#dark jaskier

Creature Jaskier but add horror. I've always imagined that if I ever made a fic were Jaskier was a creature I would like it to be one of the creatures I've made. Of course, I'll only ramble a bit so let me know if you would like to see little one-shots or like how I'm planning a little journal-type setting.

I can imagine Jaskier being a part of my little fake species of winged fae called Constellations, as you can probably guess they are based on the stars I can imagine Jaskier being noble or even royal when it comes to the court of Constellations!! But that's for another rant-

Geralt wanted to ask so many questions.

Why are you digging? Where did you learn to mar the skin of a tattoo? How do you know to burn the clothing miles away at meal time?

But he kept quiet. And for once Jaskier did too. They walked in silence as Geralt thought back to when they’d met. He’d just thought the bard was jumpy, but now he knows better. He was running.

All those bitter stories of his father and how Jaskier had left home after his untimely disappearance ran through his mind. They were littered with little variations Geralt had chalked up to poetic license but slowly and surely, they slotted together, filling in those last pieces of the puzzle Geralt thought were just lost in his carelessness. 

He stopped abruptly, grabbing Jaskier’s arm without turning to look at him as the realization hit him.

“Ger-”

“I won’t ask,” He interrupted, setting off into the underbrush, leading both Roach and Jaskier.

“Thats- Well- Geralt, where are we going?”

Geralt trudged on until he was sure they were alone, placing a finger over Jaskier’s lips when he tried to ask again. He listened for a moment, hearing nothing but birds and a distant stream. 

When he finally turned his attention back to Jaskier he was ready to burst, “You never asked about Blaviken. You didn’t care.”

Jaskier simply nodded, Geralt’s finger still over his lips.

“You hid a body for me. Why?” Geralt let his hand slide off the bard’s mouth to rest at the nape of his neck, holding his breath as he waited those agonizingly long moments for his answer. 

“I love you.” Jaskier said it like it was common knowledge, not a battering ram to Geralt’s sense of reality, “I love you and you needed me.”

Geralt stared at him for a moment, waiting for the world to stop spinning before he leaned in and brushed his lips against Jaskier’s. The bard shuddered, winding one arm around the witcher’s waist and one in his hair as they melted into one another. 

When they parted Geralt was grinning.

“What?”

“Your lips are sweet.” Geralt’s words were just above a whisper as he stared into those sparkling blue eyes. 

Jaskier hummed, resting a hand on the witcher’s jaw and brushing his thumb over his cheekbone, “It’s almost like we’re real people.”

“What do-”

It was Jaskier’s turn to silence the witcher, though this time he did it with his lips before pulling away just enough to whisper, “No questions. We should just kiss.”

Geralt can't even defend himself. He braces his palms against Jaskier's chest, his brow creased, but Jaskier shushes him gently. "I know you want this, Geralt. You don't have to deny yourself any longer." Because Jaskier has seen those longing looks; the way Geralt scents him as he walks by and whispers Jaskier's name as he touches himself. This is what he's wanted all along.

Jaskier strips the Witcher and takes his time touching him all over, savouring heated skin. Geralt shivers and groans, half hard from just the gentle caress of Jaskier's fingers across his chest. Jaskier pulls the salve from their bags and loosens the tire of his breeches. He won't bother to undress completely. Not out here.

Geralt's clean enough. They left an inn only a day ago. Jaskier prepares him, gratified to find his hole loose and relaxed. Probably whatever he's eaten to make him this way. Jaskier reasons he should probably be more worried, but he can address that after. Geralt's so eager. His cock is flush and drooling, curving over his belly, and Jaskier strokes Geralt's tight balls in appreciation. "Good Witcher." Geralt shudders. Jaskier lifts one of Geralt's legs to his shoulder and pushes inside.

Geralt comes on Jaskier's cock twice before Jaskier spills inside him.

It's not the last time Jaskier does it. Geralt's awkward in the morning, but it's easy for Jaskier to manipulate Geralt's already warped ideas around bodily consent--"you enjoyed it, my dear, so clearly you consented"--and Geralt accepts it as the beginning of a relationship. Jaskier holds his wrists when they fuck, sometimes his throat, marvelling at the rush of power he gets when Geralt is helpless beneath him.

He wonders whether it would be the same with all Witchers. He tells Geralt that he will be joining him at Kaer Morhen for the winter.

- - - -

Lambert is easiest to dose. He drinks alcohol with the taste and acidity of paint thinner, and by the time Jaskier reaches Kaer Morhen, he has refined his drug into liquid and powder (with a little help from a shady apothecary).

