#jaskier fic

[bisexualsupe]

Top! Jaskier x Noble! Male! Lover (NSFW Drabble)

Slightly based on my headcanons I posted a few weeks ago. Very very NSFW, so be warned.

Jaskier had been singing all night. Not an unusual turn of events for him, really - he’d been singing for his supper for years now. Usually he could scrape together enough for a bed and board, a decent meal and a drink or two. All in all, he would consider himself a decent performer.

However, even he would admit that he couldn’t compare to the sounds that the beauty beneath him was making.

It had all happened so quickly. A few flirtatious winks had turned into smiles, had turned into a hushed conversation over drinks, had turned into this; the son of a lord wrapped around him in a small, dark room lit only by a single oil lamp.

The table that the young lord was balanced on knocked rhythmically against the wall with each thrust of Jaskier’s hips. The air was filled with breathless panting, stifled moans, soft curses. And gods - he felt like luxury against Jaskier’s body. Soft pampered skin, warm lips that mouthed insistently at his throat, so- fuck, so tight…

Jaskier rocked forwards harder than he’d meant to, and the man below him let out a loud, beautiful keen. Jaskier quickly clamped his hand over his mouth, albeit with a tinge of regret.

“Shh,” he leaned down whispered, laughter dancing around the edge of his breathless voice, “as gorgeous as you sound, I don’t fancy getting caught and chased out of the province.”

The young lord’s eyes glimmered at him over the edge of his fingers before he jerked his head to the side, loosening the bard’s grip.

“I’d rather you silence me with your lips,” he replied indignantly, though his hoarseness ruined the effect of his glare; “Your hand smells of lute strings.”

“Oh, forgive me, my lord,” Jaskier drawled as he dug his fingers into his hips and tugged him forwards, drawing out a soft gasp; “I’m so terribly sorry that my profession causes you offence! I never-!”

“Shut up and fuck me,” the young lord growled, pawing at the laces of his shirt.

“Fuck - absolutely.”

[neoncrowpen]

IMPORTANT NOTE: It seems Tumblr ate the original ask that went along with this particular request. However, I did save the wording of the request:

"Would you do a dark jaskier imagine/fic? Where he gets reader drunk and takes advantage of her?"

Pairing: Dark!JaskierX Female!Reader

Fandom/Franchise: Witcher

Author's Warnings: Non-con, Sexual Assault, Reader is no absolutely no condition to give consent, fingering, p in v, MDNI

Jaskier had written no less than ten songs about you. The first two couldn’t be bothered to be completed. The third he did perform in front of a crowd without you, but due to their bad feedback, he changed lyrics and the beat into the fourth song. The fifth song was something he hummed under his breath, especially when you smiled at him.

The sixth song he wrote out of anger when you paid a second more of attention to anyone else but him. Heartbreak and longing were the tones for the seventh and eighth songs. In fact, when he sang about burning butchers, he wasn’t sure if it was about you or Geralt, or both. You made a mess of him, that was for certain.

Even now, as his fingers threatened to break his lute in half, he yearned for a few minutes of your affection. Jaskier would’ve settled for anything. A look. A praising word.

Radovid slid down the wall, sitting next to his bardic friend. “Y/N is proof that the gods have favorites.” His mouth slurred for speech. “I hate it. To be blessed with all the beauty, the charm, the love, and the talent…without any responsibility at all.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Jaskier responded. “Everyone is responsible for something. She’s noble, no? You all do some work.”

“No, not her.” Radovid’s mouth smacked open. He drank the remaining wine. The glass bottle hit the hardwood floor with a smart and dull thud. “No, she’s the youngest of a family of…” The Prince’s voice trailed off. Jaskier’s focus reduced to the sway in how you walked. Your feet stumbled a bit too much. Your giggling laugh acted as a balancing indicator.

Opportunity.

Jaskier’s hand steadied your back. “Oh no. How much have you had?” His voice was slathered in a tone that seemed friendly on the surface.

“Too much.” Your voice lifted in embarrassment.

“C’mere.” He encouraged you to take his hands. His bigger eyes, his easy smile, all of him were easy to trust. He led you from the warmth of the dying party. His hands pushed your waist up and against the wall. Your back straightened. “There you are. Good girl.”

“Hm?” Your world, warm and tilted, focused out more. The castle’s lights were low. The guards would be changing shift.

Jaskier’s thumb swiped across your bottom lip. He tasted the remnants of wine as his tongue swept that same thumb. “Fae wine.” Jaskier smiled like each row of teeth salivated for you.

“Fae wine?” You giggled. Without another thought, your impulsive drunken thoughts got the best of you. “But we killed all of the fae.”

“Hm, we didn’t get rid of their wine.” Jaskier breathed you in deep. His eyes fluttered and rolled. “It has suggestive effects. The drinker usually succumbs to anything that’s merely mentioned to them.” His hands warmed your sides. His knee separated your legs, slicing them apart like butter.

“How do you know that?” You laughed. The air you breathed in tasted sweeter somehow.

Jaskier smiled, letting his nose brush against yours as you both laughed together. Jaskier thought about how easy this was. He should’ve done this sooner. His palms slid down yours sides.

