#handhandhandhandHAND

[eyelessfaces]

hand– handhandhandhandhand– 👹👹😵

[dapandapod]

Handshandshands

I don't even know. I just needed more hands and haldholding excuses, and just. Yes. Hands. What was I saying? Anyway please enjoy! <3

On Ao3 here

Armor is one of the most important things for a witcher. Leg padding, chest plates, neck protectors, gloves-

Gloves is in honesty what Jaskier keeps returning to over and over again.

See, traveling together as much as they do, you do get to see most of your companion. Jaskier has seen Geralt's ass enough times to paint it from memory.

(Let’s not talk about why he would paint Geralt's ass from memory.) (Also, it needs saying, that is one fine ass.)

What Jaskier now has discovered, and been completely obsessed with lately, is how little he has seen Geralt's hands. Hidden under those gloves, gloves used for any and all purposes and especially hiding those hands. 

Wow, Jaskier is a wordsmith today. But look, Geralt just took them off, and Jaskier is watching those pale, strong and oh-so-capable hands, and this bard's brain can only handle so much at any given time.

He is plucking herbs, and he apparently decided that he doesn't need gloves for that. The little flowers and stems and the whatnots look delicate in his hands. For once Jaskier is quiet. For once, the filter between mouth and brain is working, and it is working *hard*.

His mind is reliving a few weeks back, when the obsession began. Where they had a close call, a Griffin surprising them, nearly taking a chomp out of Jaskier's arm. 

Geralt shot it with a bolt while still sitting on Roach, a good hit, and Jaskier had felt something warm hit his face before it screeched and flew to a safer distance. 

Geralt didn't even have time to down any concoctions, but he was.... more intense than usual. He had made fast work of it, returning to Jaskier's side, who still sat on his ass and blinked dumbly.

"You alright?" Geralt had said, feathers and blood splattered all over his armor.

Jaskier had nodded, and then Geralt had looked down, his eyebrow twitched, at which point this obsession of Jaskier's started.

He took off the glove, slowly and carefully, and wiped something from Jaskier's cheek. Thumb big and gentle and warm, palm cradling his jaw.

Fuck, yep, brain has been in a state ever since.

And thus, here we are.

Jaskier's brain is focusing on little else than those hands as soon as the gloves are off.

"Here, let me hold those for you." Jaskier offers quickly when he notices Geralt's hands getting full. 

The witcher flashes him a quick smile, and when Jaskier reaches out to accept the herbs, he may or may not accidently, totally incidentally, touch their fingers together.

It makes something in his brain spark, he can feel his mouth do something weird, and he hurriedly accepts the herbs and steps back, putting them on the cloth Geralt prepared.

When they settle down for the night, some hours later, Jaskier has a plan.

A great plan. A masterplan. Gods, his brain is so big, it is a wonder he doesn't get more headaches. 

He is also very humble.

The lute is put to the side, Geralt is sorting his herbs and Jaskier is fiddling with his rings. Go time.

"Do you think my rings would fit you at all?"

"Hm?"

"I mean, I have rather large hands, right?" Geralt gives that crooked smile of his and Jaskier is alright. Absolutely alright. "I do! But not as big as yours, I don't think. Oh don't give me that smirk, wipe those dirty thoughts of your mind, witcher."

He scoots closer, holding up one of his hands.

"Look! Let's compare. You can’t have that much bigger hands than me. You are not that much taller than me."

Geralt gives him a look that he can't read, puts down the herb he was holding and wipes his hand before he places it against Jaskier's.

If that bard brain had been thinking anything but HANDHANDHANDHANDHANDHAND he would have thought, oh how considerate. But his brain is in fact thinking HANDHANDHANDHAND and there is room for little else.

Geralt's hand is, in fact, not much bigger than his. His fingers are just a little longer, and just a little wider. His palm is warm, calluses surprisingly smooth. Less dry than he expected.

Jaskier's mind is still chanting when Geralt quirks an eyebrow and flexes his fingers and, oh wait, right. Masterplan.

"Fuh-... Fine. Your hand is a little bigger than mine. Like I said. But my rings, witcher?"

"What about them?" Geralt says, not removing his hand yet. Bard brain sparks. Makes it hard to think.

"Would you fit in one?" Jaskier asks dumbly. Now he has to keep chanting HANDHANDHANDHAND or else his mind will go... places.

"Why would I wear one of your rings?"

"Why not?!" Jaskier asks, deciding to take matters in his own hands. Hands. In his own hands. Yes. Good brain. Anyway, Jaskier grabs Geralt's hand in his own, holding it as if he could ever keep Geralt from freeing himself, pinching at those fingers.

"Maybe on the pinkie." Jaskier decides, choosing one of his rings that seems big enough. Masterplan in action.

Geralt lets himself be held, lets Jaskier attempt to put a ring on a finger. Only twitches lightly when Jaskier grips his ring finger and index finger. 

There is a strange silence around them now, and suddenly Jaskier sees the flaw in his plan. 

Putting ring on finger is.... intimate.

It gets stuck on the first joint, the gold ring just sitting there. They both stare at it for a moment, before Jaskier snorts.

"Well. Yeah, no, that won't fit. I want to get that back, so I'm not pushing more."

More brainsparks and some absolute internal panic, because Geralt adjusts the grip and instead holds Jaskier's hand. Holy fucking shitballs and Meliteles shapely kneecaps, help.

"Never said it would." Geralt says, not looking up, plucking the ring from his own pinkie and returning it to Jaskier's finger.

Remember how putting a ring on someone is intimate? Yup. Brainmelt.

Again, Geralt's hands are gentle. Warm. Jaskier blinks, blinks again, and then he is let go.

"Don't need no rings. It's a good way to lose a finger in my line of work." Geralt tells him and returns to his herb sorting.

Jaskier's hand feels cold and lonely and empty now.

The witcher is still sorting herbs, and Jaskier is once again fiddling with his rings.

The evening is quiet, but Jaskier's head is not. When Geralt leans forward, he sees the ring he thought he lost last year, hanging on the same chain as his medallion.

Yeah, no, Jaskier's mind is screaming.

There is not much sleep for Jaskier that night, and come morning, Geralt doesn't climb up on Roach as usual.

Instead, he takes off his gloves (HANDHANDHANDHANDHAND) and puts them in his saddlebags. Instead, their bare hands bump together as they walk, until Geralt catches his hand and holds it.

Geralt makes jokes the entire way that this is what it took to shut him up, he would have held his hand years ago.

Jaskier says nothing, because if Geralt is offering to hold his hand to keep his mouth from blabbering HANDHANDHANDHANDHAND he won't complain.

[wtfgaylittlezooid]

Darnold bringing Forzen to Tommy like "help he can't function." Whilst Forzen is messing with his own hand not recognising it as his own and being like "handhandhandhandhand"

IDGDAOAGOAAHAPAHAK he’s just poking at it with no clue what’s happening and Tommy’s just like “did you try putting him in rice”

[prettyboyrose1974]

Handhandhandhandhand Kill me

[sweetimothee]

peachy gangg (x)

[eyelessfaces]

hand– handhandhandhandhand– 👹👹😵