Jaskier follows him to bed and takes his time enjoying the lithe, athletic form as it sprawls helplessly beneath his hands. Lambert tries to fight him at first, pushing his hands away, grunting and huffing in discomfort. Jaskier ties his wrists with the silk cord from his dressing gown, and Lambert goes limp. He makes the most beautiful sounds when Jaskier fucks him, slow and deep.

Lambert doesn't mention his reluctance to the others. Jaskier has noted how desperately important it is to Lambert to be seen by the others as competent and equal. So, Lambert brags about fucking Geralt's bard loudly at their next meal time.

- - - -

Vesemir is next. Jaskier wasn't planning to, but the old wolf's nightly tipple was just sitting on the kitchen counter, begging for it.

Jaskier is gentle with the old wolf. It's clear that he hasn't had a lover in some time. He knows what's happening, and Jaskier is certain he tries to say no, but the words are like cotton wool in his mouth. He makes the old wolf come on his fingers first, suckling demurely on the head of his cock, and then turns him over.

"What will Geralt think?" Jaskier muses after. "His father fucking his boyfriend. Betrayal, maybe."

Vesemir doesn't brag like Lambert. He stays silent. The old wolf may have a better grasp of consent, but his relationship with the others is his Achilles heel. It's all he has left.

- - - -

Eskel proves difficult. Jaskier doses his drink while he's working on the walls, but the Witcher kicks the flagon over by accident. Jaskier puts powder in a sandwich and one of the goats eats it. The animal gets bad gas but is otherwise unaffected.

In the end, Jaskier invites himself into Eskel's room for a drink one evening after the others have all retired. He offers Eskel a glass and they drink to a mild winter. Eskel accepts the drink without a second thought. If Geralt trusts this man enough to bring him home, then why wouldn't he?

Jaskier figures it will take a little longer to get through Eskel's system. He has more experience with narcotics and he's bigger than the others. The wait is worth it.

Eskel staggers from his chair and Jaskier guides him to the bed. The Witcher knows. He looks at Jaskier with a look of betrayal, but the bard only smiles sweetly. "Let me help you get comfortable."

Eskel pushes him away a few times, but Jaskier calmly undresses him before seeing to his own clothes. As with the others, Jaskier takes his time exploring Eskel's body. Plays with thickly muscled chest, massages his thighs and pets his belly. Eskel bites out a soft groan, his impressive cock heavy and hard.

Jaskier takes Eskel roughly. The powerful body beneath him can take it; wants it. Eskel's hole clenches greedily around Jaskier's cock as it thrusts inside, and the devastation in Eskel's eyes as he comes on that stimulation alone makes the tryst all the sweeter. Jaskier spends all night with Eskel, savouring his conquest, whispering sweet nothings in his ear to plant the seeds of doubt.

By the morning, Eskel thinks he asked for it.

- - - -

Jaskier has the wolves of Kaer Morhen exactly where he wants them. Their bodies are his to enjoy as he pleases. He loves it when Lambert cries because it hurts, his body so tight that Jaskier has to use twice the oil; Jaskier trains Geralt to love it, nurses his submissive kink until he's begging to surrender to Jaskier.

Vesemir is grateful for the attention. Eskel, as before, proves somewhat resistant. But when Jaskier floats the idea of disappointing Geralt, of spinning a small lie about Eskel's rejection of him, his cruelty; how Jaskier will just have to fuck Geralt a little harder tonight to make up for the loss, Eskel takes the offered dose. For Eskel, hurting Geralt is the greatest evil.

A harsh cry breaks through the ringing in your ears and you realise loosely that it’s Jaskier. The shock of hearing his pained shout brings you back to your senses and you find yourself hitting Shelley hard over the head with the hilt of your knife, just once is enough for him to go limp in your grip.

“Jask, shit, Jask, are you okay?” you drop Shelley to the floor unceremoniously, both you and Geralt leaving him behind as you run to where Jask is leant against a tree for support. He’s still standing and you take that as a positive, though when your eyes track down to find the wound you can’t help but let out a sob. Blood is saturating the leg of his trousers and you can clearly see where the bullet has entered.

“Did it come out, fuck, did it come out?”

He mumbles something back that’s barely audible through his laboured breathing and Geralt is quick to wrap his arms around Jask and gently set him on the floor so that he doesn’t waste any more energy trying to stay upright. He’s growing pale rapidly and the darkening pool of blood on the ground beneath him has fear spiking in your veins.

“It’s still in” Geralt confirms your fears and you can hear the strain in his voice.

