Geralt has a hobby he only allows himself to partake in during the winter, alone in his room.
Everyone knows Geralt sketches and scribbles monsters, beasts, and relics alike in his journal, but his secret is he also sketches down Jaskier. Jaskier's best poses, and outfits, and the best scenery he stood in front of.
When winter comes, Geralt goes through and picks the very best one to turn into a full-fledged painting, of which he'll hang in his room with the others from all the years before.
When he's lonely and sad, he simply turns to the evidence that the world is worth it all. Happy, sunny, sweet Jaskier. Stupid, reckless, loud, noisy, annoying, slutty Jaskier. He wouldn't have him any other way. He always paints him smiling, surrounded by flowers and lush foliage. Scenic views and beautiful lighting, all the better to compliment the bard's beauties.
All is well until Lambert comes in one day and laughs. "Whoa. When you said you doodled, I didn't know it was to make a shrine for your bard!"
"Lambert, he's not my bard."
"You have like a dozen paintings of him smiling at you with half-lidded eyes! Is this how you get off at night?"
"LAMBERT"
"Sorry, you're right, don't tell me, I don't wanna know. Even though I can guess pretty easily-"
"Just fuck off!"
"Fine! Jeez.. So twitchy."
This small event means nothing to Geralt. It's meaningless.
Or at least it was.
Until he and Jaskier bump into Lambert in the summer, and Lambert playfully elbows Jaskier in the side, and says to "Ask loverboy about his art collection!"
Jaskier cocks an eyebrow and turns to Geralt with confusion, and if Geralt wasn't currently thinking about how to put his brother's head on a pike, he might've been tempted to draw the bard's lovely expression.
In which Jaskier teaches Geralt the art of courting. It’s all about paying attention to details, really, except he may be missing a few details himself.
also on ao3
“What do you mean I’m wrong? Certainly she was interested,” Jaskier takes another bite of the lemon cake and speaks with his mouth full, “or why did she wink at me, hmm? Nobody winks if they are not falling in love, even just a little. When it comes to the matter of the heart, my friend, I should be the expert between us.”
The sun is climbing high, and their little picnic will need to end soon due to the midday heat, but Geralt still lazes on the large blanket set up by himself earlier. His head is pillowed on one arm, and the other has raised to his forehead to block the sunlight.
What Geralt also set up in the morning before asking Jaskier to join him on this meadow is a basket of assorted pastries and wine. It sits beside him, now only half full, and Jaskier sits on the other side cross-legged, munching on the food without a care in the world.
“I’m not saying you’re wrong,” Geralt replies, eyes closed. “I’m merely pointing out a fact, Jaskier, that you may not understand the matter of the heart as well as you believe.”
“Wow.” Jaskier licks the honey off his thumb. “I won’t take offense because you’re you, but let it be noted that I always know. Always! If someone is pursuing me, it will be so obvious the words might as well be written across their forehead.”
“Is it though? I reckon someone could be doing it right in your face and you wouldn’t recognize it.”
“Ha! I doubt it. The perks of being a noble and a bard, I suppose. They teach you all there is to courting until nothing is a surprise anymore.” Jaskier sighs to the blue sky. “When you think about it, it’s a bit sad, really.”
“Hmm.” Geralt’s eyes snap open, his gaze falling on Jaskier curiously. “And how would one go about courting, in your opinion?”
Jaskier’s eyebrows shoot up. The picnic has done such wonders for Geralt’s mood that he’s being talkative. Not to mention he came up with the very idea himself. A relaxing day out in a gorgeous meadow, right before the local summer festival. What a nice treat!
Finally, Geralt is learning the art of self-care. Jaskier should be so proud.
“Well, I will tell you,” Jaskier answers, grinning, “since you’re oh-so eager to learn, as rare as it happens. First lesson,” he starts, “good food.”
“Food?”
“Never overlook what a good meal can do to a person. For you, Geralt, if you ever decide to court someone—whoever the lucky sod may be—always start with filling their stomach. Remember, no one has the mood for romance while being their hungriest and crankiest self.”
“Oh,” Geralt says. “I wouldn’t know.”
“Take notes then!”
Jaskier preens while finishing the cake. Some crumbs have fallen onto Geralt’s tunic, so he picks it out with sticky fingers and sucks away the last of the frosting.
Geralt pauses, pursing his lips before speaking.
“How’s the cake, Jask?”
