#geraltxjaskier

[panur]

just was thinking how cool it would have been for S2 witcher when Geralt gets told Jaskier is in danger to have a whole episode dedicate to making Geralt terrifying. I’m talking about him leaving normally, reassuring Ciri, thanking Nenneke...and the second he turns around his expression shifts.

cue an episode’s worth of Geralt going full witcher mode and going hunting for Jaskier, tracing his steps through Oxenfurt and leaving the kind of fear/paranoia Batman dreams of behind

I want this man to be lethal and relentless and terrifying, I'm talking witcher 1 game intro Geralt level of ‘this is very other and spoopy’,. Show us what makes Wtchers so uncomfortable for normal humans!

and then you can have the last bit with the reunion and the ‘fuck it’ at the end, Geralt going back to normal mode. it’d cinch it

it's free real estate prompt just tag me so i can read  

#the witcher #witcher netflix #geralt of rivia #geraskier #jaskier #geraltxjaskier #prancing plotbunnies #it's free real estate prompt just tag me so i can read

[geraskierficrecs]

The Rake and His Husband Update!

New chapter here!

Teaser:

“We knew one another as children,” Geralt attempts weakly.

“You didn’t even recognize me.”

“Let me prove it to you,” he says, masking some of the desperation threatening to overtake him.  “I’ll show you that I mean this.”

Jaskier stares at him for a long moment, oblivious to the nerves beginning to consume the duke.  Finally, he seems to fade back into the veils of high society politeness.  He turns on his heel and begins to walk back along the path–slow enough for Geralt to follow, but without offering his arm to his escort.  He seems deep in thought for a long moment and Geralt has no choice but to follow obediently behind.

“Why me?” Jaskier finally asks.  “There are dozens of younger, appealing members of the ton who would leap at the chance to marry a duke.  Especially one as young and…attractive as yourself.”

Geralt tries not to preen at the compliment, but he can’t hide the slight smirk in his voice.  “So you think I’m handsome?”

It surprises an undignified little snort out of Jaskier and Geralt feels his heart leap in answer.  It’s the first sign of the man beneath the stuffy aristocratic exterior since the night of the party.  He chooses not to consider why such a thing pleased him so.

“A blind man would know you’re handsome,” Jaskier mutters with a roll of his eyes.  “The question is what you intend to do with your good looks.”

“I intend to court you.”

#geraskier #angst #geraltxjaskier #my stuff #geralt x jaskier #angst with a happy ending #geralt/jaskier #regency au

[flowercrown-bard]

In it for the cake

Inspired by @a-kind-of-merry-war‘s  incredible fic  “we could be married (and then we'd be happy)”

Pairing: Geraskier

word count:  1796

warnings: none

(unedited. this is just a silly little idea i had on my way home)

In Geralt’s defence, he didn’t mean for this to happen. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t knew that most people went to cafés with someone else, nor was it his fault that he didn’t have any friends who could come to a café with him. He just needed to get away from everything for a bit. He’d had a stressful day and talking to people had been too much. So he went to a nearby café just to relax a little. When the waitress came to his table, asking for his order, he blinked. Fuck, he had been so relieved to not have to talk to anyone for a bit that he had completely forgotten to decide on his order. 

“Uh, I - can I order a bit later?” He asked awkwardly, glancing at the door and wondering if it would be less awkward, if he just left. 

Here’s the first thing Geralt didn’t know: If you come to a café on your own, people assume that you’re waiting for someone.

“Oh.” For some reason the waitress began to grin. “I understand. Of course you can wait until your date is here.”

Here’s the second thing Geralt didn’t know: If you come to a café on your own, and then glance at the door almost longingly, people assume that you’re waiting for a special someone. 

It took Geralt an embarrassingly long time to decide on his order after that, mainly because he hoped the furious blush on his face would go away, which it very much didn’t. 

Here’s the third thing Geralt didn’t know: If you come to a café on your own, and then glance at the door almost longingly, and then look miserable, people are going to assume that things aren’t going well with your supposed date. 

It would have been awkward to ask for the waitress to come to his table again, right? And Geralt had been told that his awkwardness translated to rudeness, and he had already made enough of a fool of himself. So he waited until the girl came back to his table, a pitying look on her face. 

“You alright?” She asked, offering a consoling smile. 

“Hm,” Geralt said, already feeling the damned heat of embarrassment creep back into his cheeks. Quickly, he looked away, which in retrospect, must have made him look even more miserable than he usually did. “I’m ready to order.”

Here’s the fourth thing Geralt didn’t know:  If you come to a café on your own, and then glance at the door almost longingly, then look miserable, and then order a coffee after waiting a while, people are going to assume that you’re being stood up. 

Geralt could have died of shame. He would never go to a café again, or he would ask Eskel or Yennefer to come with him. Regardless, he would never again show his face at this - 

“You know what,” the waitress said, “I can make you a special offer.”

Here’s the final thing Geralt didn’t know: If people assume you’re being stood up, they’ll give you free stuff out of pity. 

For a second, he was ready to open his mouth and say that this was all a misunderstanding, but then his eyes fell on the cake the waitress was already bringing over to his table and his mouth snapped shut again. 

So no, Geralt didn’t mean for this to happen. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to complain either. 

–

Jaskier, absolutely, shamelessly meant for it to happen. Well, maybe not the first time, when he actually did get stood up by his then-girlfriend. But in the following months, he went all out. He wore his nicest clothes, practised his devastated expression in front of the mirror and sometimes, he even asked for candles to be brought to his table to make him look even more pathetic when he ‘got stood up’. It was a bit humiliating, sure, but it was definitely worth it for the free cake or coffee, or on one lovely occasion alcohol. 

Maybe he was going a little overboard this time, but as he walked past a flower shop to this new café he had passed by a couple of times, he couldn’t resist buying a small bouquet. Granted, the flowers probably cost more money than he was saving with his little act, but it was about the principle. He couldn't let people think that he’d be anything other than incredibly romantic for his date, even if it was fake. 

He checked his reflection in the windows of the café, before heading inside, putting on his most excited and love-sick expression. 

As he entered, he was immediately spotted by a waitress. 

“Here on a date?” she asked, before he could open his mouth, letting her eyes drift from his stylishly tousled hair to the flowers he was holding. 

“I am!” Jaskier beamed and scratched his neck shyly in an oscar-worthy performance. 

“About time,” the waitress said, pursing her lips. She leaned a little closer and dropped her voice to a whisper. “You better make it up to him. The roses are a good start, but he’s been waiting for you for half an hour. You better grovel.” She pulled back again, leading a stunned Jaskier to the back of the café. “Also, I expect you to pay for the cake now that you’re here.”

“I - what?” 

She didn’t reply, just left him at the corner table. The corner table that was already occupied. A man with long white hair blinked up at him, looking a bit lost, with a fork hanging in the air, apparently forgotten. There was a blush in his cheeks and the lost expression was strangely adorable. 

Jaskier didn’t realise what he was doing, but before he knew it, he was sitting opposite of the gorgeous stranger and put the flowers on the table between them. 

The man furrowed his brows, but didn’t tell Jaskier to leave. Jaskier couldn’t tell if he was too confused to tell him to go away or if he genuinely didn’t mind. Judging from the waitress’ words, it was probably the letter. 

“Um, hi,” Jaskier said dumbly. He threw a look over his shoulder and saw the waitress staring right at him, making imploring gestures at him. Jaskier pulled a grimace and turned back to the stranger. “Listen, I’m really sorry for this. This isn’t how this was supposed to go - well, actually, this is kind of the opposite of how I planned it.” 

The stranger cocked his head to the side in question. Gods, he looked almost like a puppy. Jaskier’s heart fluttered involuntarily. 

“Don’t tell anyone,” he said and leaned over the table, half in hopes of intriguing this stranger with the secret he was about to share, half making sure that the waitress wasn’t able to hear him. “But I didn’t actually come here for a date.”

“I know,” the stranger said and oh - oh gods, his voice! The low rumble sent a shiver down Jaskier’s spine. He drummed his fingers nervously on the table. 

“What do you mean you know?”

The stranger’s lips twitched. It was barely recognisable as a smile, but his amber eyes were twinkling in mischief. 

“You wouldn’t have sat down here if you actually had a date with someone else.”

“Oh. Yeah. You’re right.” Jaskier let out a sheepish little laugh and scratched his neck again. This time the nervousness wasn’t an act. “So, I don’t know how to ask this, but would it be alright if I stayed? It’s kind of too late to pretend I’m meeting someone else.” Jaskier hesitated, his eyes flickering down to the half-eaten cake on the stranger’s plate. “Sorry about your date. It sucks being stood up.”

The stranger huffed out a little laugh. “Sure does. But I’m here to drink alone.”

“Oh.” Jaskier pressed his lips together and drew back. He hoped the disappointment didn’t show on his face, but he knew a dismissal when he saw one. After all, there was a reason, why he only pretended to go on dates. “Of course. In that case I don’t want to bother you. We could maybe pretend that you’re mad at me for being late and that’s why you don’t want to have the date? Just as an idea. We don’t have to, but it would maybe be less embarrassi -”

“I’m here to drink alone,” the stranger repeated a little slower, emphasising each word. 

It took Jaskier a stupidly long moment to understand the meaning. A sly grin spread across his lips. “Are you telling me,” he said slowly, “That you’re only here for the free cake too?”

The stranger shrugged, his barely-there smile growing a little wider. “Not free anymore I think. I understand you’ll pay for it?” Clearly, the man didn’t really expect him to pay. There was a teasing tilt in his tone and Jaskier was already burning to hear it again. 

“I’d like to know your name first before going on a fake-date with you,” Jaskier said, picking up the flowers and wiggling them in the air jokingly. 

The man rolled his eyes, but the grin didn’t disappear. 

“Geralt,” he said and put a hand over Jaskier’s, stopping the silly wiggling. “And you?” “I’m Jaskier.” 

“Hm.” Geralt’s expression went from teasing to something imperceptibly softer. “You said you came here for free cake?”

Without waiting for an answer, he pushed the plate to the middle of the table, handing Jaskier the fork he had been using just a moment ago. 

“Wait, are you sure you want to share?”

Geralt shrugged. “Are you sure you want to go on a fake-date with a stranger?” “Yes,” Jaskier answered immediately, only realising after a second that Geralt’s question had probably been rhetorical. “I mean,” he tried to backpedal, “I’m just in it for the cake of course.”

“Of course,” Geralt agreed, clearly not believing Jaskier a single word but being too amused by his fumbling to call him out on it. 

“You know,” Jaskier said after taking a bite out of the truly delicious cake, “Maybe next time, we can actually stage a break up at a restaurant. That’s bound to earn at least one of us some alcohol.” “Next time?” Geralt asked, raising a brow. “Of course we’ll have to do it at least two more times,” Jaskier nodded sagely and tapped a finger against his chin as he thought. “So each of us can get the benefits.”

Geralt stared at him as if he were contemplating leaving right this second. Then, inexplicably, he closed his eyes in defeat and said, “I’m free next Saturday.” He opened his eyes again and looked at the roses. “And I prefer Buttercups.”

Jaskier lit up like a Christmas tree. “Saturday sounds good. It’s a fake-date!”

#geraskier #geraltxjaskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt #jaskier #ficlet #fic #the witcher #witcher #my writing #first meeting #just a silly little thing

[keepcalmandexpectopatronum934]

Aaand...we’re done!

It only took three years but I have finally completed my geraskier fic, The Proposal. Link is shared below, feedback is welcome. Enjoy!

