier's fingers. Something heavy, possibly a limp body of a guard, hit the door. It flung open with immense force, making Menge retreat behind his desk. Suddenly, he looked nothing like the infamous witch hunter, the murderous monster, killing those who dared to be born different. He turned into a child cowering in a corner of his room.  

Jaskier didn't need to look back to know that it was her. The scent of her perfume reached his nostrils, effectively blocking everything else.

She reached out to capture the flame from underneath his wounded skin. She failed to notice the bard's bound hand reaching out to touch hers in a desperate attempt to prove he wasn't merely dreaming. His eyes followed her movement as she made her way to the group of witch hunters cramped in the dark corner of the room who were now shivering in fear. She opened the palm of her hand and revealed a small but swiftly growing flame dancing on her skin. She blew on it as if it was a dandelion flower, and soon all Jaskier could hear was the agonizing screams of his former abusers.

Due to all the commotion around him and his tired mind barely able to concentrate on anything besides her presence, he failed to notice when her trembling fingers freed him from the rope. Her arms wrapped around him tightly, but not in a way that would cause too much pain and within a second, they were teleported out of the room. The spell must have been rushed because they both landed in the middle of the meadow, surrounded by trees. She wasn't too concerned with the location. All her attention was directed at the wounded lover whose face she was gently cupping.

"I'm so sorry, Jaskier," the words fell out of her mouth and she was a quivering mess. The sorceress was trying to decide which injury needed her help the most when she suddenly froze in place. Despite all the pain, and suffering, her bard was still smiling. "Are you alright, love?"

Upon hearing this word, he further melted into her touch, allowing his body to relax finally.

"Yes, now that you're here."

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are always welcomed and greatly appreciated! ♥

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

Jaskier returns to Oxenfurt alone. An anonymous letter arrives in the city a month after he does, telling him his time is running out. He really believes it, now.

He’s getting used to living in silence. He hurries elves from the city in the night and sleeps in the day. Sleeps longer than he really should. He’s no longer bringing money in, but the inn puts him up anyway. Another bard has stepped into his shoes. They were, he thinks, never really very big shoes to fill.

Before—before this—he’d been coasting. A handful of new songs, the most popular of them fuelled by spite. But spite is a poor motivator, burning itself out too quickly, leaving only ashes behind.

The muse is… gone. He’d known, in a vague, painful way, that he’d see Geralt again eventually. He’d hoped that in the witcher’s wake would be the muse once more, like it had been, all that time ago. But all that stands behind Geralt’s heels is a shadow. Things are the same, Jaskier knows. Geralt certainly acts like they are.

But they’re unutterably different, too. When Jaskier last looked at Geralt—a brief glance, before he left—he felt…

Nothing. Not really nothing, not indifference, but the raw, hollow nothing that follows grief. His chest was a cavity, waiting to collapse. It still is.

He should buy another lute. They’re easy to come by, and while he's completely broke he’s also owed favours all over the academy. But he doesn’t. He thinks about it a few times, lingering outside music shops and peering inside, but that urge is gone. His head, which used to be filled with the sound of song, is ringing and empty.

Sometimes, still, he seeks out his old friends. Essi or Valdo, with worried eyes and welcoming arms. Very welcoming, in Valdo’s case. But he never stays long, and refuses their invites to parties and academy seminars. He cannot stand the scratching of quills, the light in his friends' and colleagues' eyes as the muse overtakes them. It makes him feel raw and itchy and cruel. So he steps back. It’s just for a little while, he says. Just for now.

He thinks of what he said to Yen. Who are we when we can no longer do the one thing we were put on this Continent to do?

He gets elves onto ships, and it’s not enough. He receives demands from shadowy figures, and it’s not enough. He steps into a new life—a new name—and as he pulls his coat around his shoulders against the bitter air he knows, with stinging certainty, that it’s not enough.