#jaskier x npc

[continentcakeshop]

Reverse casting time!!!! Cakeshop peeps as Witcher characters. Go!!!

ALRIGHT I spent like 2 hours on this and the shenanigans that happened with everyone laughing and helping out... BUT ITS LONG. So it's behind a cut. It's not complete, because oh man I gotta go do errands, but we did our best!

@on-a-lucky-tide is immediately our Eskel @hungarianbee as Erland @lookoutrogue is Coen @major-trouble is the best Valdo ever but countered with @sometimesiwrite as Essi (she LIVES THO) @trickstermoose67 is Ciri ... but @so--many-fandoms is Baby Ciri (from W3, with the freckles) @jayofolympus is Serrit @frenchkey is Auckes @tumbleweedtech I'm claiming Keldar thanks @angry-cajun-lady is Gaetan @lohrendrell is Ivo @thirstyforred is Jacques de Aldersberg @stellecraft is Nenneke @round--robin is Arnaghad @piranhaincaps is Gezras @greenbirddraws is Letho @anonymousblueberry is Ves @cylin-aka-ankamo is Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy @liaonyxrayne is Dettlaff @jlyarts is Kiyan @justhereforeskel is Lil' Bleater @justleaf is Iorveth @zzzett is Isengrim @whysowlowl is Philippa @heyriel-art is Vesemir @eyesofshinigami is Shani @lokibus is Geralt (complete with horse pics) @straysinfiltrator is Meve @iboughtaplant is Gascon (she has the BEST boy) @pressedinthepages is Angoulême @jaskiersvalley is Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach obscure potato is Reynard @Towelapocalyse is Aiden @andtosatvrn is Ivar @disaster-imp is Lambert @resident-beekeeper is the beekeeper that Regis thinks is a werewolf? sdorim is an npc who wrote punny letters to Geralt @winter-fir is a farmer NPC. Her rakes are not broken, and if you press X you get an 🍎 And who you've probably been waiting for? @skaldingrayne would be Jaskier.

[samstree]

Jaskier x Sam the Baker AU

(There’s this lovely piece by @valdomarx and this one by dear @julek, and I just need Jaskier to learn baking from Sam and get flour smeared all over his face, because he DESERVES!)

The setting sun cast through the window, illuminating the flour flying in the air. The rhythmic noise of a dough being kneaded comes from the kitchen, interrupted by the occasional curses.

Sam rounds the corner and leans against the doorframe, watching Jaskier at the nearly lost battle. There’s sweat on his forehead, and the long hair is blocking his view, making the bard scrunch up his nose in displeasure. He’s so concentrated on half-formed bread dough like it’s the world’s most difficult task, not even aware of the baker walking into the room.

How can someone trying—and failing—to make a simple loaf of bread be so adorable?

“Need any help?” Sam says, drawing attention to himself.

Letting out a surprised gasp, Jaskier looks up, tucking away his hair by instinct and thus smearing flour on his cheek. There’s flour all over his face actually, on the tip of his nose, tangled up in his hair, and there’s that smidge hanging on his eyebrow.

“No, sweetie. You’ve been the most wonderful host for the past few days. I promised to return the favor,” Jaskier argues. “I can do this! I can make you a bread!”

“Sure you can,” Sam smiles. “It’s just that I don’t mind. You may have your expertise, poet. Don’t forget I have mine.”

The way Jaskier smiles is more blinding than the warm, orange glow of the sun. A faint layer of pink spreads on his cheeks.

“How can I, my dearest baker? The wonders you can do within this very kitchen… I—” Jaskier looks down, his lashes fluttering. “Have I told you how much I adore it when you cook? All the heart you put into your craft, I only aim to reach a tenth of it, but it doesn’t seem to come together.”

There’s a hint of distress in Jaskier’s voice now. Concerned, Sam walks to the counter and inspects the dough—it is, indeed, too dry, and not kneaded enough. Despite the strong arms the poet hides underneath the dashing jacket and puffy sleeves, this craft requires a certain amount of brute force that only comes with practice.

“Let me help, please,” Sam says, covering Jaskier’s hands with his, waiting.

“And how do you plan on it?” Jaskier whispers, his voice dropping lower, hoarse, even.

“We can add some water first.”

“But I’ve tried, Sam my sweetie pie. Then it’s too wet and I had to add flour. It’s an endless cycle, you see.”