“Can you get it out?” “Not here- maybe back at the house? Should have something”

“Geralt, that’s- fuck- okay, you go. I’ll take care of Shelley”

“I’m not leaving you with him”

“And I’m not letting him go, so you have to Geralt”

You can see him debating it in his head, the chances of Jaskier surviving if he stays, the chances of you getting hurt if he goes. He looks like he’s about to say something when Jask makes a choked off sob from where he’s still cradled in Geralt’s arms and it makes his mind up for him. 

“Be safe, okay? You need me just call me, just, just make sure the bastard pays for what he’s done. Please” 

You take the chance to hold him while you can, your arms wrapping tightly round his broad waist and pulling him close as you bury your head in his chest. 

"Just make sure Jask is okay, please, I couldn't bare it if-" 

“He’ll be fine, I promise you, I won’t let anything happen to him” Geralt presses a fierce kiss to the top of your head, inhaling deeply as he does, and you know he’s terrified of leaving you here alone after what’s just happened. 

“Thank you, now go, go, get him safe” it takes all of your strength to let go of Geralt. 

He’s careful as he lifts Jask into his strong arms and you don’t miss the concern that paints his features as he gingerly positions Jaskier’s limp body so as best to avoid any further trauma. You take the chance to press a soft kiss to his forehead, a murmured “I love you” against his hair, and then Geralt is carrying him away and you’re left alone with Shelley.

You take a steadying breath as you fight back the tears that are threatening to spill, you know now isn’t the time for this, you have a lot to do before Shelley wakes up, and you’ll be damned if you let this bastard see you cry. It’s hard work without Geralt to help you with the heavy lifting and you find yourself tiring as you drag Shelley’s still limp body through the forest clearing; you strain as you make slow progress on your mission and by the time you have him suitably restrained to a tree you can feel the sweat trickling into your eyes from the exertion. Fucking built bastard. After checking the ropes a few times for strength you make a quick run back to the tree where you’d left your tools, before settling in to wait for him to wake up. You lose track of time as you sit resting against the same tree Jask had been not even an hour before, your mind caught up in the haze of emotions that wash over you. Every few minutes you find yourself pulling your phone out, desperate for any news at all on his condition as you wait. 

After what feels like hours you finally see Shelley stir with a groan, and you practically leap to your feet to get to him. His eyes are wild and frenzied as he sees you approach and he starts to strain desperately at his binds in a futile attempt to get away.

“I told you to pray it wasn’t me Shelley” there’s no joy in your voice as you drop to a crouch in front of him. His face somehow grows paler as the realisation truly hits home for him. He’s stuck, no way out, and he’d made things worse for himself, “I want you to be truthful with me, just like I’m about to be with you. It won’t make it any easier on you, you have no hope of that after what you’ve done, I just want to know why”

He doesn’t attempt to answer for a few moments and you feel white hot rage bubble up in your veins at his silence. A snarl tears from you as you pull your knife from it’s strap on your chest and press it against his thigh in the exact same spot that Jaskier had taken the bullet.

“I’m sorry, I never-”,

“Never what?” you growl, viscous and sharp, as the knife slices a thin, deep cut, “fuck, and to think I felt bad about what I did to Renfri” 

His eyes go wide for a second as he contemplates what that could possibly mean and you shoot him a sadistic grin in response, “She was strong willed, I’ll give her that, could’ve made it so much easier on herself if only she did as she was told, but she didn’t want you to hear her in pain. Stupid bitch”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing compared to what I’m going to do to you”

“Please-”

“You tried to take everything from me, and for what? Was it fucking worth it?” the knife twists deeper and Shelley howls in pain. 

“I thought- I thought” his words are cut off by another cry as you pull your blade out and leave the wound gaping and open, gore now flowing thick and fast to the dull forest floor beneath.

“You thought what?”

“I- If you didn’t have them, you would come back”

“Come back? To what?”

“Me” it’s a whimpered confession, born of loss and sorrow, and if the situation had been different you’re sure you might even be able to feel some sympathy towards the deluded idiot. But right now, with the splattering of Jaskier’s blood not even 10 feet away and the hilt of the knife you’d used on Geralt still firmly in your grip, all you can feel is anger. You can’t help but to laugh, a hollow, empty bark that shows your incredulity at just how stupid this man could be.

“I’m not even going to entertain that with a response”

“Please, need you to know-”

“All of this for some deluded daydream. You had years, Shelley, years to reach out to me before I found Geralt, before I found my home. You let me think you were fucking dead until you got jealous? Fuck you” Rage permeates every word as you let the full extent of your fury be known, “I wasn’t expecting something so fucking stupid from you. I assumed Stregobor had some hold on you. But this? Of your own volition?”

