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Jaskier came to on a soft mattress covered in plush blankets. It was a welcome change from the harsh straw bedding at the inn they had been staying at before. Geralt had been assigned a contract to take down a witch in the local area, Yennefer had joined because she wanted something from said witch (which she would not disclose) and Jaskier was... moral support.
The bard noted with bleary eyes that his hands were tied with silk to the wooden headboard above him, it was surprisingly comfortable if he was being honest. Usually, he was tied with rope that made his wrists burn or heavy metal cuffs.
To his right was a large bookshelf filled with old tomes and on one shelf held an unlit lantern, next to the bookcase was Geralt, trussed up, gagged and arms bound behind his back, probably some sort of dimeritium chain or rope or something, it wasn’t normally that easy to detain a Witcher.
To Jaskier's left was a medium sized window, showing the setting sun over the grassy hillside, a very pretty scene for sure, only Jaskier was certain that they were far from the village they had previously been staying in by the looks of it. Underneath the window was Yennefer, in a similar state to Geralt. Her arms were tied behind her, an old rag wrapped around her mouth and a large bruise at her temple.
Yennefer stirred under Jaskier's gaze, making a soft noise of confusion when she realised her hands were bound by rope. Awareness came to her surprisingly quick after that. She looked up at Jaskier, worry clearly written on her face which Jaskier could tell only by knowing her so well.
Suddenly the bedroom door burst open, revealing a young, frail woman with wispy blonde hair. Her beauty likely at the expense of her own womb, much like Yennefer. It would explain how she managed to detain them as well, her chaos, though she had to be quite the powerful sorceress to have taken on both Geralt and Yennefer.
“you're awake, just in time for supper,” she smiled at Jaskier, pointedly not looking at Geralt nor Yennefer. She obtained from the pocket of her apron a quarter filled vial of bubbling blue liquid then swirled the bottle with her wrist, making the liquid audibly fizzle and hiss.
Jaskier eyed her cautiously as she moved round to the side of the bed, blocking Geralt from his vision. The woman uncorked the glass bottle and gave it another little swirl, watching as a few tiny bubbles floated out of the vial and popped in mid-air.
“A meagre meal, I apologise. I’m nearly out of my trusty potion - but that just means I’ll have to keep you a little longer while I make another batch. Now, open wide,” she grinned down at him. Jaskier tried to turn his head to the side to stop the woman from forcing him to ingest whatever that potion was. He pressed his lips together firmly as the witch’s slender hands found his face, her long nails lightly scratching him. She squeezed his nose and Jaskier only lasted about ten seconds before he opened his mouth in a gasp of air, the witch took this opportunity and shoved the neck of the bottle between his lips, upending it and forcing him to swallow otherwise he’d choke.
She pulled away from him, the glass vial disappearing in her palm with a burst of smoke while Jaskier gasped for breath, the sickeningly sweet flavour still lasting on his tongue.
Yennefer screamed at the witch through her gag, her words entirely muffled but the woman seemed to understand her, nonetheless, “Oh, please Yennefer, I won’t kill him. You know I just like my dinner to be a bit more… plump.”
She left the room, letting the heavy door slam behind her. Jaskier glanced over at Yennefer where she was huffing behind the fabric covering her mouth and looking up at the bard on the bed, “Yen,” he said, “try and get a bit closer, I might be able to get that rag off with my foot.” The witch scooted as much as she could towards Jaskier who was trying to slide himself closer to Yennefer’s side, turning his body so that one of his legs was hanging off the bed and stretching towards the sorceress. With ample concentration, Jaskier managed to gently pull down the fabric on yens face with the tip of his leather boot. Yennefer gasped once the gag was off, glad to finally get a breath that didn’t smell like a damp cloth.
“Are you alright,” she asked him, Jaskier nodded in return.
“I'm fine,” he said, “yen, do you know her?” Jaskier shuffled back to a more comfortable position on his bed. Yennefer did, in fact, know her; her name was Agata, and she had been in the same class as Yennefer at Aretuza. She had taken a fondness to dark magic and managed to run away before ascending, keeping her womb and a free life for herself. Yennefer would be lying if she said she didn’t envy her somewhat.