The pet name makes Sam’s heart flutter for a beat, and he feels a blush spreading, mirroring Jaskier’s. He has to clear his throat just to find some words.

“Is that why you are in such a mess?” Sam says, bopping Jaskier on the nose, wiping away the flour.

“What—Oh, no!” Jaskier half-panics, and starts cleaning his face frantically, which only makes it worse. “A bard can never look disheveled! This is a tragedy!”

The sight of Jaskier covered in flour and distressed is too adorable that Sam has to giggle out loud. He takes Jaskier’s hands in his and picks up a clean towel, dabbing at the bard’s cheek carefully.

“As I said, you can just ask for help.”

Up close, those cornflower blue eyes are more stunning in the golden light of the sunset, and Sam loses himself in them. He even misses it when Jaskier’s hands sneak up once again, running his fingers through the curls at Sam’s temple.

“Thank you,” Jaskier wraps a hand around Sam’s jaw.

“Are you trying to get flour on me too?”

“Mm-hmm.” Jaskier nods, ever so seriously.

Sam lets out a soft laugh. “You truly are my life’s blessing, Jaskier. Do you know that?”

Somehow that statement makes the mirth in Jaskier’s eyes disappear for a split second. In its place is the deeply hidden pain that bleeds through his songs. Sam thought he’d never see that hurt look again. He thought he could heal it.

“Oh.” The baker recoils. “I’m so sorry if I said anything wrong—”

“No!” Jaskier catches his hands, chasing him. “No, it’s not you. It’s just…”

“It’s the thing you cannot tell me.”

Sam manages a smile, because how can he not when Jaskier is sad? He’d put many more smiles on Jaskier’s face with all the pies and honey cakes he can make until nothing hurts anymore. Jaskier deserves that, at least.

The bard has an old wound from his past, but Sam oh-so desperately hopes to be his future.

“Not yet.” Jaskier kisses Sam on the hairline, a chaste peck that melts something within the two of them. “One day.”

“One day.”

Jaskier sniffs, and there’s still flour on the tip of his nose. Gods, he might never get clean by this rate, so Sam kisses the last of it away.

“Now,” the barker adds, “let’s save your bread. One step at a time.”

Basked in the sunset, a grin stretches across Jaskier’s face, the golden light blending with the blue.

The road to healing is long and winding, but in Sam’s kitchen, an old wound might just begin to close.

One step at a time.

[kueble]

The Edge of Something New

Jumping on the Sam the Baker train. (This one by @valdomarx , This one by @julek , This one by @samstree ). Not using my tags list, because I don’t even know what this is lol.

18+ under the cut, Warnings: none. 2,000 words

Jaskier/Sam the baker

---

Jaskier knows when he’s being watched. He’s a bard for Melitele’s sake. He knows how to work the crowd and hold their attention, how to sway his hips just a little bit more than necessary, how to bat his eyes and crack a raunchy joke when the set calls for it. So it’s no surprise when one of the new faces in the crowd shows an interest. But the fact that Jaskier might notice him back, well…that’s certainly new.

Ever since Geralt left him on that fucking mountain, he’s spent more nights on a bender than he’d care to admit. Hell, half the whorehouses in town know him by name at this point. Half the nobility does, too, though they wouldn’t admit it if pressed. Jaskier has damn near fucked the thought of that blasted witcher out of his brain, has nearly killed the ember of yearning lodged in his gut, stoked for years by one friendly glace after another.

But none of his recent bed partners have looked at him quite like this man is tonight. No, he looks like he’s watching Jaskier and actually listening to him, actually seeing him, and it’s a bit unnerving. The man has a mop of dark curls that somehow dare Jaskier to find out if they look as soft as they feel. He looks sturdy, a bit soft around the edges, but there’s a hint of hidden strength as his shirt pulls tight while he raises his mug in cheers.

The man is softer than he normally goes for, chubby in a way that makes Jaskier feel warm, and he can’t help thinking that it might be good to switch things up for a bit.

It’s been years since someone has caught his eye quite like this, and Jaskier isn’t sure what he thinks about that. He lets the song trail off, his fingers stilling as he gauges the mood of the crowd. They’ve settled down a bit, and it’s clearly time for something more gentle. The first notes of an old love ballad start up, and before he realizes what he’s doing, he finds himself perched on the corner of the man’s table.

