Sort of a prompt I guess? I think it would be funny if geralt and jaskier got married in by accident (fairy married or something like that maybe?) and don't know how to or can't undo it so they just decide to go along with it till they can and by then they relize they don't want to? I don't know what do you think
fuck yeah. I love accidental marriage aus!
tw: accidental marriage, self-doubt
---
Geralt raises an eyebrow. “And this will tell me whether or not I’m in love?”
“Yeah!”
The witcher allows Jaskier to rub the blossom beneath his chin. It tickles very briefly but Geralt is too focused on the way his bard’s blue eyes are shining in the early August light to be bothered. Geralt is too busy staring at the way Jaskier’s brows have scrunched together and the way his cute pink tongue pokes out from between the tight line of his lips as he keeps concentration.
When he’s finished, Jaskier hands him a fresh bloom and declares: “Now you have to do me!”
Geralt returns the favor, ignoring the way heat creeps up the back of his neck at Jaskier’s particular wording of that order. When he thinks he’s done, he lowers the flower to his side and shrugs. “Now what?”
“Is there yellow on my chin? Yours is practically glowing from all the gold in your stubble! You’re in love, Geralt! Fantastic!”
“You might be worse off than I am,” Geralt smiles softly, thumbing some of the pollen from Jaskier’s chin and wiping it on his own dark armor. No point in ruining any more of the bard’s fancy silks. “I guess we’re both smitten.”
“Congratulations!” a high, sing-song voice suddenly calls from the dark of the forest. Geralt shoves Jaskier behind him, sheltering as much of the bard as possible with his shoulder and chest. The arm that isn’t already wielding his silver sword curls protectively backwards, keeping Jaskier close.
“Who goes there!?”
“That’s quite enough posturing, Master Witcher,” a lower, equally melodious voice informs him. Geralt doesn’t lower his sword in the slightest. From the tree-line emerges a line of Faerie folk, dressed in billowing gowns of bright, summery colors. At their head is a tall, slender woman with large green eyes and fiery red hair. “We’ve only come to congratulate you on your marriage. You did follow the tradition rightly, and we’ve come to bestow our blessings upon you both.”
“Our... what?”
“Your wedding,” the strange creature replies. “He pledged himself to you with the flower pollen and he did the same in return, yes?”
“I didn’t know it was-”
“It matters not,” the woman interrupts. “It has been done.”
“Can you un-do it?!” Jaskier cries, flinging himself to his knees. “I never meant- He wasn’t supposed to-”
“Wasn’t supposed to what?” Geralt asks, interrupting the bard’s sobs. “We’re married?”
“By Faerie law,” the woman nods. Jaskier shakes his head and Geralt’s heart falls into his boots. Of course, he realizes. Of course Jaskier wouldn’t want to be tied down, especially not to... someone like me.
“He doesn’t deserve this,” the bard pleads, and Geralt’s head snaps up. What? “He doesn’t deserve to be trapped any more! He doesn’t deserve to be tied down by Destiny or Fate or- or-” Jaskier hiccups, tears flowing freely over ruddy-red cheeks “-stupid bards.”
Geralt realizes, very suddenly and with no small amount of shock or awe, that Jaskier truly does love him. The pollen...
“It only works if you’re in love, right?” he asks the Faerie matron. She nods.
“The magic only takes if you’re both in love with each other,” she explains, the light of understanding finally dawning in her eyes. “And I would not have been summoned to give blessing if you were not deeply enamored with each other.”
“G-Geralt?”
“Hmm,” the witcher hums, smiling down at his bard. He helps Jaskier to his feet and winds his arms around the slighter man’s waist. “I do, Jaskier. I love you very much.”
“I love you too, of course. Ardently and with all of my being.”
“Then, Jaskier and Geralt, married this day by the laws of my people, will you accept our blessings?”
Jaskier nods before Geralt can ask for clarification and the witcher knows already that his newly minted husband will probably be the death of them both. The woman places the palm of her left hand over their joined ones and speaks clearly: “May you never part unless by death. May your lives be long and prosperous and filled with love and song. May the forest always guide you safely home, for you are bound eternally by the love in your souls. Let it never burn out.”
And then, with a flash, the Faeries were gone.
“So...uh...” Jaskier rubs nervously at the back of his neck with his free hand. Geralt tangles their fingers together easily and smiles.
“How about we head to the coast for our honeymoon?” he suggests. Jaskier throws his arms around his witcher’s neck and kisses him straight on the mouth. Both of them smile into it, like idiots, and turn back toward the road.