Title: The Proposal

Summary:  Geralt is a pushy boss who forces his young assistant, Jaskier, to marry him in order to keep his visa status in Redania and avoid deportation to Rivia.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 43,444

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geraltxdandelion #geralt of rivia #geraltxjaskier #jaskierxgeralt #jaskier pankratz #witcher #geralt of rivera #geralt fanfic #jaskier fanfic #geraskier fanart #geralt fanart #jaskier fanart

[itsgeraskier]

Hello, my dears 💕 today is the start of the Pride Month and we are here, as every year, that WE LOVE YOU 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈❤️❤️❤️

You are amazing the way you are, beautiful they way you are and fantastic the way you are and you deserve just beautiful things in life ❤️

This world would be a whole lot better if we just made an effort to be less horrible to one another.

Respect who you are, respect others because you will never know what battle everyone is fighting.

Happy Pride Month, fellows ❤️

We love you.

As we do every June, we will do other aesthetics over the Pride Month so if you want to see something in particular, let us know in the comments or DMs 💘

- Sunny & Glass

#thewitcher #geraltofrivia #jaskier #thebardjaskier #thewitchergeralt #thewitchernetflix #geraltxjaskier #geraltandjaskier #dandelion #soulmates #love #thewitcherfandom #julianalfredpankratz #pridemonth #geraltderivia #jaskierdandelion

[mysticcoyoteart]

It's officially Day 1 of #WitcherTorT2 I'm so excited for this! Kicking things with SFW fall. This is more atmospheric and background heavy than usual but I love it! @witchertrickortreat I hardly post here anymore as I find it hard to keep up with all the different socials but this even must be shared everywhere lol!

#geraskier #geraltxjaskier #jaskier x geralt #geralt and jaskier #jaskier and geralt #geralt/jaskier #jaskier/geralt #lgbt art #lgbt artist #trans artist #gay #gay art #queer #queer artist #queer art

[geekey]

Reflexões Solitárias de um Bruxo Orgulhoso

Geralt sabe quanto tempo está vivo, o quanto ainda pode viver, mas ele tem a terrível ciência autoconsciente de que Jaskier não estará aqui por todo o caminho.

Um dia sua estrada barulhenta, vai voltar a ser silenciosa.

─━━━━━━⊱✿⊰━━━━━━─

Geralt é velho, ele viveu mais do que os garotos que treinaram com ele, viveu mais do que os que ousaram erguer suas espadas e até mesmo dos poucos sortudos que sobreviveram a formatura.

E mesmo assim, ele coletou seus medalhões, manchados de sangue, quando caíram em derrota no campo de batalha.

Ele está velho o suficiente para ter peregrinado por toda terra que é conhecida, ter ceifado tantos monstros que hoje ele já não enumera suas vitórias, não comemora seus ganhos e não sorri para seus interesses.

A vida é supérflua e o tempo é uma mentira para quem vive na eternidade.

As crianças com quem ele cresceu estão mortas ou batalham sem descanso essa guerra, assistindo os humanos, ignorantes e cheios de medo e ódio, nascerem, viverem e morrerem em um ciclo sem fim, dia após dia, igual, interminável.

Não há dor.

Não há alegria.

Não há sofrimento.

Não existe prazer.

Apenas o vazio, infindável e contínuo do viver, amanhecer após amanhecer.

Por isso, foi uma surpresa quando o bardo apareceu em seu caminho, faminto pela fama e o dinheiro que coletaria com uma fonte de inspiração fixa.

Geralt nem ao menos piscou para o rapaz tolo que, deliberadamente, abandonou seu lar para dormir ao relento e tocar seu alaúde em cada muquifo esquecido por Deus.

Todavia, ignorar sua presença, se provou irritantemente impossível nos primeiros 15 minutos. Jaskier pode falar e cantar por ele e por mais dez pessoas ao mesmo tempo, ele é extravagante, expansivo e confiante demais, exalando presença o suficiente para ofuscar a realeza em sua própria casa.

Jaskier é como um sol irradiando em uma sala, uma força atrativa que não pode ser ignorada.

E se o garoto não fedesse a sangue humano, Geralt diria que está sendo perseguido por um demônio menor tentando enlouquece-lo ou um feiticeiro que está tentando seduzi-lo com avidez.

E Geralt descobriu que ele não sente falta do silêncio, ou do único som que o segue serem os cascos de Plotka e as maldições de aldeões que o odeiam, mas que pagam por seu serviço. Ele se acostumou com o alaúde e a voz interrupta do cantor que o segue.

Se acostumou a sua presença constante, a ter uma companhia que responde suas conversas, a confusões desnecessárias a beira da estrada e contar histórias sob as estrelas aquecido por uma fogueira.

Agora há música e barulho em seu acampamento, nas estradas e em cada taverna e pousada que ele arrisca por os pés.

Geralt o ouve todos os dias, ele bebe desse caos como um moribundo sedento no deserto, seus dias não são monótonos, não há espaço para o vazio, muito menos tempo para ouvir a ladainha odiosa e acusatória de rostos passageiros.

Tempestades ganham músicas.

Histórias viram baladas.

Há sorrisos.

Piadas inconvenientes.

E ele sente, que seu coração morto pode estar se aquecendo no erro do apego, ao que um dia envelhecerá e voltará a terra o deixando com o amargo toque vazio de sua longevidade.

E a saudade que ele nunca vai confessar.

#jaskier #geraltxjaskier #geralt z rivii #the witcher #witcher netflix #geraskier #dandelion #pura fanficagem #angts #Geralt is reflective and depressed here #Jaskier is mentioned a lot

[historyfanatic17]

Hot take of the day

GeraltXJaskier is just fantasy GermanyXItaly and

No I will not explain anymore than that.

#rambling #gerita #hetalia #aph gerita #aph germany #aph italy #the witcher #the witcher netflix #Geralt #Jaskier #geraskier

[isabellehemlock]

I’m celebrating my three year fandom anniversary on August 6th (I was a lurker before then, but posted my first fic that day, so I love to celebrate it every year).  I’ll be sharing a reflections post of the last year on that day, but before then, I wanted to look at a fun one I did two years ago.  It was a prompt based celebration, and looking back, I ended up picking and piecing together an expanded version to cover several fandoms, as well as include art possibilities 🤩

This is my way of saying thank you to the readers, commenters, and friends I’ve made along the way and I’m excited to do another round of it 🥹👉🏻👈🏻❤️

So, how does it work?  

For the next week, I’m opening my anon ask box (so yay for any shy mutuals/lurkers), and you can request either a lineart art prompt, and/or 1k or less one shot - if you’d like something longer, fair warning, it would likely not happen till November! - either way, scroll below the cut for fandoms, pairings, ratings, scenarios, and prompts to send my way.  Let me know if you’re looking for art or fic, and then my hope is to upload everything on the 6th 🎉

Fandoms

IWTV • OFMD • Stranger Things • Good Omens • The Witcher TOG

Pairings

Honestly, pretty much any and all are welcome, so even if not listed, send it anyway - I might just not have thought of it before and would still be open to it - but off the top of my head:

IWTV: Loustat, Loumand, Devil’s Minion

OFMD: Gentlebeard, Steddyhands

Stranger Things: Steddie

Good Omens: Ineffable Husbands

The Witcher: GeraltxJaskier, GeraltxJaskierxYennefer

TOG: Immortal Husbands, Immortal Wives, Book of Nile

You're also welcome to request just one character focused piece, too 🥳

Ratings

Really any, but please do specify in your ask 😘

Tropes/Themes

Religious Themes • Affirming theology • Rom/Com • Friends to Lovers • Found Family • Hurt/Comfort • Mental Illness/Trauma/Healing • First Time • Baby/Kidfic • AU • Crack

Scenarios

A/B/O • Actor • Ghost • Lawyer • Marriage • Mermaid • Neighbor • Parent • Penpal • Social Media

Dialogue Prompts

“Can I kiss you?”

“Are you cold?”

“Do you trust me?”

“I don’t think we can keep this up forever.”

“Why are you naked?”

“You’re choosing now to flirt with me?”

“Why are you bleeding?”

“I’m in love with you.”

“I missed you so much.”

“I can’t stay away from you.”

“Please don’t cry.”

“Please wake up.”

“Please just kiss me already.”

“I’m here for you.”

“Are we on a date right now?”

“If I die, I’m haunting you first.”

“But I’ve never told you that before.”

“I’ve learned to love you.”

“What do you remember?”

“I don’t know if I want to yell at you, or kiss you.”

“Another nightmare?”

“Are you afraid of me?”

“Come home.”

“I did it again, didn’t I?”

“I’m not going to fight you.”

“Have you ever kissed anyone before?”

“I can’t do this without you.”

“Go big or go home.”

“Please stay.”

There’s a lot of combo possibilities, so feel free to pile several things together, and I look forward to seeing what y’all might send my way ❤️

#fandom anniversary celebration

[mcmadcanvas]

Oh no! Blazed geraltxjaskier nsfw podfics!

#gadzooks #love this #i LOVE what we are all using blazed for #it even has subtitles nice #mc og

[thedisc0panda]

I’ve been busy replaying the Witcher 3 and I miss Aiden ;-; we deserved more cat school content so have a doodle of the best feline Witcher (swipe for full body) 🐱⚔️ Facial expression inspired by @ladycibia and her chibi Witcher saga version of Aiden #thewitcherquotes #thewitchersworld #thewitcherwildhunt #thewitcher3cosplay #thewitchermonsterslayer #thewitcherrp #thewitcher2 #thewitchermemes #geralton #geraltofriviacosplay #thewitchery #geraltofrivia #thewitchergames #thewitcher #lambert #thewitcher3bloodandwine #thewitcheredits #thewitcherfans #thewitchergeralt #thewitcherinmanila #geraltofrivia🐺🐴⚔️ #thewitcherciri #thewitchercosplay #thewitcherbooks #catschoolwitcher #aidenlambert #thewitcherfanart #geraltxjaskier #thewitcheredit #thewitcherart (at Boston, Massachusetts) https://www.instagram.com/p/CmuQm0Tuitf/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#thewitcherquotes #thewitchersworld #thewitcherwildhunt #thewitcher3cosplay #thewitchermonsterslayer #thewitcherrp #thewitcher2 #thewitchermemes #geralton #geraltofriviacosplay #thewitchery #geraltofrivia #thewitchergames #thewitcher #lambert #thewitcher3bloodandwine #thewitcheredits #thewitcherfans #thewitchergeralt #thewitcherinmanila #geraltofrivia🐺🐴⚔️ #thewitcherciri #thewitchercosplay #thewitcherbooks #catschoolwitcher #aidenlambert #thewitcherfanart #geraltxjaskier #thewitcheredit #thewitcherart

[panur]

Scary Witcher fics (Geraskier)

Last year i decided i would compile a mini list of some dark/spoopy Geraskier fic recs to share with the masses. In no particular order:

The Only One Who Resonates by crushcandles

"Did you really worry?" he asks, licking his lips.

Jaskier barely hears the question and it doesn't register. It doesn't matter. No matter what Geralt asks him, the answer is the same.

"Yes," he says, deep from his empty belly.

++++

with lilies and with laurels he goes by twelvemagpies

The day that Jaskier dies, Geralt wakes up to an almighty ringing in his ears.

++++

Fever Song by crushcandles

"What are you doing?" Geralt barks.

Jaskier freezes, knife in one hand, a long deep blue strip of fabric in the other.