“Because I bought it and I gave it to you.” He whispered. His forehead met yours. He inhaled the odd sweetness of your breath. His tongue tutted. “You just don’t remember that was two bottles ago.”

His thumb pressed into your mouth first. Your playful tongue licked it in submission. Your flesh was clay underneath his fingers, and Jaskier wanted to leave his mark in you. No. He would mold you tonight. Construct you into something that fit his needs tonight. His wet thumb traced a line over your whole mouth.

“You’re going to give me what I want.” Jaskier told you. His words hit. Your eyes grew half-lidded; your shoulders relaxed. His hands pulled up the layers of skirts, finding exactly where he wanted to be. Jaskier breathed low, chuckling. “Good, good girl.”

His fingers found their place first inside your folds. He worked up a slow pace, earning him a moan from you. His mouth closed over yours. So, each moan from you could echo in his head. Every time you emitted another note of a sound, Jaskier placed it in music.

He moaned back, complimenting each of your notes with his own. His hand pulled from you.

“Jaskier—

“Shh, don’t ruin it.” He whispered. You heard his belt, unbuckling. He guided your back away from the hallway wall. “Put your hands….there, yes, there, too. Your hips, yes, good girl.”

Jaskier lined up himself. His tip, swollen and eager, dipped slowly into you. The sound you made was too loud. His hand swiped over your mouth.

“Shhh, Y/N. The guards will hear us.” Jaskier rolled himself forward into a slow pace. The slight slapping of skin echoed in the immediate area. “Can’t have that. This is our secret. Because if the guards hear us, they’ll make me stop.”

Jaskier’s hand reached around your neck, holding you exactly where he could feel the vibrations of your voice. He smirked, continuing his pace. “And I really, really don’t want to stop.”

Divider/ Border Credit: @pixopix

Witcher Masterlist

[queenxxxsupreme]

Rare Encounters (Jaskier x f!witcher!reader)

A/N: hi guys…. I finished Fallout the tv show and it gave me that urge to write that I haven’t had in a while. Now fingers crossed that it works for the long run. Once I can get a good feel for the Fallout universe, my ass will 100% be writing fallout fics 😂

Warnings: nothing outside of canon

Summary: Jaskier meets his first female witcher.

“I swear, you all live like fucking pigs.” You grumbled as you picked up the empty tankards and bowls.

“Oh, just relax, Y/N.” Lambert spoke from across the room. He sat at a table with most of the other wolves as they told stories and carried on. “No one cares what this place looks like.”

“I do, as should you.” You placed the dirty dishes on to the end of one of the empty tables. “Who is going to be doing dishes tonight?”

All of the wolves diverted their eyes away from you.

“Oh come on, boys. It’s just dishes. You’ve done worse, I’m sure of it.”

“I’d rather gut an ekimorra than do house chores.” Coen shook his head.

“Alright. Well then, I’ll just choose for myself who will be the lucky one.”

“When are ya goin’ to get eaten by a cockatrice or something, Y/N?” The redhead wolf teased. “All this nagging you do is–,”

With a flick of your wrist and a sign of aard, Lambert was sent backwards off of the bench. You grinned just a little.

“You fucking–,” He signed aard back at you the second he was on his feet, but you were quick to sign quen, blocking his attack.

“Don’t start that this early in the winter, Lambert.” Vesemir scolded him as he moved to sit next to Coen.

“Me?” Lambert raised his brows. “She’s the one who started it!”

The doors to the keep opened, bringing in a rush of cold wind. You looked up to see Geralt, a man, and a girl walking in.

The wolves fell silent as Geralt pushed the hood off of his head. A fond smile came to his lips.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Lambert stood to his feet and took a few steps towards his brother. Coen followed.

“We thought you were dead, or lost.”

“Not yet.” Geralt embraced Coen first and then Lambert.

All the other wolves soon took their turn greeting their fellow witcher.

“Y/N.” He said your name fondly. “Glad to see you didn’t let Lambert get you killed on the path.”

“I about killed her myself a couple times.” Lambert glared at you. “She’s like having a second Vesemir around, except some how she’s worse!”

You gave him a shove away from you, rolling your eyes.

“That’s the last time I spend time with you on the path.” Your words were directed to Lambert while you gave Geralt a hug. “Now I have to spend the entire winter in this gods damned keep with him too.”

“Have you seen Eskel, Geralt?” Lambert returned to his seat.

“He’s not here?” Geralt furrowed his brow.

“Haven’t seen any sign of him.” Coen shook his head. “Usually he’s one of the first one’s here, but hasn’t made it this year.”

“Hmm.”

“Wolf. You’re home.” Vesemir was the last to greet the White Wolf.

“I had to make a few stops.” Geralt looked back to the girl and the man to his left.

Your eyes fell on her. Your medallion had trembled when she first entered the room and even now, you could still feel the chaos radiating off of her. She seemed curious, bright eyes taking in every witcher around her. Then she looked at you. You held her gaze, lifting your chin just a little in acknowledgement.

You turned to continue cleaning up the mess the wolves left behind as introductions were made between Geralt’s guests and the wolves.