Okay but when Geralt and Jaskier get married, because they will we’ve all agreed on that right, imagine that when they have their first dance that the song they dance to is Toss a Coin.
Because imagine how cute that would be!!
Geralt twirling Jaskier, looking down at him with so much softness and love and singing along quietly, and Jaskier who can’t stop smiling because he’s so happy.
Cause I drew their proposal, I started thinking about wedding outfits. Mix that with the fact that I went with my sister to her first wedding dress try on session, it was surprisingly a lot of fun. Mix all that again with the fact that I watched Muriel’s Wedding with my mum - great movie - and the fact that I’m now in an Abba mood and we end up here... with a stunning Jaskier in his wedding outfit inspired by ruffled doublets, modern wedding dresses, the 70’s, and ✨ABBA✨
Seriously hope it’s not just aussies that watch Muriels Wedding. Like it may be an Aussie film but I believe anyone could enjoy it, it’s fucking awesome.
happiest of birthdays to the lovely @newnamesamecharlotte ! I hope you enjoy this “Romeo and Juliet” themed ficlet. I’m probably going to post a smutty follow up ficlet sometime next week :3
art by @mawbwehownets
Romeo and Juliet au - 16th century Italy but make it the Witcher - secret wedding au
tw: none, just cute fluffiness
Jaskier slunk down the alleyway with the hood of his borrowed cape pulled low over his face. The extra material cast his features in shadow and obscured his identity from the milling crowd of worshippers and merchants nearby. The last thing he wanted was to be discovered by one of his kinsmen before the marriage rites had been completed by his beloved advisor.
The high stone wall of the temple was cool where it had been shaded from the sun and Jaskier let one finger slide along it as he walked. He felt the tension slowly draining from his shoulders as he moved away from the bustle of the street and further into the shadowy alley.
With a bright grin and bouncing steps, Jaskier finally reached the door that separated the outside world from Friar Vesemir’s set of private rooms. It was an enormous stately door made of thick oak, which hung on three sturdy leather hinges, all three of which creaked ominously as Jaskier managed to tug it slowly open and slip inside.
He shied away from the row of lit torches lining the far wall and stuck to the shadowed half of the passageway, the bottom hem his over-large cape sweeping the smooth granite floors as he searched out his confessor.
“Friar Vesemir?” he called nervously, poking his hooded head into the door of the Friar’s antechamber. “Hello?”
From further inside the suite Jaskier heard the grey-haired Friar mutter a warning: “These violent delights have violent ends, like fire and powder which, as they kiss, consume.”
“You worry too much,” Geralt’s low timbre replied, serious but still playful. “We shall follow your instructions and avoid the main roads out of town, good Friar. Our parents shall not separate us no matter how desperately they try, and I assure you that no harm shall come to Jaskier. I swear this on my life.”
“Is this the voice of my ghostly confessor?” Jaskier inquired, stepping inside. As soon as Geralt’s eyes landed on the smiling figure of his love he rushed across the room to gather Jaskier in his arms, holding him close against that warm, broad chest.
“Geralt shall thank you for us both,” Vesemir said, waving his hand in their direction. He turned to examine his heap of scribbled texts and left the two lovers to speak in near-privacy for a moment.
“I must thank him doubly well,” Jaskier sighed, looking up into the golden eyes of his true love. “For without him there would be no holy union on this day.”
“Fairest Julian - my beloved Jaskier -” Geralt lifted one hand from Jaskier’s waist to caress his cheek, cupping the warm skin against his palm. The other arm he used to pull their bodies closer, until their chests were pressed flush together. The younger man’s plush lips fell open with a little gasp of surprise and Geralt felt the heat of Jaskier’s blush against his fingertips, “If our joy should be equally matched, for my own seems to spring from a boundless fountain fed by Aphrodite herself, then my heart rests easy in my chest.”
“With every passing moment I love you more,” Jaskier asserted. He wound his arms around Geralt’s waist and grinned brightly, “Your gaze is like the sun upon my face and I ache for your light.”
Vesemir pulled his ceremonial robe over his head and sent the two youngsters a meaningful glance. “Enough of this idle love-talk. Make haste to the altar, my children, and we shall make short work of your wedding vows. Melitele shall make two hearts into one and bless us with a glorious dawn, the dawn of a new era of love and acceptance within the borders of Kaedwen.”
Jaskier removed the cape Geralt had lent him and set it on the back of a nearby chair, revealing his wedding clothes to his appreciative fiancé. He turned in a quick circle to show off the white satin doublet and the baby blue trousers, the outfit he’d opted not to wear that fateful ball several months before. The night he’d met Geralt for the first time and fallen head-over-heels in love with the handsome, dashing White Wolf.