“Fantastic!” Jaskier answers, licking his lips and toying with the idea of eating another. He probably shouldn’t; he’s too full already. “Rude of me to not have thanked you. So thank you, Geralt! But where did you buy these? It tastes just like the store I tried a few years ago.”
“It’s the same one. You mentioned—”
“Anyway, don’t sidetrack me,” Jaskier continues excitedly, rubbing his hands together. “Secondly, plan a nice date.”
Geralt lets out a sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Go on,” he then prompts.
Jaskier straightens his back in all seriousness. “It is customary to ensure that your beloved enjoys the courtship. Thus, you must pick the right activities. The first date is particularly important. You want to do something that allows you two to get to know each other, so it can’t be too strenuous. Horse-riding would be a no-go. You can barely hear each other and it ruins both of your hair.”
“Hmm,” Geralt muses. “So something quiet? An outdoor activity that also provides some privacy.”
“Indeed! And location matters too.”
“Like a place with a beautiful view. Good weather, lots of greenery and sunshine,” Geralt adds.
He’s looking directly into Jaskier’s eyes, unblinking.
Jaskier hums, impressed.
“Now you’re getting it! Better with somewhere to sit too, in case you get tired but don’t want to leave yet. You know, when there is a connection, all the time in the world isn’t enough.”
“Two decades could be too short.”
“Exactly!”
Jaskier pats Geralt on the chest, surprised that his witcher is learning so fast. Oh, he can make a romantic out of him yet.
“Jaskier.”
Geralt clears his throat, opens his mouth and closes it a few times. He seems to struggle to say something, but it could just be Geralt’s usual broody self acting up with all this talk about love and feelings.
“Never mind,” he simply says in the end. “Is there a third point to this whole…courting lesson?”
“The third one,” Jaskier says softly, “is the most important of them all.”
At that, Geralt sits on the blanket so he’s at eye level with Jaskier. He’s listening so carefully it’s unlike him. Jaskier would tease but something about the way Geralt carries himself tells him that he should speak carefully too.
“The third and last lesson in the art of courting.” Jaskier picks his words carefully. “Just…show that you care.”
Geralt blinks.
“That easy?”
Jaskier nods. “It’s that easy. Listen to them, pay attention, and remember the details. You deny it but there’s planty of caring in you, Geralt. It’s the showing that could give you trouble. The smallest things make a difference, but they are the biggest ones too. Showing your heart is what matters at the end of the day, when it’s in the right place. And I know yours often is—well, underneath all the grumbles and frowns.”
Geralt snorts. “As you so often point out.”
Except Geralt is neither grumbling nor frowning. He’s giving Jaskier that look again.
“You are giving me that look again.”
“What look?” Geralt asks gently.
Jaskier ducks his head, looking away from how ridiculously sweet this man can be. “Like you are smiling but you don’t want to, so you end up only smiling with your eyes.”
He wonders if Geralt will look at his beloved like this when he courts them. The idea makes Jaskier a bit disappointed, somehow, and he realizes that no matter how eager he was to teach Geralt all these tricks, he may not necessarily want to see them put into use.
The day is truly too hot. He’s not thinking straight anymore.
“Come on,” Geralt says suddenly, after a moment of silence. “We should go to the town hall. The celebration is starting.”
He stands from the ground and pulls Jaskier with him. The air will soon be scorching and the bright sun makes Jaskier squint, but the smile on Geralt’s face is blooming into a real one gradually.
“Yes,” Jaskier says, shaking off those stray thoughts. “I’ve been wanting to see this one for ages.”
“You said.”
“Well, then. Chop chop. Let’s not miss the beginning. Did you know the local children will sing an ode to summer? They’d rehearse a cute little dance too. Even without seeing it, I’m sure it’ll become my favorite thing in the world by the end of the day!”
“I know. It’s why we’re here, Jaskier.”
Geralt looks all but fond when he begins wrapping the picnic blanket and putting away the left-over pastries, and he cocks his head when Jaskier jumps on his tiptoes impatiently.
“Go on, then,” he says. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Jaskier squeezes Geralt on the arm in thanks. There’s a wildflower lodged in his clothes but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“Don’t forget the lessons.” Jaskier winks. “You could use it one day.”
The golden sun surrounds Geralt, making it hard to discern his expression, but the smile lingers in his eyes.
*Obi wan kenobi voice*
Hello there!
Turns out writers block wasn't as done with me as I thought xDD but I'm fighting it!!
So this is a piece written for an a/b/o event we are doing at @thepassifloradiscord, because fun, and there is just something about courting that is just so kdkdfjf.