“And who might she be?” Jaskier asked Geralt as you picked up an empty pitcher from the table the wolves sat at.

“Y/N here is the maid of the keep.” Lambert answered for you. His eyes followed you as you moved around the table, a little grin playing on his lips. “Helps keep everything all nice and clean for us men.”

You launched the pitcher at his head. He dodged to the side, nearly pushing Coen off of the bench in the process.

“You’re going to get yourself into trouble this winter, Lambert.” Vesemir warned him.

“This is Y/N.” Geralt introduced you properly. He and his guests took a seat at the table with the rest of the wolves. “She’s our sister.”

“Sister?” Ciri repeated, furrowing her brows. “As in a witcher?”

“It would seem that way.” You confirmed with a slight nod and a sigh.

“That’s absolutely amazing!” Jaskier exclaimed. “A lady witcher.”

“I think calling her a lady may be overselling it.” Coen snickered.

“Yeah, she ain’t no lady.” Lambert added.

You moved to lean in between him and Coen, reaching for an empty plate. As you were turning away from the table, you made sure to purposefully smack both of the wolves in the head with the plate.

“Fuck!”

“Why don’t you boys make yourselves useful and go do these dishes before they get out of hand?” You placed the bin of dirty dishes down in front of Coen.

They grumbled but decided not to fight it. If they did dishes now, they wouldn’t have to do them later. Or so they thought.

“You’ve never mentioned that you had a sister, Geralt.”

The White Wolf grumbled in his chest as he looked at his bard. It was a warning. He knew very well how Jaskier was with the opposite sex.

“Geralt doesn’t like to do such a thing.” You settled with sitting at the end of a bench at one of the tables. “I would take away all the spotlight from the grand White Wolf. If word got out about a lady witcher, why, the White Wolf wouldn’t be so exciting, now would he?”

Geralt rolled his eyes at you as he moved to the table that had a jug of ale and mugs. He poured himself a mug and then returned to sit across from you.

“If it wouldn’t be too much, I would absolutely love to hear more about you.” Jaskier sat down just beside Geralt. He leaned against the table with both hands and his voice oozed with excitement. “You see, I am a bard by trade. Perhaps you’ve heard some of my work.”

You gazed into his blue eyes, a grin tugging at the corner of your scarred lips.

“You’re a brave soul, bard.”

He smiled a bit bashfully, cheeks flushing light pink.

“Why, thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.” Geralt told him. His words made Jaskier’s smile drop.

“What? Of-Of course it was!”

“It was more of an observation, bard.” You said. “Not many could come to a witcher’s keep and ask a witcher to share her war stories just moments after meeting her.”

“Jaskier has no fear.” Geralt sighed.

“Well, I-I wouldn’t say that. I have plenty of fear.”

You smiled a little at the bard.

“How was the Path this year?” Geralt changed the subject. “I can’t imagine spending the whole year with Lambert was pleasant.”

“Oh, it was anything but pleasant.” You let out a small breath, scratching your fingertips over a groove in the wooden tabletop. “I’d rather have my eyes gouged out with spoons than spend that much time with him.”

Geralt chuckled a little.

“Y/N!” You heard Coen shout your name from the kitchen. You turned your head to the side, listening closely to what was going on.

Geralt furrowed his brows a little and tilted his head. He could also hear the roughhousing going on in the kitchen.

“Ah, fuck.” You grunted, pushing yourself to your feet.

“Is something wrong?” Jaskier asked you.

“My brothers are fools. Excuse me, bard. Princess.”

Jaskier watched as you crossed the room and disappeared behind a heavy wooden door. He didn’t realize he had been staring for too long until the White Wolf grumbled.

The bard turned his head to his traveling companion, brows falling and lips pressing together in a line as he found the witcher glaring at him.

“What?”

“Don’t think about it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You get that same look in your eye when we go to banquets. That same look has gotten you nearly killed for bedding the wrong woman.”

“Geralt! Have a little faith in me! That is your sister for crying out loud! I-I would— I would never—,”

“Unfortunately, I know you too well, Jaskier.”

Jaskier found himself looking back to the door you had disappeared through. A sheepish smile crossed his lips.

“She is rather stunning, isn’t she?”

“Jaskier.”

“It’s a compliment!”

Geralt shook his head.

“She will rip you to pieces.”

“Isn’t that the hope?” Jaskier grinned.

“Gross.” Ciri scrunched her nose up. She had been so quiet that Jaskier almost forgot that they were in the company of the young girl.

“Sorry, Ciri.”

***

You carried a mug in one hand as you left the kitchen. It had been a few hours since Geralt and his guests had arrived. By now, night had fallen on Kaer Morhen. Lambert was preparing a late dinner for everyone. Coen and Vesemir were fixing a fallen shelf in the library. Ciri was in the library reading through a few books to pass time.

Geralt and Jaskier were just getting back in from checking on the horses.

“So I see you changed your mind about your Child Surprise.” You spoke. Your voice reverberated off of the walls.

“Didn’t have much of a choice. Cintra was overtaken by Nilfgard. She has no one.”

“Well, now she has us.” You took a seat on a bench but kept your back to the table. Geralt and Jaskier sat the same way, with their backs to the table just across from you.