"Cutting a ribbon," he says. He doesn't stutter, but his eyes are wide; he knows he might be doing something he’s not supposed to.

++++

Quiet by Funkspiel

But still, Geralt looked for a cure. He did not ask for forgiveness. He didn’t deserve it – not while Jaskier was still unable to say the words to pardon him for his wish. Wishes. How Geralt hated them, hated the word. His wish had driven Yennefer away. His wish had bound Jaskier to a life in which he could not do what he loved. Geralt didn’t deserve forgiveness. So he did not ask.

And then came the contract about the witches of the bog.

++++

Silver and Copper by Heronfem

From the shadows a man steps out, his feet soundless on the flagstones. He’s tall for a human, lanky, and dressed all in grays and blacks. His clothing is good but oddly threadbare, the embroidery standing out against the silk, and the collar is high on his deathly pale, sun deprived neck. He wears many rings on his fingers, and several necklaces tangle at his throat. Handsome, with nut brown hair with a bit of a curl to it, and a fine jaw and nose, but his eyes.

His eyes are horrible.

++++

haunt by theredtailedhawkwithjewelsforeyes

He is exhausted with the grief of it. He does not let himself feel, and he feels this anyways. Sharp, aching, unfair. The absence of a heartbeat.

++++

Echo by ravenbringslight

Jaskier was gathering his things and he wasn’t panicking. He’d known that Geralt was going to leave any day now like he always did, so that was no surprise, even if it hit him like a punch to the gut (he was familiar with Geralt’s punches to the gut and he could say with great authority that getting left behind again felt slightly worse). But he had enough money to get to Oxenfurt now and his headache was gone and the vomiting seemed to have been short-lived. Other than the whole “can’t speak without the pain of a thousand rusty knives” situation he was right as rain.

In the corner, the thing that looked like him winked.

++++  

Bloodhunger by SpinnerDolphin

“What do you need?” Jaskier asks, low. His heart stutters a little, and he firmly tells himself that this is his friend, and he is not afraid of his friend.

Geralt actually trembles. “I need to kill something,”

++++

a thousand voices by mrc2 (this one is actually a WIP but guys it’s SO disturbing i refuse to read it after dark)

“You scared me,” Jaskier said. “I didn’t see you there.”

The statue, as expected, didn’t reply. It was a strange place for a statue to be.

“Why are you here?” Jaskier asked slowly as he took a tentative step closer.

And to his horror, the statue simply smiled.

#the witcher #geraskier #geraltxjaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier

[geraskierficrecs]

Magical Jaskier Fic Recs:

a smile made for war by andrewminyards

You are destruction, Jaskier’s mentor tells him. Death and destruction thrum in Jaskier’s core of chaos, his magic bringing nothing but annihilation, and Jaskier hates it.

But music is not destruction. Music is creation, and it sings in Jaskier’s veins. There is nothing quite like the rush of joy and energy whenever music flows through him, and he forgets about the destruction that his chaos is capable of as music fills his soul.

After decades of being a sorcerer, Jaskier finds himself in music, and for the first time, his magic brings life.

we dance around a ring and suppose by bilboakenshield27

“He twirled between tables, voice rising and falling, glancing surreptitiously around for an escape route. There was a small door behind the dais and the main entrance through which the queen had entered—both manned by four guards. Jaskier mentally calculated the blows to his dignity if he just booked it through the main door mid-song."

-or-

Jaskier is an empath.

Lightning in a Bottle by stars_and_selkies

Jaskier has made plenty of mistakes in his long life. Most of which include sleeping with married women, admittedly, but one of the worst mistakes he has ever made was following Geralt of Rivia like a lost puppy. The worst mistake he's ever made in over 80 years of living... and the best.

Flowers Can’t Grow on Stone Floors by a_static_world

Julian Alfred Pankratz was born a happy, healthy baby, one misty November morning in the small duchy of Lettenhove. Strangely, the boy hadn’t cried once; he’d seemingly been born content, blinking blearily at the outside world like an old man who’d lost his spectacles and wasn’t quite sure whether he'd seen his grandchildren or an oddly-shaped boulder. By the time Julian turned two, his earlier silence had been all but forgotten.

Destiny Denied by hyrulehearts1123, sageclover61

Stregobor created Witchers to be the perfect monster hunters, but they rose up against their creators and were not loyal to them. And so in revenge, Stregobor kidnapped one Witcher’s child of surprise, a young Julian Alfred Pankretz de Lettenhove. And yet, because of one small medallion that spoke to him, Jaskier’s loyalties were not to Stregobor, but to the Witchers who tried to raise him despite the distance.

You’re Everything (I Just Didn’t Know) by ScentedBooks

Jaskier gets gravely injured and his magic isn't helping, Geralt refuses to let him die.

#geraskier #angst #geraltxjaskier #hurt/comfort #geralt x jaskier #hurt jaskier #hurt geralt #angst with a happy ending #feral jaskier #badass jaskier #the witcher #geralt/jaskier #mage Jaskier #magical Jaskier #fic recs #fic list

[flowercrown-bard]

Not a Real Marriage

(arranged marriage au - part 16)  

previous part / masterpost /  ao3

word count: 10700

Geralt wasn’t sure what he had expected Jaskier to look like the morning after an evening spent drinking with his brothers. If he was being completely honest, he didn’t expect to see much of Jaskier at all. He must be sporting quite the headache after last night, considering even Geralt with his witcher-metabolism had quite the ringing in his head this morning. If he hadn’t had duties to fulfil - and Vesemir’s dressing-down to look forward to if he neglected to do his tasks for the day - he would have stayed in bed until midday. Jaskier, however, looked rosy cheeked and surprisingly well rested, when Geralt bumped into him on his way back from feeding the chickens. 

For some reason, Jaskier was bundled up in several layers of clothes Geralt had lended him over the weeks. The red scarf he was wearing was so big that Jaskier’s nose barely peeked out. 

“Going somewhere?” Geralt asked, ignoring the hammering behind his temples. 

“I am,” Jaskier replied cheerfully. “At least I hope so.”

“Hmm?” 

“I believe I’ve been promised to be shown around the mountain? We haven’t done it yet and Vesemir said that the snowstorms are going to start soon so we don’t have much time left to go out.”

Geralt blinked. “You want to go on that ride today?”

“If you’re amenable. I would love to.”

Where Jaskier’s cheeks weren’t hidden away by the scarf, they turned a lovely shade of red. Geralt’s heart picked up speed and he did his best to blink away the misery of a hungover morning. He would be damned if he missed the chance of going on a ride with Jaskier because of a stupid thing like a hangover. 

“Yes,” he said quickly and with a little teasing smile added, “It would be a shame if you had to get undressed again after going through all the trouble of putting on all those clothes.”

“I wouldn’t mind getting undressed,” Jaskier muttered, the words muffled by the scarf. 

Geralt choked, forcibly forbidding his thoughts from straying into dangerous territory. Instead he focused on thinking of places he could show Jaskier. 

“Meet me at the gate? I need to get my cloak and get Roach saddled.” He waited for Jaskier to nod his agreement, before he turned away. After a couple of steps, he paused again. “Is there anything I should pack? Food? Some wine maybe?”

“No wine,” Jaskier said quickly. 

Geralt’s lips quirked up. Ah, so Jaskier wasn’t immune to the effects of a night of revelry after all. Jaskier was a brilliant actor, if he could just pretend to have a clear head this morning. 

“Are you sure you want to do this today?” Concern crept into Geralt’s posture. “We can do this some other time when you don’t have a headache.” 

He glanced out of a nearby window. The sky was already filled with snow-heavy clouds. Vesemir was right. They didn’t have much time until they would be trapped inside the Keep. 

“I don’t.” Jaskier grinned boyishly. “Vesemir gave me a cure for the headache. And a lecture about drinking with Lambert.” He let out a chuckle that warmed Geralt’s insides even more than the alcohol had warmed him the night before. “I take it he didn’t extend the same courtesy to you?”

Geralt snorted. 

“No. He thinks if he doesn’t help us with the headaches, we’ll learn some sort of lesson.”

“How lucky you are,” Jaskier said theatrically, as he reached into the pockets of his cloak, “to have a husband as charming and persuasive as me. Catch!” Without further warning, he tossed something to Geralt, who reacted on instinct. He caught the small bottle mid-air, popped the cork and sniffed. It smelled like bitter herbs. 

“What did you do to get him to give you this?” Geralt asked, perplexed and downed the tincture in one go. He shuddered at the bitter taste, but it would be worth it, if it meant he’d get to fully enjoy the day with Jaskier. 

“I told him that I wanted to go out today and that you wouldn’t be able to protect me if you had a hangover - and surely it wouldn’t be great for the treaty if I got hurt.”

Geralt lifted a brow. “Really? You played the political consequences card?” “Of course not. But I did tell him about my plans for the day and he agreed that it would be better if you didn’t have a headache for that.”

“Should I be concerned about your plans?” 

“Not at all,” Jaskier said, something tentatively soft entering his voice. “I think - I hope you’ll like them.” “I’m sure I will.”

He lingered another moment, unwilling to leave Jaskier, despite knowing that he’d see him again right away. 

He shook himself and went on his way to get ready. He rushed through getting dressed appropriately for the weather, though he refused to be hectic around Roach, as he saddled her. When he led her to the gate, Jaskier was already waiting for him, bouncing on the balls of his feet in anticipation. When he caught sight of Geralt walking towards him, his face lit up. It almost reminded Geralt of their wedding day. Only this time, it was their choice to come to each other and Geralt didn’t feel like being led to the gallows. 

It was only when Jaskier began to fiddle with the strap of a backpack, that Geralt realised that Jaskier was holding onto one. It looked stuffed and when Jaskier moved to fasten it onto Roach’s saddle, there was jingling and light clanging. 

Geralt gave him a questioning look that Jaskier waved away. “You’ll see,” he simply said. He gave Geralt a scrutinising look that had Geralt shifting on his feet. He was suddenly painfully aware of the state of his old cloak; the fraying at the bottom and the holes on his shoulders, where his sword scabbard rubbed against the wool. It was probably not necessary to take his weapons with him, so he had left the steel sword in his room, but the weight of the silver sword on his back grounded him and helped settle his nerves. 

In one less than elegant motion, Jaskier unwound the scarf from around his neck and draped the red cloth around Geralt instead. He smoothed it out gently. 

“There,” he said, satisfied, “Now you won’t go cold.” Geralt frowned and already opened his mouth to protest, when he inhaled and caught the scent clinging to the scarf. It smelled of lute wood, paper and that distinct smell that was purely Jaskier’s. His breath caught in his throat. The scent was far too prominent for how little he had seen Jaskier wear this scarf. If he didn’t know any better, he would have said that Jaskier had used the scarf as an additional blanket in the night, but that was … he caught Jaskier’s eyes. There was a hopeful shyness in his eyes. Oh. Jaskier knew. He remembered what Coën and Aiden had told him yesternight about sharing clothes. And still he was wearing Geralt’s clothes. More even, he was giving Geralt something that smelled like him. Any words he could have spoken dried on Geralt’s lips, but he got the impression that Jaskier noticed his realisation even so. His shyness morphed into relief and he turned away to put a hand on Roach’s saddlehorn. He looked over his shoulder to Geralt. “Give me a hand?”

Jaskier was more than capable of mounting a horse by himself, of that Geralt was sure by now. But he didn’t mention it. Instead, he stepped closer and folded his hands together so he could give Jaskier a boost. Once Jaskier was seated, Geralt swung himself behind him into Roach’s back. 