His gaze is no less piercing up this close, and Jaskier can see little flecks of gold in his hazel eyes. Somehow his mouth keeps moving, even though his breath seems caught in his chest. He jumps up from the edge of the table, but the damage has been done. He’s intrigued, caught up in whatever this stranger could be for the night, for the next few if he’s lucky, and he knows he’ll approach him after the set.

Only it turns out Jaskier doesn’t need to, because as soon as he ends his performance with a sweeping bow, the man is suddenly there, thrusting a mug into his hands. Jaskier takes it with a grin and gestures to an empty table at the back of the tavern. It’s too loud tonight, and he doesn’t feel like shouting over the din of the crowd.

“I figured we could both do with some peace and quiet after such a lively set,” Jaskier says, sitting down. He sips his ale, taking time to study the man over the rim of his mug. There’s a hint of blush across his cheeks, and Jaskier longs to see how far down it goes.

“Hard to think anyone would want the quiet when they could be listening to such a lovely voice instead,” the man says, tripping over his words a bit. His cheeks darken even more, and Jaskier dips his head a little, eyeing him up from beneath his lashes.

“A lovely compliment from a lovely man,” Jaskier replies. He’s torn between feeling excited to flirt again - to actually mean it - and not wanting to come on too strong.

“Oh nonsense,” the man laughs, “I know what I look like, no need to pretend otherwise.”

“Not pretending,” Jaskier tells him, wetting his lips just to watch the man’s eyes follow the slow slide of his tongue. “If I’m not to call you lovely, what can I call you then?”

“Sam,” the man answers with a smile. “Didn’t say I minded being called lovely, just didn’t agree with it,” he adds before hiding his face in his mug.

A spark lights up in Jaskier’s gut, the edge of something new coming to life, and he reaches across the table to take Sam’s hand in his. They both look down at their joined hands - enough to get a man locked up in some backwater villages - and Jaskier slowly strokes his thumb across the back of Sam’s hand. He shivers and sets his mug down with too much force, bits of foam spilling down the sides of it.

“I uh…I don’t live far from here. If you’d like to…keep the conversation going?” Sam asks, seemingly unsure of himself. And that just won’t stand, so Jaskier clenches his hand and smiles warmly at him

“I’ll do you one better. I’ve a room upstairs,” he offers.

And then they’re moving, both fumbling over themselves as Jaskier leads him up the steep steps and down the hall to the room he’s been renting. He hopes he left it in order when he went downstairs to perform, but cringes when he opens the door and finds his notebook and a few loose pages scattered across the bed.

“Sorry, wasn't expecting company,” he murmurs, but Sam doesn’t say anything, just looks at him shyly while he clears off the bed, tossing the papers on the desk in the corner.

“No worries,” Sam says with a laugh, “you should see my place. Always dirty aprons and stale rolls laying about.”

“Rolls?” Jaskier asks, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“Oh, I uh, I’m a baker. Not as flashy as a travelling bard, but I love it,” Sam explains. He looks so proud of himself that Jaskier just knows he’s going to follow him home and find out how good his baked goods are.

“Sounds delightful, actually,” Jaskier counters, stepping closer to him. He shrugs off his coat and lays it over the back of a chair, letting his hips sway just a bit as he walks over. “I have a bit of a sweet tooth. Are you sweet, Sam?”

“I think I could be,” he mumbles, and Jaskier smiles before reaching up to cup his round cheeks. They’re soft under his hands, and he lets his fingertips brush against the mess of curls before leaning in closer.

“I’d like to find out,” Jaskier whispers, and Sam lets out a slow breath, whining low in the back of his throat.

And then they’re kissing, Sam’s hands gripping Jaskier’s hips tightly while Jaskier licks into his plush mouth. He doesn’t taste sweet, but the way he sighs is so sugary that it doesn’t matter. He melts against Jaskier, kissing him back just as harshly, tugging on him until they’re pressed against the door. Jaskier nips at Sam’s bottom lip before turning to press open-mouthed kisses against his jaw line. He sucks on Sam’s earlobe, tugging on it with his teeth and drawing a broken moan from him.

“Can I suck your cock, Sam?” Jaskier asks, and Sam nods frantically, whining again as Jaskier slides down to his knees.

He stares up at him, keeping eye contact while he pulls at the laces to his trousers. Sam is panting, his eyes dark as he looks back at Jaskier, one hand coming down to thread in Jaskier’s loose hair. Shoving down his trousers, Jaskier comes face to face with the most beautiful prick he’s ever seen. Fuck, it’s so thick that he’s not sure how easy this will be. But oh how he wants to be good.