“Her name’s Agata, and whatever she’s planning it can’t be good; she’s got a proclivity for dark magic,” she took a deep breath and let her head thunk against the wall behind her, “Geralt, is he awake? We’ll need him to-”
A loud gurgle emanated from Jaskier's stomach, Yennefer wouldn’t normally have been bothered by that but whatever that witch had forced Jaskier to drink was obviously beginning to take effect. The bard winced suddenly then gasped and moaned in what sounded like pleasure. He drew his knees up and whimpered.
“Oh, fuck! Yen, somethings happening!” he gasped out, “Something’s- Aahh! Sweet Melitele!” Yen couldn’t see from where she was sitting on the floor and could only rely on what Jaskier was telling her and from the sounds she heard it was hard to tell if Jaskier was in pain or having the best orgasm of his entire life.
"Jaskier? Jaskier, what’s wrong! Tell me!” She shouted but the bard didn’t reply, he whimpered and whined and rolled onto his back with his legs straightened out beneath him. His moans began to cease, and Yennefer relaxed slightly as well.
“It…” he took a breath, “my- my trousers are too tight. Everything feels… too tight,” he said, still gasping for breath. Yennefer could see a light sheen of sweat covering his face, his body visibly taxed after whatever ordeal had just hit him.
“How do you feel? Anything hurt? Jaskier, you need to tell me so I can figure out what she’s done to you,” Yennefer asked.
Jaskier groaned from the bed, “My trousers are too tight, Yennefer! My vest’s too tight! Everything’s tighter, I’ve- well, I’ve gone and bloody swelled up! That’s what’s happened,” he sighed, “this is a curse on my vanity, gods! I’m done for.”
Yennefer relaxed against the wall, “well at least she didn’t poison you,” she muttered.
“She may as well have! … ugh, I’m ruined !”
While Jaskier fussed over his increase in weight, Yennefer gave thought as to why exactly Agata had done this. What was it she had said earlier? … something about her dinner being plump. Was she going to? ...No, surely not. Yennefer had known Agata and her obsession with the dark arts but eating people… cannibalism? Surely, she hadn’t stretched as far as that.
"Jaskier, I need you focus on me, okay?” The bard turned bodily towards her as best he could and nodded his head, Yennefer ignored the subtly puffiness in his cheeks and continued, “we need to wake Geralt, is there anything you can kick at him? Anything nearby?”
“No, no Yennefer there isn’t-” Jaskier glanced beside him, “...well, there’s a candle stick, but I can’t reach it.”
"Jaskier,” Yennefer spoke, trying to remain calm, “you must try. It’s that or continue to get fattened up then eventually eaten!” She hissed at him.
“What?! You never said anything about being eaten! Gods Yennefer, why do you know such strange people?”
“Throw the fucking candlestick, Jaskier!”
“I can’t reach it, witch!”
“… fuck.” The sudden grumbling voice broke both the bard and the sorceress out of their argument. Jaskier's head swiftly turned to find Geralt just barely opening his golden eyes.
“Geralt! Hah! Thank the god’s above! Get us out of here, now!”
"Jaskier, please shut up. Fuck… where’s yen?”
“Over here. We were overpowered by the witch somehow, I suspect dark magic,” said Yennefer.
The Witcher craned his neck to look over the bed but could only see the top of Yennefer's dark hair. Geralt felt like shit, every part of his body ached, and his head especially felt like he had been knocked about by a group of trolls, not to mention the dizziness that ailed him, even trying to look at the sorceress made his head spin like mad.
He focused his attention on the bard lying atop the bed, who looked slightly... bigger? That couldn’t be right, surely. Still, the bard’s belly pooched out higher than usual, what was once a slim figure, flat as a board now seemed to stick out a bit higher in the air, pushing against his brown trousers and straining the buttons on his floral vest, from what Geralt could see.
“Geralt, are you ogling me?!” Jaskier cried out, “I appreciate it but please concentrate on the task at hand.” Geralt cleared his throat and thought of denying the accusation but couldn't find the energy to argue.
“Yennefer,” the Witcher said, “have you found a way out?” he asked her, he couldn’t see her but by the sound of a heavy sigh Geralt could tell he had somehow annoyed her already.
“If I had, do you really think I'd still be here?” she hissed. Geralt huffed and looked around the room, finding nothing but a door, a bookshelf and a window... and his lovers tied up, which would normally make him very happy but sadly now was not the time.
“Oh, yen, yen, yen! It's- It's happening again- Ooohh!” Geralt was brought out of his thinking by the sudden moan brought out by Jaskier, a very sensual moan which caught Geralt off guard. What on earth had he missed while he was asleep, was the witch using some sort of aphrodisiac on his bard?