With a content sigh, Jaskier leaned back against him and Geralt wound one arm around his waist, making sure he was safe and secure, before he gave Roach the nudge to move. He didn’t take the direct path to the spot he had decided on. Instead he steered Roach this way and that, wherever he thought Jaskier might like. Past a small waterfall, across a wooden bridge some bear-witchers had built, through a patch of flowers that still resisted the cold. Every once in a while, he explained the mountain to Jaskier. 

“This is where Eskel and I used to run off to as children.”

“This bit is part of the Trail we had to run as novices.”

“This is how far I got when I decided to steal Roach and run away with her, before I got lost and had to wait for Vesemir to take me back home.”

“This is where Lambert set of his first bomb and almost burned Vesemir’s moustache off.”

Those things weren’t full stories yet, but maybe Geralt would find the right words to tell Jaskier more about what these places meant to him and his family one day. Even so, Jaskier gave soft hums, chuckled and offered stories of his own. He talked about his own attempt at running away to become a bard - an attempt that had ended rather abruptly when he had realised that his dancing shoes weren’t exactly made for long distance walking. He talked about his sisters and travelling with his father. As he talked about his family at Lettenhove, Geralt realised that he used almost the same fond tone he used  when talking about Eskel, Lambert, Coën or Aiden. Not Geralt though. The tone Jaskier used to talk to Geralt was reserved only for him. 

After a while, they quieted down again, except for when Jaskier let out soft gasps, whenever he saw something he liked. Every time there was a particularly interesting root of a tree, a rabbit scuttling away or a pretty cloud, Jaskier looked over his shoulder to Geralt; always making sure he was seeing the pretty thing as well. Always letting him know that this ride was already making him happy. 

With every passing moment, Geralt felt himself being swept away by Jaskier's excitement more and more. It was contagious and made him see the mountain that was his home with changed eyes. When he finally pulled Roach to a halt, there was a small smile tugging at his lips, that he knew wouldn't leave anytime soon.

He helped Jaskier dismount, his hands lingering on his waist, even after Jaskier had come to stand securely on solid ground. Jaskier's hands in turn were holding onto Geralt's upper arms. After a moment, he let them slide down, over his forearms, until he was clasping Geralt's hands in his gloved ones. 

Geralt took it as an invitation to guide Jaskier along the hidden path leading them through thick pine trees. Roach followed dutifully and the anticipation was coming off of Jaskier in waves. 

Geralt pushed some branches aside, revealing the sight of a small lake. Along the edges, some yellow and purple flowers were blossoming that had stubbornly endured the harsh autumn and were now facing the impending winter with their heads held high. Jaskier gasped, and squeezed Geralt's hand.

“It's beautiful,” he gasped. He worried at his lip, visibly hesitating. “Does this place have meaning to you too?”

“Not yet.” 

Jaskier softened at that admission. 

“Would you mind giving me an Igni?”

The question came so unexpectedly that Geralt took a step back, dropping Jaskier's hand. 

“What?”

“Fire,” Jaskier explained needlessly. “That day at the hot springs, you said I could ask you if I ever needed a light again.” He went to Roach, pulling the bag he had fastened onto her, down. There was clanking again, and then, Jaskier was holding up two lanterns, small enough that they could fit into the palm of a hand. Judging by the bulge of the bag, there probably were at least four more lanterns in there. Jaskier brought them over to Geralt and held them up for him to light them. Jaskier’s face was cast in a warm orange glow, when Geralt cast the sign carefully. The flames danced in his eyes, making him look like something otherworldly. Jaskier gave him a beaming smile and placed the lanterns on the ground at the edge of the lake, before fetching the rest of the lights. The glow was reflected on the water that rippled softly in the breeze. Soon, the lanterns would be the only source of light here, with the sun going down in the afternoon already this season. And here Jaskier was, bringing with him light and warmth, as he always did. 

After Jaskier had put the last lantern in place, he pulled a blanket out of the bag and laid it out on the ground. “Are you sure that’s warm enough?” Geralt asked, eying the blanket with distrust. “The ground is almost frozen.”

“Right you are,” Jaskier said without a care in the world. “But I seem to recall that a certain husband of mine is far more resistant to the cold than me.” He patted the blanket invitingly. “And I also seem to recall that this husband doesn’t mind having me in his lap.” Despite the teasing tone, Jaskier’s raised brows and tilted head made it obvious that it was a question rather than an assumption. 

Geralt hummed in affirmation and lowered himself onto the blanket, making sure to sit in a way that would allow Jaskier to sit in his lap as comfortably as possible. Once Jaskier realised that Geralt truly didn’t mind, his face lit up and he snuggled against him, chest to chest, laying his head on Geralt’s shoulder. On instinct, Geralt raised one hand to cradle the back of Jaskier’s head. Idly, he played with Jaskier’s hair, eliciting a soft sigh from the bard. 

“I’m happy,” Jaskier sighed. “Here, with you.” He paused. “Always and anywhere with you, really.” “Me too.”

Jaskier lifted his head a little and their eyes met. With Jaskier’s back to the lanterns, his face was cast in deep shadows. Geralt’s eyes followed the shadow of Jaskier’s lashes. They fluttered, as Jaskier’s eyes dipped lower, to Geralt’s lips. 

“I’ve got something for you,” Jaskier said, a blush creeping over his cheeks. He reached into his pockets and pulled out something small and tangled. He cursed under his breath and fiddled with the thing until Geralt could recognise it as a braided bracelet. 

“It’s not as big as giving you a shirt,” Jaskier said sheepishly and Geralt’s breath caught in his throat. 

So Jaskier truly remembered that conversation. Giving him the scarf hadn’t just been something he had done on a whim. There was no ambiguity about whether he knew what sharing clothes meant to Geralt and he had still done it. And now he was giving him something else. His thoughts were so loud that it took him a moment to realise that Jaskier was still speaking. 

 “-and not as big of a statement as the dagger you gave me.” He patted his hip and only now did Geralt notice the sheathe Jaskier had fastened onto his belt. Something inside him unwound and he leaned closer to Jaskier, as if pulled in by chaos. 

Jaskier pulled off his gloves and took Geralt’s hand, clasped the bracelet around his wrist.

“I made it out of old lute strings. Since the song isn’t something you can carry with you.” He paused. “And since you haven’t heard it fully yet.”

Geralt looked down at the bracelet and caressed the tightly interwoven strings, until the tips of his fingers reached Jaskier. 

“Thank you,” he said breathlessly. “It’s perfect.”

The corners of Jaskier’s eyes wrinkled with joy, before a frown suddenly appeared between his brows. He pulled back, crinkling his nose. 

“What-” Geralt began to ask, but then he saw a snowflake land on Jaskier’s nose and Jaskier pulled the same face again.

A chuckle rose up in Geralt’s chest, starting out small, then quickly turning warm and loud like a roaring fire. He watched enraptured as the confusion on Jaskier’s face melted alongside the snowflakes and morphed into wonder. 

“Geralt!” A delighted giggle slipped past his lips. With all the grace than a newborn foal learning to run, he got to his feet and spread his arms, as if trying to catch the entire cloud that was hanging in the sky and all the snow it would bring. “It’s snowing!” Ignoring Geralt’s protests that he should put his gloves back on before his fingers froze off, Jaskier dropped the gloves to the ground and held his hands up, giggling like a child whenever he caught a snowflake in his palm. He spun around, as more and more snow began to fall around him. He must have gotten dizzy from all the twirling, for he staggered right into Geralt, who caught him. 

“Careful,” Geralt said, as he let go. 

“Guess I’m in danger of falling for you,” Jaskier replied with a cheeky wink. He tilted his head back and thankfully missed the flustered expression on Geralt’s face. He was far too busy sticking out his tongue and trying to catch snowflakes with it.

“Don’t just stand there all judgy,” he said, after catching one snowflake and grinning at Geralt triumphantly. “Join me.”

Geralt shook his head fondly but decisively. 

“Oh come on.” Jaskier tugged at Geralt’s arm, not making him budge in the slightest. “Don’t tell me now is the time that you remember you don’t know how to have fun.” “I’m having plenty of fun.”

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah.” Geralt said softly, refusing to match Jaskier’s challenging tone. “It’s nice - seeing you be happy. Even though I still think you should put your gloves back on. You’re going to regret touching snow with your bare hands.”

“And I’m willing to endure you telling me ‘I told you so’ when it happens.” A mischievous spark gleamed in Jaskier’s eyes. “Besides, with cold hands, I can do this!”

Quick as lightning, Jaskier flung himself at Geralt, getting up on his tiptoes and stuck a hand in the back of Geralt’s cloak, right beneath his collar. A shiver ran down Geralt’s spine, as Jaskier’s icy hand pressed against the back of his neck and he lifted his shoulders instinctively. 

“Aha! So you’re not quite as immune to the cold as you always claim!” 

“I am,” Geralt grumbled. “You just surprised me.”

“Uh-huh. Sure,” Jaskier snorted. “You look like a disgruntled cat.”

Geralt growled and bared his teeth in reply. Laughing, Jaskier jumped back, thankfully - regrettably - removing his hand from Geralt’s neck. He evaded Geralt, as he half-heartedly made to snatch Jaskier, spouting nonsense about throwing him in the lake as revenge. 

“Roach, save me!” Jaskier squealed, as he ducked behind the mare, who gave Geralt a decidedly unimpressed look, as if saying ‘really? This is the man you fell in love with?’, but she didn’t move away, when Jaskier pressed his hands against her neck with a dramatic sigh. “Ahh, my dear lady, you are a much better hand-warmer than my husband.”

“Call her a hand-warmer again and she’ll bite you,” Geralt said amused, when Roach swatted at Jaskier with her tail, as if he was a pesky fly and crossed his arms. 

“Nah, she wouldn’t. You love me too much to let anything happen to my hands.” He wiggled his fingers and gave Geralt a boyish grin. Maybe he expected a reply, some teasing or protest, but Geralt was frozen, all words remained stuck in his throat, because yes. By the gods, yes, he loved Jaskier. Hearing him say it, even if only in jest, made something inside him soar. It made him want to say it as well. 

“Besides,” Jaskier continued, evidently unaware of Geralt’s swirling thoughts, “I can pay her back for her services. I promised to write a poem about her, remember?”

Truth be told, Geralt had forgotten all about that promise, but the thought of Jaskier taking the time to write about Roach made his heart beat faster. 

“Let’s hear it then.”

Jaskier cleared his throat, straightened his spine and put on the exaggerated expression of an arrogant poet. When he spoke, his voice took on a serious note that demanded attention.

“The mightiest mare, 

The sturdiest steed

The heroic-est horse

She is indeed. 

Prickly and pretty

and petty is she.

In conclusion: 

The best horse that ever I did see.”

He kept up the haughty expression for another moment, then a grin broke through, when Geralt snorted with laughter. 

“Heroic-est?” Geralt asked with a grin. 

 “‘Most heroic’ didn’t fit the metre,” Jaskier said with a shrug. “If that’s your only criticism, I consider that high praise. This shall be my best work yet.” With exaggerated swagger, he came back to Geralt, spreading his arms dramatically. “It’ll be known far and wide. Lords and ladies will demand that this poem be performed at all their courtly functions.”

Geralt shook his head in amusement. Jaskier was absolutely ridiculous. He loved him so much. 

