#Jaskier x Plus Size Reader

[gemstone-roses]

I've got you

Geralt x Reader

Summary: geralt comforts you in the middle of the night.

Warnings: general anxiety themes, anxiety attack, fear, bit of sad, crying. Fluff. Bit of Size kink if you squint (whoops) can't help myself can I.

Huge hurt/comfort vibes, I need it okay.

Note: I'm having a bad week okay,🫠 reblogs and comments much appreciated ❤️ reminder this blog is 18 plus and so are all my works, including the sfw ones.

Hope this helps someone if they need it 🖤

Flames dance in front of you. The heat from the fire the three of you had made at your camp that night had stopped feeling warm a while ago.

Jaskier slept soundly in his sleeping bag by a tree, the dense forest you found yourselves in provided more than enough safety for you to rest for the night.

And of course, geralt too.

He sits opposite you, legs spread wide, hands falling in-between them. He's keeping watch for any danger.

You wrap your arms around yourself. Habit, when you feel like this.

You'd felt it coming when you woke this morning. It starts in your throat, your chest.

Jaskier struggled to get on his horse this morning.

Usually you'd make a sarcastic comment at his expense, earning an eye roll from him and a small chuckle from geralt.

Today you stayed quiet. You knew irritation would lace your words without actually meaning it.

Leaves rustle beside you as the witcher moves from his spot and sits back down on the log you were sitting on.

Geralts thighs touched yours, he was so big it couldn't be helped.

The slight touch comforted you though.

"I can hear your heart racing over the noise of the fire"

Of course he could.

"oh, sorry?" You say softly.

You feel your chest tighten, you try to swallow but your mouth is dry.

Geralts brows furrow, he's heard your sharp intake of breath, your heart picking up.

"fuck" he whispers, getting up.

You startle slightly when you feel two hands on your thigh, geralt kneeling in front of you. His Amber eyes laced with concern for you.

"Y/n" he says gently, giving your thigh a squeeze.

"Look at me sweetheart" he continues. He gently grasps your chin and turns it towards him.

Tears pool in your eyes as his gaze feels like it's seeing right through you.

"You need to breathe, okay?breathe with me y/n" he reaches for your hand, places it on his chest.

Your hand trembles, you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus on him. One of his hands holding yours on his chest, the other is still holding your face.

"Keep looking at me, good, it's okay, that's it , your safe, ive got you". He soothes, caressing your cheek as he speaks.

The tears pooled in your eyes spill free

"Geralt" you choke out

"I know" he swipes your tears away, his calloused hands still gentle.

"Just keep breathing with me, hm?" He keeps stroking your face, until he feels your racing heart calm slightly.

You stay like that for what feels like hours. His touch not leaving you. Your still trembling slightly.

"Im s-

"Don't" he pushes up from the floor , wrapping his arms around you and leaning down to place a kiss to your head.

"Come" he says offering his hand

You take it, standing up

"Let me hold you tonight, hm?" He brings your hand up to his lips and places a feather light kiss to it.

You nod, and geralt wraps his huge arm around you as he guides you to his sleep bag.

"I've got you" he whispers, pulling you tighter into his embrace.

[plus-size-reader]

Soft

Jaskier x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2014 words

Warnings: I love him so much. Soft!Jaskier has my whole heart

Summary: Jaskier didn’t tell him travel companion a pretty big secret, that he can’t exactly lie about anymore

—————————————————————————————————

Geralt shouldn’t have been surprised.

The second he made the decision to duck into Jaskier’s tent this early in the morning without warning, Geralt was taking a risk. A risk that he was going to see exactly what he was looking at at this very moment.

A woman.

You, more specifically, were tucked under the blankets of his bed without a care in the world. Your face was soft with sleep, and fair as any other but more shocking than that was the fact that you were alone. The bard he’d been searching for in the first place was nowhere to be seen.

“Good morning” you hummed, breaking the silence in the space without moving from your comfortable position.

Naturally, you assumed that the intrusion at the front of the tent was Jaskier but when the intruder in question said nothing, you realized just how wrong you were. The bard you cared so desperately for had never spiked an opportunity to speak to you...ever.

Then, to further solidify your suspicions, when you sat up, your sheet tucked under your arms to cover your bare body, you saw that it was not, in fact, Jaskier.

Standing there as brazen as ever was the Witcher.

“What are you doing here? Where’s Jaskier?” you asked, briefly checking the expanse of the small tent to make sure he wasn’t within its confines before addressing your questions pointedly at him.

If he wasn’t here, surely the man in front of you knew where he’d gone off to, but unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.

Geralt had yet to see Jaskier since the sun came up.

“I could rightly ask you the same thing” he shrugged, his muscle bound shoulders tensing that much more as he realized the predicament he was in now.

The two of them had an agreement that Jasier wouldn’t take any company while they were going about their destiny. Though, he should have known that he wasn’t going to be able to do that, because he had never once listening to what he was told.

You sighed, considering what he was implying for a moment before shifting in the bed to sit up fully, with your legs over the side of the bed. The blanket in your lap did a fine job of keeping you covered, not that you were really worried about him seeing you.

Something about the White Wolf gave the impression that he had no interest in you, or whatever it was you were doing here.

Perhaps it was the deep frown on his face, or the gruff tone in his voice as he addressed you but where his distaste came from didn’t matter to you in the least. All you cared about was finding Jaskier, who you hadn’t seen since you went to be last night.

“You care to give me a moment to dress?” you questioned, your brows knit together in an accusatory fashion, as you tried your best to figure out what he was still doing here. He was clearly in search of your lover, who wasn’t here.

The next logical choice would be to search somewhere else.

...And then, with nothing more than a boorish groan in response, he was gone.

One thing was for sure, you were both going to have words with Jaskier when you managed to track him down, for different reasons.

You were well aware of the companionship the bard had found with the witcher, who was his greatest friend but it would seem he’d neglected to fill the other male in on your existence at all. You were sure Geralt wouldn’t have come in here had he known.

Before you could do anything though, you had to get ready to face whatever this day could possibly have waiting for you.

As quickly as you could, you got up from bed and started putting on your dressing gown for the day, skipping out on the laces in the back which you would surely need Jaskier’s help to fashion, now that you didn’t have handmaids to do it for you.

Surely he could find his way around it, especially because of how easily he’d unlaced them last night.

You grimaced as soon as you left the comforting dimness of the tent, finding the midday sun already high in the sky. It was bright, earning another soft groan from your lips as you did your best to search for Jaskier around the camp, still holding your gown to your chest to maintain your modesty.

Thankfully, you didn’t remain that way for too long before you found the man you’d been searching for around the firepit, which had gone out at some point during the night. What he was doing, you had no idea but as soon as he saw you, it was long forgotten.

“Good morning, my darling” he cooed, hurrying to your side with a huge grin on his face. While you were still drowsy from your impromptu wake up call at the hands of the Witcher, he seemed as chipper and awake as ever.

Clearly, he hadn’t just rolled out of bed before your eyes opened as you’d originally assumed.

“Let me help you” he offered, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before making his way around your back to lace up your gown as you were waiting for him to do. You couldn’t rightfully walk around all day exposed like you were now.

There was a softness in his movements, his nimble musicians fingers making quick work of the delicate laces of your corset, which was put in its place before too long at all.

Which meant that you could finally address what had been on your mind since you found yourself awoken to the gruff features of the Witcher, instead of Jaskier’s boyishly handsome face.

“Would you like some breakfast, my love?” he purred, gently brushing his hands over the soft curve of your jaw, until he could let his thumb rest gingerly over your plush bottom lip.

He was so sweet, so romantic when he wanted to be, but you had something important to address right now that even his charms couldn’t blind you to.

“I met the Witcher this morning” you muttered, speaking against the slight pressure of his hands on your face, immediately forcing the joyous smirk from his face.

Uh oh.

As foolish as it was, Jaskier had honestly believed that he could keep the two of you separated for just a little longer. More than anything, he wanted to revel in the peaceful bliss he found in your company, which the witcher would surely ruin.

Even with as fond of Geralt as Jaskier was, he wasn’t blind to the fact that his truest friend in the world would never be able to understand what he had with you.

Not to mention the fact that he’d surely object to the more logistical problems with what you two had done.

“That’s interesting. I wasn’t aware he was around here anywhere” he tried, slowly removing his hands from your face to give you whatever space you may have wanted at that moment. After all, he had made a promise to you that he’d definitely broken.

Or, at the very least, pushed aside until it was too late.

“Very funny! You said that you’d tell him” you tutted, recalling the exact moment he’d made the promise you were referring to, before you had come all the way out here.  If the Witcher wasn’t agreeable to your plot, it surely wouldn't work.

Still, Jaskier wasn’t worried.

Once he saw how truly and deeply Jaskier loved you, Geralt was sure to go along with everything you two had done. It didn’t matter that you were a Princess in your land, who the man in front of you had taken in the dead of night to love forever in secret.

Surely, it wouldn’t be too big a problem.

“I will darling, trust me” he assured, closing the small amount of space between the two of you as he spoke until he could finally rest his lips against your own again in a sweet kiss. You worried too much, something he told you often.

Everything was going to work out.

As long as the two of you were together, there was nothing the world could do that would keep him from giving you everything he could. It didn’t matter what you needed or where you wanted to go, he would make it happen for you.

He had to.

In another life, he would have been a wealthy lord or a prince with boundless power and money who your parents would have happily married you off to but that wasn’t who he was. In this life, he was little more than a bard, but you didn’t care about that.

All  you cared about in the world was him.

So, even if the Witcher did have a problem with the choices you’d made, there was nothing he could do to change what you knew to be true.

“Now, I believe I promised the lady breakfast” he grinned, pulling away from your lips just enough to fish around in his pocket for a moment, his forehead resting against your own.

What he was up to, you had no idea, until he produced a peach from his pocket. Whether he had snuck off to the market to buy it or stolen it at some point during the journey you weren’t sure but it didn’t really matter.

If you started worrying about every morally questionable choice the two of you made, there was no telling where that would lead you.

“That’s disgusting” you teased, your nose scrunching up as you watched him take a bite of the piece of pants fruit that had been in there for who knows how long with a wide smile on his face once more.

He truly had no problem with it at all.

It may not have been what you were used to where you had been but while he tried to make this work, it was the best he could do.

“It’s good, come now. You need to eat something” he pushed, holding it up to you as gingerly as he could, not removing it for your space until you gave in and did as he asked.

All things considered, it wasn’t nearly as bad as you would have thought it to be but you had put up too much of a fight over it to simply concede that. So, rather than react like any normal person may have, you put on the most sour, unpleasant face you could.

Which immediately set Jaskier into a panic.

Naturally, he assumed that something was wrong but as soon as you saw that small frown grace his handsome face, you broke out laughing, bringing him into you again with your arms around his neck.

“It’s grand Jaskier, but, it doesn’t make this any better” you hummed, peppering his face with kisses quickly before gesturing over his shoulder to where the Witcher was currently standing, his arms crossed his chest.

He wasn’t happy, and as desperately as Jaskier wanted you to be happy above everything else, he had to take care of that first.

“But you’re so much softer than he is, and you smell so much better” he whined, resting his head in the crook of your neck for a few moments more before inevitably deciding that you had a point.

As much as he wanted to just take you back to your tent and not come out, he had to take care of the mess he’d made first. At the very least, he had to explain himself to his travel companion, who was sure to be drawing his own conclusions.

...All of  which were definitely inaccurate.

“I’m not going anywhere” you promised, pressing a small peck to the tip of his nose before turning away from him, only lingering long enough to make Jaskier think he was about to get another smooch.

You were going to kill him, assuming Geralt didn’t beat you to it.