The only son of his family’s rival clan. Of course.
Geralt took Jaskier’s hand and brushed a light kiss to the back of his knuckles. “You’re absolutely breathtaking, my love.”
“Children, please,” Vesemir said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Let us continue the ceremony.”
“Aye,” Geralt grinned. He took Jaskier by the hand and led him from the room.
---
“And now before the eyes of Melitele, myself, and holy temple spirits, I do pronounce you married.”
Geralt and Jaskier blinked up at the priest with wide, glowing eyes. The white-haired man quietly cleared his throat and asked, “May I kiss him?”
“It wouldn’t be a proper wedding without a kiss, would it?” Vesemir replied.
With a shout of joy, Geralt leaned forward and pressed his lips against Jaskier’s. They were husbands now. There was nothing the city officials could do to break them apart, nothing their parents could do to break the union and return Jaskier to his previous betrothed.
They belonged together.
Tonight they would ride north to Geralt’s family cottage, which he had provisioned for this exact occasion. They would stay there while the news blew over, enjoying a month-long honeymoon at the foot of the mountains. Alone.
Geralt stood and lifted Jaskier into his arms, carrying him from the ceremonial antechamber and into the temple courtyard. Vesemir followed, trying to hide his grin; a new day was dawning.
for the dialogue prompt! "Okay, forget explaining it to me like I'm 5. Explain it to me like I'm 2."
“Okay, forget explaining it to me like I’m five, explain it to me like I’m two,” Jaskier asks again. He’s bitten his nails to the quick and his knees are practically knocking together.
“We’re going to walk you down the aisle,” Lambert sighs.
“And hand you off to Geralt,” Eskel continues.
“Then you will say your vows,” Vesemir finishes. “And be... man and man, I guess?”
“Witcher and Bard,” Lambert suggests.
“They’re already a witcher and a bard,” Eskel scoffs. “Why have the priest call them that?”
“Just... Let’s just please get walking before I faint,” Jaskier interrupts their pointless bickering. “I’d like to marry into the family if that’s alright.”
Vesemir lowers the veil over his face and takes him by the arm. Lambert and Eskel take either corner of his long white cape-like train and follow him from the room. The eldest Wolf smiles down at his soon-to-be son-in-law; “It’s more than alright, Jaskier. Welcome to the Pack.”
“Jaskier,” Geralt whispers back. “Our hands are tied together. That’s kind of the point. I couldn’t let go of you even if I wanted to, which I do not.”
“Oh, right.”
They turn to face the small crowd of friends and family. The priestess speaks from behind them, voice high and full of laughter and happiness as she makes her announcement after years of waiting for the Witcher to pull his head out of his arse: “I proclaim before you now, and let it be known to all the realm, that Geralt of Rivia and Jaskier Pankratz move through life as one soul, one heart, one bond of love.”
“Awww,” Ciri sniffles from the front row. Geralt represses the urge to roll his eyes during his own handfasting ceremony.
“May your Path be blessed and your travels rich with laughter.”
“With him?” Geralt smiles, cupping Jaskier’s face with his free hand and pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “It always has been.”
(I have one kink and that is Jaskier being referred to as ‘wife’ so deal with it)
--
The fairy is resting on Geralt’s knee. They’re both staring silently into the fire and Geralt is settling down to eat. He’s never really seen Jaskier eat any normal human food; usually his companion finds berries and nuts in the woods.
So he offers the fairy a small piece of bread. “Here. This piece is for you.”
Jaskier lights up and gives a bubbly, joyful chime as he accepts the large crumb. They nibble their respective portions in silence for a moment and when they’re both finished, the fairy’s weight on Geralt’s leg suddenly shifts.
Geralt topples to the side as a very huge version of his fairy companion grins up from the ground. Their bodies are tangled, with Geralt’s lower torso resting against Jaskier’s upper thighs and the large fairy splayed on his back beneath the weight of his Witcher. He smiles widely and says in perfect Common: “My Geralt, at last! You’re finally my husband!”
“Your what?” Geralt manages to wheeze. His eyes are wide in disbelief but no; that is definitely Jaskier. Same blue eyes. Same mop of brown hair. Same long, lean body and...enormous white butterfly wings.
“You shared your bread with me and completed the final fairy courting ritual. We are wed at last, my darling!”
“Final? Wha- how many are there? When did we complete them!?”