There’s nothing else you can say right now, no way that words can express the pure hatred you feel for the man currently bound and bleeding at your feet, all that you have left to do is make him feel as much pain as you had before you end him. Your thoughts jump back to the bag at your side and an absolutely sickening grin creeps across your face.

“Do you want to see your precious Renfri one last time? I’m not even sure why in the fuck she was so loyal to you, not after what you just told me”

“Renfri, she- she’s here?”

“Of course, she’s going to watch what I’m about to do to you. Say hello Shelley, I’m sure she’s missed you”

His face grows even paler, though you’re not sure if that’s because of the blood loss or the head that you’re slowly lifting out of the bag to greet him.

“Now, she’s just gonna sit right here,” you set the severed head down on a tree stump close by, eyes pointed directly at Shelley’s now trembling figure, before heading to collect more tools from your collection, “while I get the information that I need from you”

He swallows thickly as you crouch down next to him to assume the same position you had been in previously and you’re thankful that he seems to have realised there’s no use in pleading with you. Smart man, just not when it really counts.

“I only have one very simple question- where is Stregobor?”

“I don’t know”

“Wrong answer” you hold up a small metal object just quick enough for him to see, before plunging it deep into the knife wound and he howls with pain as the jagged edges rip into the tender flesh, “try again”

“I don’t fucking know, fuck, I swear, please-” 

“Wrong,” you twist the top of the metal device, “fucking,” you twist again, “answer” each twist causes the device to spread out, opening up the knife wound and tearing out new chunks of skin and muscle with each movement, “I know you know what this does, and I know that you aren’t going to enjoy it if I have to use more of them on you, so I’ll ask again. Where is he?”

“I swear, I fucking swear, I don’t know”

“Always were a stubborn fuck. No matter, I have plenty more toys where that came from”

The next one sinks into his shoulder, but unlike the one embedded deep in his thigh, this one cuts deep and encloses a thick swathe of muscle, before being ripped out violently. The spray of blood left in its aftermath has you smiling sadistically at Shelley who’s already starting to go limp in his binds.

“No, uh uh, you aren’t getting out of this so easily” another quick spear of the now dripping weapon into his other shoulder has him practically wailing, “I can do this all day, Shel, so you might as well save yourself the effort of trying to hide this from me”

“I- fuck, fuck, okay, I know where he is”

“I’m waiting”

He shakily breathes out the words that you so desperately needed to hear from him and you quickly text the information across to Geralt while it’s fresh in your mind.

“Well done,” you get back to your feet with a smile and begin to tidy up your supplies, “took less time than I thought”

“I- are you, are you letting me go?” The hopeful lift to his strained words has joy practically soaring through your veins.  You can’t wait to crush that from him. But not yet. 

“Well you did give me what I asked for. Do you think we’re even?”

“I don’t- uh- no, no I don’t”

“Good, glad we agree” before he can say anything else you pull your gun from it’s strap and aim.

“That,” you shoot his unmarked thigh, “is for Jaskier” he can’t hold back his scream of anguish as you inflict more pain on his already wrecked body, “and this,” you fall back to the now familiar crouch and slide your knife quickly and deeply between his ribs, “is for Geralt”

“P-Please, just, just kill me, fuck”

“You don’t deserve that luxury, not after what you did to me, to them, no. This is going to be as painful as I can make it,” your hand reaches down to put pressure on the head of the metal pear still stuck in his thigh and he hisses, a sickly sweet noise to your ears, before ripping it out in one fluid movement, “you’re fucking lucky Geralt isn’t here with me or I’d be ripping your damn ribcage open and pulling your lungs out like you deserve” 

“Please” his words are hushed and you know he hasn’t got much longer left, not with the blood loss and the toll the pain will have taken on his body.

“Luckily for you I’m not strong enough to break ribs with my own hands, so this will have to suffice” you smile sweetly at him as you pull your knife out from its resting place in his chest and ever so slowly press it in, a fresh wound opening right next to the previous one; you repeat the motion over and over, new incisions lining his chest and welling fresh fountains of blood, until finally you feel him still beneath you. 

A quick press of your fingers to his neck confirms he’s dead, no pulse to be found, and you let out a sob you didn’t even know you’d been holding in. Your hands shake as you grab at your phone to call Geralt, to let him know that clean up is needed asap and that it’s done, and the sound of his voice on the other end of the line helps to ground you from the spiral that you feel is fast approaching. He won’t be long, he says, Jask is currently being treated by the best private doctor that money can buy, he’ll tell you more when he sees you, and despite his words not being as hopeful as you’d liked his tone is reassuring and comforting in the way that only he can be.