[ilovefandoms102]

The Witcher

Geralt of Rivia:

Plus size!reader fics:

+*^Scrub

You and Geralt are due for a bath…

^*+Wounded

Geralt tends to your wounds…

Jaskier Pankratz:

Plus size!reader fics:

coming soon…

[youwerenevermeanttofeelalone]

Hi, could I request 'I've never felt this safe before' with Jaskier? Thank you x

The biggest copse near the river was a sacred place for you. Only the lucky ones knew the reasons behind your reverence to the place where your mother would take you in the middle of the night when anguish got the best of you.

She would sing to you while you sat on her lap, lulling you to sleep with her sweet although untrained voice.

Every time you missed her, which was often, you would revisit that place. If you closed your eyes tightly enough, her loving words would envelop you in a hug you had spent now years deprived of.

Soft footsteps interrupted your dreamlike state, slow, hesitant. Forced to open your eyes, you found bright blue ones on your face as Jaskier stood before you.

His eyes avoided yours, however. You never understood what he found in your face, yet he had spent the last three months kissing and tracing every inch as though he had never seen something as alluring.

You doubted it.

He opened his mouth, inhaling sharply, only to close it when words fell short. Oh, the irony.

“You are leaving,” you asserted.

Jaskier didn’t make a gesture or sound at first, which was so uncharacteristically him that you knew your assertion to be correct.

“Come with me, darling,” he pleaded, in a gentle voice, so sweet you swore honey spilled from his lips.

Your silence, heavy and deafening, startled him. He kneeled next to you, eyes —usually so bright— dark and wild as he painfully waited for your answer.

“Is it too selfish of me to ask this from you?” he pressed you to give him an answer. Anything.

“It is not,” you assured him through a rasp. “We’ve never spoken about... this.”

“You know I’ve meant to travel the continent forever.”

Using your palms as leverage, you moved back to rest your backside against a tree. “I was referring to my relationship to you. Or your relationship to me, better said.”

“I was blessed the day I met you, (Name), that is my relationship to you.”

You gazed at his expectant face. Jaskier sat on his heels, gazing back at you with desperation clear in his eyes that were getting wider and wider.

“When is it that you leave?”

“Come morning.”

“If I were to say no...”

He sighed, defeated. Yet he surely said, “I would ask again and again until your mind was changed.”

“You wouldn’t leave without me?”

He shook his head. “I’ve never felt this safe before.”

You cast your eyes past him, to the river where your dear mother used to bathe you in when the heat got too unbearable in the middle of a stroll.

“Would we ever come back?”

His eyes glinted under the patch of sunlight as he enthusiastically said, “We would, my dear, as many times as you wish.”

How could you deny him when the safest you had felt in years have been in his arms, too?

[chubbyreaderwriter]

Songbird

Jaskier x Plus Size/Chubby Reader 

Imagine: Jaskier tries to get a date with you by constantly singing to you until you give in

Word Count: 1.35k

Warning: swearing

Masterlist

You wondered how Geralt put up with Jaskier for days on end. It had been two hours that you’d met the pair and already you were sick of the bard and his eccentric ways. It seemed that your feelings were not mutual as Jaskier was determined to win you over with his ‘talents’. The brunette had not stopped singing the moment he laid eyes on you. You had accompanied him and Geralt to lead him to the king’s castle but it was a two day journey and while it was a simple escort job, you quickly got into the mindset that the money was not worth it. You travelled side by side with Geralt, who was atop Roach and you were riding your own horse, and Jaskier was walking slightly behind. 

“Is he always this irritating?” Geralt scoffed, looking straight ahead, “Unfortunately, it’s even worse now that you’ve piqued his interest.” You groaned and kept walking, doing your best to ignore the singing bard travelling behind you. You would’ve offered the bard a seat on your horse but he wasn't complaining about walking and you weren't too eager to get a closer listen to his crooning. 

“Toss a coin to your witcher, O’ valley of plenty, O’ valley of plenty,” Jaskier cleared his throat as he finished singing the same song for the third time in a row. “So, lovely (Y/N), what did you think. Wrote it myself you know.” Rolling your eyes, you kept facing forward, “I’ve heard better.” Jaskier sputtered and Geralt smirked but said nothing in response to your comment. “Maybe you'd like to hear something else then?” “Not re-” “Excellent.” 

Gritting your teeth, you stopped your horse, “Get on bard, the sooner we get there, the sooner I can be blessed with the pleasure of your absence.” Jaskier perked up and was quick to hop up onto your horse, sitting in the space behind you and holding his arms around your waist. “Well, I must say, this is far better than walking, although the view of your behind was most pleasant.” You ignored him as you gestured your horse to speed up, Geralt following closely behind. 

You were grateful that without his instrument, Jaskier wasn't one for singing but he still had a mouth and that meant he could still talk and talk he did. For hours, he asked you numerous questions, ranging from pointless and ridiculous to extremely personal questions that would make almost any maiden blush. But not you. Convinced that Jaskier was just amusing himself by taking an interest in you, you ignored every single one of advances, answering him with silence each time. 

“Geralt, I think out escort is a mute.” “Maybe she just doesn't like you, Jaskier.” You huffed a small laugh and Jaskier was a little offended, “Oh I see, you’re more into the powerful, white-haired, stoic type huh? Perhaps the handsome, musically gifted, dashing type isn't for you?” “No it is, I just haven't met anyone that fits that description yet.” You were thoroughly amused with the way Jaskier kept bouncing back from every rejection you sent his way. It was almost enough for you to like him. Almost. 

Dusk was steadily approaching and you all decided to set up camp for the night, it wasn't safe to travel at night. The darkness played tricks on your eyes. The three of you were sat around a fire and you were eating some fruit you'd packed into the leather pouch on your belt. It had been a peaceful silence until you heard the strumming of Jaskier’s instrument. Geralt pulled an annoyed face at his companion and you sighed, too exhausted to say anything to him. Jaskier cleared his throat and begun his song.

“When a humble bard, came across the woods

he met a beautiful woman, she had all the goods.

With (e/c) eyes and (h/c) hair, she’s the one I need.

Yes, she’s a beauty indeed 

and all night long she will plead,

for me to-”

Geralt shifted his eyes over to you, quickly figuring out what Jaskier was singing about, “I think that’s enough, Jaskier.” Seeing the glancing look from the witcher was enough for you to put two and two together and you glared at Jaskier, “Watch it, bard. Just because I’m a woman, it doesn't mean I won’t kill you.” Jaskier nodded, “Oh no, I don't doubt it, but how can you expect me to control myself in the presence of such a-” “Shut it Jaskier, go to sleep.” 

Geralt got up to head over to where Roach and your horse was tied up. You sighed and leaned back against a tree trunk, your arms folding over your chest and you closed your eyes. “You look exquisite when you’re sleeping.” “Fuck off, bard.” “Yeah, okay.” 

In the next morning, it seemed you where the last one to awaken, seeing Jaskier and Geralt in mid conversation. Well, Jaskier was talking to Geralt while the witcher was adjusting the saddle on his horse. You got up and brushed off some of the leaves and dirt that you'd gotten on you from sleeping on the ground. Noticing that you’d woken up, Jaskier walked over to you, “Good morning, lovely (Y/N), your beauty is certainly reason enough to put a smile on my face this day.” You raised your eyebrow at Jaskier but didn't say anything, just hopping straight onto your horse and walked it away from the other two, “You can ride with Geralt today, it's only a few miles now.” 

Jaskier scoffed, “So he doesn't say anything and gets to be on a first name basis but I’m just a bard?” He mumbled to himself but you heard him and smiled to yourself in amusement. Although Jaskier was annoying, he seemed entertaining enough. Sadly, now that his hands were free from holding onto you (since Geralt didn't let him touch Roach), he was free to play his instrument, which meant more singing. 

Thankfully, he stuck to songs about the witcher next to you but it was slowly grating on you to hear the same song over and over again for hours. The sight of the king’s castle brought you an amount of relief that you never thought you'd ever feel. “There, my job is done. I’ll be on my way now.” “Wait.” Geralt stopped you and you turned to face him. He threw a pouch into your hands and you opened it to find quite a few gold coins, “This is payment for here and back. We will still need assistance back to the village.” You clenched your jaw, “Fine. Hurry up and get your payment from the king, witcher. I don't like to be kept waiting.” 

Geralt nodded and got down off his horse and walked towards the castle, leaving Jaskier with you. The bard turned to you and grinned, “Ah, I was wondering when he would leave. Has anyone ever told you how gorgeous you are?” “Would it shock you into silence if I said no?” Jaskier genuinely looked surprised and you frowned, “Now that is a crime worth death. Although, it is my honour to be the first to remind you of your beauty, lovely (Y/N). Perhaps once we arrive back, you could let me remind you of it over a pint in your choice of pub.” 

You rolled your eyes, “You never stop do you?” “Is that a yes?” Looking at the castle doors, you narrowed your eyes, “No, it's not.” Jaskier hummed, “Well I suppose rejection is the start of many great songs of sadness.” You heard him plucking at his strings and your head snapped into his direction, “Fine! One drink and that’s it, but no singing for the rest of the journey or no deal.” Jaskier grinned to himself, “I will look forward to it, my dear (Y/N). I shall think of nothing more the whole journey back to the...” You stopped listening to his words, focusing on the castle doors to look for Geralt. At least you got him to stop singing. 

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

Made not Born: Part 1

Fandom: The Witcher (Netflix)

Pairing: Jaskier x Plus Size! Goddess! Reader

Warnings: 

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff​ aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​

Summary: You’re a goddess of little things, but you were made not born. You tire of immortality, of the glitter that does not fade, of watching those around you grow and age and falter and die. You help Jaskier in a moment of need and in return he tries to help you. Perhaps you find yourself falling in love along the way.

Notes: 

You find him by the roadside. You’ve followed his journeys, one of the many mortals you enjoy watching the life of, and now you find him in need of help. His clothes are dirtied, he is sat in a muddy ditch, hair misplaced and blood bleeding from the broken skin of his lip. He is beaten and he is bloody, but not dangerously so. But you are a minor goddess, good for healing little wounds and mending small broken things. 

You don’t answer his questioning calls until you’ve placed a hand on his cheek and the bruises have faded, the cuts stitching themselves back together, the rips in his doublet mending. You doubt he knows what god you are, few do, but his eyes glimmer with recognition as he takes in your form. You are the homeliest looking of the gods, although by mortal standards anything but. Your hips are wide, your stomach soft, your skin is covered in marks and scars from your previous mortal life. Your hair does not shine and your eyes do not glow. You looked as you did in your mortal life, only with something extra, something which mortals could never place a finger on and could never quite describe. It was an essence that let them know you were more than them, something else, something other. For some this bred fear, other’s awe, some comfort, and many curiosity.

“You’re Desara” He lifts himself from his place sitting, only to kneel instead. Blue eyes twinkling up at you, taking in the strands of your hair, the colour of your eyes, the way your dress falls around your body as if purposefully effortless. He tries not to stare, he really does, but he’s never met a god before and you’re...godly, no...otherworldly, effortlessly beautiful, shining like a beacon and, most of all, you look kind. There is a softness in your face that he never expected a god to have, he always imagined there would be glares and glowering, thunderbolts and lightning. He always thought gods were supposed to be frightening.  You were the opposite of what he had imagined, you gave off a feeling of comfort and safety that had his shoulders relaxing without a thought.

“That’s what you mortals call me...I go by Y/N...” You rest your hands on his shoulders and urge him to rise, he towers above you. Another thing he thought impossible. He always imagined the gods doing the towering, but he has to angle his head downwards to look you in the eye. He isn’t sure if he’s supposed to look a god in the eye...he’s not sure what godly etiquette is. He’s fully prepared to make a massive faux pas and be struck down with some sort of plague or be crushed under the might of your godly powers. 