A door across the room creaked as it was opened. Being that the door was behind you, you had to turn your head and your upper half to be able to see Vesemir.

“Where’s Ciri?” Geralt asked him.

“Left her in the library. She seemed rather interested in an old beastiary.” Vesemir poured himself a mug of ale.

“To think we have a princess here in the walls of Kaer Morhen.” You shook your head, finishing off the last bit of your drink. “This winter is going to be an interesting one.”

“She isn’t the first princess here.” Geralt said. Your eyes met his briefly before you looked away.

“What does that mean?” Jaskier looked to Geralt for an explanation.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter.” Vesemir took a seat next to you. “All that matters is we don’t try to kill each other this winter.”

“Lambert is at the very top of my list.” You told him. “The first chance I get, I’m going to suffocate him in his sleep.”

“Y/N.” Vesemir scolded.

“Where do you hail from, Y/N?” Jaskier asked you.

“Ard Carraigh, though that was more than a lifetime ago.” You looked down at your empty tankard.

The sound of the horses out in the stables made you turn your head towards the door. You furrowed your brows, unsure of what had them stirring.

“Something’s bothering the horses.” Geralt grunted.

“I will go see to it.” Vesemir sighed as he stood to his feet.

“Do you want one of us to come with you?” You asked him.

“No need. I don’t think it’s that much of a concern.”

You watched the old witcher leave through the heavy front door.

“I should go check on Ciri.” Geralt thought out loud.

“There can’t be too much she’d get into trouble with.” You said. “Nothing up there other than rats the size of a foal.”

“You’d be surprised with Ciri. She can find trouble out of thin air.” He stood up. “Don’t stir up any trouble while I’m gone, Jaskier.”

“You have too little faith in me, Geralt!”

The White Wolf rolled his eyes but said nothing as he walked away. Your eyes followed him until he disappeared through a door that led to the rest of the keep.

“How long have you….” Jaskier trailed off, unsure of the right words to use. “Have you been a witcher long?”

“Are you asking my age, bard?”

“No, no! I’d never ask a lady such a thing.” He chuckled nervously. “I assume that if you have been a witcher for very long, I would have known about you. Or heard about you at some point in time.”

You stood up and moved seats, choosing instead to sit beside the bard. He shifted in his seat, clearly nervous by your sudden close presence.

“It’s been decades since I came here to Kaer Morhen.” You looked upwards to the high ceilings. “Before the sacking.”

”What was it like? Before the- Before the sacking?” Jaskier turned his head to you. He admired your side profile, blue eyes mapping out your facial features. The curve of your nose down to the shape of your lips.

Your attention was shifted to him. It was then that you noticed he was practically staring at your lips. You smiled a little, causing him to look up at your eyes. His cheeks turned pink and he chuckled nervously.

”My-My apologizes.”

”It was nothing grand.” You answered his question as you rose to your feet. “I need more drink. Would you like to come with me?”

”Yes.” Jaskier answered a little too quickly.

He followed behind you like a puppy. You looked over your shoulder to him, the twinkle in your eyes making his heart race. Gods, you were a beauty.

You pushed the door to the kitchen open but before Jaskier could follow you inside, Lambert and Coen were coming out.

“What are you doing, barker?” Coen asked.

“Just— I was just—,”

”Leave him alone, Coen.” You called from just inside the kitchen. Jaskier couldn’t see you because of the wall the two large witchers were forming, blocking you from him.

The boys laughed, their boisterous voices echoing throughout the room. Lambert clapped his hand down on Jaskier’s shoulder as they passed him. Jaskier was just a little confused.

”They are, uh, quite the pair, aren’t they?”

”A pair of jackasses is what they are.” You shook your head.

“Big brothers are like that. I have four.”

”Sounds horrendous.” You poured a second mug of ale and passed it to the bard. “Do you have any other siblings?”

”An older sister and a younger sister.”

”Seven children?” You raised your brows as you leaned against the wooden counter. “Yikes.”

”Yeah.” He chuckled lightly. He leaned against the counter beside you. “Always had a big family.”

”I was one of the last witchers to ever be made, so I suppose I’ve only ever had older brothers.” You took a sip of the ale. ”Couldn’t imagine it any other way. They irritate the piss out of me, but they’re my brothers.”

”They are good men.” Jaskier nodded. “Albeit, annoying. But good men.”

You found yourself gaze at the barker. He was stunning. Warm skin, dark curly hair, even darker eyelashes, and bright icy blue eyes that contrasted his features so nicely. He was a pleasure to gaze at.

The door to the kitchen opened and there stood Geralt.

Jaskier hurried to move, taking a step to the side to put space between himself and you.

“Ah, Geralt!”

The White Wolf offered a low grumble before he looked to you.

”Eskel is home. He doesn’t look good.”

“Is he okay?” You furrowed your eyebrows together. Your drink as discarded on the counter as you hurried to leave the kitchen.

”Vesemir has him in the infirmary.”

You slipped past the witcher and hurried away.

Geralt waited until your footsteps had disappeared down the staircase. Then he turned his attention to Jaskier. He crossed his arms over his chest, appearing even more intimidating than usual.