Sam deserves him to be good.

Sam looks down at him like he’s about to apologize for his size, and that simply won’t do. Jaskier shuts him up by sucking the head of his cock into his mouth, letting his eyes slide shut as the salty taste of it hits his tongue. He laves at the head, swirling his tongue around it before slowly working more and more of it inside his mouth. Sam is ever the gentleman, a litany of praises dripping from his mouth as Jaskier swallows around him.

Oh how he’s missed this! Sure, he’s spent months in brothels, but whores never ask to be sucked off. Jaskier forgot how much he loves this, lives for the musky scent surrounding him while he has a fat cock in his mouth, the heavy weight of it pressing on his tongue. He starts pumping Sam’s shaft, working what he can’t swallow down, and hums around him. Sam bucks his hips, clearly fighting it but too far gone to hold back.

“Close,” Sam chokes out, and Jaskier opens his eyes again, needs to see how he looks when he comes. He cups Sam’s balls, playing with them while he takes as much of him as he can. He knows what he looks like - lips ruddy and stretched wide around Sam’s gorgeous cock - and it’s all he can hope that Sam sees some kind of beauty in him, too. He wants to be seen, needs it even.

Sam comes with a grunt, hips stilling as he spills across Jaskier’s tongue. Jaskier eagerly swallows it down, sucking until Sam gently pushes him back with a whine. He rubs the soft head of his cock against Jaskier’s lips, shuddering as he stares down at him. “Fuck, Jaskier, you’re beautiful,” he whispers.

And Jaskier wants to cry, but he can’t because suddenly Sam is on the floor with him, yanking him into a sloppy kiss while he shoves a hand down the front of Jaskier’s trousers. He’s leaking so much his smalls are wet, and Sam’s large fingers wrap around him easily. He growls into the kiss, leaning into Sam as he feels his own orgasm building at the base of his spine.

Same pulls back and nuzzles his cheek, turning so he can whisper against his ear, “that’s it. Want you to come for me. I bet you look as pretty coming as you do with my cock in your mouth. Wanna see you fall apart for me.”

“Sam!” Jaskier shouts, voice hoarse as he tumbles over the edge, coating Sam’s hand as he comes. He fucks into Sam’s tight fist, hips stuttering as he spills in hot bursts. When it gets to be too much, he whines and hides his face in the crook of Sam’s neck. He takes the hint and slides his hand out of Jaskier’s trousers, wrapping his arms around his shoulders instead.

“Was I?” Jaskier asks after a few moments.

“Pretty? Yeah, yeah you were,” Sam tells him, smiling before kissing him again. It’s surprisingly chaste for a man who is covered in his spend, and Jaskier can’t help grinning against his mouth.

“Do you, uh, do you want to stay tonight?” Jaskier asks, the words falling out of his mouth before he decides to utter them.

“I can’t,” Sam tells him, and Jaskier’s heart drops in his chest. Of course, of course this isn’t anything more than a one-off. What was he thinking?

“Sure, uh, that’s good, too,” Jaskier mumbles, pulling back and trying to make himself presentable again. Before he can stand up, Sam grabs his arm tightly and pulls him back in.

“Fuck, sorry. I’m, I’m not good with words, not like you are. Not a bard, just a baker. Also, you just sucked my brain out of my prick, so I’m entitled to be a bit out of sorts,” Sam rushes out, cheeks bright red as he grins at him. “I can’t stay, because I’m a horrible bed partner. I get up way too early. Bread’s gotta be in the oven long before daylight comes. It’s a lot easier to crawl out of my own bed and downstairs to the bakery than find my way across town in the dark. But…you could visit me? Stay the night even if you wanted? I’m rambling. Please for the love of the gods shut me up.”

And so Jaskier kisses him again, already planning his visit.

[samstree]

Apple of My Pie

More on Jaskier x Sam the Baker

Because I need our dear Sam to compliment Jaskier’s singing with a superior pie analogy, ~800 words.

(prev: this one by @valdomarx​, another by @julek​, this one by me, another by @kueble​, and this one by @a-kind-of-merry-war​)

Also, we have a collection open on ao3 for anyone to join the party: a legend in the baking

“The name is Sam,” the baker says, drowning in the blue of the singer’s eyes, “pleased to meet you, Master Bard.”

“Jaskier.”

He takes Sam’s hand, palm warm and soft, the calluses at his fingertips meeting the barker’s. Sam didn’t know a musician’s hand can be equally strong.