“Well, that’s very...”

“It’s a very mundane name, I know. I wasn’t always a goddess, you know?” You say with a small little smile, coy, playful. He shakes his head and swallows hard. He will admit he knows your name, knows that you are a minor goddess, known for little things, but he does not know what little things and he does not know your story or history. He always imagined that Gods were born. That they simply burst into existence or rather they existed and birthed everything else. He’d be lying if he said he was an overly devout man, he’d seen enough to be open minded, but had never been one for leaving offerings at shrines or speaking out prayers and thanks.  

“I was once a farmer’s daughter. I sowed the seeds, I threshed the wheat, I brought in the harvest...and then one day a god came to me and decided to make me a god too. She believed they needed more, believed she could create something more of me. I think she believed I’d become a great one, a powerful one.” You laugh and he thinks it is supposed to sound bitter and humourless, but instead it sounds soft on the breeze like the light strumming of his lute or the sound of birdsong on a spring morning. “So I became Desara, Goddess of the little things, the warmth of a hearth, the feeling of home after a long journey. Goddess of small creatures and little deeds, of jaunty tunes and a noiseless breeze. Goddess of the seed that roots and the weed that dies, Goddess of the daisy chains and flower crowns. Of worms and of rhymes. Of broken noses and split lips. My powers are minor and few pray to me. Mostly, little children who find my rhymes and songs amusing or who wind chains of flowers for their friends. They soon forget, however.”

“A rather impressive list, oh beautiful creature, oh mighty goddess” He is not sure how anyone could forget you. If you consider yourself minor and unimpressive he cannot imagine what the other gods are like, but he finds that he has no interest in finding out.

“Please. Y/N. I do not enjoy being....grovelled too or worshipped. I am so tired, Julian Alfred Pankratz. I have lived so long and so lonely.” 

“If I am to call you Y/N, then please call me Jaskier.” There is a pause before he continues, “Surely you have admirers at your beck and call?” He cannot imagine you without them. Cannot imagine why men and women would not flock to worship at your feet, why they would not revel in the swell of your hips or the softness of your body, the kindness of your face, or the gentle nature of your words. It seemed to him that anyone would be a fool not to admire and worship you. 

“Admirers are not loves. They grovel, they seek, they desire, they want, but they do not wish to truly know or listen or care. What I would give to be mortal again, to live in the moment, to know there is an end. To be loved for myself, a farmer’s daughter and not a goddess.”

“Is there not some way to do so? To become mortal, I mean?” He doesn’t pretend to know much about these sorts of things, that was always Geralt’s area of expertise, but it makes sense to him that anything that is made can be unmade, anything that is fixed can be broken. 

“For all my years, my knowledge of gods and kings, monsters and men is rather limited. If there is, I doubt the other God’s would tell me for fear that in some hateful fury I might make them mortal. Although I tend to avoid them where possible and would much rather leave them to their quibbling and return to a simpler life”

“Your predicament moves me, Y/N...I am humbled in your presence, “ You go to cut him off and chastise but he stops you, “Not because you are a god or some immortal being but because it is clear to me you have a mortal soul longing for what mortals do.  Love.” Perhaps he is flowery with his words, like most bards are, but you decide that he truly means what he says, no matter how poetic it might appear. 

“If you will permit me, I would try to help? I have little knowledge on the subject of Gods, but I know a friend who might know where to look.”

“The Witcher.” He looks surprised, “Us Gods watch, you know. From our skies and our seas and our grasses and our trees. I find you enjoyable in your journeys, Toss a Coin to Your Witcher really was a masterpiece,” 

“-Why thank yo-” You cut off the thanks, not needing thanks for speaking what you feel is the truth. 

“I watch and I know things. He is your friend and you are right, he knows a great deal about my kind and all the tricks to make or break us...do stress that I was not born a god, I was made...and surely what was made can be unmade?” You take a deep breath and humble yourself, kneeling in front of him in a way none of the other gods would,  “I...thank you, Jaskier...I wish to be me again and I no longer wish to be so old and weary and never age. Thank you for trying even if an answer cannot be found.”

“I’ll find an answer. For good or ill. I’ve never had a quest of my own before, a true adventure, and I refuse to fail you, Y/N. I hope I can return your mortality.” You feel a little of your composure slip at the genuine kindness and determination in his voice, at the hopefully gleam in his blue eyes. You blink away what tears have filled your eyes and stand up to lean forward, pressing a thankful kiss to his forehead, gentleness you bestow upon any you can, but rarely with such genuine feeling. 

“Thank you, Jaskier. I will aid in what little ways I can, but I am no greater god, I cannot do much but mend small breaks, and soothe little hurts.” It’s a warning, kindly, but one to remind him that if he needs help greater than you can give then there is little you can do. It would pain you to see one of your favourite mortals perish in an effort to help you, you wanted your mortality, but not at the cost of a life. Perhaps your mortality wasn’t even possible to regain.

You leave him there, kneeling in the dirt with soft eyes and a softer heart. To him it seems as if you become one with the leaves and the trees, drifting off to somewhere unknown and his eyes follow for as long as they can before you disappear entirely. He steels himself, rising from the ground, tugging on his now mended doublet and grabbing his lute. He has a witcher to find and despite their current differences, Geralt had made it quite clear that he didn’t want the bard hanging around, Jaskier needed his help and he would put up with the grump for you. A kind goddess in need of help regaining her mortality, beautiful as the sunrise and quiet as the moon, well, that was just a song that needed to be written and a story that needed to be told.

[that-lost-one]

Y'know, I'm not sure what to say about this other than thank you. Thank you to whoever requested it, and if course than you to you Kacey for writing it.

Though it didn't talk specifically about my own body shape, I can highly relate to the portrayed readers views and feelings on the whole situation. It's good to see more fics written specifically for plus size people, especially so because this one isn't just talking about insecurities of said reader, and I really appreciate that.

So again, thank you to the requester and Kacey. Both of you just made my day a little bit sweeter

I was wondering if you could write something with a plus sized reader? It can be any of the witchers and/or Jaskier (although I think esk, lam, & jask would work best). Can be more focused on them finding the reader attractive/hot? I see lots of fics and headcannons abt plus size readers that are all about insecurities and finding the reader beautiful and aethestically pleasing. I'm plus size and I think I am beautiful, just not... attractive. looking hot and looking pretty/beautiful are different. idk if that makes sense I just want someone to think I'm hot. It can be NSFW or funny and fluffy. if you aren't comfortable writing this that's cool too. I just really like your writing. You have created a really welcoming community/page and I felt comfortable enough asking. I appreciate it so much. Thank you. 💜

A/N: I love this ask!!! Though I’m not sure I followed the prompt properly…. :( I wanted to do Lambert very badly which is part of the reason why it took so long to do but I couldn’t make it work with the prompt so I ended up doing Jaskier. I hope you liked it babe!

Warnings: no smut but Jaskier is a cheeky bastard and suggests NSFW 18+ things so if you aren’t into that please don’t read! also mentions of poor self image but Jaskier makes it better

***

You watched the tailor and seamstress murmur to each other in a language you didn’t understand. The seamstress said something, gesturing to the skirt you wore. Then she looked back at the tailor who shook his head disapprovingly. 

Their eyes seemed to drill holes into you. You suddenly felt so stupid for letting Jaskier talk you into coming to this expensive shop to be professionally fitted for a dress to match his outfit for the gala in two nights. 

But he was just so excited about the gala. It was the first time you’d be meeting the famed Geralt of Rivia as well as a few of Jaskier’s other friends he had met on his journeys with the witcher. 

You felt saddened that he was so eager to take you to the gala. Surely you'd only make him look like a fool in front of his friends and comrades. 

“Dear? Are you listening?” Jaskier placed his hand on the back of your calf as he moved around the stool you were balanced upon. 

You brought your eyes down to him. 

“Hm? Oh, erm, yes. Of course, I-I was.” 

He frowned. 

“No, you’ve got something else on your mind. What is it?”

You shook your head, smoothing out the material to your dress. 

“Nothing, Jask. It’s fine.”

“Tell me, please.” He reached up to take your hand in his, brushing his thumb along your knuckles. 

You kept your eyes on him for a few moments before looking in the direction of the seamstress and tailor. They no longer looked at you but they were still gesturing in your direction. 

“It’s just silly, Jaskier.” You shook your head. 

“You look upset, darling. It’s not silly if it’s upsetting you. Step down for a second, my sweet.” Jaskier held your hand as you stepped down from the stool. He tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear, looking at you with furrowed brows. “Please tell me. Did something happen?”

You shook your head, chewing on the inside of your cheek. 

“Can you understand what they’re saying?”

“Of course.” Jaskier nodded. “They’re talking about putting ruffles in your skirt. Alma thinks a few would be a good idea to add some at the bottom but Derion is completely against the very thought of ruffles.”

You could practically feel the weight lift off of your shoulders. You almost laughed. 

“Really?”

“I know. I don’t think ruffles are a good idea, but Alma is an incredibly talented seamstress. She has an eye for creating beauties. But sadly ruffles will not be happening today.” Jaskier waved the two over. “With all do respect to you, darling Alma, I think we should pass on the ruffles this time.”

“Bastard.” Alma swatted her hand in his direction. 

“Let’s move on from the skirt.” Derion waved his hand dismissively. “For the bust. It’s the most important part. It will take Alma hours to bead together intricate detailing to match your doublet, Master Julian. She needs to know how you’d like it done in order to begin working.” 

“Right.” Jaskier placed his hand on the small of your back. “I’m thinking a rather cheeky neckline. Perhaps an off the shoulder neckline that goes a little deeper than what’s traditionally seen.”

“Jaskier!” Your cheeks flushed as you looked at him. 

“Darling, it will be absolutely fantastic! Show a bit of your chest off! Show everyone how sexy you are.”

“Jaskier.”

“It appears as though you have yet to come to an agreement on a top.” Derion spoke, looking between you two. “When my lady decides on what style of top she’d like, please do let us know. Until then, Alma, let’s continue with the skirt while they chat.” 

You watched the two move towards the desk off to the side of the room. 

“Jaskier–,”

“Just picture this, my love.” Jaskier cut you off, his hand leaving your back as he moved to stand in front of you. “The corset is supporting your bust, holding the girls up and putting them on display–,”

“For the entire gala to see?” You widened your eyes. “What are you trying to do? Make your friends think I’m some strumpet?”

“No! No! Of course not! I think you’d look sexy like that.” Jaskier put his hand on your hip. “And the corset will accentuate your figure–,”

“The figure I don’t have.” You turned away from him, making your way towards the chairs that sat near the windows. You were thankful the curtains were drawn. This gave you some privacy from the outside world. 

“What? That’s ridiculous. You have a figure. A marvelous one at that.” Jaskier followed behind you. 

“I have the same figure as an apple, Jaskier. Or a pumkin. Round and-and large and just.... There’s nothing you should be so eager to show off at the gala.” You sat down in one of the seats, your voice quivering as you fought to keep your emotions at bay. 

Jaskier knelt down in front of you, his hands taking yours in his own. His touch, calloused from years of playing instruments, was warm as he gave you a squeeze. 

He didn’t know what to say at first. He was upset with himself for having not noticed that you were uncomfortable earlier. He was upset with himself for making you uncomfortable.

“Love-,”

“And don’t- Jaskier, please don’t try to tell me I’m not.” You whispered, unable to meet his gaze as tears blurred your vision. “I know I am. If you deny it, it’ll be like denying that the sky is blue or that-that grass is green.”