“Oh, come on, Geralt! Don’t look at me like that!”

”Y/N is—,”

”She is your sister! And you, you are my closest friend!” Jaskier moved to stand in front of Geralt. He placed his hands on Geralt’s biceps and attempted to shake the man but Geralt didn’t budge. “I wouldn’t dream of ever crossing you like that—,”

”Jaskier.” Geralt almost rolled his eyes. ”Get your hands off of me.”

”She is rather friendly though.” Jaskier clasped his hands behind his back as he slipped around the stocky witcher to leave the kitchen. “Very chatty too. Unlike you, you cranky old man.”

Geralt turned around to watch his friend as he started to walk away.

“Jaskier.”

”Yes, Geralt?” Jaskier turned on his toes to face him.

”Just be careful.”

The bard didn’t know what to expect, but that wasn’t it. He furrowed his brows and tilted his head to the side just a bit.

“Uh, o-okay, Geralt.”

[nesillia]

Burn Slow

Summary: Day 12 of the Christmas Advent.

Pairing: Jaskier x F! Reader

WC: 536

Warnings: pwp, wax play, ass eating, fingering, mdni, lmk if I missed anything

Notes: I have never written for Jaskier before and it’s been a really long time since I watched the show, so I hope I did okay. Enjoy! Not proofread

Christmas Advent || 2024

The wine on Jaskier’s breath is as intoxicating as the strongest alcohol.

You kiss him sloppily, tongue laced with his in a wine-coated battle. The smell of burning wax fills the room and makes you shiver in anticipation.

“You taste like wine,” Jaskier says, parting to look at you. His eyes are dark and cheeks flushed pink.

“I can say the same about you,” you snark back, grinning.

You both had drank a bottle of wine tonight, but you weren’t even tipsy.

“Well, someone was looking good enough to eat tonight, and we all know I need liquid courage before I chat with a beautiful woman,” Jaskier playfully says, pushing your naked form on the bed, stomach first. A quiet ‘oomf’ escapes at the push, and you giggle, looking back at your husband.

Jaskier is quick to shuck his clothes off, putting on a show for you.

“What? Like this?” Jaskier flirtatiously says, twisting his tunic so it acts like a scarf, while he strikes a pose.

“Oh yes, very much so good sir,” you laugh.

Jaskier throws the tunic, and shimmies out of his loose pants. He walks to the side table where the candle is, and gently picks it up. It’s warm, but not hot enough to burn you. It’s perfect. He can feel his arousal grow at the thought of the wax on your beautiful body, and he eagerly turns to you.

“Are you ready?” He asks, getting on the bed behind you. You’re on all fours now, ass in the air.

“Yes, Jaskier. Do your worst,” you tease.

“Oh, I plan to.”

With that, Jaskier leans in and gives your wet pussy a long lick, until he reaches your quivering asshole. You moan at the sensation, gripping the bed sheets in a death grip. Your eyes flutter close as Jaskier swirls his tongue around the puckered rim of muscle, one finger coming to trace the folds of your pussy before he’s easing it inside you. Consumed by the pleasure, you almost don’t notice the heated sensation suddenly fall on the globes of your ass.

You whimper, shaking. The wax quickly cools, leaving behind a warm tingling feel in your skin. Coupled with Jaskier’s expert touch, it felt amazing.

“More,” you demand, thrusting your hips back against his face. Jaskier’s tongue thrusts into your asshole, making both of you moan. Another glob of wax decorates your other cheek, and you whine, pussy clenching tightly around Jaskier’s finger. He’s quick to add a second and third, curling them against that spongy spot within that makes you keen.

Jaskier thrusts his tongue in and out of your asshole, licking the rim of it. His three fingers pump in time with his tongue, and he pours more wax on your backside. It’s such an electrifying feeling — the wax quickly cooling on your skin but leaving that tingling sensation, and you’re almost embarrassed by how quick you orgasm.

“Fuck, Jaskier! Fuck, fuck,” you cry, cunt squeezing his fingers in a vice. You can feel him smirk against your skin, before his tongue and fingers leave you. You turn to gaze back at him, looking at the still burning candle and his erection.

Your lips quirk, “Your turn.”

[writersblockedx]

The End of What Could Have Been

Pairing - Jaskier x Fem!Reader Summary - Jaskier finally gives in at trying to flirt with his favourite barmaid - something that only makes her fall harder for him. Warnings - alcohol, mention of a brothel? Words - 2.1K

A/n - Hi, I’m back! I know I’ve been gone for a little while; writers block has been killing me. But I’m back at it again, hopefully back at posting regularly again.

Masterlist

It had become the cycle of the night. As the stragglers of the Inn began to make their way back to their own beds - or hay stacks for some of them - he would appear. Far too wide-eyed for this time in the night, lute strapped over his shoulder and a glistening smile most female bar keeps had never been able to resist. Well, most expect for yourself.

Jaskier was sweet, that was true, but he was equally greedy. And the whole town knew of it. The stories of his lewd behaviour with his several different partners were laced throughout his lyrics, right alongside the fantastical story of the Witcher and the many creatures the two fought off together. Though, with that very bard in front of you now, you struggled to believe he had the same strength of a Witcher.