“I come to this tavern every night,” Sam says, not quite letting so, and Jaskier seems just as reluctant, “and you always sing that song.”

“About the butcher, yes.” Jaskier agrees, his smile bright with performance.

But there’s something underneath it.

“About heartbreak.” The brightness splinters, just a little, so Sam adds quickly, “it takes one, I suppose.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier hums curiously. “Allow me to buy you a drink, dear Sam? A bard always seeks inspiring stories, and you look like you are full of them.”

The wink Jaskier sends Sam is a coy thing. Heat rises on Sam’s cheeks. Gods, does flirting come so naturally for all bards?

“Oh, no drink for me.” Sam smiles shyly, ducking his head for a brief moment to hide the blush. “Need to get up early in the morning for the shop. I own a bakery at the end of the street, you see. My ma said this to me when she passed down the business, that feeding people is a blessing. The only downside is the night life.”

“And yet, you are here every night.”

There’s something about Jaskier’s smile that draws Sam in. Perhaps it’s the warmth that comes with it, the interest which cannot be hidden. Or, perhaps, it is the hint of pain that shines through at the end of each set.

The bard puts away his lute carefully before acquiring an ale for himself and a mint tea for Sam. It’s his favorite—his shop always has it ready for customers who love to pair it with biscuits. The din of the tavern fades as they sit down closely, their knees touching under the table.

“So, Sam the baker.” Jaskier raises an eyebrow, his hands fidgeting with a silver ring. “Am I remiss to say that you might be a fan of my singing?”

“Might be a fan?” That would be an understatement, but suddenly all the compliments Sam has rehearsed in his kitchen leave his mind. He opens his mouth and splutters. “M…more than, Jaskier. Your singing is like—it’s like…”

Sam trails off, his face burning in such proximity of the poet, so he says the first thing that comes to mind.

“It’s like pie! The sweetest kind!” The way Jaskier’s eyes light up is encouragement enough for Sam to go on. “My grandma had this recipe back in her day. It’s not even complicated, just apple and cinnamon and other spices you can find ‘round the season. But the richness of it… The sugary filling warms you, the tartness too. I had it all the time until she passes away. My ma tried to make it later and I did too, but it was never like that.”

“It was about her.” Understanding gleams in cornflower blue eyes. “The time spent with her.”

“It’s about the memories, isn’t it?” Sam echoes. “Your songs too. They are about memories, the people you miss just like I miss her still. All art is like this, really—not that I’d call bread and butter art. Crafts, then. It takes something personal to make it right, something precious in your heart.”

The poet’s eyes are obscured in the shadow of his long hair, but the intensity of his gaze burns into Sam’s very being. Like the apple pie, indeed. Jaskier’s presence coats Sam’s tongue with all the sweetness that he longs for. Like a man possessed, he reaches out to tuck the hair away from Jaskier’s eyes.

The poet lets him.

“You are full of surprises, Sam,” Jaskier says, voice dropping deep. His head turns, just to the right angle for Sam to cup his chin in his palm. The stubbles at Jaskier’s jaw tickle a little, and they stay there for a moment longer.

Just when Sam means to say something else—mostly likely something dumb, like comparing Jaskier’s eyes to blueberries—someone calls the bard from the other end of the tavern.

Jaskier sits back, darting his eyes to that man and letting Sam’s hand fall away. He clears his throat. “Apologies, my attention is needed elsewhere.”

“Your set is over.” Sam frowns, his heart sinking a little.

The bard only smiles. It’s a different one from the one he puts on stage, relaxed, a little crooked, real. “Songs or bread, you are right in that art comes from a precious place, but it’s not the only precious thing in this world. If you are willing…” he takes Sam’s hand—hand that is rough from soaking in water and dry flour all day—and places a tiny kiss on each. “Come back tomorrow.

“I will,” Sam answers reverently.

And there are many more things he’s willing to promise Jaskier, but they’ll need to wait until tomorrow.

The bard seems worth it anyway.

~~

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard​ @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3 @endless-whump @rey-a-nonbinary-bisexual @llamasdumpsterfire @dapandapod @kuripon @holymotherwolf @theamazingdevilgivesmehope @julek @glows-n-the-dark @jemmasimmons @daisyyydaisyyydaisyyy @rohrkatze

I keep two tag lists for smut-inclusive content and no smut content these days. Please feel free to tell me which one you prefer, or adding and removing in general.