Jaskier nodded softly, understanding your words. He let the silence sit between you for a few more moments. He reached up to wipe your cheeks. Then he moved to sit in the seat next to you, keeping your hands in his.

“You know, my favorite shade of blue is just after the sun sets.” He murmured. “It’s dark and it’s ominous, but it’s stunning to see planets begin to show even though the sun hasn’t set yet. It’s like they’re beginning to come out of hiding. And my favorite shade of green is much more specific than that. Do you remember that time we laid in the lupin field just outside of Cintra all day?”

“Of course I remember that.” You sniffled, a little smile coming to your lips. “You read and sang to me all day. It was a beautiful day.”

“That day is my favorite shade of green.” Jaskier rubbed the back of your hand. He leaned in to kiss the corner of your eye. “And that night…. That night was when I realized my favorite shade of blue, you know?”

Your heart began to race a little quicker. That evening in the lupine field had been rather romantic and intimate. It was one of your favorite memories with the bard. 

Jaskier took a deep breath, looking across the room to the seamstress and tailor for a moment to make sure they were occupied with something else. 

“Dear heart, you know I would make sure the dress they create makes you look nothing short of the goddess you are.”

“I-I don’t…. I don’t have that same faith, Jaskier.” You shook your head, looking away from him to one of the paintings on the wall. It was of a beautiful woman in a stunning violet dress. She was thinner than you and the dress she wore made sure to show what curves she had off.

“You don’t have faith in me?” He asked softly.

“I don’t have faith in myself. You keep saying I’m going to look sexy and that you want to put me on display-,”

“Y/N, I was only joking. I’m so sorry if it made you uncomfortable. I meant absolutely no harm by it.” Jaskier put his hand on your knee. “I just- My gods, Y/N. The very idea of you in the dress I envision. Everyone is going to be fucking staring. On second thought, perhaps it wouldn’t be a good idea to put you in a dress similar to that. In the off chance that I’d be able to take my eyes off of you, I’d have to fight anyone who dared to look at you.”

He wore the biggest grin on his lips and you knew he meant well by it. He really did. But your stomach churned at the thought.

“They’ll be staring because I’ll look absolutely ridiculous.” You turned your head away from him. “Ladies like me weren’t made for galas and ballgowns.”

“I happen to think you are perfect for a ballgown, my dear.” He leaned over to kiss your ear. “I know you don’t see it, but you are absolutely sexy. Hell, if I had a say in it, you wouldn’t even be wearing a gown. But there are going to be other people there and I can’t have anyone else seeing your gorgeous body.” 

Your cheeks flushed.

“Can I offer you a little deal? A peace treaty?” Jaskier suggested. You looked at him, meeting his blue gaze. “They have a dress cut similar to the one I’d like to be made for you. Can you try it on for me before we make any decisions today?”

You nodded your head, letting out a little breath. You would at least try it on and let him see how ridiculous you’d look. If you proved him wrong now, maybe he’d listen to you in the future. 

“Will it fit me?”

“They can make it work for you so you can at least get an idea of the style.”

“Okay.”

“Excellent.” He gave you a kiss on the temple before going across the room to Alma and Derion. He spoke to them in the language you didn’t know. It was a beautiful language. As he said the words he had the ability to make it sound otherworldly. How could one man, a human no less, make words sound angelic? 

Derion and Alma left the room together. Jaskier clasped his hands behind his back, leaned forward to watch where they had disappeared. Alma returned moments later alone. In her hands she held a dress. 

The dress was dark green but that was all you could tell.

“I’ll give you a moment to get dressed. Take good care of her, Alma.”

“I will. You worry about yourself, Master Julian.” Alma waved him away. 

You wanted to object, to say that you could get dressed by yourself, but you knew very well you wouldn’t be able to. You didn’t want to rip the dress. The material was probably more expensive than you could afford. 

“Take off your dress, darling.” Alma placed the dress over a nearby chair. “I’ll grab pins so that we can pin the dress in place.”

“Pin?” You repeated. “In place?”

“Yes, darling. It wasn’t made for your body. We need to make the dress work for your figure so we do that by manipulating the fabric with pins. Don’t worry, you won’t feel a thing.”

***

Alma called for Jaskier after the dress was situated properly on you. 

You nervously moved back and forth as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other to get a better look in the mirror. 

The dress fit you decently. It was loose fitting in the chest but Alma fixed that with pins. She pinned a few other spots too but they were in the back so you couldn’t see all that well. 

The material was a beautiful emerald green silk with darker green embroidery around the bust. The off the shoulder neckline wasn’t terribly low in the middle where it dipped down, but it was lower cut than what you would usually wear. 

“Now remember, darling. The corset will be tighter on you and be providing support.” Alma spoke as she moved around the stool you were resting on. 

“My gods, Y/N! I love it!” Jaskier clapped his hands together. “Just wait until we get it in the blue to match my doublet!”

“Alma!” Derion called for Alma. 

Alma excused herself, leaving you alone with Jaskier. 

He moved around the stool, admiring the dress on you. 

“Before I lose myself in my own thoughts, love, what do you think?” Jasier clasped his hands together and held them near his mouth. 

You looked back to the mirror, shifting a little. 

“I don’t…. hate it as much as I thought I would.” You admitted. 

“But do you like it? Are you comfortable with the style? Be completely honest with my, darling. If you aren’t, there is no worry at all! I’ll have them make a style you are comfortable in. I want you to be comfortable first. No matter what you wear you will be absolutely gorgeous and breathtaking and I will be ripping the dress off of you come the end of the night.”

“Jaskier.” You scolded. He gave you a cheeky smile. “I do like the cut and I like the off the shoulder part, but perhaps if we could add sleeves to it?”

“Of course! Oh that would be stunning! I’ll let Alma and Derion know. Anything else you want to add or take away?”

“I don’t think so.” You looked back to the mirror. “I think I’ll like it more once it’s in the blue. I do like the green, but the blue will match your doublet for the gala. And the green makes me sort of feel like a melon.”

Jaskier frowned.

“I wish you’d stop comparing yourself to fruits.” 

“Would you rather a toad? ‘Cause I look like one of those in this dark green too. A rather large toad.”

“If you are a toad, then what would that make me?” He held his hand out for you so he could assist you in stepping down from the stool.

“My pretty princess.” You giggled. 

“Hmm. Well you are the sexiest toad I have ever seen.” He pulled you into his arms. “But I rather like calling you a fruit. You taste just like one-,”

“Jaskier!”

Taglist: @pressedinthepages @mishafaye @whitewolfandthefox @wolfyland07 @belalugosisdead @persephonehemingway @keira-hulmaster @dinonuggs69 @greatestauthorofmygeneration @shadow-hunters-lover @dancingwith-thesunflowers @tedi-fach-las @thecomfortofoldstorries @natkowaa @disasteren @weathervanes-my-oneandlonely @onlyhenrys @wackylurker @criminaly-supernatural @magpie343 @permanently-exhausted-witcher @genderfluid-ho @the-space-between-heartbeats @havenoffandoms @carriebee1 @ger-bearofrivia @naominami @writingawaymylife @reaganjenelle @theawkwardpedestrian @scarlettwitcher @badassspaceprincess @just-a-sad-donut @summersong69 @an--actual--human--disaster @rubyqueen819 @omgkatinka @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @vonxcon @mazakeen @bravelittlesunflower @thereagles @awkward-turtles-world @menalliha @cotton_mo @maan24 @thefirelordm @monkeymo @krenee1drful @nympha-door-a @unadulteratedtreecrusade @Aquarius-pisces-rose @mentallyscreamingsincebirth @fl0ating @sometimesiwrite @you-fxcking-wish-bish @thanks-bruh-for-nothing @maan2442 @thegaydeath @creatingstuffinpeace @wellthisstinks @andyrazzledazzle @ameliasmistake @winterwolf @caraqas @bluscryn @thefirelordm @y-napotat @henrycavillbesty @ta-ka-shi-ma @sulkyshengshou @spaced-out-state @thecollection @mayday1284 @babietrain @wandering-poetess @redneckstrash

If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

[codenamewitcher]

codenamewitcher’s Monthly Fanfic Recs for January 2022

The Witcher

Eskel

out of the woods (Oneshot, 2.2k words) by @freyjaallan​ Netflix!Eskel x F!Reader, a fix-it fic where the reader saves Eskel. Warnings: suggestive content, blood, Eskel’s in pain, description of inections and wounds, language

How To Be A Romantic (Oneshot, 1.2k words) by @queenxxxsupreme​ Eskel x F!Reader, Geralt, Yennefer, Eskel, and the reader attend a banquet in their honor. Warnings: fluff, game!Eskel

Geralt of Rivia

Might and Valor (Possibly multiple parts, 8.6k words) by @watchstarscollide Geralt of Rivia x F!Reader, while indulging herself at a local tavern, the reader meets a hired witcher named Geralt of Rivia. Warnings: pining, alcohol use, drunk reader, fluff, comfort, mentions of loss, suggestive content, language.

The Cottage at the Edge of the Woods (Multiple Parts, Ongoing) by @starryeyedstories​​ Geralt of Rivia x F!Reader, a series of shorts where Geralt finds a home in the reader that lives in a cottage at the edge of the woods. Warnings: not in chronological order, reader is implied to be shorter than Geralt, implied plus size reader, food mentions, injuries, language, fluff, pining

Jaskier

Needless Defense (Oneshot, 1.2k words) by @buckyodinson Jaskier x F!Reader, Jaskier defends the reader’s honor. Warnings: slight violence.

Flower and Flame (Oneshot, 1.4k words) by @buckyodinson Jaskier x GN!Reader, the reader helps Jaskier through some of his trauma. Warnings: potential mentions of PTSD, mentions of panic attacks, language

A Bard’s Wife (Oneshot, 1.3k words) by @buckyodinson Jaskier x F!Reader, the reader helps Jaskier move elves to Cintra. Warnings: language

Choose me (Multiple Parts, 10.8k words) by @stilesmieczyslaw​ Jaskier x F!Reader, the reader is given an ultimatum - Geralt or Jaskier. Warnings: violence, language, fluff, angst, mentions of sex

Forgive me (Multiple Parts, 10.6k words) by @stilesmieczyslaw Jaskier x F!Reader, PART 2 OF ‘Choose me,’ the reader lives with the choice she made and finds that she misses the one she didn’t choose. Warnings: violence, blood, language, fluff, angst, mentions of sex

The Art of Getting By (Possibly Multiple Parts, 2k words) by @writersblockedx Modern!Jaskier x F!Reader, Jaskier is hired as the new live entertainer at the pub the bartends at. Warnings: mentions of alcohol, drinking, reader hates her job.

Heart’s On Fire (Oneshot) by @bowieandqueen11​ Jaskier x GN!Reader, the reader helps stitch up Jaskier’s wound. Warnings: descriptions of wounds, blood, needles, pining

Is it Wrong to Pick Up a Bard on a Mountain? (Oneshot, 1.5k words) by @lettenhcve​​ Jaskier x GN!Witcher!Reader, after his fall out with Geralt, Jaskier runs into another witcher, but not all witchers are the same. Warnings: language, fluff, angst.

I know this is like 23 days late and the end of February but I had some stuff interfere with me getting this posted within the first two weeks of February.

[write-ur-wrongs]

I can’t thank you enough for you kindness and patience with this request! I was nervous to write a HoH reader, but I truly hope I’ve done them justice. Please let me know what you think :) 

Hi could I request a Geralt x hard of hearing (HoH) reader? Could be hcs or maybe reader is nervous that they'll be a burden for geralt & jaskier to travel with? Ty!

The sun was about to set as you reached your destination, and while your feet throbbed angrily, you were glad to have powered on earlier in the day. You weren’t afraid of the woods at night, but you weren’t willing to fight for free. If you were going to kill, you were going to collect.