His questions were answered when he saw Jaskier's somewhat tight vest and chemise start to rise up from his belly. Where his clothes... attacking him? Being magically torn away from him? He wasn’t sure, but as Jaskier’s chest began to get softer Geralt realised it wasn’t just his clothes, it was his whole body – Jaskier was gaining weight at a rapid speed... and it felt amazing , apparently.
“God’s, fuck! My vest... my vest is gonna be ruined, ooh melitele!” Jaskier cried. The little golden buttons on his floral vest were straining against the rapid swelling of his body, particularly in his belly. The seams on his brown trousers were being tested as his legs thickened up and his white flowy chemise was growing tighter at his chest and shoulders, the loose sleeves able to let it stretch further.
The door opened again and Agata entered with a smile on her face. Her eyes were immediately drawn to Geralt, who was now awake prior to her last visit. She smiled at him when he glanced at her, a sickeningly sweet smile that was all too forced. Then her eyes moved to the bed, more importantly to Jaskier. Immediately her face brightened up at the size Jaskier had become, though he was nowhere near the weight she wanted him to be at; but she was patient, she could wait.
“oh, wow,” she said as she moved to stand by the bard’s bed, “I had assumed there wouldn’t be much growth since I only gave you the last drop of my potion but, oh, I was so very wrong,” she smirked. Her bony hand wandered down to his tight vest, pushing into his soft belly and hearing a small internal groan in return.
“I do love the noises, nearly my favourite part. And you make the prettiest ones my little pig. Pretty noises, pretty marks,” she ghosted her long nails over the sensitive stretch marks on his belly, eliciting a shiver in response, “and pretty body – you do fill out so well.”
Agata poked her fingers into Jaskier’s softer hip, enjoying the way they pushed far into him, the feeling of his soft, doughy skin. She trailed her fingers up to the side of his belly and pushed inwards there, hearing another soft gurgle and then, to her delight, a tiny burp escaped the bard and his face flushed with embarrassment.
“Oh, ha-ha! You are such a pig! I knew it! I always pick the right ones for dinner,” She laughed, smiling down at him.
“P-please... The buttons-” Jaskier whimpered, he wasn’t sure if the witch would give him this small mercy of saving his favourite vest, but he figured it was worth a shot.
“Aw, your vest? You want me to unbutton it?” she smiled down at him, tilting her head to the side in a demeaning manor, “I would, it’s just,” she sighed, “I do so enjoy watching my meals burst their clothes open, really shows how much they’ve grown.” Jaskier whined in response, throwing his head back against the pillow and squeezing his eyes shut.
Agata made her way over to Yennefer, the heels of her shoes clicking on the wooden floor. She crouched beside the sorceress, grabbing her jaw and forcing Yennefer to look at her, “I do apologise for making you watch your little human pet swell to his death, it is necessary of course.”
Yennefer grimaced, “necessary for what? Your dark magic? Don't make me laugh, Agata , you could barely lift a twig at Aretuza.” The witch scowled at Yennefer and pushed her jaw out of her hand. She stood up and stomped out of the room, leaving the door open behind her and not a moment later she came back with a bowl of steaming blue liquid, similar to the potion she had already made Jaskier drink before.
“This is my newest brew, a much stronger version of my last potion,” she held the bowl close as she walked to Jaskier's side, flicking her wrist and retrieving a wooden soup spoon from mid-air, “with this batch I'm sure you’ll be ready for dinner by... well, tonight,” she giggled. With the wooden spoon in her hand, she dipped it in the bowl, scooping up the blue liquid that was now, Jaskier realised, more like the texture of a thick, gloopy porridge, “open wide.”
Jaskier fought against the spoon touching his lips. He squeezed them shut, turning his head to the side to stop the mad witch from getting what she wanted, but she wasn’t having it. With a few muttered words in elder, the witch forced an immense feeling of pain inside his gut, forcing him to open his mouth in a cry and vaguely hearing his lover's shouts in the background. Agata took the opportunity as it was and stuffed a spoonful of the thick blue potion into his mouth. Her magic forced him to swallow and at once Jaskier felt the potion take effect.
At Jaskier's first stuttered moan Yennefer felt rage course through her very being. Not only was Agata forcefully changing Jaskier's appearance but she was forcing this unnatural arousal on her bard. It was cruel and disgusting and Yennefer could only watch as Jaskier moaned against another spoonful of the vile potion.
