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Since the very beginning, Jaskier has known about Geralt’s aversion to having his photo taken. Something about being frivolous and vain and pointless. It’s a shame, because with that face it’s simply a waste to, well, not take pictures.
(Once, Jaskier suggested that Geralt take up a side hustle as a camboy for some easy money. Geralt didn’t take it well.)
All of this to say that it would be near impossible to not only have Geralt agree to a photo, but a Christmas-themed one. Nearly impossible, which means there is still hope. And if there’s still hope, Jaskier’s going to give it his all and more to get Geralt to concede, because it’s their first Christmas together and he’d be damned if he’d let it pass without a single photo of them together.
On October 1, Jaskier asks over breakfast, “For Christmas, will you wear a Santa costume and take a photo with me in your lap?”
Geralt looks at him mid-chew, blinking slowly once.
Jaskier pouts. “Fine. Message received.”
Geralt eyes him with what looks like suspicion and keeps eating his eggs.
On October 2, Jaskier asks while riding Geralt’s cock, “Will you cosplay as Rudolph and take a photo with me as an elf?”
“Shut up, Jas.”
That’s that, and they keep fucking.
From there, Jaskier asks Geralt this question every single day with variation to Geralt’s costume, each one slightly more ridiculous than the last. Geralt’s stubborn with his refusal every time, but luckily he has met his match.
“Geralt, will you—”
“No.”
“I was saying, will you dress up as the Grinch holding a candy cane dildo and—”
“No.”
“I’ll let you cum on my face and leave it on overnight.”
Geralt looks at him, thinking.
Jaskier’s getting somewhere, finally.
It’s two weeks into December, and Geralt has not said yes. There’s still time, so Jaskier’s not panicking yet, but he’s feeling the pinch a little.
“A Christmas tree costume with me as your tree topper,” Jaskier says when Geralt’s pounding him into the mattress.
“What the fuck, Jas.”
“Was—talking about the—photo, ah, fuck—”
“I know what you meant.”
“And?”
“No,” Geralt says, giving a particularly hard thrust. He hits Jaskier’s spot just right and Jaskier bites his tongue to keep himself in line. “When will you stop with that?”
“Until you—say yes, obviously. Umff—”
It is now Christmas morning, and Jaskier thinks—hopes—he has worn Geralt down enough to agree to whatever comes out of Jaskier’s mouth. Any moment now.
“Antler headband,” Jaskier says as soon as Geralt opens his eyes in bed.
“It’s too fucking early for that…” Geralt squints at Jaskier. “Wait, what?”
“Antler headband. You know, reindeers? Christmas?”
“What else. Do I have to wear a onesie too?”
“Oh, now you’re the one giving me ideas.” Jaskier grins at Geralt’s growing scowl. “But to answer your question: no, it’s just the antlers.”
Geralt eyes him with even more suspicion.
“There’s no catch, I promise.” Jaskier bats his eyelashes at him. “Please? Extra pretty please with chocolate sundae on top?”
Geralt doesn’t say no.
“You’re the best!” Jaskier reaches under the bed and pulls the headband out of the hidden shopping bag.
Geralt looks at the headband in Jaskier’s hand, raises a brow.