As you entered the town, you took note of its state. Multiple villagers were milling around the alleys, chatting under lanterns and clearing out their market stalls for the day. You were happy to see that this village was busy; villages with plenty of children and elders often had plenty of jobs needing to be done.

Your optimism was quickly dampened though, when you saw that there were only three signs on the notice board. Letting your bag drop to your feet with a huff, you massaged your shoulder as you scanned the board for anything worthwhile.

“Oh, thank god!” you muttered, upon seeing the first ad. It was posted by the town healer who was looking for an extensive collection of herbs – a collection you already had in your pack. Plus, they lived just off the town square, so you could drop off the herbs on your way to the inn.

The next ad was from someone begging for an exorcism for their child, who had apparently become possessed by a devil. You skipped it quickly, screwing your face up in disgust. You weren’t about to try that again.

The final post was from a local farmer requesting assistance in dealing with a banshee – this caught your attention. You felt like you’d struck gold here; there was no creature better suited to your abilities – or as some might say, lack thereof.

You were a little bitter that half the post had been torn off, so you had no idea who you were looking for, only where to look; the pub.

You hated a lot of things and many places, but if there was one thing you really couldn’t stand, it was small enclosed areas where hoards of people went to get drunk and shout. Between the collective shouting and slurring, you could never make heads or tails of what anyone was saying.

Sighing through your nose, you tore the rest of the ad off the board, picked up your bag and made way for the healer’s house before seeking out the pub.

Fortunately, the healer was beyond grateful for your herbs, and paid you handsomely for them. Weighing your bag of coin roughly in your hand, you contemplated whether or not a visit to the pub would be worth it.

While the healer paid you really well, that was no guarantee of long-term comfort. In the last village, you ended up paying more for a room at the inn than you’d made slaying two of their local terrors. You knew ridding someone of a banshee would pay well, but gods, you hated pubs.

It seemed fate made the decision on your behalf, however, as the pub and the inn were in the same building – you’d have to go into the pub to get yourself a room for the night.

Well, fuck, you thought, hiking your bag up higher on your shoulder, readying yourself for the dull and disorienting drone that awaited you inside. Here goes nothing. 

It was loud; so loud in fact, that you could feel it. You looked around hoping that the person you were looking for would somehow make themselves known, but all you saw were groups of rowdy men shouting and shoving one-another around the crowded space.

But just when you thought things couldn’t get worse, you spotted a bard. And he was really putting it on for the crowd.

Rolling your eyes, you pulled your bag up closer to yourself, conscious of the limited space, and plowed on. Once at the bar, you took a moment to lean up against it and tried to get your bearings. You’ve been living with your condition for most of your life now, having lost the majority of your hearing after an accident, but you didn’t think you’d ever get used to the overwhelming buzz that surrounded you in loud spaces. There was no discernable sound per say, it was all just noise.

You were lost in your discomfort when you felt someone grab at your elbow. You whipped your head around and found yourself face to face with a drunk woman.

“’e’s been askin’ ya a question!” she shouted at you, nodding to the bartender.

“Oh,” you exclaim, “thank you.” You say, pulling your arm out of her grasp and turning to face the bar, and impatient bartender.

“As I’ve been sayin’, ’ow can I ‘elp ya?” he says, leaning towards you to be heard above the noise.

“I need a room,” you said, leaning in yourself, “and I need to find the person who posted this.” You slam the torn ad on the bar and slide it towards him.

“Up the stairs, first door ‘o the left,” he says, sliding you a key, “and no need to worry ‘bout that lass, ‘e’s taken care o’ it, yeah?” As he said this though, he turned his face away from you to gesture towards the man in question.

Unable to read his lips, you looked to where he pointed in frustration, but all you saw was an over-confident bard strut around like a fool. You scoffed and turned back to the bartender to ask him to repeat himself, but he’d already walked off to serve someone else.

Scoffing, you grabbed the key to your room off the bar and stalked off in the direction he had pointed. You really hated pubs.

Seeing a new face, the bard danced his way over to you and blocked your path, clearly trying to make an impression. You pushed past him, rolling your eyes and muttering expletives. Despite his quick recovery, you could tell your dismissiveness stung him by the way his eyes fell, but you had no patience for bards.

With the flamboyant man behind you, you took another look around the space, meaning to head upstairs to your room, but that’s when you spotted it. A wolf-head medallion, glimmering under the low light of the pub.

And the man wearing it? The White Wolf himself.

You knew this is who the bartender was referring to. There was definitely no one else in your line of sight who could handle a banshee and then settle into a pub like it was nothing.

And the most frustrating thing? He looked bored. Bored! This man just robbed you of your livelihood then settled into the local pub like it was nothing?

The whole ‘hero’ narrative that was used when referring to the White Wolf definitely made sense now that you saw him. He was broad and brooding. Like, exceptionally broad. And extraordinarily brooding. Like nothing could phase him; but Gods, you were going to try.

Another slew of expletives left your lips as you charged up to him. The man didn’t even look up when you arrived at his table. It took you slamming the add down on his table for him to put down the tankard and look at you.

“You stole my job”, you said, putting your bag down and sitting across from him.

“Excuse me?” he said, he said in a low, gravely tone, fixing you with his intense stare. You’d never met a witcher before and his eyes caught you off guard.

You tapped your fingers against the torn piece of paper on the table and said, “Maybe next time, take the whole add down so others don’t get their hopes up?” You pushed the paper towards him with emphasis as you punctuated the last word.

He quirked up a brow, leaned back into his seat, and smirked a little as he sized you up.

“Tearing down posts to prevent competition,” he said, “is that your move?”

You tilted your head at him with furrowed brows. While you were relieved to that he spoke slowly and deliberately, so you could read his lips with ease, his devil-may-care air was pissing you off.

“It’s common curtesy,” you said, “if you’re taking care of it. You take it down.”

“Hm.” He said, behind his pint, not that you could hear him. He took a sip of his ale with curious, raised brows. “And if you fail to take care of their problem?”

“Wouldn’t be the end of the world,” you said, crossing your arms. “Besides, I always follow-through.”

“Always, hm?”

“Yes, witcher, always. And would you like to know why that is?”

The corner of his mouth curled up into another smirk as he gestured you to continue.

“I only take jobs,” you tap the piece of paper between the two of, holding his gaze, “I know I can do.”

You saw something in his face change as he considered your words. Slowly, he set his drink down and leaned forward, connecting the dots.

“So, you’ve been the reason every town I’ve passed has had nothing to offer,” he said, “no monsters anywhere for weeks – or so it seemed. I was beginning to think the world had sorted itself out.”

As he spoke, you looked from his mouth to his eyes quickly, following every word. He noticed this but said nothing, and for that you were grateful.

“Now witcher, please,” you said, feeling bold, “don’t tell me you’ve gone your long life having never encountered competition in your line of work?”

“None like you.”

You sat together in silence for a few moments, a strange comfort settling in.

You weren’t used to having such quick banter. Normally you missed half of what people said and got too frustrated to ask them to repeat themselves. It was nice to be fully engaged in the conversation for once. It was such a small thing, but you found yourself fighting back a wave of sadness as you realized how much you missed these moments of connection.

“Well,” you said, breaking the spell and moving to get up, “just, um, take down the posts in the future, alright witcher?”

“Geralt.”

“Yes, Geralt,” you smile, “of Rivia, the White Wolf, the butcher of Blaviken.” You count the names off your fingers one by one as you get up from the table, making Geralt fight back a smile himself.

“Wait – what’s your name?” he says a little too late, you already had you back turned. Hesitantly, he reached his hand out towards you and caught your hand in his, letting go the instant you turned back, looking down on him curiously.

“Sorry – I, hm, what is your name?”

“Y/N” you state simply.

Geralt quirks up a brow, waiting for you to go on. When you didn’t, he cleared his throat.

“Y/N… of?”

“Of nowhere of importance,” you say, “it’s just Y/N.”

“Hm.” He nods at you in an unspoken understanding, holding your gaze as you took a few steps backwards and away from him.

Just as you turn to make your way towards the stairs, you find yourself face to face with the bard. He’s looking from you to Geralt with eyes wide in confusion and curiosity. You smile to yourself as you push past him to the stairs.

You’re about to unlock the door to your room when you feel the floor vibrate beneath your feet. Someone of substantial weight was running up the wooden stairs behind you.

You turn quickly, your hand finding the hilt of your sword. But you release your grip when you see it was Geralt. Behind him you saw the bard craning his neck to stare through the bannisters, now looking positively concerned.

You thought you heard Geralt say something while you were looking down at the troubadour. Quickly, you brought your gaze back to him, looking from his mouth to his eyes. He was looking at you expectantly, so he was probably waiting for a reply. Fuck.

“Sorry,” you say, gesturing to your ear with your free hand, “I can’t, I mean, I didn’t hear you.”

Something seemed to click in his mind, because he took a step closer to you before repeating himself.

“What if there was no competition?” he said, thankfully at the same tone as he spoke to you downstairs. Once you registered his words however, you squinted at him playfully.

“Are you threatening me, Geralt?”

“Hm,” he bit back a smirk and shook his head, “No, Y/N. Travel with us, we will split the coin, double our workloads.”

“Us?” you had never heard of the White Wolf travelling with a group. Thinking you might have heard him wrong, and tired of needing to reply on lip reading; you unlock your door and push your way in, nodding for Geralt to follow you.

“Sorry, I don’t think I heard you right.” You say, dropping your bag on the bed with a thud.

“I’m asking you to join me on my travels, we can work together and split the coin.”

You took in his words slowly, drinking them in. Down in the in the pub, you could see his words, at times, feel them; but hearing them? That was something you truly weren’t expecting. Geralt had what might be the deepest voice you’ve ever heard.

“You said, ‘us’, before,” you said, sitting on the chair in the corner and removing your boots, “isn’t that what you said?”

“Hm,” he hummed, you watched him closely. Oh, the things you missed when you couldn’t hear, you thought sullenly. “You’re right, I did. The bard, Jaskier, he’s with me.”

“The bard?!” you laughed, finding it impossible to picture the broad brooding man before you with the man you saw downstairs. “And you tolerate him?”

“Hm,” he laughed through his nose, “I’ve learned to tune him out.”

“Hm?” you repeat, teasingly, picking up on his verbal tick, “Is that so?”

He squints at you in mock contempt, and makes a scene of standing up from the edge of the bed where he’d settled.

“I take back my offer,” he states, turning his head so you could see him say as well as hear him, as he makes his way for the door.

“Geralt, wait,” you exclaim through what was left of your laughter, “you really want me to join you? Despite my…” you gesture vaguely to your ears.

The witcher stopped in his tracks and looks down at you meaningfully.

“Y/N,” he says, “you said it yourself, you and I are currently fighting for the same work, and you’ve proven yourself to be an extraordinary fighter – villages up and down the continent has benefitted from your work.”

He takes another step closer to you before finishing his thought.

“Despite your…” he mimics your previous gesture with a small smile.

“I really don’t want to be a burden to you,” you say, in a small voice, “or Jaskier, the bard, or anyone.”

“Impossible.” He states firmly, leaving no room for argument, but his eyes betrayed a gentleness.  

You had to admit it was an amazing offer. To no longer be alone. To be with someone who spoke to you with respect, not yelling at you or mocking you for your condition. Working within a team would also allow you a sense of security you haven’t known for, well, far too long.

Geralt must have sensed that you were nearing a decision because he placed his hand on your shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze, eyes never leaving yours.

“I was planning on leaving this village tomorrow…” you start, “and if you’re certain –”

“– I am.”

“Well, then I guess we leave tomorrow.” You say, putting your hand over his, and returning the comfort he had given you.