“How can you be so heartless to do something like this?” Yennefer spat out, not attempting a confident front. Agata spoke while keeping her eyes on the flushed bard in front of her.
“Heartless? That must be a compliment coming from the famously cruel Yennefer of Vengerberg,” she smiled, still not turning to look at the sorceress.
On the other side of the room, Geralt was faring no better. Seeing Jaskier be spoon fed and fattened for slaughter awoke something feral and protective inside him, like watching his mate being stolen from him. While Yennefer had been talking to the witch, who hadn't ceased her feeding, Geralt had been prying his hands free from the ropes... and he was close.
Jaskier was in a horrible constant state of lust and pain. Lust, because of the unnatural effects of the potion and pain because of the tightness of his clothes. God's, there was so much pressure. He felt like a balloon or an overripe melon, just waiting to burst. The pleasure of it all made him gasp and stutter out breaths. Another spoonful in his mouth, another intense wave of arousal. He just needed to breathe, to take a long deep breath... in... and ou-
Ping
No! Not his vest! His favourite vest that accentuated the small of his waist so very well. It seemed as though the whole room became silent as the button flew through the air and landed on the floor, rolling to a stop by the wall.
It was silent, so silent.
Then it wasn’t.
With a sudden commotion, Geralt leapt up from the floor using his now free hands to tackle Agata to the ground, the potion dropping to floor and spilling out its contents. The witch fell on top of Geralt with a cry but quickly righted herself. She pulled a dagger from her apron and straddled Geralt's thighs, holding the dagger above his chest and preparing, with a scream of outrage, to stab it into him. Though Geralt was quicker, and he used aard to blast her off him and throw the dagger across the room where it landed by Yennefer's side, who made quick use of it to untie herself from her bindings.
Jaskier watched helplessly as the fight went on in front of him, his body still jerking with the waves of pleasure. After the first button popped from his vest, the rest seemed to follow after, popping off one after the other until his swollen belly was free from its confines, looking like he had swallowed an overgrown pumpkin, or two. His patterned chemise, which had originally hung low to his groin, had risen up and stopped just above his belly button, which now was much deeper than before. His bloated stomach was covered in dark pink marks, like lightening, signalling that his skin just couldn’t keep up with rapid onslaught of fat added to his body. He could see them spread over his much wider hips which expanded out above his trousers like a muffin, he wouldn’t be surprised if the marks covered his swollen thighs either. Looking further down (which was a struggle as it was, with his new double chin) he saw that his chest had grown too, a lot. What was once strong with muscle was now soft and large like a pair of tits, his nipples hard against the sheer fabric of the chemise, his areola bigger and puffier.
He threw his head back against the pillow with a whine, mourning the loss of his slim figure and praying to melitele above that there was a quick fix for this. He shifted on the bed, feeling cold air against his ass and knowing that his trousers had inevitably split their seams. God’s he was such a pig, he would have to get all his clothes re-tailored, or perhaps just new clothes altogether. This was mortifying.
“You evil bitch! You ruined everything!” in Jaskier's wallowing he failed to notice that the witch now had several deep cuts all over her body, courtesy of Geralt wielding her dagger.
“You’ll pay for this, for what you’ve done to Jaskier,” Geralt growled. The bard couldn't help but feel a sense of shame wash over him. Of course, they’d find him hideous, disgusting, like a big ball of lard that was now their responsibility. They’d drop him at the first inn they see, maybe they’d stick around to see him get laughed at while he tried to balance a lute on top of his rotund belly.
“Yen, now!” Geralt shouted at Yennefer. The sorceress thrusted her hands out at Agata, forcing the witch against the wall, feet dangling below her. She screamed in either terror, rage or pain, Jaskier couldn't tell, but soon enough she exploded into a cloud of ash, falling gently to the floor.
Yennefer dropped her wrists, taking deep breaths as she regained her strength, Geralt also gasped beside her, holding his hand over a cut by his shoulder. He dropped the knife to the ground with a loud clang .
The clang awoke Jaskier from his dissociative stare and he cleared his throat, “...ah- ahem? Could I please be untied?” he asked. Yennefer and Geralt both nodded, sharing a somewhat worrying look between them that just confirmed Jaskier's self-deprecating thoughts.