He came to stand before Geralt and swept down into a low bow. When he came back up, some snowflakes fell from his head. Geralt couldn’t stop himself. Tenderly, he brushed some of the remaining ones that were stuck in Jaskier’s hair away. A small cloud of mist left Jaskier’s lips and when he looked up at Geralt, there were snowflakes clinging to his eye lashes. The playfulness from before was gone, leaving only softness and something fragile and beautiful.  Jaskier’s eyelids fluttered close, but for just a second, Geralt caught something in his eyes. A reflection of movement, where there should be none. 

He whirled around, pushing Jaskier back with one hand and reaching for his sword with the other, just in time to see a hideous beast with spidery legs burst through the surface of the lake. 

Vaguely, he noticed Roach rearing up with a panicked neigh and dashing away, but he had no time to get her to stop. Behind them, the kikimora scuttled out of the lake, pincers clacking and front legs poised to strike. 

Geralt cursed himself as he pushed Jaskier behind him with one hand. He should have noticed the monster before. Fuck, he should have checked the lake for danger before bringing Jaskier here, instead of stupidly trusting that any kikimoras were already in hibernation. He should have known better than to let himself get distracted by hearty laughs and soft looks. 

"What the hell is that?" Jaskier's terrified hiss snapped Geralt to attention. The bard’s hands were clutching his cloak tightly. It was all wrong. He should be running, getting to safety, leaving Geralt. 

But Jaskier had promised to stay by his side. For the first time, Geralt wished desperately that Jaskier would break his vows. But Jaskier stayed. 

"Geralt?" 

At the sound of his voice that had gotten shrill with fear, the kikimora's ugly head snapped around. Its beady eyes fixed on Jaskier. 

For a single heartbeat it stood frozen. Then, its instincts took over. Its feet scratched on the frozen ground as it darted towards them, toppling the lanterns as it did. The fire sizzled and died, but for the briefest second, the kikimora shrunk back, as it touched the hot metal of the lantern. The moment passed too quickly. Spurned on by the rage of having been burned, the kikimora darted forwards with renewed vigour.

And Jaskier still wasn't fucking leaving Geralt's side. 

Geralt pushed him back. His eyes didn't leave the attacking monster, but he could hear a thump as Jaskier's body hit the ground. It took all of his strength not to turn around and make sure he was alright. Gripping his sword tighter, he bolted forwards. As he moved, he formed Igni, heating his blade until it glowed hot red. He swung at the beast with all his might. Had he been on his own, it would have been an easy fight. But he was distracted by worry and the kikimora was furious with starvation from the cold months. It moved with lightning speed, striking Geralt’s wrist with an armoured leg. There was a clang. A jostle went through Geralt’s arm. The pain flared up a second later, but it was nothing compared to the horror twisting his gut, as his grip slipped. In a high arch, his sword was flung from his hand and landed uselessly on the ground.  Geralt darted towards it, but the kikimora blocked his way. He barely dodged the next attack and pulled up a Quen shield. The sudden light confused the monster for but a second. It reared up with an enraged screech. Geralt readied himself to cast another sign, when out of the corner of his eyes, there was a flurry of movement. His golden shield flickered, as his attention snapped to Jaskier. 

Jaskier, who was running past him, with his arms raised up to protect his face. 

“No!” Geralt shouted, a sound so wild that his voice nearly broke. “Get back!”

But Jaskier didn’t listen. Though his face was distorted by fear, he ducked beneath the kikimora’s hacking legs and towards the sword. There was not a heartbeat of hesitation. Jaskier reached for the weapon. As soon as his hand touched the handle, Jaskier let out a pained gasp that shook Geralt to the bones, but he gritted his teeth, refusing to draw his hand back. It took Geralt a second to understand, but when he did, his blood froze. Jaskier wasn’t wearing gloves and unlike Geralt, his skin hadn’t been mutated to withstand heat. And now, Jaskier was holding a scorching hot sword in his bare hands, because Geralt had let himself get disarmed within a single strike.

“Geralt,” he shouted and visibly gathering all his strength, he tossed the sword towards him. Despite his efforts, Jaskier wasn’t strong enough to throw the sword all the way to Geralt. It landed between him and the kikimora, leaving both Geralt and himself weaponless. Geralt could only hope the monster would attack the bigger threat. 

Of course, he wasn’t that lucky.  Startled by the sudden shout, the kikimora turned. Its pincers clacked and one of its piercing legs shot towards Jaskier. 

"No!" the sound ripped from Geralt's throat in pure agony. He flung himself forward, but even as he did so, he knew he would never reach Jaskier in time to push him away. 

The world became a blur. The only thing that mattered was Jaskier's terrified expression. There was movement, as Jaskier brought his hands up to protect his face - 

No. His hands didn't stop there, they went further up, towards the kikimora that suddenly hissed in pain. Something was glinting in Jaskier's grip. Silver and sharp.

With a start, Geralt recognised the weapon. It was the dagger he had given Jaskier as a wedding gift. To protect him when Geralt couldn't. 

Relief and horror battled inside his chest, as he watched Jaskier slash at the kikimora. His movements were frantic and uncoordinated and he was holding the dagger in his non-dominant hand; the other was cradled against his chest.  He clearly had no idea how to fight and the first hit stayed singular. It must have been a lucky strike when the beast hadn't expected its prey to fight back. There was no chance that Jaskier would survive for long if he had to keep fighting on his own. 

But he didn't have to. That first strike had bought Geralt the time to get close enough to pick up the sword. He leaped onto the kikimora's back. With an ugly snarl, he gripped his sword in both hands and thrust downwards. The kikimora buckled beneath him, as the blade pierced the armoured flesh right behind its head. Geralt fought to keep his balance, twisting the sword. 

Finally, the ear piercing screeching stopped and the creature's body collapsed. 

It narrowly missed Jaskier, who saved himself with a quick jump backwards.

For a moment, Geralt remained where he was, irrationally afraid that the kikimora would get back up, if he removed his sword. He waited for any sign of life. But the beast only twitched in response to him moving his blade. Before him, Jaskier was panting and clutching his hands close to his chest. 

"Geralt?" he asked in a small voice and took a staggering step forward. 

And just like that, Geralt could move again. His grip on the sword slackened and he leaped down onto the muddy ground, hastening towards Jaskier. He held his arms wide open and Jaskier didn't waste a single second before flinging himself into Geralt's embrace. 

"That was reckless," Geralt mumbled into Jaskier's hair, as his hand came up to cradle the back of his head. "Reckless and stupid and…" 

The words dried up in his mouth, when he noticed the shivers that shook Jaskier's frame. Quickly, he unwound the scarf from around his neck and put it back around Jaskier’s. 

"We should get back," Geralt said as he pulled away. "You need to get back into the warmth. "

Jaskier nodded mutely. Somehow this silent compliance was the worst of all. Geralt pulled Jaskier’s uninjured hand from his chest and took it, praying that his touch would be grounding for Jaskier. When he turned to where he had left Roach however, his heart dropped once more. Roach hadn’t just staggered away during the fight. She was fully gone. Fled, when Jaskier wouldn’t.

“It’s alright,” Jaskier said weakly, when he saw Geralt’s stony expression. “We’re going to find her. I’m sure she’s alright.”

He sounded so hopeful, so bloody optimistic that Geralt didn’t have the heart to tell him that Roach’s wellbeing for once wasn’t what he was worried about. They had to find Roach, and quickly too, if they wanted to make it back to the keep before the night fully fell. Already, there was barely any daylight left and the snow was no longer simply drifting through the air daintily.

“Let’s go then,” he said and lightly tugged on Jaskier’s hand. 

The one good thing about the snow was that it had started to form a thin layer on the ground, making it easy to spot where Roach had run off to. Geralt let go of Jaskier’s hand, as they began setting off after her at a brisk pace and tucked him against his side instead, doing his best to shield him with his body. Geralt bit back a curse, when he followed the tracks and saw them taking a turn - in the opposite direction of the Keep. He sped up his walk, but with every minute that passed, Jaskier’s feet dragged more on the ground, until he staggered more than he walked. Around them, the woods were getting dark quickly, making it impossible for Jaskier to see where he was going. Bitter wind tore at Geralt’s hair and turned the snowflakes into biting needles that pricked his exposed skin painfully. Next to him, Jaskier lowered his head and pulled his shoulders up, trying in vain to protect his face from the biting cold. The skin of his hand was an angry red. Fuck. In his hurry to find Roach, Geralt had forgotten to pick the damn gloves up again. They needed to get to Roach. Now. 

Growling in frustration, Geralt picked up Jaskier, cradling him against his chest. Like this, he could move faster, but he couldn’t shield Jaskier from the wind as well as he had before. He hoped he would not come to regret that trade off.

He didn’t know for how long he was marching through the woods - too long, that was for certain - before finally, he heard soft snorting not far ahead. Roach.

Geralt sped up. He nearly missed the cave, hidden by trees and overhanging ivy, but the sound of Roach scraping at the ground with her hooves alerted him. He heaved a sigh of relief, when he entered the cave. It was big enough to allow Roach to find shelter at the entrance, only narrowing towards the back. A quick look revealed an old bedroll, crossbow bolts and dry kindling someone had left here. Likely another witcher, who had equipped this cave with the bare essentials, in case he had to seek shelter again. 

Geralt grit his teeth, as outside, the wind howled louder than before. Jaskier stirred weakly in his arms. He had to get him back to the Keep. He wasn’t safe here. But who knew how long it would take them to get back? Geralt couldn’t risk Jaskier’s body cooling down even more by riding with him through the storm. 

Deep breaths. Geralt closed his eyes, doing his best to focus on the beating of his own heart, as if he was meditating. Shutting his emotions down. Not letting himself get distracted. But beneath the layers of numbness he forced around his heart, he wasn’t strong enough to stop a part of himself to vigilantly listen in on Jaskier’s heartbeat. It was steady and strong as ever. Geralt had known it would be. Jaskier might be cold and hurt, but he had not gotten nearly injured enough to be in immediate danger and he was bundled up as warmly as he could be. Still, Geralt’s hands and breath were shaky, as he carefully placed Jaskier on the ground. It was too cold, too damp. Every part of Geralt screamed in protest, when he let go of Jaskier, but he had to. Just long enough to get a fire started. 

Deep breaths. He couldn’t let his mind get clouded by worry and that uncomfortable squirming in his stomach that threatened to take away his ability to act rationally. 

As quickly as he could, Geralt put the kindling into a pile and lit it up. Then, he hurried back to Jaskier’s side. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked. His eyes were glassy as he blinked up at him. 

“I’m here.” Carefully, Geralt scooped Jaskier back up and pulled him into his lap, so he wouldn’t have to sit on the cold stone floor. “You’re going to be alright. We just have to wait a little, until the snow eases up.” Jaskier shivered and pressed closer against Geralt, who draped his cloak over him as best he could. Jaskier in turn wrapped his arms around Geralt’s middle to get even closer to his warmth, but as he pressed his hands against Geralt’s shoulder blades, he drew back with a hiss. 

“What’s wrong?” Geralt sat up in alarm. 

“Nothing,” Jaskier said too quickly. His smile that clearly was meant to be reassuring looked brittle, with a flash of pain staining it. He must have noticed Geralt’s disbelief, for he added, “It’s just my hand…”

Immediately, Geralt reached for said hand. He cradled it as gently as if holding a butterfly, yet Jaskier still sucked in a sharp breath. Geralt glanced up at him and was relieved when he found no more pain in his expression than there had been before. Jaskier gave him a brittle smile. Carefully, Geralt turned his hand over. His heart dropped. 

