(everyone loves a little fluffy h/c and bonding, right? also yes that’s a 1D reference. no I will not apologize for it)
I’m not doing a tag list cause I honestly don’t have the energy for that but if you follow the ‘geraskier beauty and the beast au’ tag you’ll see every one of these. I’m also gonna add a masterlist to my pinned post
also please please comment. that’s the stuff that keeps me writing. please.
---
“Get away from him!” Geralt roared. He clutched the hilt of his silver sword with both hands and charged forward. Several dark and horrible-smelling masses of fur had Jaskier backed up and trembling fiercely against the trunk of an ancient oak. Wolves. They’d surrounded him while he was taking a walk and now the young human knew his time had come to an end.
Geralt could pick out the bitter aroma of Jaskier’s potent and all-consuming fear even over the scent of the wolf pack and he noted that the boy’s blue eyes were wide and unblinking. Jaskier was utterly terrified; paralyzed in place by the threat of certain death.
“Jaskier!” the Beast called, drawing the attention of several wolves away from their current prey. “I’m coming, Jaskier! Don’t move!”
“Geralt, no! Don’t come any closer! You could be killed! Stay back!”
The trained monster-slayer nearly stopped in his tracks. Nearly.
No one had ever been concerned for his safety before. Usually they were too busy panicking to care who got hurt and who didn’t; they just didn’t want to die. Jaskier had told Geralt to stay back. Jaskier had begun to care for him and his wellbeing.
The Beast finally grew close enough to do some kind of damage. He raised his sword and brought it down on the first wolf. The creature dropped to the ground and its packmate leapt, already opening its wide maw to bite at Geralt wherever it could reach. There hadn’t been time to put any armor on and the white-haired Witcher grunted in pain as the wolf’s sharp teeth sunk into the meat of his shoulder.
“Geralt!” Jaskier cried. The young man ran forward, brandishing a pointed tree branch at the other wolves. He swung it in wide circles, batting the animals away as well as he could in an effort to reach Geralt’s side. “Fight back, my Beast! Please!”
Geralt obeyed. He cut down the wolf whose pointed teeth had torn his shoulder before taking on another two starving and half-crazed canines. The last handful of wolves, seeing their comrades bleeding out in a snowdrift, raced back into the forest with their tails between their legs. When he was sure it was safe, Jaskier reached out and wrapped his arm around Geralt’s waist. “Let’s get you inside so I can take a look at that wound.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You’ll be fine when I say you’ll be fine,” Jaskier admonished. The acrid, burnt-coffee scent of fear was gone from the boy completely. Now there was only the soft, gently invasive scent of worry, like mint and chamomile. Comforting. He cares very deeply, Geralt realized as he was half-carried back to the door of the keep and bundled into a comfortable armchair before the sitting room fire. Jaskier cares about me and wants me to live. He’s worried about my health. He...he...
“Jaskier, really, it’ll be okay.”
“Hush,” the human frowned. Geralt saw tears gathering in the corner of Jaskier’s eyes and he wiped one away with the pad of his thumb. “Don’t move please, Geralt. I need to get bandages. And warm water.”
“Just get the warm water. The bandages won’t be necessary.”
“How else will I keep you from bleeding all over your clothes?”
“I’m already halfway healed, see?” Geralt smiled, glancing down at holes in his shoulder where the wolf’s teeth tore through. They were already growing smaller and closing up. “Witcher magic.”
Jaskier was shocked. “You’re...you’re a Witcher?”
“Did you really think I was some kind of cursed Prince like the stories say?”
Jaskier stood and moved to the doorway, “I don’t care what you are, Geralt.”
Then he disappeared around the corner.
---
Geralt lay with his head on Jaskier’s outstretched legs. The young man paused his reading, his eyebrows crinkling together. “Beast,” he whispered, “Why did you ask for a consort?”
“Kaer Morhen is so lonely in the winters,” Geralt sighed. He glanced up, meeting Jaskier’s curious gaze, “People are scared of Witchers but since there are so few of us left...I thought they would ask for a willing volunteer. I thought I would have someone waiting with luggage for me to court them. I could have dealt with someone who was slightly frightened but totally willing. I’m sorry that they stole you away and offered you up to me like that, little bird.”
“If you think about it in the right light,” Jaskier mused. “It was almost romantic. You could have been the big, scary monster everyone warned me about. You could have eaten me alive or left me there for the wolves. Instead you gave me your cloak and carried me all the way home.”
Geralt’s heart stuttered in his chest. Home? “Do you consider Kaer Morhen your home?”
“I do now, my Beast. My Geralt. It was frightening at first but the village elders could not have made me happier in their stupidity. I am very content to be here with you; to be courted by you.”
“Hmm,” Geralt blushed lightly and nuzzled his way back into the crease of Jaskier’s hip. The accidental consort of Kaer Morhen had quickly discovered that his betrothed loved nothing more than being petted and caressed. The Beast would lay his head on Jaskier’s lap and nose his way into the crook between Jaskier’s hip and thigh and stay there for hours. His consort would play with his hair, sing to him, and read to him from any book he fancied. It was heaven. “Sing for me, little bird?”
“Am I to be your caged lark, now?”
“Never,” Geralt growled. “You can always leave if you’d like.”
“I’d rather stay,” Jaskier smiled, placing a reassuring hand on the back of his Beast’s warm neck. “I would rather stay and be wooed and courted by my gentle Beast.”
“Hmm.”
Jaskier began to run his hands through Geralt’s soft white hair, braiding it and picking it apart as he sang:
“I'll sell my rod, I'll sell my reel,
I'll sell my only spinning wheel,
To buy my love a sword of steel;
Is go dte tu mo mhuirnin slan.
“I'll dye my petticoats, I'll dye them red,
And 'round the world I'll beg my bread,
Until my parents shall wish me dead;
Is go dte tu mo mhuirnin slan.”
“I could listen to you sing forever, little bird,” Geralt murmured. He was purring again, a sound that Jaskier loved and adored. “I love hearing your voice.”
“And so you shall,” the younger man smiled, and leaned down to press a brief kiss against Geralt’s temple. “For as long as you wish.”