Yes, I'm ok, thank you for asking.
So please enjoy this little thing, where Eskel is not enjoyin spring!
Here on Ao3
It’s been pouring down for fucking days.
Spring is the absolute worst, Eskel thinks to himself as he trudges along muddy roads toward his usual inn.
Not only because of the shitty weather, but also because of all the monsters approaching their mating season, because of the more than abundant pollen, because stupid Jaskier who doesn’t realize Eskel has been courting him for months.
He probably could have been clearer, but Eskel really thought that Jaskier would have picked up on it by now.
The flowers, clearly coded in flower language to express his feelings for Jaskier.
The gift, meant to show his feelings for Jaskier in physical form. The silk shirt, to prove that he could provide for his intended mate. The hand holding, to show that he would always be a bastion of safety, warmth and love for his chosen.
Eskel had felt especially brave about the hand holding, as it is not something witchers do, do they?
But Jaskier had beamed, laced their fingers together and pressed up against his arms, so what was he to think?
When they had said their goodbyes before the winter, he had angled Jaskier’s chin up and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips.
And Jaskier had looked so dumbfounded, so gobsmacked, that Eskel had turned tail and ran.
Not the wisest move, he admits to himself, but given the way Jaskier had smiled at him and held his hand... Eskel is simply a man.
A drenched man right now, as he stomps through the puddles with Scorpion at his side.
Fucking mud, fucking rain, Scorpion needs to go to the ferrier to replace a shoe that disappeared somewhere two days ago.
Most likely when they were running away from a nest of agitated nekkers, and there is no going back for it.
There is only an hour left until he reaches the inn.
The letters he had picked up after he made it down that blasted mountain were mostly from Jaskier, writing about missing him, and where they would meet in the upcoming spring.
Which reminds him. Another bad thing with spring is his Rut. It usually hits during the late winter/early spring, just in time for him to make it down the mountain and find a whorehouse, or an incubus, or a succubus, or whatever.
There is just no way of telling exactly when it'll come.
It doesn’t feel right to meet Jaskier just as it starts, like bad manners, but his body is intent on betraying him.
If he didn’t know better, he would suspect that his Rut is purposely holding out until they meet.
Which would mean either running off or dealing with it together.
And Eskel doesn’t want Jaskier to feel obligated, or like Eskel is assuming things will happen.
Despite the rain, he can smell the smoke from the chimneys from down the road. Maybe less than an hour, then.
Daylight is slowly fading when Eskel reaches the outskirts of the village.
The inn sits at the crossroads, the little dirt courtyard in front of the stable lined with a rickety fence. There is already light in the windows, and a teenager runs up to meet him and Scorpion when he approaches.
“Is there a farrier in town?” he asks, tossing the boy a copper when he grabs Scorpion’s reins. “Don’t touch his hindlegs, by the way,” he warns.
Eskel almost feels bad about leaving the boy with his stallion, but there is a restlessness twisting in his bones.
From inside, he can hear the strumming of a lute, sense Jaskier’s scent in the air. Warm and spicy, familiar and safe and enticing.
The boy stammers out a “Yes, master witcher,” and Eskel is moving. He walks towards the inn's door and slips inside quietly so as to not disturb the performance.
Jaskier sits upon a chair in the corner, where the floor is slightly elevated. From the look of the crowd, Eskel is not the only traveler seeking cover as there are but a few tables free at the front.
There is no fucking way Eskel is going to sit in front of the stage.
So by the wall he stands, until a table further back vacates. He orders a serving of tonight's dinner and two ales.
When Jaskier notices him, a secret smile graces his lips, his content scent spiking.
“I’m afraid this will be my last song for tonight, fair folk,” Jaskier informs the tavern, strumming up a gentle tune, eyes lingering on Eskel.
His dinner arrives and he promptly forgets about it, held captive by Jaskier's every word. By a song about hoping, about searching.
The sweet gesture of a daisy tucked lovingly behind your ear.
The soul-warming sensation of a hand in yours.
A kiss given when parting is inevitable.
There is thin applause when he finishes up, and Eskel can do nothing but stare when Jaskier packs up and approaches his table.
“Hi you,” he says quietly, smiling down at him.
“Hi yourself,” Eskel manages. “I uh… bought you a drink.”
“Such a gentleman,” Jaskier says, stealing Eskel’s drink anyway, eyes gleaming over the rim of the mug. “Did you find a room yet?”