“You didn’t...oh husband,” the fairy giggles brightly. The sound of his laugh closely mimics his previous bell-like language. It rings out melodically and settled softly in Geralt’s heart. “You silly ass. First you offered me your hand, which I accepted. Then you bought me gifts of intent, which I accepted. Finally you shared the food of your table, which I, of course, accepted. Now we are married and you are my husband. My Geralt.”
Geralt stares down at his regular sized companion, still in shock. The fairy’s clothes have grown with him, through some form of magic (thank god), and he looks so soft in the rolled up pink trousers and loose white shirt. He murmurs a word on instinct, the same instinct that had brought his lips to the top of Jaskier’s head all those months ago. Geralt says: “Wife.”
The fairy beams and sits up, adjusting their positions slightly so that Geralt’s back is cradled against Jaskier’s bent leg. The Witcher has never been cradled in someone’s lap before. He finds it oddly...calming. His wife’s wings flutter down around them forming a sort of cocoon. “I can’t wait to introduce you to my parents!”
“Parents?”
Geralt thinks of his winters at Kaer Morhen. Would Jaskier’s flighty, summery nature be able to survive? “My brothers...”
“Brothers!?” the fairy squeals. His eyes are so incredibly blue when they’re up close like this... “There are more humans like you?”
Geralt blinks back to reality. “Like me?”
“Protectors,” the fairy deadpans, as if he is explaining a very simple concept to a very young child. “There are more strong, dandelion-eyed protectors?”
Geralt has never heard himself described in such a way. He nods, throat suddenly full of air that can’t be breathed. “Aye.”
Jaskier leans close, pressing their torsos together. His over-hot skin makes the medallion on Geralt’s chest vibrate rather merrily but the Witcher ignores it. Jaskier would never hurt him. “May I kiss you, husband?”
“Aye.”
And those broad, white wings close around them and the world disappears for awhile. There is only his Jaskier.
Tale as old as time, song as old as rhyme, Jaskier and the Beast...
sorry, couldn’t help myself. Anyway!
---
Jaskier looked himself over in the mirror one final time for good measure. He was rather pretty; as he deserved to be on his wedding day. He was a bride, after all, and most brides were far more temperamental than he had been. All things considered, the wedding ensemble gifted to him by the crotchety village elder was actually rather stunning. As he turned back and forth before his silver looking-glass he felt happy and excited.
He was also very sure that Essi, the only person in the village he had managed to befriend before his sudden and unexpected arranged engagement, had made sure to equip him with some lace and fine fabrics.
“Oh, sweetest Miss Essi,” he smiled, fastening the last mother-of-pearl button on his cuff and straightening out the doublet a final time. “You have done a wondrous thing for me; I will not forget you.”
With the entire outfit put together and the details attended to, Jaskier looked every part the blushing bride in a fairy tale story. A pair of white satin trousers fit snugly around his calves and thighs and tied closed at the small of his back. He’d done them up with a series of complicated bows. His doublet, embroidered around the hem with soft yellow buttercups and made of heavy white satin brocade, was tailored in the ribbon-heavy Redanian style.
There was a short, knee-length cape of matching white velvet, held closed with a rose-shaped clasp over his left collarbone. The elders had even provided Jaskier with a lovely gossamer veil, trimmed with a border of hand-made lace and attached to a flower crown of interwoven buttercup and dandelion blossoms. The yellow really brought out the blue of his eyes; the villagers had done him yet another accidental favor.
Jaskier felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes and wiped them hurriedly away. He’d put on a little kohl for this and he didn’t want to ruin the effect by smudging it too early. “Damnit it all, Geralt. Why can’t you be here for this part?”
“Are you ready?” the guard outside his door asked, peeking his helmeted head inside the doorframe politely (it seemed silly to put a guard there to keep Jaskier from running away when he’d been living willingly with Geralt for several months at this point, but oh well).
“Almost!” Jaskier replied. He tied Geralt’s engagement dagger around his waist and cinched the leather belt tightly. The thin line of black and the softly glinting scabbard added just enough Beast to his bridal ensemble to make this all feel real. It was finally Candlemas Eve. They were to be wed, fully and legally husbands for the rest of Jaskier’s mortal life. The glowing peasant boy pulled the veil down over his face and smiled at his reflection.
“Now I’m ready,” he announced, stepping out of his private chamber. He had no bouquet, so his hands began to tap little calming rhythms against his legs. “Shall we go?”
“Lord Weatherby will be walking you down the aisle,” the guard explained. They started off down the hallway towards the Great Hall.