“Perfect.” He says, gentle eyes holding yours for another moment before he cast them downward and pull his hand away.

Once he was well out of your room and you had made your way to bed, you finally began accepting the reality of what you had agreed to.

After years of living in the shadows, ashamed of who you where and what you couldn’t do. You’d be a part of a team. One that would value you and lean on you for support as much as you did them.

You settled into your bed and closed your eyes, letting the welcomed silence wash over you. You supposed you’d have to learn to tune out the bard too. At least you had an advantage.

[plus-size-reader]

Worried

Jaskier x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1854 words

Warnings: none

Summary:Your feelings for Jaskier coming out when you think that he could have died

——————————————————————————————————

You didn’t hear about Jaskier immediately, seeing as you were still back at your camp, waiting for Geralt to come back from the river but as soon as you did, you rushed to his side.

To be fair, it took quite a bit of time to figure out where he’d gone from the people surrounding the camp, but after explaining that you were looking for the extravagantly dressed bard and the witcher, they pointed you in the right direction.

It was a bit of a hassle which could have been avoided if Geralt came to find you before leaving but depending on what happened to him, maybe he didn’t have time.

In any case, you owed Chireadan for everything because you wouldn’t have even known about Jaskier if he hadn’t come to find you. If he didn’t tell you, it could have been hours since anyone told you.

...But none of that mattered now.

All that mattered was getting to Jaskier as quickly as possible, before anything happened that you couldn’t go back from.

Luckily, you knew that Geralt would look out for him. If Jaskier had any chance at all of getting the help he needed, Geralt was the best person he could have by his side.

No one else would go to the lengths to save him that the witcher would, even though he would rather die than admit it.

By the time you made it to the castle he was being held in, the witch had done all her magic on him and he was passed out in one of the spare bedrooms.

You’d missed the worst of it and while you felt a bit guilty about that, you were also glad that you’d been spared that sort of emotional pain. Seeing Jaskier in pain wasn’t something you were desperate to do.

Still, the idea of losing him had forced you to come to terms with the way that you felt about him.

You always kept it a secret, knowing for sure that Jaskier wasn’t going to be attracted to you in the same way but that didn’t matter. He could have died and he would have died not knowing the truth.

If nothing else, you owed it to him to put it all out in the open.

Whatever he chose to do about it, you had to accept that but you couldn’t keep it hidden anymore. You knew that, without a shadow of a doubt, as you stared down at him in that plush bed.

You couldn’t keep going without him knowing the truth.

“What are you doing? He’s going to be fine” Geralt’s voice filled the air, shocking you out of whatever thoughts you’d been having to turn around to face him.

He was looking at you like you were crazy, but you didn’t care. He had gotten to see just how bad it was, and he knew that Jaskier was going to pull through but you hadn’t.

All you could do was imagine what it had been like and that gave you a bloody, terrible image of what he’d been through, an image that wouldn’t leave your mind.

Even now, he was wearing the same clothes he’d been wearing when it happened and there was blood around the collar of his shirt, blotted on the skin of his chest and skin.

It just kept reminding you of what he’d been through, and it was only natural that you struggled with that, even if the witcher didn’t understand.

The fact of the matter was that you cared about Jaskier, and if something happened to him, you weren’t sure how you would react. This was really the first time you’d had to think about it during this entire journey, and you were in no way prepared for it.

At this point, Jaskier could ridicule you if he liked, it wouldn’t change a thing.

“He could have died Geralt. He would have died if it wasn’t for you” you sighed, gently smoothing a few stray hairs back into place as you spoke. They had likely gotten jostled in the journey over from the lake, which was the least of your worries.

...But it gave you something to do with your hands, which were aimlessly fidgeting otherwise.

“You would have done the same, had you been there” he shrugged, really not wanting you to make this thing any bigger than it already was. Geralt was sure that he’d be hearing about this from Jaskier for weeks.

The last thing he needed was for you to also fixate on his near death experience. It wouldn’t help on the long journey you were all making, and he’d had to kill you both if it got too bad.

Frankly, the two of you were lucky you’d made it this far without his sword finding its way into either of your hearts.

At least with the way Jaskier liked to ramble on endlessly.

“But I wasn’t there, was I?” you grumbled, once again reminded that you hadn’t been there when you should have been. If you didn’t insist on washing down Roach before getting back on the road, you would have been there.

You should have been there.

It wasn’t until Geralt let his hand fall gently on your shoulder that you were forced to look away from the bard. As a general rule, the witcher stayed as far away from everyone physically but he decided to make an exception for you.

He wasn’t quite sure what it was that was bothering you so badly but whatever it was, you had to know that it wasn’t as dire as it seemed. Jaskier was going to be fine.

Yennefer had assured him that he would make a full recovery, his body just needed rest for a moment. Once he woke up, he would go right back to making both of your lives a living hell.

He was sure of it.

“Don’t torture yourself over this. He’s going to be fine, I swear it” his voice was all together strange as it left his throat but it wasn’t because something was wrong. You just hadn't heard Geralt talk like that,in such a gentle manner before and it caught you off guard.

You didn’t like it, but it did help you feel a bit better about the fate which befell the bard you cared so greatly for.

“He’s going to be fine Y/N. Why don’t you go get cleaned up or something? I’ll come get you when he wakes up” he suggested, knowing that sitting here staring at him wasn’t going to do you any good.

Besides, the three of you had been on the road for quite some time and it would be a good idea to make good use of the clean palace while you had access to it.

If nothing else, there was a rather nice washtub down the hall.

“The second he wakes up? You’ll come get me?” you clarified, worried that he wouldn't, though you should have known better. Geralt liked to complain about the two of you but the truth was that you and the bard were important to him.

Travelling would be much more difficult if he was alone, and as much as you two inconvenienced him, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“You have my word, now go. You stink” he commented, nothing proving that he was teasing you except for the slight glint in his eyes. You were tempted to argue further but he did have a bit of a point.

Bathing in streams and lakes wasn’t quite doing the trick after all the travelling you'd been doing as of late.

...And as it would turn out, having a quick bath did do wonders for the mental anguish you were dealing with.

As you scrubbed the dirt from your skin, you tried to repeat what Geralt had said to you, knowing it was the truth. As difficult as it was to accept, you knew that logically Jaskier was going to be fine.

Not only that, but it helped to pass the time as Jaskier came out of the sleep he’d fallen into.

The trouble was that in the time that you’d been washing yourself, waiting for Geralt to come find you, the witch who’d saved his life had gone bonkers. At least, that was what you gathered from the chaos.

“Jaskier is outside, go! I’ll get Yennefer” Geralt ordered, finding you there in the hall, trying to figure out what could have happened in the time you’d been in the wash.

Whatever it was, you knew well enough to do as Geralt said. If there was nothing you could do to help him, the best place for you would be as far away from harm's way as you could get.

Besides, knowing that Jaskier was up from bed finished the job of convincing you. After all the anxious waiting you’d been doing, it would be a sweet relief to see him up and breathing again.

..,Or so you thought.

When you found yourself standing in front of him, still covered in his own blood and waiting for some sort of explanation, you found yourself unable to speak.

There just weren’t words for what you were feeling.

Luckily, you didn’t have to find the words because before you could explain yourself, you had thrown your arms around his neck, enclosing him in a tight hug.

It was the sort of hug that could only come out of what you interpreted as a life threatening event, but neither of you was complaining. The most Jaskier could even muster was a groan, born out of your hold on him.

“I was so worried” you hummed, your voice setting off alarms in his head. There was something in the tone of your voice, combined with your close proximity to him that just affected him differently than it would have before.

So much so that before he could even think about what he was doing, his lips were on your own.

Maybe it came out of the fact that he could have died, or that he wouldn’t have seen you before meeting his end but whatever it was, Jaskier didn’t regret the action in the slightest.

If nothing else, he only regretted not doing it sooner.

“You were worried about me? Why ever for?” he teased, reaching up to lightly tap your nose to further drive home that he was better than ever. Only he could react that way after something like the first kiss shared between friends, but it only made you laugh.

Geralt was right.

Jaskier was going to be just fine, and in that moment, you felt like a fool for ever doubting that.

“I love you, bard” you scoffed, knowing that he was forcing you to admit it first only because he could. After what he’d just gone through, he knew that you would do whatever he asked of you.

...But the real truth of the matter was that Jaskier would have gone through it all over again just to get to this moment.

“And I love you”

[fatbottombucky]

A Past Life *Geralt of Rivia x Reader*

Summary: could you write a female reader x Geralt who has PTSD due to past abuse and he accidentally triggers a flashback. It’s okay if you feel uncomfortable writing this, thank you for your time

Characters: Geralt & Jaskier

Pairings: Geralt x [F]Reader

Warnings: Nothing, except for Geralt yells at Reader and it triggers past memories of a man who was not so kind to her- she also flinches when he steps forward to help, makes the whole thing very angsty. They aren’t together in this, although I can do another part where they are because I have an idea for a sequel to this

“Look at us,” the sprightly voice interrupts the quiet, “three best friends, out and seeking adventure in this land.” 

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped you, looking over your shoulder at the bard- who had hired you as an armed bodyguard whilst he sought adventures to sing about. What you didn’t expect was his ‘best friend’ to be a Witcher, especially The Butcher of Blaviken. 

“Hmm,” came the grunt of Geralt, on top of his horse, Roach, “you’re not my friend.” 

The comment completely aimed at Jaskier. Although, what you’ve seen from these two it’s just their norm if anything. Jaskier annoys Geralt, Geralt, for some reason, puts up with Jaskier and sometimes even humours him. 

“Excuse me?” Jaskier exclaims, “you’ve known Y/N, what, a day and she’s your friend over me? The bard who, not only, writes lovely ballads about you BUT,” he strides ahead and starts to walk backwards to look up at Geralt’s face, “but, I may add, spends his free time helping you on the road and aiding you in trying times.” 

Geralt looks down at Jaskier for a brief moment, expressionless and releases a deep exhale through his nostrils. 

“Yes.” Is the one-word answer he gives Jaskier, casting a downward gaze to Jaskier, “she doesn’t talk… or sing.” 

Jaskier looks at you, a scoff leaving past his lips. You raise an eyebrow with a proud smirk, befriending Geralt seemed like an easy task- you wondered if he actually did have a lot of friends, due to the limited demands. Jaskier fell silent and walked beside you, clearly wounded from the encounter and a little pouty. 

You cast a glance to Geralt, clearly unphased or doesn’t care. “He’s playing you, Jask,” you elbow the bard, “clearly you both are friends because he could've run off to get away from you but he hasn’t, has he?” 

“Ha!” Jaskier grins, “that is true, Y/N, Geralt clearly loves me. He just doesn’t want to hurt your feelings, I mean, you’re new and he’s clearly uncomfortable around you.” You hide your smile, till you look at Geralt who is looking at Jaskier with a raised eyebrow, disbelief written on his face. “Don’t worry Geralt, you’ll get used to Y/N, just takes time getting used to her ‘tis all.” 

You smile at Geralt who only slowly blinks and looks away, ahead and into the forest you’ve been walking through for Geralt’s next contract. You like to think you’d be useful, but you’re not well versed in slaying monsters, especially the ones that Geralt goes after. Sure, you’ve killed a few Ghouls in your time but anything three times your size. 

You had never gone up against anything like a Bruxa though. In fact, most of your life has been dealing with the worst kind of monsters: men. They hide their true intentions with cheesy lines and charming smiles, they lurk in the open and gain trust, they make you believe you’re wonderful and special. The worst type of monsters is the ones that hide so plainly in sight. 

“Maybe I should write songs about you,” you let a small exhale and shake your head, “the girl who doesn’t fear The Witcher.” 