"Same as always, Y/n." His elbows leaned against the wooden bar as he slid a couple of coins across for you. Always a couple extra for your own pocket.

You simply nodded your head in an act to show your acknowledgement of him before turning to gather a pint of beer for the bard. "Not in the mood for conversation tonight?" He questioned while you had your back turned.

You only said anything when the cup that was brimming with frothy ale was in your hand. "Not with you. Not tonight." Ever so bluntly, that snap in your tone slipped from your tongue as you placed the drink down in front of him with a thud.

He flashed his puppy eyes; he had gotten good at doing that. "And whys that?"

Your expression never faulted. You didn't dare. You had told yourself for almost a month while Jaskier had been playing at this pub that you wouldn't be one of the many to fall prey to his sweet smile and his even sweeter words. "Because the only conversation you want to have is one where it ends with you getting into my pants." You said it so sternly. So casual. Without a lick of embarrassment as if it were a passing comment, lacking any source of meaning.

But Jaskier's response had proved different. He stiffened and struggled to swallow the ale that lingered on his tongue. "Can't blame a man for trying." His response came a second too late - attempting to get over the initial shock that had stunned him too much to speak straight away.

"I can when, despite getting your answer, you're still trying." You didn't break. With every word, you lean slightly closer, till there were only inches between you.

"Well," He sighed lightly and leaned back, "I still haven't heard you tell me to stop."

You couldn't help but laugh, "I know you're a bard, but you're not stupid, surely."

"You didn't have to go there."  He quipped. "I personally don't think you want...this to stop." His words were as cautious as one in a sword fight. One wrong move and he was frightened you were about to stab him in the back.

For the first time, you became hesitant. You were uncertain. Of course, you could admit Jaskier did have that sweet smile and the charm to accompany such. He also was easy on the eyes, had a slick manner and was, as much as you hated to admit it, the type of bachelor you could see yourself spending the night with - or several. But he was infamous for such behaviour. He travelled from town to town, bed to bed, and you were not about to the 90th woman on his list. That of such, was what you refused.

So you shifted, and slipped back into your stern facade as if nothing had ever happened, like there had never been a blink of uncertainty. "This," You pointed between the two of you, "Never even started." Words so sharp they cut through Jaskier's heart like a knife to butter. While the man was fine to break others' hearts, his was too just as fragile and sensitive. And to hear such from a woman he had grown to admire over the weeks shook his core. With the words written out in front of him, he knew he could no longer ignore them.

And so you straightened your back and stared at the boy you were forced to resist. "You finish your ale, I'll close up." You announced, without any input from him. Normally, he would last at least another three drinks. But tonight, neither of you wanted the company of the other. The air between you had become tense and rigid. Air of which you were not in the mood to breathe.

So you took it upon yourself to make that decision. You started stacking the chairs around the pub, cleaning the sticky tables and making sure everything was as it should be. The only thing left was Jaskier. He took his final sip. He placed the cup back on the bar and let out a deep breath; he knew this was the end. This was the point in which you had drawn the line, you had told him no once and for all. And you had given him no choice but to listen.

There as he stood, he turned to you. At first, he looked you up and down, taking in the last of what remained—this night marked the end of what could have been. He locked eyes with you. Neither of you moved. Neither of you said a word. After that moment of acceptance passed, he provided a nod. With that, he left the Inn without a trace. That night, in your lonely bed, you struggled to sleep, plagued by the ever-yawning question of if you just made a mistake.

By the next morning, you came to face the consequences of your own actions. You strolled in for your shift as you always did to find the Inn relatively empty. In fact, more empty than it ever had been in the past month. The only ones to occupy the Inn were the same stragglers which never seemed to leave. It didn't take you long to figure out why; the lack of strumming music in the Inn was likely the culprit. And, after that conclusion, you came to assume that it was partly the fault of yourself and a certain encounter from the night before.

"No bard today?" You queried your boss, the Innkeeper, as he stood cleaning the wooden bar.

"No bard anymore." He answered. A part of your brain was tugged with curiosity, the other knew that you shouldn't want to know. You cut the ties. You were at fault. You should leave things as they were. "Get used to how things used to be. Just the regulars again." That was one, if the only, good thing about Jaskier: the customers he brought. You could never deny his lyrical beauty and the lull of his lute. So brilliant, in fact, it almost brought you a pay rise.

Your head dropped in thought. No matter how much you wanted to accept this, a part of you wondered if this decision came from a reaction of the night prior. "Where is he staying?" You spat the words out before you could stop yourself. "The bard?" You added, suddenly aware of how strange that question may sound to your boss.

To be expected, the man raised a brow, "I'm not sure," He shrugged his shoulders lightly. "That cheap Inn up the road probably. Or a bench." With that, the grumpy old Inn keeper turned his back to you, going back to sort out the several types of ales.

For a moment, you stared. But the thought nagged you too much; Why not? He was leaving, what else was there to lose? He was sweet, admirable and you couldn't help yourself. You had only wished you had realised such fact the night before. Without thinking twice, you left. You took off without another word and headed to that cheap Inn your boss had pointed to.