There, across Jaskier’s fingers and palm were angry red blisters. How could he not have noticed just how badly Jaskier had burned himself?

‘You love me too much to let anything happen to my hands.’ The memory of Jaskier’s words echoed cruelly in his mind. 

“We need to get ointment on that,” Geralt said and his voice shook only a little. He was sure no one who didn’t know him in and out would notice. Jaskier’s brows knitted together and Geralt swallowed thickly. “We have some at the infirmary.”

He glanced at the entrance of the cave. At the snow falling steadily still, cast about by the wind that seemed to pick up by the minute. Alone, he might have been able to  make it through that weather. But Jaskier’s hand was so cold in his. His teeth were chattering and the brim of his trousers, where they hadn’t been protected by his cloak, were drenched with snow.

Geralt couldn’t risk exposing him to the elements any more before he was properly warmed up. Subconsciously, he shifted closer to Jaskier, offering him a little more of his own body heat. 

“Well, at least it’ll be no trouble cooling the burn,” Jaskier, who must have read Geralt’s thoughts, joked with the hint of a smile. 

“Ever the optimist,” Geralt replied, unable to keep the fondness out of his voice despite his worry. “One of us has to be. But I don’t think it’s optimism. I just trust you.”

He said it so easily. As if there was no doubt in his mind about it. As if Geralt’s incompetence wasn’t the cause for him getting hurt in the first place. 

A warmth spread through Geralt’s chest, flowing into the rest of his body, until he felt his face heating up. Clearing his throat, he averted his eyes. 

“We’ll need to at lead bandage your hand,” he said. “And keep you warm.”

Jaskier made an affirmative noise. Geralt looked at Roach, mentally itemising the things he had packed. Naturally, bandages hadn’t been included in his preparation for their trip. 

His eyes fell on the red scarf around Jaskier’s neck. Geralt reached for Jaskier’s dagger at his hip and with a harsh movement cut off a long thin stripe of the scarf. It wasn’t ideal, but it had to do. At the very least, it would do the job of warming Jaskier’s hand. 

He moved, so he was kneeling opposite Jaskier and could have a better view of what he was doing. He was so focussed on his task of wrapping Jaskier’s hand, that he didn’t notice how strangely quiet Jaskier had gotten, until he realised that his hand was trembling. 

Gralt stopped. His eyes snapped up to meet Jaskier’s. 

“Are you -”

“Don’t worry,” Jaskier said with a choked laugh. “It’s nothing bad.” Unconvinced, Geralt made a questioning noise. 

“I just…” Jaskier lifted his bandaged hand a little, “the red cloth? It reminded me of our wedding day.”

“A joyful memory to add to an already perfect day,” Geralt snarked. All the sarcasm couldn’t hide the bitterness and hurt he felt. Jaskier had been so excited for today. As he had been for his wedding. And Geralt… no. He had to stop that train of thought. They were friends. Jaskier liked him. This marriage might not be what either one of them had imagined, but it still was good. It was good. 

Jaskier wasn’t the fragile little lordling Geralt had feared him to be. He was so much stronger than he looked and he would get through this too. 

As if to prove Geralt’s thoughts right, a genuine smile stole onto Jaskier’s lips. 

“It is.” Swiftly, he leaned in and let his lips brush against Geralt’s cheek. “There. Now it’s just like then.”

His lips felt icy on Geralt’s skin, but they left a hot tingle in their wake, when he pulled away. A lump formed in Geralt’s throat. His hand rose without his permission and he cupped Jaskier’s cheek. With his thumb, he caressed the freezing skin and felt him shiver beneath his touch. “Dance with me.” The words left his lips before he could think about them. 

Jaskier blinked at him. A small cloud escaped his mouth, as he gasped lightly. 

“What?”

Decades of rejection and fear made Geralt’s courage want to shrivel and hide away. But Jaskier still hadn’t flinched from his touch and would never do so.

“Dance with me,” he repeated slightly louder. “You’re going to freeze if you don’t move. We need to keep you from falling asleep and  warm you up.” He got to his feet and held an inviting hand out for Jaskier to take. “And I never gave you that wedding dance.”

Geralt’s heart fluttered nervously in his chest, as Jaskier stared at his hand. Slowly, like the sun pushing through clouds, Jaskier’s lips stretched into a smile and he placed his uninjured hand in Geralt’s, letting him pull him up. Jaskier’s feet must have been well on their way of falling asleep and the cold was already getting to him, for he stumbled into Geralt’s chest with little grace, only catching himself by placing his other hand on Geralt’s shoulder. He kept the touch of his injured hand light, yet it burned into Geralt, as if he was clutching him tightly. 

Geralt let the hand not holding Jaskier’s slide down to his waist and hold him close. Jaskier’s face was so near to his. The urge to hold Jaskier close was a flame raging through every vein of his body. 

They stood frozen, unmoving. 

“I believe I was promised a dance,” Jaskier whispered, his voice barely audible over the howling of the wind and the cackling of the fire. 

Geralt could do nothing but nod. He took a step back, pulling Jaskier along and began to awkwardly sway them. The movements would have looked clunky even with a band accompanying them, but without any music at all to give them a guiding rhythm, it must have looked utterly ridiculous. The pathetic attempt of a witcher to give something soft. 

But Jaskier was looking up at him, a smile dancing around his lips and in his eyes, and Geralt felt the knot of anxiety unwind in his chest. All would be well. Jaskier was moving and smiling. He would make it through this. 

Geralt’s tongue darted out to wet his lips - a nervous tick he must have picked up from Jaskier - and did what he normally only dared to do after drinking with his brothers: He sang. 

Or rather, he hummed. It was a clumsy attempt. He had never been musically inclined and the wedding seemed so far away now, he barely remembered the tune the wedding band had played. The only thing he remembered was how important the song was. So he did the best to shape the rumble in his chest into the right notes. Jaskier’s eyes widened and his lips parted into a silent ‘oh.’

Geralt stumbled and faltered, but the rising awe in Jaskier’s expression kept him going and after a moment of silent listening, Jaskier joined in. His humming was much steadier than Geralt’s awkward attempt at singing and Geralt did his best to follow his lead. Then, Jaskier’s humming deviated from the melody Geralt had repeated before. Heat and shame rose in Geralt’s cheeks. He hadn’t realised how badly he had hummed the tune, but then he realised that his own notes weren’t dissonant to his husband’s. Jaskier was harmonising. 

Geralt faltered, disguising his misstep as part of the dance and Jaskier followed without hesitation. Geralt swayed them to the side, led his husband through a spin and pulled him back in. Close, so close. His hand wandered from Jaskier’s waist up to rest between his shoulder blades. He could almost imagine feeling the beat of Jaskier’s heart through the thick layers of clothing. 

He didn’t notice coming to a standstill, but then Jaskier placed his head on his shoulder and Geralt wouldn’t have been able to move if he had wanted to. He couldn’t let go of Jaskier anymore, not even for the brief moment it would take for him to twirl. Geralt ran his hand up and down Jaskier’s back. When Jaskier’s hand wandered from his shoulder to the nape of his neck to play idly with his hair, Geralt closed his eyes and let his head fall forward to rest it against the crown of Jaskier’s head. A soft sigh ghosted over his skin as he held Jaskier as close as he could. 

“Thank you,” Jaskier whispered. 

Geralt didn’t know what to reply, so he remained silent, except for the rumble in his chest that he knew Jaskier found so much joy in. The soft sound of Geralt’s contentedness and the fast beat of Jaskier’s heart were the only sounds around. 

Geralt’s brows furrowed. No sound. The wind had stopped howling. His head snapped to the entrance of the cave, where the fire had almost burned down completely. Blinking, he scrutinised the dark world beyond the cave and - it was dark. No more treacherous white was flying through the air, beautiful but deadly. The snowstorm had passed. Geralt left Jaskier’s side to get a better look at the sky. Night had fully fallen and the sky was clear. With a sky like that, it would only get colder, but the stars shone bright, offering comfort. 

The sound of Jaskier’s footsteps followed Geralt, and he pressed himself against his side, seeking warmth once again. Geralt laid an arm around his shoulders and rubbed his arm. 

“We can leave,” he said, trying to put as much optimism into his voice as he could. “Do you think you can ride? It’s going to be cold.”

“I can,” Jaskier replied confidently, though Geralt couldn’t help but notice the slightest tremor in his voice. 

“I’ll keep you warm,” he promised. 

Jaskier nodded, but trepidation stole itself onto his face.

“I know this mountain is your home,” he began slowly, his injured hand picking at the red cloth, “but are you sure it’s safe to leave in this dark? What if Roach stumbles or slips on the snow? I don’t even know where we are anymore. It all looks so different cast in white…”

“It does,” Geralt agreed. Jaskier’s face fell and his eyes dropped to the ground, as he likely prepared himself for a night of freezing in the cave after all. 

“But there’s one thing that hasn’t changed.” Geralt cupped his chin and tentatively tilted his face back up, first to meet his eyes and then farther up still. “Do you see it?”

“What?” Jaskier asked automatically as he squinted up into the night sky. Geralt could see the moment he realised what Geralt was talking about. “Oh.” His eyes softened. “There it is. Our secret constellation.”

“We’ll follow it home,” Geralt said, and something melted in his chest, when Jaskier echoed tenderly, “Home.”

--

The ride back to the Keep wasn’t a pleasant one. Geralt did his best to shield Jaskier against the cold with his body and distract him from the pain in his hand by recounting any tales that came to mind. More than once did he feel Jaskier go limp, as sleep threatened to take him into its embrace and Geralt felt a pang of guilt each time he had to jostle him awake again. 

“Soon,” he would whisper. “We’ll be there soon. Stay awake for me a little longer.” “Alright,” Jaskier would mumble, “for you.”

Then, without fail, Jaskier would sit up straighter and his head would tilt up - his eyes fixed on their constellation. The stars above the path leading them home. 

By the time Kaer Morhen’s gates came into view, Jaskier’s head had found its home against Geralt’s chest and his eyes were drooping again. Still, he fought valiantly to keep his promise and stay awake. 

Geralt spurned Roach on one last time. When they finally passed the gate, it felt as if a heavy stone sat in his chest was crumbling to dust. They had made it. Jaskier was truly safe again. 

Geralt hurried to put Roach in her box in the stables and despite Jaskier’s protests that he could walk, he picked him up and carried him into the Keep. He only took a quick detour to get the ointment to treat burns from the infirmary and apply it to Jaskier’s palm, before rebandaging it. Then, he picked up Jaskier again. His mind was filled with images of holding Jaskier close at night, safe and sound in his arms. Those images were the only thing giving him the strength to keep going and climb the stairs to their room. 

Perhaps it was the fact that Geralt had accompanied Jaskier to his room so many times that it felt like second nature at this point, or maybe he simply let himself be lulled to inattention by the familiar home-scent of Jaskier; whatever it was, it made Geralt forget with every step he took, that it was Jaskier’s room and not theirs until he got fully lost in his comforting fantasy.  It was only when he pushed the door open with his shoulder and laid eyes on the room that held no trace of Geralt ever having spent a single night here, that the realisation crashed into him like a bucket of ice water. This wasn’t theirs. He had no place in Jaskier’s bed.

His instinct told him to drop Jaskier off quickly and retreat, but he forced his body to move gently, slowly, as he undressed Jaskier and helped him put on dry clothes to sleep in. Then, he placed Jaskier on the bed and pulled the blankets over him and snuffed out the candles he had lit upon entering.

“Now you can sleep,” he whispered into the darkness of the room, running his hand soothingly over Jaskier’s head.