“Lovely,” Jaskier rolled his eyes. It was Lord Weatherby who had chosen him to play sacrificial lamb in the first place, and while Jaskier secretly owed the man his entire happiness, volunteering an unwilling victim to the Beast had been less than considerate. Geralt wasn’t exactly happy with the whole situation, either, but he’d agreed to let the old man play his part as intended (on the condition that he and Jaskier be left totally alone after the ceremony ended...forever).
The guard stopped outside the huge oak doors that shut the Great Hall off from the rest of the keep and told Jaskier to wait. The excited bride tapped his foot impatiently and nibbled furiously at his bottom lip. He knew that Geralt was just inside, down a short red carpet, standing beneath the huge carving of a great white wolf. Jaskier was practically vibrating out of his skin. He wanted to be married now. He wanted these people to go away and leave him and his Beast in their keep all alone.
Just the two of them.
Jaskier and his husband.
The ancient Lord Weatherby appeared at his side and took his arm with practiced grace. “Thank you for your sacrifice,” the old man intoned.
“Couldn’t be happier,” the peasant boy glared. “Though it would have been nice for you to ask for volunteers, first. Very rude of you to do to Geralt. Lucky for you, we’re happy together.”
The old man grimaced and gestured for the doors to be opened. He pulled Jaskier forward with urgent distaste, tugging the boy down the aisle as quickly as possible. He deposited the blushing brunette in front of Geralt and took a seat beside the other uninvited guests, wiping his hands on his jacket as if disgusted. Jaskier was too enraptured by his Beast to care.
“We are gathered here, in the halls of Kaer Morhen…” the priest gave a short and very boring speech but all Jaskier could focus on was how handsome and wonderful his Beast truly was. Tall and broad, with long white hair that felt so good to run between his fingers and eyes that put polished topaz to shame. He was decked out in his own wedding finery; a long-sleeved silk tunic in navy blue, high-waisted leather pants that hadn’t seen battle recently, and knee-high black boots shined just this morning. His hair had been braided out of his eyes and a silver circlet had been fastened atop his head. Jaskier found it thrillingly gorgeous but he was sure his Witcher hated it.
At last it came time for the vows. Geralt lifted the veil and gasped so quietly that only Jaskier could have heard it. His honey-gold gaze went soft and loving and something deep in the human’s chest settled into place. This was where he belonged, at his Witcher’s side, keeping him safe from the hurts and the hatred of the world beyond Kaer Morhen. They both needed this peace. They both deserved to be left to their own devices, to be left alone with their love and the warm stone castle, for the rest of their natural days.
The Beast and his bride exchanged pre-written vows quickly, placed the thin silver bands on each other’s appropriate fingers, and kissed.
It was a soft, achingly gentle kiss. Geralt’s hands cupped Jaskier’s face and Jaskier’s hands were grasping gently at the front of his husband’s tunic. The Witcher’s lips moved softly against his newly anointed husband’s, pressing little promises into the soft pink skin. When they parted, the Beast gave Jaskier an additional kiss to the forehead before turning to their ‘guests’.
“You saw what you needed to see. Now get out of Kaer Morhen and never return!”
---
Once the castle had been cleared of intruders and the doors were all locked firmly shut behind them, Geralt gathered his bride into his arms. He removed the delicate veil and set it to the side. “You look so beautiful.”
“You clean up rather nicely yourself, dear husband.”
Geralt blushed sweetly at the honorific and Jaskier grinned.
He threw his slender arms around the Witcher’s broad shoulders and laughed brightly, filling the hall with the sound of joy. “Oh, my husband, my Beast! We are wed at last! We shall never be parted!”
The Witcher swept his new spouse up into his arms and took off towards the kitchen. “I know you thought that we’d be going directly to the bedroom after our little ceremony,” he teased. “But no Witcher wedding is complete without a feast.”
“A feast for just the two of us?” Jaskier asked.
“Yes. I...I followed my adoptive father’s recipe. He only made it once before, and that was so many years ago, but I hope that I have done him proud.”
“You’ve certainly impressed your bride,” Jaskier winked. “We both know I’m a rather hopeless cook.”
“Hmm,” the Beast smiled and nodded. “Aye.”
“And yet you married me.”
Geralt paused their journey to press another series of heated kisses to his little husband’s eager mouth. “Are you still happy to have me, little bird?”
“The only place I’ll ever be happy again is in your arms, my darling, delicate Beast.”
“Then I suppose,” Geralt whispered, setting Jaskier back on his feet and winding his arms around his consort’s waist. He dropped his forehead down until it rested against Jaskier’s and looked into those bright blue eyes with complete and utter confidence, “That I will never let you go.”