By the time you arrived, you came to realise it was perfect timing. Jaskier was getting ready to depart. He had a couple of bags hung over his shoulder as he slung them over a horse. His expression was, until you came into his sights, set into a stern hold. And then, a glint of wonder reached his face, and the very corners of his lips twisted upright just slightly. He wouldn't admit it yet, but he was happy to see you had come back to him.

"And the barmaid returns." He gleamed, trying to not let that smile on his face grow any more than it already had done.

You tilted his head at him, "You didn't tell me you were leaving last night." You stated, choosing it best to ignore his greeting.

"You think that would have changed how things went?" There. You caught it right as it happened; that flirtatious speck in his pupils that never seemed to leave him - sometimes, no matter who he was talking to. When he received only a stern expression in return, he sighed and changed his tone as if he had never made that comment. "I didn't know I would be leaving until after I left." He answered, honestly.

A moment of silence passed as you settled in the realisation. You only needed confirmation: "Was it what I said?"

Another grin graced his face. But not flirtatious or cheeky, rather bittersweet. "I know you're just a bard maid,  but you're not stupid." He reiterated your own words from last night.

For that, you swallowed the lump which had suddenly grown in your throat. Then, with a breath, you replied, "You don't have to leave, the money's good here, no?" You knew your boss must have been paying him a decent paycheck.

He shifted on his feet, "I don't like staying in the same place for too long." The boy admitted.

"Then why did last night change your mind?"

He took a moment and fought himself so as not to repeat what he had said prior. "Most of the time, I can find anyone to entertain myself with, no matter where I am. But," He paused, thought on his words as if they were of utter importance, "But just the way when I walked into your Inn-"

You cut him off, "You mean when I told you to piss off because we didn't like silly lute music being played?" Saying that now was laughable.

And Jaskier had let out a chuckle, "Yes, then. I thought you were a shell I wanted to break and I found myself not bothered with anyone else. Not even with the mistresses at the Brothal. I wanted to get to know you and, I don't know, I looked forward to every night when I'd finish my set and it would be just the two of us in the bar." He explained, him too going off the idea of what else was there to lose now? "You didn't want me and it made it all the more enticing. To fight with the idea of hatred boarding on love was something intoxicating and it only made me want you more."

And, honestly, you were at a loss for words. It wasn't often many people spoke to you in such a poetic way, with such romance trickled into their words as it rolled right off the tongue like smooth butter. Most of the time, you were only met with drunk stragglers, boarding their words on sexual harassment. So this was only a breast of fresh air and you were indulging in it like it was some sort of drug.

When you looked back to Jaskier, you were at a loss for words. You weren't quite the lyricist he was. "I think-" You took a breath as if it were giving you the courage needed in that very moment. "I think I did want you. Oh, I know I did. But a bard who, as you said is always on the move, wasn't something I could get involved in." Like that, a weight slipped from your shoulders like melting ice.

Jaskier took a step forward, cautious in his action. When you showed no sign of disregard, he settled. "You've no idea what I would change just so you would get involved with me." There, his flirtatious smile return. And, this time, you couldn't resist it.

He started leaning in and rather than stopping it, so did you until your lips met in a soft embrace. It was long overdue and you could see how addicted you could get to that feeling if you weren't too careful. But a part of you had started to put trust into Jaskier - you just preyed the bard would never break it. As now, this was the start of something. Something neither of you wanted to ever end.

[strickenspirit]

My blog might be horror based

But those likes are Jaskier fanfics

And that’s okay.

[ariwritessometimes]

The Witcher Masterlist

Geralt

The Devil’s Eye Soulmate AU, one shot

Summary: Everyone was born with one eye of normal color, and one Eye, the color of their soulmate’s eye. It was how those who were meant to be would find each other. At the first meeting of their gazes, the Eye would fade, leaving each soulmate with two eyes of their own same color. She was born with a Witcher’s Eye.

Jaskier

Larks Never Will series

Summary: Jaskier, as always, is along for the ride on one of Geralt’s contracts in a faraway kingdom. In the midst of it all, he finds that his wandering affections have settled on one woman - he is falling for a mysterious and elusive servant girl in the royal household.

It seems she is somehow connected to this dark magic that keeps the kingdom in fear. The closer Geralt gets to uncovering the mystery, the further Jaskier feels from the truth. What does this mean for his aching heart?

Read on Ao3

Read the OC Version on Quotev

Non Canon Compliant

Series Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Magic, Background Character Death, Angst

Series Incomplete

Lavender and Rose Soulmate AU, one shot

Summary: The world turns to color at the first meeting of their gazes, and in the next instant, she has vanished. Jaskier finds his soulmate only for her to slip from his grasp in the same instant. That first burst of color will never leave his mind. She is soft lavender, and he will find her again.

The world turned to color, and she fled. He is passionate red, and she must leave him.

Soulmate AU: Jaskier sees his soulmate and his world ceases to be black and white. And then, she is gone; disappeared into the crowd. Will they meet again?

Lambert

The Silver Script Soulmate AU

Summary: Every day, Lambert cursed those damn words inked in the silver script of unbreakable magic on his arm. He just knew his soulmate would be so afraid of the big, bad mutant monster that she was liable to run screaming. No one could love a Witcher. He knew what his fate would be.