Jaskier blinked up at him and narrowed his eyes. Geralt reckoned he tried and failed to make out more than Geralt’s general shape in the dark. “Geralt?” he asked quietly and reached out blindly. 

Geralt caught his hand mid-air and clinging to the last remnants of that foolish inattentiveness that had made him forget that he wouldn’t spend the night holding his husband close, he pressed a kiss against his palm. 

“You’re safe.” He rubbed a small circle into the back of Jaskier’s hand with his thumb. “Goodnight, Jaskier.” There was a long pause, in which Geralt started to believe that maybe Jaskier had fallen asleep already, before Jaskier replied, “Goodnight.”

With that, he pulled his hand from Geralt’s grasp and turned away, pulling the blanket so high up that Geralt could barely see his face anymore. He hesitated, taking in the sight of Jaskier snuggled up warm and cosy and safe - and so clearly dismissive of him - one last time. Then, he turned around, pulling the door close as quietly as he could. The walk back to his own room had never felt that long, lonely and cold. 

Jaskier is safe, he repeated over and over in his mind, nothing else matters. 

Only, it did. It fucking mattered, because Jaskier had lit lanterns around a lake. Because he had caught snowflakes with his tongue and laughed as though nothing in the world could make him happier than sharing that moment with Geralt. Because Geralt’s cheek still tingled where Jaskier had kissed it and because Geralt wished he’d had the courage to dance with Jaskier during their wedding. It mattered, because Geralt wore a bracelet Jaskier had made for him. 

It mattered, because with every fibre of his being, Geralt loved Jaskier. 

And it mattered, because when he entered his room, it was cold and empty. 

His movements felt wooden and reluctant, as he made himself walk over to his bed and put on his sleeping clothes. He let himself fall onto the bed heavily but even as he sat down and finally rested his feet, he knew his mind and heart would know no rest that night. With a deep sigh, he slumped forward, put his elbows on his knees and burrowed his hands in his hair. He closed his eyes, but only images of the day, of dancing and laughing and Jaskier trusting him so wholly, flashed through the darkness. When he opened his eyes again, they landed on the parchment that had been laying on his nightstand for the past months. Ever since he had gotten word of the engagement. Despite knowing exactly what he would find, he reached for the parchment and looked at it. Jaskier’s smiling face looked back at him. Geralt’s heart clenched painfully, as he traced the laughter lines around the drawing’s eyes with a gentle finger. In the past months, he had come to know those lines perhaps more intimately than anyone else. Certainly more than he had ever imagined he would. He knew how Jaskier sounded when he laughed, how he felt leaning into Geralt or holding onto him because he had to physically share his joy, how he looked so utterly radiant with his lips stretched wide and his head thrown back. 

He knew that no painting in the world, no matter how masterfully done, could ever come close to the real thing. Geralt could look at this drawing before going to sleep however many times he wished - it would make no difference. It was no substitute for holding Jaskier in his arms. 

He didn’t think. For once, maybe his mind and his heart would have told him to do the same thing anyway. Without wasting another moment, Geralt got up and crossed his room. It was stupid. If there was any mercy, Jaskier would already be deep within the realm of dreams by now. Yet, Geralt didn’t stop. He had to go see him. He had to tell him. Jaskier deserved that much. He deserved to know that he was loved.

Geralt was just stepping out of the door, when something came crashing right into him and tumbled back with an indignant little squeak. A very familiar sound. 

“Jaskier?” Geralt asked, perplexed, all thoughts of his intentions wiped away by the unexpected sight of Jaskier standing in his doorway. “Geralt!”

“What are you doing out of bed?” Geralt took Jaskier’s shoulders gently and looked him over intently for any signs of hurt or fright. “Did you have a nightmare? Is there anything you need?”

“No - that is, yes. Actually. There is something.” Jaskier started fidgeting with his bandage. “Could I maybe come in?”

“Of course.” Geralt took a step to the side and Jaskier slipped into his room. Geralt occupied himself with lighting some candles so Jaskier could see, but in truth, he simply needed the time to get his racing heart back under control. When he finally felt ready to face Jaskier again, he found him looking at the portrait of himself, a strange expression on his face. 

“Ah,” Geralt said awkwardly, “That…came with the letter your parents sent us. To arrange the engagement.”

Jaskier’s lips quirked up a little and he slung his arms around himself. Geralt desperately wanted to wrap his own arms around him, but if Jaskier had sought him out after the day he just had, he must be truly distressed and Geralt wasn’t sure how to act. 

“I never got a picture of you,” Jaskier said. 

“Oh.” He swallowed. “So, the first time you learned what I looked like was…”

“Just before our wedding. Yes.”

“That’s…” Geralt trailed off, not sure how to end the sentence. A part of him that clung to learned behaviours wanted to apologise, but a different part saw the warmth of affection  in Jaskier’s eyes. 

He cleared his throat. “What is it you need?”

Jaskier’s brows shot up and his mouth opened into a little ‘oh’ as if he had forgotten the purpose of his seeking Geralt out. “I - I suppose I just didn’t want to be alone.” Jaskier furrowed his brows. “No, that’s not it. I wanted to be with you. For tonight. If that’s alright.”

“It is,” Geralt blurted out immediately and his heart jumped, when that elicited an actual smile from Jaskier. “I want to have you with me tonight too.”

He wanted to have him by his side every night and every day for the rest of his life. His entire being longed to share his bed, his Path, his world with Jaskier. The flutter in his chest got stronger, when Jaskier pulled back the furs on Geralt’s bed to get in. It was so perfect. So much like what Geralt wished for, what he had selfishly dreamed of in the solace of his lonely nights.

A sudden pang of guilt shot through him and  before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “Wait. There’s something you should know first.”

Jaskier dropped the fur. “What is it?”

“I -” Geralt’s throat went dry. His tongue felt too heavy in his mouth and it was as if he had forgotten every word he had ever known. How could he tell his husband he loved him? How, when longing and fear had been at war inside him for so long that it felt impossible to end the fight now. 

But Jaskier had come to him. Over and over he had chosen him. It was time Geralt did the same.

“I never made my wedding vows. To love and cherish you,” Geralt said finally, the words feeling inadequate and rough, “But I made you another promise. To tell you if I ever did fall in love. And I am. In love. It’s terrifying and - and beautiful and I don’t think I could fight it if I wanted to. I don’t want to. Not anymore.”

A guarded expression crossed Jaskier’s face, but beneath it, Geralt thought he could see hope. He clung to that slither of hope with the desperation of a drowning man. With the faith of a man in love. 

“Do I have your permission, Jaskier?” He stepped closer, slowly at  first, then with more confidence, when Jaskier gravitated towards him as well. Geralt took Jaskier’s uninjured hand and pressed it against his chest, right above his heart that beat to the rhythm of Jaskier’s song. “Do I have your permission to love you?”

“Geralt -” Jaskier broke off, his voice too choked to speak. 

“You don’t have to love me back. I - it would be enough to love you.”

“No,” Jaskier said firmly. 

Something broke inside Geralt and a gaping whole opened up where his heart had just beaten with hope. He averted his eyes and pressed his lips together. He gave Jaskier a court nod, as he took a step back. But Jaskier refused to let go. 

“No, that would not be enough,” Jaskier said, pulling Geralt back in. “Because I love you, Geralt. I love you.” 

“You do?” Geralt’s eyes widened. “I - I had hoped, but I didn’t think -”

“Stop thinking then,” Jaskier interrupted him. “I think we’ve done far too much of that. It didn’t do us any good.”

Geralt’s lips tilted up. “It didn’t.” He twisted his hand to weave his fingers with Jaskier’s, linking them together. It felt right. So right to finally do this  and have Jaskier know what it meant. 

“Jaskier,” he asked tentatively. “I know I don’t know how to do this right, but…may I court you?”

“What?” A startled  laugh tumbled from Jaskier’s lips. 

“May I court you?” Geralt repeated, looking Jaskier in the eyes and doing his best to show his sincerity. 

“Geralt, I don’t know how to tell you this, but we’re already married.”

“I know,” Geralt said, feeling the corners of his mouth quirk up in response to Jaskier’s laugh. “Gods, believe me I know. But what we have isn’t a real marriage. I want to be with you for real. I don’t want to hold you and always know that we are only married on paper. We didn’t say our vows, I refused to dance with you, we didn’t kiss. You deserve better. You deserve a real wedding. This is not whatI want or what you deserve. I don’t just want a marriage based on politics and without the promise of…”

“Devotion?” Jaskier tilted his head to the side and gave Geralt’s hands a squeeze. “I can make you that promise right now, if you want. I gave it to you so many times over and you didn’t even notice.”

“I noticed,” Geralt said. “I just…”

“I know.” Jaskier looked down at their joined hands. “Me too.” “I want to do this right,” Geralt said. “I wasted so much time going about this the wrong way. You deserve to be courted. You deserve - lights and flowers and…and…”

“A husband who loves me?” Jaskier offered. “And whom I love? Because I believe I already have that.”

“I want to give more to you. I don’t want to rush this. Being with me isn’t easy. The Path is harsh and life with me will be hard. I want you to know this - really know this. Give me a year of courting you, of showing you my life, before you decide if you want it to be your life as well.”

Jaskier looked at him for a long time. “I don’t think my opinion will change, but yes.” A choked sound escaped his lips, as they stretched into a brilliant smile. “Yes, I want to be courted by you. I want to be with you in whichever way you want.”

He didn’t wait for Geralt’s reply, simply flinging himself into his arms. Geralt held him tightly, so tightly. His heart felt like it was beating out of his chest and he couldn’t have stopped himself from smiling wide as a fool, if he had wanted to. Maybe he was a fool. But he was a fool in love, with the one who held his affections in his arms. 

Jaskier’s slim frame shook and Geralt worried that he was sobbing, until he recognised the muffled sounds against his chest as laughter. He hummed questioningly, making Jaskier giggle only more.

“So, does this mean we should get a divorce?” Jaskier asked, pulling away just enough to be able to look at Geralt. “So we can court again?” He jabbed a finger at Geralt’s chest. “Because if so, then I change my mind. I refuse to be divorced. I quite like being your husband.”

Geralt snorted. “I quite like it too.  And I don’t think our families would be too happy about having their contract nullified.”

“Right,” Jaskier said, pulling a face. “Bureaucracy. What a romantic topic to bring up. So, no divorce then? We just continue as we have but without all the -” he waved his hand through the air, “not-talking-about-feelings?”

“Sounds perfect.” Geralt paused. “Maybe we could also change the sleeping arrangements?” 

“Please!”

Without waiting another second, Geralt scooped Jaskier up. His heart skipped a beat, when Jaskier let out a delighted little squeal and wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck to steady himself. 

“Is this really necessary?” Jaskier said in between giggles. “The bed is right there. I could have walked three steps.” “It is,” Geralt said firmly, something soft coiling in his stomach. “Maybe I just like holding you close.”

“How convenient then, that I just so happen to like being held by you.” One of Jaskier’s hands left Geralt’s neck to cup his cheek instead. “Something tells me that we could make great husbands.”

“I think you might be right. I’d love to find out what we are like being husbands with purpose.” 

“So do I.”

“But courting first.”

Jaskier heaved a heavy sigh, but gave Geralt a fond look. Geralt was loath to part from Jaskier for even a heartbeat, so as soon as he laid him down on the bed, he got in right next to him and put an arm around his waist, pulling him closer. They fit perfectly together. He felt the rest of the stress of the past months fall away as he melted against Jaskier. His husband. The man he loved and would court. Jaskier, in turn snuggled as close to Geralt as possible, his hand tracing random patterns on his chest. 