Jaskier looks pleased with himself, almost going to strum on his lute, “There’s a lot of girls who aren’t exactly scared of him.” You smirk with a raised eyebrow, the indication of your words not going unnoticed by either, “plus there’s worse to be afraid of than some monster slayer.” 

“Hmm,” comes the grunt of Geralt, his language of ‘leave me the fuck alone’ or ‘continue’, in this case, it’s the latter. 

“Men,” it’s a simple word but it makes them both look at you, then one another, “people who hide their intentions and cast shadows on your life. I know a monster slayers beast, but people, well, they hide theirs and that’s… far worse; a surprise attack.” 

It goes silent between you three. 

The dull thud of Geralt hoping down from Roach, he ties her reigns to a tree and looks Jaskier for a moment and then you. You raise an eyebrow, apparently, you’re meant to understand that look, but you don’t and that makes Geralt of Rivia sigh. 

“Stay beside Roach,” is his response, “least I need is to look out for you two.” 

You huffed a little, you may not be a “monster killer” but you can look out for yourself. You don’t need some brute man keeping you safe, especially since past ones haven’t been so good at it. But you’re hired to look after Jaskier, to go where he goes and therefore you remained beside the bard. 

Geralt disappears through the thick brush, swords on his back and not making a sound; not even with his feet. He can’t have been gone for more than two minutes before Jaskier loudly sighed. 

“How am I meant to write songs about him and his fights if I can’t see them?” He crosses his arms, lute on his back and shaking his head, “not like he’s extremely talkative after a fight either, grunts and one-word answers, half the time I have to make up details.” 

You felt for Jaskier. He only wanted to write about real adventures, real stories, you’ve heard his old songs and listened to him write his new. He’s improved and Geralt doesn’t seem to realise how important he’s played in that. 

“What if…” you trailed off, “I go and watch? I’ll keep out of sight and I’ll tell you what happened?” 

Jaskier looks torn, “I’m not sure… Geralt, he can be very, I think it’s best we stay here.” 

You chuckle, rolling your eyes, “I can look out for myself, Jaskier. Besides, he'll be too concerned with the Bruxa than I.”  

Keeping a firm hand on your steel sword you walk in the direction Geralt left in. It’s dark and silent, which has you wondering just how far Geralt is, but then you hear it. The slight shriek in the distance, the grunts that distinctive of Geralt. You quicken your steps and crouch down, finally in view of the fight. 

Your heartbeat quickens and for a brief moment you think Geralt knows you’re here, he looks around briefly as if sensing you but quickly goes back into defensive mode. The Bruxa is not what you expect, it looks human and naked, long dark hair and fingers that finish into sharp nails. It’s ugly but powerful. It disappears from sight, still attacking Geralt, who looks different than before. 

Dark eyes and veins, paler than usual. His whole stance is oozing with intimidation and the focus; it almost makes you wonder why you aren’t scared, it almost makes you understand why people do fear him. You watch in amazement at Geralt fighting, how agile he is despite his size. You revel in just watching him fight, although you feel bad because it feels almost intimate- like you’re catching him at his most vulnerable, despite it being the complete opposite of. 

But the moment of revelling is cut short, the Bruxa vanishes again and instead of attacking Geralt it goes silent. He stalks around the woodland floor, sword in hand, dark eyes casting in every direction and listening intently for his moment to pounce. 

You frown because nothing is happening. For a moment you think it might’ve runoff, how you wish it would have. A twig snaps behind you, you stand to full height and swiftly turn around, the sword being pulled effortlessly from its sheath. Before you can swing, it hits you and it’s claws scratch your arm causing you to also fly backwards. 

“I told you to stay away,” his voice is coarse and deep, cuts through the tension like a silver knife. 

You sit up as he stands before you, back towards you. A purple circle encompasses him and he fights the Bruxa with efficiency, the cloaking of the Bruxa gone and he’s able to see it’s every movement. He picks up your forgotten sword when rolling out of the way, it’s sights set on you once again but before you can even begin to stand two swords pierce its stomach; slicing in opposite directions and cutting it in half. 

A long-awaited breath of relief leaves you, you sit up and hold your sliced arm. 

“Igni,” Geralt holds a hand over the body and it sets alight before you. He whistles twice and a moment later you hear the galloping of Roach approaching, also a very confuddled Jaskier trying to keep up with her. “I told you to stay away,” Geralt directs at you, although not facing you. 

“It’s my fault, Geralt, I should’ve-” Jaskier tries to defend but is cut off. 

“You could’ve gotten killed,” you shakily stand up, brush yourself off and trying not to look like you’re in pain because it’ll only make the situation worse. 

You shrug one shoulder, “I’m fine. I’m also sorry, I didn’t think it knew I was there.” 

Geralt huffed, his face almost back to normal but it only makes him look angrier somehow, “Fuck you are. You’re bleeding and Bruxa scratches are painful, especially when not treated properly. No wonder you’re afraid of men, you haven’t seen any part of real life to know you should’ve been too afraid to even be around here.” 

The mocking words slice through you, you narrow your eyes at The Witcher. But instead of retaliating you compose yourself, knowing already that getting into any sort of conflict with a man, especially this man, could result in much worse circumstances.  

“It’s done now. You’ve killed it, I got in the way. I’ll patch myself up when we go back to the village to collect your reward.” You think it’s over, well you hope it is. You begin to walk in the direction Roach came from. 

“No!” Geralt’s stern voice stops you, you turn on your heel and look at him wide-eyed, he’s angry. “It isn’t done. You put yourself and me in danger, you can’t just-” he steps forward but you step back, breathing heavily and you fall to the floor,  trying to capture your breath. 

Past memories of your life before this one. A life filled with loud yelling, stern stares and even crueller hands. Of a man, not even Geralt’s build, more like Jaskier if anything. Sparking fear into you, instead of the love he once promised to forever give you. A life of threat and pain. 

A life you longed to forget. 

You shut your eyes tightly, praying to the gods that you don’t look like an idiot. You feel someone settle beside you, snapping your eyes open and met with amber ones, he lifts a hand but instinct takes over and you shrink away from him. Almost cowering before him, you thought you’d gotten over this. The evidence clearly states you haven’t. 

A gentle touch is placed upon your shoulder, no words spoken as he keeps a small distance but a hand still comforting you. You eventually return to normal, finally looking at Geralt with teary eyes and a watery smile to accompany it. 

“I’m sorry,” is all you can mutter and Geralt shakes his head, a little ‘hmm’ leaving him. 

Geralt is silent, kneeling beside where you’re huddled, conversation not exactly his strong suit. You watch as he thinks over his words, a more refined ‘hmm’ leaves his body like he’s thinking of how to word something. 

“Please tell me the one who caused this is dead,” you exhale through your nose in amusement, wiping your eyes with your sleeve, “otherwise I’ll have to make another stop.” 

You shrug a little, “It was a long time ago, I’ve been running from that life. I do not need a Witcher to kill for my revenge,” Geralt tilts his head at your words. “I’m a fucking idiot. A guy yells and I cower before him, how am I expected to protect anyone?” 

“Because you know, more than anyone, what it’s like to be put into a position you cannot break out of.” 

The words hang in the air for a second before he stands up, taking your hand and pulling you up gently. He looks over your wound, grunting at the look of it, the adrenaline is fading and it’s starting to prickle in pain. Jaskier, for once, is quiet but concerned about you. Geralt even helps you onto Roach, leading the horse through the woods. 

Sat in the Inn with a couple of ales and Geralt patching you up in the candlelight. You recount the ordeal to Jaskier, who is smiling now with a belly full of bread. After being told countless times by Geralt that you’ll be fine, it was nice to see he actually cared about you. 

“You know, I might just write a song about you,” Jaskier informs you, sitting back with a smug smile, Geralt raises an eyebrow. “We make a great team, don’t we. Where shall we go next?” 

You frown a little, “I think, I’ve gotta chase up an old life.” Geralt snaps his eyes to you, though doesn’t say anything. “I left a book open, it needs to be closed. We all have to face our monsters at some point,” you sigh and sip your ale. 

“It’s a good thing you’ve got a Witcher as a friend,” Jaskier states and nods at Geralt. 

You don’t miss the gentle ‘Hmm’ from Geralt.

Part Two

(Lmao this is over 2K words, wtf! Hopefully, this is okay. I didn’t make this romantic, but if you want a second part I will make it romantic, I already have an idea for it. Just let me know- Rosalie)

[youwerenevermeanttofeelalone]

Jaskier Masterlist

Drabbles & Ficlets

“I’ve never felt this safe before.”

↪︎ gender neutral!reader ; requested.

[chubbyreaderwriter]

Oh Shit

Jaskier x Plus Size/Chubby Reader

Imagine: You’re Geralt’s sister and he finds out that you and Jaskier are sleeping together. Just a short drabble. 

Word Count: 372

Warnings: none

Masterlist

You should've really prepared for your brother to find out you were sleeping with his bard, but Jaskier was so certain that he could keep it a secret. Four days after Jaskier wanted to make it official, he had managed to spill your secret, which was why you found Jaskier running away from a very angry Geralt in the woods where you three were supposed to be camping out. 

You had been confused at first but then realised you should probably get involved before Geralt kills him. You ran over to them to find Geralt pinning Jaskier against a tree, sword at his throat, “You put your filthy hands on my sister?!” Jaskier tried to scramble away from Geralt but his efforts were unsuccessful. He managed to gasp out, “In my defense, she is very beautiful. It was very hard not to.” 

You chuckled, “Put him down Geralt.” Your brother turned to glare at you, “You couldn’t have raised your standards for partners until he was gone?” You rolled your eyes while Jaskier’s mouth dropped in offense to Geralt’s comment. You shrugged, “He’s cute in a simple kind of way.” Geralt huffed in annoyance while Jaskier was just looking between the two of you in shock, “Well, this is doing nothing for my self esteem.” 

Geralt snapped his head back towards Jaskier and while he took his sword away from the bard’s neck, he lifted Jaskier by the front of his shirt and held him up, “You hurt her and I’ll kill you slowly, starting with every woman’s desire of separating your genitals from your body. Do you understand me, bard?” Jaskier quickly nodded and Geralt threw Jaskier to the ground, before storming away, probably to the river to find something to calm him down. 

You walked over to Jaskier and crouched down to be face to face with him, “All things considered, I think that went quite well.” “He nearly killed me!” You grinned, “But he didn't, now come on, I’ll get you a drink.” Jaskier cleared his throat and got up onto his feet, “I think I deserve more than that after that horrendous experience.” His smirk gave away his intentions and you chuckled, “Maybe if you're a good boy.” 

[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

YAY TH! 💛i was thinking plus size reader travels with Jaskier &Geralt, she's good friends with both but has always been in love with Jaskier She has notebooks she draws in & is so careful to never draw all of jaskier ON one page She's got pages of eyes, hands, chest, neck, hair, all the little parts of him she loves But she thinks he could never love her cuz she's not the typical kind of girl he goes with One day he finds her notebook he knows he shouldn't look she always swats him away 1/2

But he cant help it. He’s so curious and at first he doesn’t realize who it is, just thinks the art is beautiful. And then on the last page there’s an incredibly detailed drawing of a feild of buttercup flowers, maybe with Jaskier in the middle playing his lute in the sun. he talks to her carefully about it. Cuz she’s shy but she usually tells him everything, and he loves her too he just never wanted to make her uncomfortable. Then love confessions! Woo! THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!!! (2/2)

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Jaskier x ReaderWord Count: 1,836Rating: GTaglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mynamesoundslikesherlock @magic-multicolored-miracle a/n: This was a really interesting challenge for me. I’ve been plus size my entire life and I don’t think I’ve ever once written a character who looked like me. Writing this was really eye-opening for me and made me really think about how to portray a plus size character in a way that was positive while still acknowledging the very real insecurities and struggles. I hope this is ok and what you were looking for and thank you for the prompt!