“Was told it was fully booked.”
“Then stay in mine,” Jaskier offers. Tension builds between them now, much stronger than in the past. “You are absolutely drenched. Eat up so we can head upstairs and get you dried off.”
They make their way up to Jaskier’s room after Eskel finishes his meal. The cold is starting to get to him, at long last.
There is no fireplace in the room, but they make do. Eskel’s wet clothes are hung over chairs and laid out on the small table, even hanging on the lute case.
There is only one bed, but luckily, it's big enough for the two of them to sleep comfortably.
Eskel still offers to take the floor.
“Don’t even think about it,” Jaskier threatens, wagging his finger. “Witchers may not get sick, no, but they get fucking sore and you will be as grumpy as Geralt in the morning, and that is just a crime.”
Snorting, Eskel relents. Soon the candle is blown out and they have settled in on each side of the bed.
They lie quietly next to each other, Eskel staring up at the ceiling.
“Uhm. That last song you sang…” Eskel says. daring to break the silence, and Jaskier turns his head to look at him. “That was about us?”
“You noticed.” Jaskier smiles.
“Unlike you,” Eskel teases.
When Jaskier doesn’t say anything for a long moment, Eskel grows nervous.
“Eskel... Were you courting me?”
The witcher blinks and his heart sinks.
“I was. Am. But if I read it all wrong, if you're not interested, I can stop,” Eskel offers quietly.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Jaskier threatens, turning on his side to face him. He reaches for Eskel’s hand. Their fingers lace together like they haven't spent the entire winter season apart. “But maybe this time, I’ll court you back?”
A kiss is pressed to the back of his hand, and Eskel can't stop the ache in his chest. His entire being screams mate, but he is in no hurry. None at all.
“I would like that.”
They end up curled around each other.
Eskel presses his lips to the back of Jaskier’s neck, a hand against his chest, nestled under his sleeping tunic.
The trust that Jaskier displays baring himself like this, makes Eskel hold him tighter, press him closer. One day he might put a mark there.
Pressing a kiss to the nape of Jaskier’s neck, he spreads his hand wider. He feels greedy, wanting more when he is allowed so much already.
But there is more to talk about, more topics to discuss.
For now, Eskel is more content than he has been in years. The sweet smell of Jaskier, his heartbeat under Eskel’s palm.
Geralt, introvert and hopeless with social interaction, asks his best friend, Jaskier, how to woo his crush, Yennefer. Jaskier agrees to be his wingman. But over time, Geralt starts falling in love with his wingman.
And one day it clicks and Geralt’s like, “oh shit. I fucked myself over.”
Jaskier came back to his and Geralt's shared room after a passionate night with a barmaid and found the witcher in a really bad mood so he jokingly asked "What's wrong? You jealous?"
And Geralt decided to be brave and open with his feelings for once in his life so he replied with "What if I am?"
Jaskier was stunned for a sec but then he just laughed and went "Don't worry my friend! I'll help you find someone hot and get laid too next time."
Geralt just facepalmed.
(just cause i think oblivious!jaskier and frustrated!geralt is a really funny combo)
Jaskier: So I have this really sexy friend I could hook you up with, if you want.
Geralt: Yeah? Hotter than you?
Jaskier: Oh for sure.
Geralt: I literally just... called you hot... Jaskier please... work with me...
There’s nothing I love more then a powerful jaskier au but I’m also extremely fond of when jaskier gets to be an oblivious idiot (geralt can’t hog that title all of the time)
So hear me out, jaskier with magic, but also a jaskier that is in extreme denial about having magic
geralt knew jaskier wasn’t completely human a week after meeting him. He didn’t smell quite right, there was always a slight tinge of ozone under his natural scent, something that felt like raw untapped power
his medallion didn’t vibrate though, so he knew the bard wasn’t a monster. He waited for the other shoe to drop, for jaskier to finally reveal whatever the hell the bard was. Months and months go by, and eventually years and still...... nothing.
geralt watches as the flower crowns jaskier makes never wilt, how the sun shines brighter when he laughs, how people seem to bend over backwards when jaskier smiles hard enough, and how the forest itself seems to create paths for him to walk down, how the road wouldn’t dare to lay a rock in his merry way
it isn’t until they’re in the middle of a bandit attack off the path and geralt watches as the bandit creeping behind jaskier is thrown into a tree with a sickening crack, and the man threatening jaskier with a sword suddenly screams in pain as the metal turns red hot, giving geralt the time he needs to cut the man down, the scent of burned flesh lingering in the hair
jaskier turns to him, a relieved smile on his face, and geralt thinks this is the moment, there’s no denying this, and jaskier just makes some comment about how lucky he was that it was hot out today, and can you imagine how that could have gone if it was fall?