Every day, she lived in fear of the silvery writing along her wrist. She just knew that her soulmate was going to kill her, though she didn’t know why. Such things were extremely rare, but not unheard of. And by the words on her skin, she knew what her fate would be.

The Fates align, soulmates meet. Words are spoken, and the silver script turns to gold.

But what else?

Choose Your Own: Geralt OR Jaskier, Alternate Endings

The Edge of Night series

Summary: She doesn’t know why she’s running, or who’s pursuing her. She doesn’t even know her own name. All she know is that she must run, or suffer a fate worse than death.

Jaskier and Geralt don’t know what to make of her, but they agree to help protect her. As fragments of memory return, the danger only grows. With the past comes the hunters.

Non Canon Compliant

Series Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Amnesia/Memory Loss

*This series will have two alternate endings, one Jaskier version and one Geralt version

Read on Ao3 (x Reader)

Read on Quotev (x OC)

Series Incomplete

[lambden]

Jaskier leaves Kaer Morhen wearing new boots on his feet— well, new to him, anyhow. But judging by how weary Eskel had looked when he handed them over, no one will miss these. They’re close to his size, and a damn sight more fitting for the journey down a mountain than any he’s owned before.

Other than footwear he leaves in the same outfit he came in, and the jacket he used to treasure so much. He means to ask Yennefer for an easy portal— or at least to say goodbye, since apparently the two of them are friends now. Will wonders never cease. But when he asks the few remaining witchers about her location they direct him to one of the high walls of the fortress, where he finds the sorceress nestled up close with Geralt and Ciri on a parapet. They look like a family. 

It churns Jaskier’s stomach to even contemplate interrupting, so he sets off on his own without saying a word to anyone. His new boots will suit him well, and thanks to Vesemir’s generosity his pack is stuffed full of dried meat and other fare to keep him fed until his next performance. Jaskier can’t imagine when that might possibly be, but he’s sure he’ll find some way to twist all this into an epic ballad. The great ballad of Voleth Meir, as well as some shit about Spheres…? A poor rhyme, but drunkards won’t give a shit.

Jaskier stops in the courtyard of Kaer Morhen, not to bid farewell to any of the living or dead witchers but to look for an old friend. But Roach is gone, and in her place stands a new black mare. Jaskier approaches the stable, finding himself surprisingly overwhelmed at the sight of Geralt’s new steed. At no point on their journey had Geralt clarified to Jaskier, nor any of the dwarves, the fate of his last horse. But he knows how attached the witcher is to his horses; on the Path, they’re his dearest confidants. Over people, even!

To hold a jealous grudge over any animal would be ridiculous, so Jaskier sighs and resolves himself to be kind to this poor mare. He roots around in his bag for suitable sugarcube substitutes and instead finds some preserved slices of apple. “Good enough,” Jaskier hums, placing the fruit in his palm and extending it into the stall. He smiles as the horse instantly and eagerly accepts the treat. “Oh, you’re friendly! Nothing like the last one. You should’ve told us you were friendly, Yarpen and I would have spoiled you rotten.”

As if she can understand him, the horse huffs and kisses his palm again. Jaskier obediently and absentmindedly reaches for another slice. “Has he named you yet?” he asks, but New Roach doesn’t offer any sort of response. “Perhaps it’ll be Dace this time. Or Carp, gods forbid. You’re too pretty for Carp. Maybe he’ll pick a pretty name!” 

Looking at the curly, elegant black mane, a certain pretty name does jump to mind. Snorting, Jaskier gets another piece of apple. “Well, that’s off-limits, obviously… Perhaps he’s already named you,” he muses pensively. “I mean, not like I would know. We travelled all that distance together and barely talked. And you know he couldn’t even see fit to offer me a proper apology? He wouldn’t even dismount from his fucking horse— no offence, darling— and look me in the eyes and say he was sorry. And I just took it, because… of course I did, I’d take his scraps and call them a feast. Fuck. All this time, and nothing really has changed, has it?”

The horse snorts back at him. Jaskier stops cooing, retracting his hand and wiping it off on his trousers. “What am I even doing,” he mumbles, pulling his bag onto his shoulder. “New horse, new big scary demon problems, same stupid old bard. I swore things had changed, but who was I even trying to fool? The second I saw him again… Well, I won’t bother you with this, darling Carp. I’ll be on my way.”

New Roach falls silent as he departs, only neighing when he reaches the gate. Jaskier raises a hand to wave without looking back. It’s stupid, because he knows Geralt can’t actually have meaningful conversations with his horse, but… Jaskier doesn’t want anyone to see the tears gathering in his eyes, turning his lashes frosty. Not even a horse.

The wind picks up almost immediately after he leaves, leading him to curiously wonder if the witchers have protective magic around this place to prevent terrible weather. He pulls his leather coat tighter around himself, thanking Eskel silently for the boots. As the relentless and brittle wind whips about his ears, Jaskier could swear that he hears a distant cry from behind him. 

Wishful thinking. Definitely just wishful thinking. He steels his jaw, wipes his angry eyes, and keeps walking.