Being Jaskier’s best friend was glorious.

He always got invited to the best parties and insisted on bringing you along. He knew the best tailors who made you dresses that flowed perfectly with your body. Growing up you’d been forced into clothes that were the same cut and shape as others around you, just larger, which somehow left you feeling both swamped and pinched by the fabric as it tried to force your body into a shape it simply wasn’t. But the tailors Jaskier took you to fit wonderfully and if they ever rankled at or felt challenged by your size you never knew because Jaskier would have slain them where they stood if they even breathed a word to that effect. Jaskier was fun and affectionate but also fiercely protective in a way that made you feel cared for even if it did sometimes make your heart ache a little. When he turned away the men who came to ask you to dance or tried to pursue you he always declared it was because he knew their “reputation” and they “weren’t good enough for you” but a small part of you – well, alright, a very significant part of you – wished he were doing it because he wanted you all for himself.

He called you his muse though creative partner was a more fitting title. Being a ‘muse’ implied you just sat there and looked stunning and words flowed through the artist. In truth the pair of you talked through his song dilemmas. You challenged near rhymes and even though he put up a fuss in the moment, later on he would always thank you and give credit to you for helping him ensure a song flowed perfectly. In turn you would work on your drawing as he composed. You’d catch him sneaking a glance every now and then and you always swatted him away, but you’d been extra careful to ensure that even if he did look he wouldn’t realize what you were doing. Only one picture, drawn up after an especially beautiful day where he’d taken you to a field of buttercups, woven you a crown and declared you Queen of Springtime, exposed your deep secret. But he would never see it because you were too careful about keeping it close and he did respect your privacy after all

—–

Jaskier knew he shouldn’t do it.

You always kept your notebook on you and when you saw him try to take peeks you swatted him away. He knew it was private and important to you. So much so that he almost became jealous of the damn thing. When would you gaze at him the same adoring way you gazed at whatever you drew? His heart churned with jealousy at the thought that you were drawing someone. Some man he hadn’t been quick enough to push away. He felt a tinge of guilt at that, knowing it wasn’t fair to keep you from finding a partner when he was too afraid to make his intentions known. But he would tell you one day. As soon as he got any sort of sign that the feelings would be reciprocated. Or, if he knew you were interested in someone else, he was gracefully bow out and never tell you. And perhaps his answer was waiting in that notebook. And perhaps that was reason enough.

As he flipped through the pages he admired your great talent. The craftwork in drawing the hands, long-fingered and held in different poses. Some were positioned as though it was holding an invisible instrument while others were gestured openly or clasped together. Some hair that swooped to an angle, thick and fluffy in some though she’d also taken the challenge of drawing it wet, dripping down the neck into the collar of an undershirt. Then there were drawings of eyes. Though no color was etched into them the eyes were gorgeous. Light and filled with a light that nearly gleamed off the page. A thick neck, craning at an angle that attached to just the barest edge of a strong jaw. A picture of someone that only showed the collar bones down to the waist, an undershirt left open long enough to show an etching of thick, dark chest hair. He flipped through the photos feeling an odd sense of familiarity but mostly immense pride, already trying to figure out how to tell her that she must begin selling her art or at the very least not hide it away from the world any longer.

And then he flipped to the last page.

He almost missed it, skimming fast as the pages grew blank, but he saw a touch of color. He remembered the day he’d gifted you the colored pencils. Your face had lit up and you’d thrown your arms around him, pressing your soft, warm body against his and he’d taken the chance to hold you close for longer than your usual hugs, relishing the feeling of having you in his arms. That was the end of a perfect day. A day he’d almost told you, as he looked into your eyes, farmed by a crown of buttercups. He’d almost told you that even surrounded by the gorgeous blooms, you were the fairest thing by far. But his courage had failed him and so instead he’d found you the pencils, a technicolor declaration of love he worried he would never put into words. He’d wondered if you even used them since every drawing was in the same grey and white but there it was. A picture filled with color. And himself.

He sat cross-legged in the center of a wide expanse of buttercups, lute in hand. The same hands, he realized now, that he’d seen earlier in the notebook. The hands that held the book, trembling slightly as his heart swelled and took in the picture. You’d lovingly sketched every detail of his outfit from the cerulean of his doublet to the off-cream of his undershirt. His hair fell over his face slightly though did not obscure the brilliant blue eyes that gazed at the viewer of the photo much the same way he imagined he must be looking at it right now. His mouth was drawn open mid-song and he could even tell what lyric was passing through his lips. Your talent was truly spectacular. And you loved him. And he wouldn’t waste anymore time.

—–

When you returned from the market you were frazzled. You’d left your notebook behind and that was too dangerous. You’d practically run all the way back, arriving to camp winded and red faced. So much so that Geralt drew his sword, certain you were being pursued, and you had to convince him through gasps that everything was fine. And then you saw Jaskier walk into view, holding the notebook. Your heart sank and when Jaskier saw you he froze. He looked a little guilty but there was more there as well. You couldn’t place it, too anxious about your secret finally getting out. As he walked over to you, you began to try and form a lie that would cover it up and let things stay the way they were before.

“Geralt can we have a moment?” Jaskier asked once he reached you. Geralt opened his mouth to say something but Roach nickered and he sighed heavily and stood up, taking her reins and walking away without another word to either of you. Your heart pounded in your chest and you looked down at the notebook still in Jaskier’s hands.

“Y/N, I should apologize-”

“It’s fine just give it back,” you said quickly, reaching for the notebook but he pulled it away too fast.

“I should apologize, but I’m not going to,” he finished. Your eyes widened slightly and he held up a hand to staunch the angry tirade he could see welling up.

“Y/N, you’re amazing,” he said a little breathlessly, “Your art, your talent, it’s… it’s just beyond compare. I understand what it means, how important one’s creative works are and how personal, but please at least assure me that you aren’t hiding it away out of some misplaced sense of insecurity. Because you have nothing to feel insecure about, Y/N. Nothing.”

You fought back the tears that the words, hitting so close to so many parts of yourself you had never even told him about, brought to your eyes.

“Jaskier, how much did you see?” you asked, your eyes falling to the notebook.

“Everything,” he said, “I saw everything.”

“Fuck…”

“Y/N,” he tilted your chin up gently with one hand, raising your eyes to meet his. “I love you.”

“I know you do, Jaskier, we’re very good friends-”

“Y/N,” he said, cutting you off and gently resting the notebook on the ground so he could take your face in both of his hands as he stared into your eyes with his, brilliant blue and full of emotion, “I love you.”

The words resonated and even you couldn’t deny what he was saying. He wasn’t looking at you like a friend or a brother or anything but a man who was deeply in love and trying desperately to communicate it to the person he loved.

“But…” you began, and then bit your lip as you worried how to phrase it.

“What?” he asked, tenderly brushing away a tear.

“I’m not… you usually… I’ve… I’ve seen the women you’re with,” you began.

He nodded and waiting for you to continue.

“They are all very lovely and all very similarly bodied. That is, they’re, well, oh for god’s sake – they’re thin, Jaskier. You’re always surrounded by lovely, slender ladies and I am-”

“Lovely,” he finished the sentence for you.

“And plump,” you said pointedly.

“And plump,” he echoed, “Lovely and plump and talented and caring.”

“I just don’t want you to love me in spite of it,” you said, an old wound aching at the thought that he was listing the things that made your body an acceptable compromise.

He frowned and then before you could try and explain further he pulled you in for a kiss, his lips soft and warm against yours. His arms surrounded you and you pressed closer into the kiss. He pulled back and began to pepper your jaw with kisses, moving down to the slope of flesh beneath your chin and back up to your lips.

“I don’t love you in spite of anything. I love you for everything that you are, no exceptions, no alterations. Every inch, every ounce, every day. If you’ll have me,” he said, realizing you hadn’t actually said the words to him yet. You smiled and felt a weight you hadn’t realized you’d been carrying begin to lift off your heart.

“I love you,” you said. Jaskier’s face broke into a smile you knew you would never capture on paper but would spend the rest of your life trying to recreate.

Being Jaskier’s best friend was glorious.

Because Jaskier’s beloved is beyond words.

[plussizeappreciationfics]

Aaaah so cool ! Well maybe Geralt jaskier are in a poly relationship but the reader is kinda insecure bc she’s plus size and she’s not a fighter you know she’s just sweet and caring so they comfort her 🥰 or if you don’t like that idea maybe a something abt the reader taking care of jaskier and Geralt when they come back hurt from a monster hunt thank youuu 🥰🥰🥰

Taking care of Geralt and Jaskier after a monster hunt includes:

 -You scolding them the second they return to your camp, covered in blood, cuts and bruises

 -The two of you feeling bad the second you start panicking and ordering them to get rid of their clothes so you can wash them and treat their wounds

 -Geralt apologizing while you stitch him up, he can’t stand the thought of you in complete distress because of him and his best friend

 -You not answering him as you just want one of your sweethearts to just be okay. You blink away the tears and silently pray that your boyfriends wont’ die during one of their hunts as they are the best thing that has ever happened to you

 -Then it’s Jaskier’s turn. The musician doesn’t say a word, just places his hands on your shoulders and stared deeply into your eyes. Out of nowhere, he starts humming a melody that quickly makes you tap your foot while cleaning his wounds

 -By the time you’re done treating all the injuries, you’re in a better mood and look at your lovers gently smiling at you. They know that they are a dangerous mess of gorgeousness and clumsiness but they can’t live without you

 -They then lie down on your shared bed and wait for you to join as they want to shower you with their love. Their delicate touches and kisses quickly turn into a heated love making session where you’re left screaming and whimpering with every orgasm that ripples through you

Tag list: @jamesbarnesappreciationclub  l @pleasantdreamqueen l @disneymarina l @koizorahana l l @harleycativy l @itik-angsa l @sparklemichele l @melaninmarvel l @amethyst09 l @the-force-of-imagines l @bossyboyd03 l @enigmaticaphrodite l @pebblesz892 l @stars8melanin l @brittyevans l @toc1985 l @janeyboo l @badassbaker l @earthtocynthia l @lafayettes-baguettes-1 l @winters-beauty l @cannonindeez  l @ilovefanfic86 l @foureyedsiopao l @adorablespecialsnowflakes l @brittanyovens l @kanupps06 l @jazmynejack l @oliviajmarvel l @thebookwormslytherin l @theunsweetenedtruth l @talannalew l @littlexmissxfandomxlover l @amethyst-dreams-and-candy-canes l @dedebebe13 l @challaxkillmonger l @crimsonash330 l @booklover2929 l @aranelgrey l @panda-duuu l @thisismysecrethappyplace l @killmonsgyal l @lokislilcaribbeanprincess l @titty-teetee l @honey-anon l @queenxchallaxkillamonger l @princess-evans-addict l @hp-hogwartsexpress l @malindacath l @supernaturaltrashy l @letsdisneythings l @scorpionchild81 l @shado-raven l @alisoncdariel l @plutoneu

-Emmanuelle 💋❤️

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

Dialogue I came up with this morning for a possible Jaskier x Plus Size Female Identifying Reader:

“I’m not the sort of woman men write songs about.”

“Well that’s bollocks!”

“Jask...”

“I have about 5 songs I regularly sing about you! Who did you think I was referring to with ‘thighs as soft as silken pillows?’*” 

(* this might get changed, I need to properly think of a good song line that would describe me or any plus size woman in a romantic and possible raunchy way, feel free to send in suggestions)