and then geralt realizes,
oh.
jaskier is just a fucking idiot
an idiot who is so convinced of his own humanity that he denies any and all of the signs pointing towards just the opposite
signs like how jaskier always seems to know what geralt needs before he knows it himself
random weird instructions like, make sure you bring an extra vial of Swallow, which comes in handy when swamp water makes the first vial slip right through his hand to smash on the ground or a “don’t forget your cloak” on a perfectly sunny day that turns to a downpour as he trudges back to the inn
all of these instances continue through the years, years that don’t seem to affect jaskier as geralt silently adds possible immortality to his list of “weird things jaskier can apparently do”
eventually when yennefer and ciri join them on their travels, other people are finally privy to jaskier’s powers
yennefer directs a questioning eyebrow toward geralt when the dead bird they stumbled upon twitches to life in jaskier’s hands and flies away.
later that night geralt tells yennefer about all the instances of magic that have surrounded jaskier since they’ve been traveling together
the only thing yennefer can think of is that it must be fey blood, it’s the only explanation that makes sense of all of the raw power
ciri joins the ranks of People Baffled By Jaskier’s Obliviousness when she watches jaskier glare a field of flowers into full bloom and then remark on the power of positive reinforcement because, look ciri!
these instances continue
a perfectly sunny day turns into a downpour when geralt accidentally insults jaskier’s outfit
valdo marx conveniently has an intimate run in with a ditch after crossing paths with them on the road
a tavern bar catches on fire after the owner refused to serve geralt
it all comes to a head when nilfgaardian soldiers manage to corner them in the mountains. Geralt is cutting down soldiers left and right, yennefer is shooting spell after spell. but its obvious they are tiring with so many soldiers, and they are in a space too small for ciri to scream without hurting any of her family
jaskier doesn’t know what’s happening, one second they’re being overwhelmed, and he feels a sensation boiling up in his chest, engulfing his body and growing bigger and bigger with his desperation and he just wants everything to stop and suddenly he feels a need to push out and he closes his eyes and thrusts his hands forward, and everything is..... quiet?
he opens his eyes and he sees geralt and ciri and yen all gaping at him and jaskier looks around and sees frost stretching out from his feet, and ice enveloping all of the soldiers, freezing them in place. there’s neat circles of grass surrounding each member of his family but the frost clinging to his fingertips leaves no doubt about who was the cause of this sudden onslaught of snow.
the bard brushes his hands off on his pants, and makes a small show of straightening his clothes before he looks back at his companions, still staring at him in awe.
“well, that’s new”
yennefer lets loose a loud laugh shocked from her in disbelief, followed by the little giggles of ciri
the bruise geralt leaves on his own forehead after facepalming doesn’t go away for three days
It happened at the end of every autumn season. They travelled further and further north. They left Temaria and crossed the Pontar, and Geralt got even shiftier than usual. They made their way through Redania, and Jaskier could practically feel Geralt’s hackles rising. They reached the Kaedweni borders and Geralt’s shoulders were so tense they were up past his ears.
Geralt would be leaving him behind soon to go winter in Kaer Morhen, and Jaskier would travel back through the lands to settle in Oxenfurt until spring hit and the snows melted.
Jaskier waited every day for the typical excuses. He wouldn’t be hurt, when they came. He knew Kaer Morhen was probably no place for a human, being difficult enough to hike to even before the snow and ice set in to impede the travel. Not to mention the monsters lurking about the mountains; and the witchers themselves, if they were anything like Geralt when he’d first met his White Wolf. They probably wouldn’t take well to a stranger.
Jaskier could tell that Geralt had been taking them through a longer route to get to where he was going. There were far faster routes, the ones they’d taken in past years, through the riverside border towns. Instead, Geralt had led them through Rinde (or, more accurately, past Rinde, as neither had been keen to return ever since the djinn incident) and up into Kaedwin’s rough wilderness, with the nearest cities being a week’s travel at least.
Geralt was doing that thing again, where he drew out his goodbye to Jaskier as long as he possibly could.
Honestly, Jaskier thought it was sweet. Geralt’s words and glares may have often been harsh, but he spoke much louder and much more fondly with his actions than anything else. Geralt could deny their friendship all he wanted, but Jaskier could see the truth. The man liked him, whether he wanted to or not. Jaskier had grown on him.