“There’s one more thing I want to change,” Geralt whispered. 

“Hm?”

“I know this should probably not happen before the courting comes to an end but…can I kiss you?”

“Geralt!” Jaskier gasped in mock-affront, his eyes crinkling at the sides, as he failed to hold in his laughter. “Are you seriously asking me - your lawfully wedded husband! - to share a bed with you and kiss you? Unchaperoned? How scandalous!”

Geralt rolled his eyes fondly at Jaskier’s antics. “Is that a ‘yes’, then?”

Jaskier’s giggles quieted down and an expression of pure softness and open love replaced the amusement. 

“It’s a yes,” he whispered back and leaned forwards, closing the space between them. The kiss was chaste and over quickly, yet Geralt could not imagine a more perfect kiss. 

Except, of course, as he drifted off to sleep with Jaskier curled up against him, his mind was already wandering to the future. To flowers and song and, if he was lucky - and something told him that for once, he would be - another kiss from his husband on their second wedding.

—

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#arranged marriage #geraskier #geraltxjaskier #geralt #jaskier #witcher #fic #fanfic #my writing

[221booksinthetardis]

I see now why they ditched the hat concept

#jaskier #the witcher #geraltxjaskier #geraskier #geralt of rivia #no for real go check out the pics of joey batey with the ridiculous feathery hat on #showrunner said they couldn’t stop laughing #🤣🤣🤣🤣 #crack #or is it #my art

[witchersgoldenbard]

“ i don't mean to bother you. “ “ you're not. “ for geraskier? because I am sneakily reminding you that you are not a bother but are in fact greatly loved 😌

i love you so much 🥺💛 thank you for the prompt

wc: 1.9k | tags: yearning, post-s2. love confessions, stars as narrative device, hurt/comfort

as the stars above them hum and hear them

Jaskier feels nothing but hollow looking up at the stars. Essi had always loved them, had spent hours waxing poetic about the comfort she could draw from the stars. Wherever we go, whenever we look, they will always be there as steady companions. Maybe we can be close to them one of these days. It seems like a lifetime ago that Jaskier had met Essi‘s beautiful eyes and drawn her into a hug while she went on and on about constellations, making up stories about them as she went. They were warm and happy on that summer’s night out on the fields close to Oxenfurt.

The stars that are shining down on Jaskier right now are different, though familiar. Every winter they are the same wherever Jaskier goes, and it should bring him comfort. One constant, one anchor, one thing in his life he can depend on. But it doesn’t.

The air around him is freezing and he’s not sure he can feel his cheeks anymore, yet he cannot move from where he sat down on the nearly destroyed stone bridge, Kaer Morhen‘s courtyard spread out several feet beneath him in the moonless dark. And Jaskier is looking up at the stars because if he dared to look anywhere else, he’s not sure he would manage to breathe right.

A noise startles him and he blinks away frozen tears, turning his head to find someone standing beside him. Geralt. Jaskier would recognise him anywhere, even on a moonless night, cast only in the light of stars that might as well exist in another world entirely for how far away they are.

“I don’t mean to bother you,” Geralt says, his voice so unfairly gentle that Jaskier barely has time to consider his words before he speaks.

“You’re not.”

Geralt doesn’t move, doesn’t even hum, but Jaskier imagines there to be the tiniest of smiles on the witcher’s lips. It makes his heart race and he has to tear his eyes away from his figure to look back up at the night sky. The stars are well-versed in Jaskier’s feelings for the witcher already, they can bear witness to his yearning expression and the little sigh he releases.

“It’s nice out here, isn’t it?”

Jaskier swallows, suppresses the urge to look at Geralt again and instead keeps his eyes where they are. “Yeah.” It comes out as barely more than a whisper.

Another beat of silence passes, then Geralt takes a step closer to him. “Can I sit with you?”

Maybe it’s the sudden breeze that whips through his hair and brings with it freezing gust of air that smells like freshly fallen snow, but Jaskier feels his eyes beginning to prick.

“Of course,” he croaks, wincing at the quality of his voice. He holds his breath, prays that his heart won’t beat out of his chest and find its place again inside Geralt’s hands for the witcher to crush at will. It’s futile, because even crushed, his heart never left the witcher’s hold.

They sit together for a while, but Jaskier has long since stopped trying to find solace, company or comfort in the night sky. He’s trying not to breathe too loudly, trying not to move, trying not to overwhelm Geralt again with his mere existence, but it doesn’t stop his eyes from welling up again.

“Did you ever manage to find it?” Geralt breakes the silence then, his voice nothing more than a whisper, and still Jaskier jumps ever so slightly, only held in place by the weight of golden eyes he can feel resting upon him. He doesn’t meet them. Doesn’t dare to.

“Find what?“

“The thing that pleases you.”

If it were at all possible, Jaskier would think that the light of the stars above them has dimmed ever so slightly. The words tear into him with how gently they’ve been said, and it does nothing to calm his stinging eyes or racing heart.

“Don’t do this, Geralt,” Jaskier begs.

“Do what?” He sounds genuinely confused, subdued like every time he feels that something should be obvious but he cannot figure it out. It breaks Jaskier’s heart even more, because everything would just be so much easier if Geralt wanted to hurt him on purpose instead of these accidental stabs right into his soul.

“Don’t— I can’t do this again, Geralt.”

It’s not lost on him. Sitting together, only one of them looking at the other... The parallels of it, the same conversation, and everything has changed but his feelings for Geralt. The one constant in his life.

“Alright. I’m sorry.”

And it’s not necessarily an empty apology, but Jaskier knows that Geralt doesn’t know what he’s apologising for. With a broken little sigh, Jaskier decides that he has already lost everything, his once burning fingers now lying frozen in his lap as a reminder of it, and he has nothing left to give but this. He can give Geralt the truth, give away the last piece of his soul before he can truly be nothing but a hollowed out shell of himself.

“It’s you, Geralt,” he whispers then, and that’s when the tears begin to fall from his eyes, the cold air freezing their tracks on his cheeks, but the sting of it is no greater than the pain inside his chest.

“Me?”

“Yes. It’s always been you.” And I’m sorry, he doesn’t add, but it’s a close thing. Loving Geralt is really nothing he wants to apologise for. Loving Geralt feels like the one thing in life that is good, even if he did it so horribly wrong that he lost his witcher in the process.

A beat of silence passes between them and he can still fee Geralt’s eyes on him, but Jaskier only closes his own, hides them even from the stars that know his feelings so well.

“I… I didn’t think you—“ A sigh, then Geralt tries again. “Still? After everything?”

Jaskier huffs out a humourless laugh and sniffles. “Still. Always. I tried to stop, but I’m not as strong as you, Geralt. I’m not strong enough to stop, I—“

“I’m not strong either. I tried to be, Jaskier, I tried too hard. I was weak and only made myself weaker by trying not to be. I lost you and… and then I realised what I think I’ve known all along, but I didn’t want to know it because I didn't want to be weak. But I found out that when it comes to you, I always am. One way or another.” Geralt breathes and Jaskier almost misses his next word for how loudly his heart is beating out of his chest. “You make me weak, Jask.”

He shakes his head, tries not to shiver from the cold and the tears and the waves of emotions coursing through him. This isn’t real. It cannot possibly be.

But when he opens his eyes again, he finds Geralt still looking at him, his hands twitching in his lap like they never did before. Jaskier wants to reach out and hold them. He can’t move, though, can only stare and let the tears roll down his cheeks as he tries to make sense of it all.

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” Geralt whispers then, swaying where he is. Swaying towards Jaskier, as though his body is yearning to touch. “I’m sorry I lost you. I’m sorry you thought you’d lost me. I’m— I just... I need you to know.”

Jaskier doesn’t know what to say, what to think, what to feel. But he knows what he wants to do, and it’s the one thing he has always wanted to do, the constant ache in his chest, the tingling in his arms to lean into Geralt and share his warmth surrounded by the comforting scent of leather and wood. And so, in the cover of darkness with only the stars as his witness, that’s what he does. He leans into Geralt slowly, ready to retreat at any moment and brush it off like he always has. The witcher doesn’t tense, though, doesn’t push him off or grunt in displeasure.

No. What he does is wrap his arm around Jaskier’s shoulder and hold him there like he only ever did in Jaskier’s dreams.

“You didn’t lose me,” Jaskier speaks then, barely audible because he doesn’t dare to interrupt the cover of silence that has settled over them. “I promise you didn’t. You can even ask the stars,” he adds with a little smile.

“The stars?”

“Hmm. They know. They’ve always known.”

Geralt swallows, and Jaskier can hear how his heart is beating a little faster in his chest. “Known what?”

Heart hammering, Jaskier takes a deep breath and lets it out on a wavering exhale. “That I love you, Geralt of Rivia. And that I always have and always will.”

There. There it is. The last shard of who he used to be, who he is and who he could be. The last piece of his heart that he had a strong hold on, now given away and given freely, resting inside the cradle of Geralt’s hands. It should hurt. Jaskier had always imagined it would hurt when he’d finally tell Geralt, had imagined it would be yelled instead of whispered. Had imagined the air would shift and he would suffocate, a stone-faced Geralt the last thing he’d see before he died a broken-hearted man.

Instead, he feels the careful press of lips to the crown of his head before Geralt tentatively takes a hold of his hand, cradling it as gently as his heart.

“If the stars already bore witness to your story, let them hear a part of mine, hm? The part where I tell you that…” he swallows, and Jaskier holds his breath. “That I think I love you, too. That I miss you. And that I need you.”

And then, miraculously, it is Jaskier who pulls back first. He doesn’t leave the embrace, only sits back and stares at Geralt for the first time tonight. For the first time in what feels like years. He’s still crying, but a hand comes up to his face and wipes away the tears before resting there in a gentle hold. It’s warm and Jaskier can’t help the way he leans into the touch, earning another smile from Geralt.

Time is suspended in the way they look at each other, and Jaskier’s breath hitches when Geralt’s thumb gently strokes his cheek. Breathing becomes difficult in the most wonderful way.

“Jaskier,” Geralt murmurs, swaying closer again. “Can I—“

“Yes,” Jaskier breathes, leaning into Geralt and letting the man claim his lips in a gentle kiss. Hands find their way into his hair as though Geralt means to hold him in place, afraid that Jaskier would leave him.

Neither of them have any more words to share with the stars, but Geralt trails kisses over Jaskier’s face, kissing away the frozen tracks of tears on his cheeks until Jaskier’s own hands find their way into Geralt’s hair, stilling him so he can press a kiss to his forehead. One to his nose. One to the dimple in his chin, and finally one to his smiling lips.

The next time he looks up at the twinkling lights above them, he could swear they’re brighter than they ever were before. And maybe they are, because it’s the first time they can see Geralt holding him like that. Jaskier doesn’t care to examine that, though, because now he can just close his eyes and breathe in the familiar scent of the man he loves so much. And that’s exactly what he does.

Neither of them bears witness to the shooting star that illuminates the night sky above.

~

tagging: @wherethewordsare @natilieal @meebles @luteandsword @horsedadgeralt @herostag @professorjaskier @toboldlynerd

#geraskier #jaskier #geralt of rivia #the witcher #geralt x jaskier #geraltxjaskier #geraskiersource #the witcher netflix #the witcher season 2 #nat writes #look another thing i live wrote in the discord :D