The ropes tying him to the bedframe were undone by Geralt while Yennefer watched, one hand resting a comforting grip on his ankle. Though, at this very moment her touch felt as though it was burning into his skin, the guilt and shame eating away at him.
“I'm sorry,” he whispered, keeping his eyes away from their own. He didn’t want to see them, the look on their faces, the disgust and judgement of his fattened figure.
Geralt dropped the ropes on the bed, letting Jaskier's wrists fall free. The bard winced as his arms were released from their position, his shoulders aching with the movement. The Witcher stood, watching with a sorrowed frown as Jaskier tried to sit up but struggled under his new weight. His face was growing scarlet from embarrassment, but he refused to ask for help - if he could do it before, he could do it again.
Geralt shared a look at Yennefer who had taken to crossing her arms loosely over her chest in an attempt of comfort. She nodded her head at Jaskier silently, signalling Geralt to help him.
“I'm fine,” Jaskier muttered when Geralt gently touched his shoulders.
"Jaskier, let me help-”
“I don’t need your help, Geralt, I don’t- I- I just... if you’re going to leave me, I'd rather you left now than taking me to an inn and dragging me along like a lame donkey,” Jaskier spoke, his eyes were red and watery, and it was obvious through his voice that he was holding back tears. Geralt stepped back at Jaskier's sudden outrage.
"Jaskier, were not taking you to a town,” Geralt assured him, but it seemed to do nothing to quell his bard’s fears.
“Yes, so leave me here then... please? I don’t think I could handle being left without knowing. Just go now and I'll find my own way out of here,” he sobbed, tears falling from his eyes. He had managed to sit upright and swing his legs to the side of the bed, letting his feet rest on the floor, though the struggle only made him feel more shameful of his new size.
"Jaskier, Yennefer said, “were not abandoning you,” she took a seat beside him on the bed, resting a hand on his shoulder, “we wouldn't. I don’t think we ever could if we even wanted to... I can’t change you back, my magic doesn’t work against dark magic curses such as this. But we will always enjoy your presence, we will always... love you. Not matter what, no matter your size.” Geralt rested his hand on his other shoulder as Jaskier gasped a breath through sobs.
“How could you love me like this,” he whispered.
“Easily,” Yennefer smiled, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek, “perhaps I even prefer it.” she let her hand drop to Jaskier's chest and gave it a gently squeeze, testing the water as it was, and Jaskier finally looked up at her and smiled - a small one but it was progress nonetheless.
Geralt smiled while watching them. At this angle Geralt could see clearly the changes to Jaskier’s size – his belly sat on his lap, round like he had swallowed a large melon, or even a pumpkin. It reminded Geralt of the fat kings he had met or the beer-filled guts of townspeople. Normally it disgusted him but seeing this look on Jaskier just made him feel happy, comforted in knowing his bard was full with food and pleasure. Even Jaskier’s chest had grown to a soft pair of tits, his hips swollen from his sides and his thighs large as tree trunks. It took all Geralt's willpower to not reach out a hand and touch the doughy softness.
He dropped to his knees by Jaskier's legs, resting his hand on a much softer thigh, “I agree with Yennefer. Even now, I'd never want to be rid of you. Perhaps especially now, I think I enjoy seeing like this, healthy-”
“Disgusting, like a pig-”
“Beautiful, gorgeous, a vision sent from the god’s,” Yennefer smiled as she continued to think of ways to compliment Jaskier and assure him of her and Geralt's own thoughts.
She did enjoy Jaskier's slim figure, it was nice, and it did the job. But she didn’t realise just how much she would love Jaskier like this, round and fat like a king. She wanted to spoil him, worship him like a god and feed him by hand to rid him of the tainted memories of Agata, and she could tell Geralt wanted the same.
“Let us show you how much we want to keep you,” Geralt said, looking Jaskier straight in the eye.
“I don’t think I could even walk with how heavy I am now, he attempted a smile, but it fell short.
“we’ll help. And if you want to lose the weight, we’ll help too, whatever you want,” the Witcher told him, rubbing his thumb over Jaskier's thigh.
Jaskier nodded, “alright, I believe you. Don’t think I could be rid of you either to be honest. Don’t know if you’d let me leave.”
“You’re our prisoner,” Yennefer laughed, “who we love and adore.” she placed a gentle hand on his soft jaw and turned his head towards her for a kiss - a long, sensual kiss. And when she was done, Geralt took over and Jaskier felt helpless to their love.
Helpless and utterly thankful for having them in his life.