Like a weed. Or a particularly stubborn flower.
(Granted, Jaskier would love something more than friendship, but truly, simply having Geralt in his life was enough. So long as they were together in some fashion, Jaskier could suffer a little pining. He could suffer through anything, so long as he had Geralt.)
Except, they reached the town of Shaerrawedd, where the two of them would usually part (though it was more logical to part while Jaskier was still in Redania, making his travel to Oxenfurt much easier, they hadn’t done that in years. Jaskier liked to think it was because Geralt missed him as much as he missed Geralt), and Geralt still hadn’t said goodbye. They travelled up the nearby Lixela river together, and Geralt still hadn’t said goodbye. They passed through one of the smaller towns to have a warm night’s stay in an inn, and Geralt still hadn’t said goodbye.
Jaskier decided he had to put a stop to this as they passed through Ard Carraigh. There were no more towns left, he couldn’t go much further and still be able to travel back safely when Geralt finally did work up the courage to say goodbye.
“I suppose this is where we part ways,” Jaskier sighed quietly, watching Geralt brush down Roach in the stables. It sounded far sadder than he had intended it to.
Geralt went stiff, the movements of the brush stuttering for a moment. He cleared his throat and continued brushing. Jaskier gave him the space and time needed to think out his words, knowing the drill by now.
“Actually,” Geralt said quietly, “I thought you could come along this year. As my guest.”
“Calling me a bloody eunuch the last time wasn’t enough?!” Jaskier rants, trailing after Geralt into the cold night. “You had to— You had to—”
“I’m sorry,” Geralt sneers. “The next time you sleep with some idiot lord’s wife, I’ll just let him run you through with his sword, shall I?”
“You could have said anything!” Jaskier shrills at him. “Did you have to tell him that— That I was—”
“My Nilfgaardian love slave?” Geralt prompts helpfully.
“THAT!”
And Jaskier watches, transfixed, as a slow dirty smile curls up the side of Geralt’s mouth. “What? You don’t think you’d like it?”
(or, five times geralt and jaskier had to pretend to be in, like, a violently sexual relationship, and one time... well.)
method by some_stars
"Look," Jaskier says, a little desperately, "you've pretended to be my bodyguard before, right? This isn't so different."
Geralt says, "It's different." But he doesn't, actually, say 'no.'
(For the prompt: "Jaskier has secretly been engaged this whole time (he is a viscount after all) and Geralt agrees to pretend to be dating Jaskier so his fiance will let him cancel the engagement.")
That’s My Boyfriend by toyhto
Geralt thinks Jaskier is his boyfriend. Jaskier doesn't know how and when that happened.
Dicks (in every direction) by relenafenal
“I hope he’s into men,” Jaskier said. “Or at least willing to play along with pretending to be for long enough for you to get a picture.”
“You’re going to walk up to that?” Essi asked. “You have more balls than brains.”
That was probably true.
Bardic Idyll by Lisztful
Jaskier is certain he can win the Continent's annual bardic competition, but he needs to be accompanied by a dashing romantic companion in order to enter. Enter Geralt, who is definitely, for sure, only interested in the free food, and not at all in staring lovingly into Jaskier's eyes.
Pretend boyfriends fic, with battling bards, well-meaning friends, and fluff and angst in equal measure.
My Boyfriend From Rivia is Totally Real by anarchycox
Jaskier accidentally lies to Valdo Marx that he had Geralt are in fact dating. And then he decides to roll with the lie and it just keeps growing and growing.
Remember me I ask, Remember me I sing by LadyAhiru
When Geralt finally pulls his head out of his own ass and goes to find his bard after their big fight he is surprised that Jaskier is happy to see him. He shortly realises that the singer had an accident and doesn't remember a thing, a misunderstanding leads him to believe he is Geralt's lover and the Witcher, to scared to lose him again, doesn't correct him.
i am weak, my love (and I am wanting) by vachement
Contrary to popular belief, Jaskier knew when he’d fucked up. Sure, the knowledge usually led to him digging a bigger hole for himself, but he was at least self-aware enough to know that he was, at heart, a massive idiot.
Which was why he was currently knocking on the door to Geralt’s apartment, a box of chocolates held awkwardly in one hand.
“Geralt!” he greeted as soon as the other man opened the door. He held out the chocolates first as a preemptive peace offering, knowing well that he’d need it. “Date me.”
